The Nightmares of Carlos Fuentes (5 page)

THREE

July 2007
.

A Lebanese restaurant. Arabic music plays.
LYDIA
sits alone nursing a drink and watching the dancefloor
.

CARLOS
, dressed in a waiter’s uniform, approaches carrying a tray full of drinks. He is wearing his ring and has a strong Iraqi accent
.

CARLOS:
Ah madam. Your drinks. A small red wine. A large white wine. A white wine spritzer. A double gin and tonic. A…
(Studies a bizarre-looking green cocktail.)
something. And a pint of lager.

LYDIA:
They’re not all for me.

CARLOS:
Sorry?

LYDIA:
(Smiling.)
My friends are dancing downstairs. I don’t want you to think I’m an alcoholic or something.

CARLOS:
(Slightly confused.)
No. Of course no. Will there be anything else?

LYDIA:
What’s your name?

CARLOS:
My name?

LYDIA:
Yes.

CARLOS:
My name is Carlos.
(Pointing at his name tag.)
It is written here.

LYDIA:
That’s an unusual name for a Lebanese person.

CARLOS:
(Smiling.)
Yes. It would be. But I am not Lebanese. I am from Mexico.

LYDIA:
Ah, hablas Espanol?

CARLOS:
(Smiling.)
Si.

LYDIA:
Te gusta vivir aqui? De donde eres en México?

CARLOS:
Si.
(Beat.)
Si. No, well actually I don’t speak Spanish. I am Mexican. But I grew up in Iraq.

LYDIA:
Oh. Interesting.

CARLOS:
Yes. My father was oil engineer. We moved to Iraq for his job. The money was good, but I got this horrible Arabic accent. I don’t like it. I want to sound like a British.

LYDIA:
I like your accent.

CARLOS:
(Surprised.)
You like the sound of Arabic? It sounds like pigs making children. It is not nice. Dirty.
(Makes guttural sounds.)
Like you have a cold and are trying to clear your breast.
(Makes sounds.)

LYDIA:
I envy you. I can speak a little French. A smattering of Spanish. Neither of them very well. We’re not good at learning other languages. English people.

CARLOS:
Why would you want to speak any other language? English is the greatest language in the world.

LYDIA:
Well, it’s the most widely-spoken. But I don’t know if you can call it the greatest. What makes a language great? It’s all rather subjective don’t you think?

LYDIA:
A lot of people would say French sounds nicer. Is more romantic than English. I suppose you could say the same about Italian or Spanish. But even that’s quite a European view. What’s to say one language is intrinsically better or worse than any other language? Why not Arabic? They say we’ll all be speaking Mandarin soon anyway.

CARLOS:
Arabic is a backward……primitive……language. The Arabs they are a backward, primitive people. Not even people really. Savage tribes. But English. Ah. English is the language of democracy, of equality, of freedom, of…

LYDIA:
Power?

CARLOS:
I am sorry. I should go.

LYDIA:
Don’t. Sit with me.

CARLOS:
I am not allowed to sit.

LYDIA:
What? Ever?

CARLOS:
To sit with customers. It will make trouble with my boss.

LYDIA:
Is he a slave driver? Your boss?

CARLOS:
It is a she.
(Looks over his shoulder for his boss.)
Yes. She is big slave driver.

LYDIA:
What if I asked you to stand?

CARLOS:
If that is what the customer wishes.

LYDIA:
The customer would like to talk to you.

CARLOS:
You don’t want to bellydance with your friends downstairs?

LYDIA:
They’re not my friends. They’re my colleagues. Or employees to be precise. Besides, I’m too old to bellydance.

CARLOS:
Yes. You are.

CARLOS:
What is funny?

LYDIA:
You.

CARLOS:
Why? What I say?

LYDIA:
Oh. Nothing. It’s my birthday today.

CARLOS:
Happy Birthday!

LYDIA:
I’m fifty-s(ix.)…how old are y(ou.)…no. Don’t. It’s refreshing to hear somebody say what they really think. You haven’t been here long enough to pick up our bad habits.

CARLOS:
I would like to be British. To be a Britishman.

LYDIA:
Not even the British particularly want to be British anymore.

CARLOS:
I am not like these other foreigners. These immigrants. Working here illegally. Not paying taxes. Not respecting the law. Always complaining about Britain and the British. Hating the people who have fed them and housed them. They are retarded……gerbils.

LYDIA:
Gerbils?

CARLOS:
Stone Age savages.
I
am not like them!

LYDIA:
I believe you.

CARLOS:
I have had too much misery and war and death and shit and piss and camels. I want a country that treats me with respect so that I can worship it and believe in it. A country with streets clean and green trees. With peace and soft toilet paper. Where a girl in a short skirt can walk across the road without getting gobbled up by the ground. I want to change my skin and my blood. Let my lungs breathe clean, pure British air.

LYDIA:
It sounds like you want to rebrand yourself.

CARLOS:
What does this mean?

LYDIA:
You want to change the way people perceive you? See you.

CARLOS:
Yes.

LYDIA:
Maybe I can help. I run a marketing company. Lydia King Communications?
(Beat.)
I advise companies who want to project a…certain image of themselves.

CARLOS:
Why do you do this?

LYDIA:
Well. For money.
(Smiling.)
It pays rather well. But so they can sell more of their products. You see Carlos if you want to rebrand yourself you need to think of yourself as a company with something to sell. What are you trying to sell? What have you got to offer?

CARLOS:
(Confused.)
I don’t understand.

LYDIA:
What is your USP? Your Unique Selling Point? The thing that is going to appeal to the consumer. Imagine I’m the consumer and you’re trying to sell me your…car. Why should I buy your car?

CARLOS:
(Confused.)
But I don’t have a car.

CARLOS:
Sorry.

LYDIA:
(Breathily.)
Carlos?

CARLOS:
Yes.

LYDIA:
Tell me about you.

CARLOS:
What do you want to know?

LYDIA:
What are you into?

CARLOS:
I don’t understand.

LYDIA:
What do you enjoy doing?

CARLOS:
Many things.

LYDIA:
Like what?

CARLOS:
I…like to surf the internet.

LYDIA:
You see if you were my client, I could say for example that you have a lovely smile. Or sexy eyes. But then that would only be the superficial, surface level. I’d have to delve deeper to find out who you really are.

CARLOS:
I am Carlos Fuentes.

LYDIA:
What are your hidden talents Carlos Fuentes? What should the world know about you?

CARLOS:
I’m good at fixing things.

LYDIA:
You’re good with your hands?

LYDIA:
You’re married.

CARLOS:
No. It is…my family…

LYDIA:
A family heirloom?

CARLOS:
(Confused.)
Air?

LYDIA:
Hair.

CARLOS:
Hair?

LYDIA:
Loom.

CARLOS:
(Smiling.)
Yes. Your hair look nice.

LYDIA:
Never mind. Tell me about you Carlos.

CARLOS:
I read magazines if they have been left behind. Something like this?

LYDIA:
God, you’re not making this easy for me Carlos.

CARLOS:
Make what?

LYDIA:
I’m trying to pick you up.

CARLOS:
Pick me up for what?

LYDIA:
What do you think?
(Beat.)
Sex.

CARLOS:
Sex? Me and you?

LYDIA:
Yes.

LYDIA:
I get it.

CARLOS:
Get what?

LYDIA:
You think it’s amusing?

CARLOS:
(Smirking.)
A little. Yes.

LYDIA:
That you’d be interested in me.

CARLOS:
Oh, no, no. That is not what I was laughing at. To hear you say that in public. A woman. Sex.

CARLOS:
It is funny because you mean sexual intercourse.

LYDIA:
If you’re not interested I understand. Really. It’s got a little awkward now.

CARLOS:
No. I am interested. How does this work? It is my first time.

LYDIA:
You’re a virgin?

CARLOS:
No! With a Britishwoman. My first time in this country. How do we do it? You give me your number. I call you. We go to a restaurant. Roses. Some disco dancing. Yes?

LYDIA:
Well, we’re already in a restaurant. Why don’t we just cut to the chase?
(Beat.)
What time do you finish?

CARLOS:
You are the last table. Right after you pay the bill.

CARLOS:
Will there be anything else?

LYDIA:
Your tip.

CARLOS:
Thank you.
(Beat.)
I’ll go and fetch your coat.

INTERLUDE 1

July 2007
.

During the scene change
SAHAR
walks onstage talking into a mobile phone
.

SAHAR:
(Phone.)
Salim. Salam-alaikum. Yes. Yes. She is here. One second. I will call her.
(Off.)
Lina!
(Crouching down as if beckoning a small child.)
Come.
(Phone.)
She won’t come.
(Off.)
Lina. Come talk to him.
(Phone.)
She says she doesn’t want to talk.
(Beat.)
No.
No
. She has not forgotten you. Why would you think that?
(Smiles off.)
She is being shy.
(Beat.)
No. I have not forgotten you either.
(Pause.)
I miss you too.
(Beat.)
Yes. We got the money. I don’t know. I don’t know when. My father is not any better. Huh? Well why do you always ask the same thing then?
(Beat.)
I don’t know. Nothing has changed.
(Beat.)
Goodbye.

FOUR

July 2011
.

Heathrow Airport. Holding room. A table. Two chairs. Stark light.
CARLOS
is asleep in his chair, his head slumped forward. His hands are handcuffed together. He has no ring and a slight Iraqi accent
.

KEVIN
, a burly, heavy-set private security guard is sat opposite.
KEVIN
is dressed in black polyester trousers and a half-sleeve white shirt with a clip-on tie. He is looking inside a rucksack placed on his lap
.

CARLOS
begins to stir in his sleep.
KEVIN
hears
CARLOS
and looks up from the bag.
CARLOS
wakes with a jolt. He is dry-mouthed and groggy, appearing slow and bewildered as if he has been drugged
.

KEVIN
has a strong Geordie accent and a friendly demeanour despite his somewhat intimidating appearance
.

KEVIN:
(Smiling.)
Hallo Sleeping Beauty. Back with us in the land of the living?

CARLOS:
(Weak.)
What…

KEVIN:
Would you like a drink a water?
(Takes out a bottle of water from his bag and walks over.)
Come on. Let’s have a drink a water.

CARLOS:
(Weak.)
Why…

KEVIN:
What’s that?

CARLOS:
Why am I in handcuffs?

KEVIN:
Are we gonna have to go through this rigmarole again?
(Shakes his head and smiles.)
’E, honestly. It’s every time with you.
(Slowly as if he is speaking to a child.) My
name’s Kevin.
Your
name’s Salim.
I’m
a security guard.
You
are a prisoner.
We
are at Heathrow Airport.

CARLOS:
I was asleep.

KEVIN:
That’s right.
(Slowly.) You
were asleep. You was having a little snooze.

CARLOS:
I don’t remember…what am I doing here?

KEVIN:
Don’t worry. It’ll come back to ya. You’re always a bit woozy when ya wake up. Cos a ya medication.

TANNOY:
Boarding call for American Airlines flight AA15 to New York. Boarding now at gate seven.

KEVIN:
Not us. Are ya hungry? I divn’t knaa about ye but I’m always a bit peckish when a wake up from a nap. I’ve got…
(Looks in his bag and takes out food.)
I’ve got sandwiches. There’s ham and cheese. Or there’s
(Reading box.)
Mediterranean-style crunchy tuna. Nah?
(Taking it out.)
Salt and vinegar Hula Hoops? Or…or a banana?
(Pulls out an over-ripe banana.)
It’s a bit black like, but it’ll be alreet if ya take the top off.
(Beat.)
Nah? It’ll be a while till the feed us on the plane.
(Beat.)
Aye, well just let us knaa if ya change ya mind. They’re in me bag. Here? Salim? What d’ya reckon to these sunglasses?

CARLOS:
Where’s…

KEVIN:
The Oakleys? Or the…

CARLOS:
Where’s my…

KEVIN:
Or the Ray-Bans?
(Taking them off.)
Tell the truth. It’s the Oakleys isn’t it? The Ray-Bans are too big for me heed. I look like a Russian cosmonaut gannin to the moon…

CARLOS:
Where is my wife?…

KEVIN:
That’s ten pund doon the drain.

CARLOS:
Where is my wife?

KEVIN:
I don’t know.

CARLOS:
Please. Can I call her? She will come for me.

KEVIN:
No. She won’t.

CARLOS:
Please. Can I speak to her?

KEVIN:
No. You can’t. Ya not allowed to contact her.

CARLOS:
Why?

KEVIN:
Jesus! Maybe cos you violently assaulted her.

CARLOS:
I don’t remember.

KEVIN:
(Smiling.)
Didn’t stand up in court did it?

CARLOS:
Why can’t I remember?

KEVIN:
Ya medication. For ya nightmares. So ya can sleep without having those bad dreams that make ya gan all
(Does the crazy sign with his finger.)
doolally.

TANNOY:
Flight number 4678. British Airways to Berlin. Now boarding at gate nineteen. Can all passengers please proceed to gate nineteen.

KEVIN:
They should be calling us soon.

CARLOS:
Are we going somewhere?

KEVIN:
Aye. We’re gannin to Baghdad.

CARLOS:
To Iraq?

KEVIN:
(Laughing.)
Aye. Baghdad’s in Iraq. Well ye should knaa. It’s your home toon.

CARLOS:
What?

KEVIN:
I said ye should knaa.

CARLOS:
I don’t understand you. Are you speaking English?

KEVIN:
Ya cheeky bastard. What d’ya think I’m speaking? French?

CARLOS:
(Confused.)
But I don’t understand French. Can you speak in English please?

KEVIN:
I am speaking English! I’m English! Who the fuck are ye to tell me to speak in English?

CARLOS:
I am sorry.

KEVIN:
Aye, well. Just watch yesel’. That’s all I’m sayin’.

CARLOS:
Why are you taking me to Iraq?

KEVIN:
Well we’re gannin to Istanbul first. Three hours…
(Taking out tickets from his bag.)
Nearly four hours. Then we got a six-hour wait for the connection. Two and a half hours to Baghdad. That’s…
(Counts on his fingers.)
We should be there by…

KEVIN:
Tomorrow. When we get there.

CARLOS:
Why are you taking me to Iraq?

KEVIN:
Ya really don’t remember nothin’? I should get some a them pills for me missus. She doesn’t forget nowt that one. She’s like the Million Dollar Man. Bionic memory.
(Slowly.)
You’re getting deported. You’re getting sent back to where you come from. I’m taking you home.

CARLOS:
This is my home. I’m a British citizen.

CARLOS:
I’m British.

KEVIN:
Nah. You were a guest. But ya didn’t behave yeself. The judge said you should be deported back to Iraq after you completed your prison sentence.

CARLOS:
Prison?

KEVIN:
Jesus, Salim! You attacked ya wife! Your wife? Remember?

CARLOS:
There must be a mistake. My name is Carlos Fuentes. Look. Let me show you. Where is my wallet? If you could take the handcuffs off so I can show you some ID.

KEVIN:
Aye. Aye.

CARLOS:
I’m telling you. There’s been a mistake. I shouldn’t be here.

KEVIN:
I shouldn’t be here either. Today was meant to be me day off.

CARLOS:
No. Look. You’ve got the wrong guy. I’m Carlos Fuentes.

KEVIN:
You’re Carlos Fuentes are ya?

CARLOS:
Yes.

KEVIN:
Carlos Fuentes? That’s ya real name is it?

CARLOS:
Yes. I haven’t done anything wrong. I’m innocent.

KEVIN:
What haven’t you done?

CARLOS:
I…
(Struggles to remember.)
I don’t know.

KEVIN:
So how d’ya knaa you’re innocent? Maybe you did something you cannat remember and now it’s caught up with ya. Maybe it’s karma.

CARLOS:
I don’t believe in karma.

KEVIN:
You don’t do ya? What do ya believe in?

CARLOS:
I… I don’t know.

CARLOS:
Please. Just let me call someone.

KEVIN:
Who ya gonna call?

CARLOS:
I…the…police?

KEVIN:
Like Judge Dredd said. I
am
the law.

CARLOS:
You’re a policeman?

KEVIN:
Well. Nah. Not technically. I’m a security guard. The Home Office don’t do this kinda donkey work themselves. They contract it out to private companies like mine. The good news is. I get six hours downtime in Baghdad after I’ve dropped you off. Now I checked the weather forecast on me phone. 41 degrees celsius in the shade. I’ve got me sun cream and me hat but still. It’s gonna be roasting.

CARLOS:
I want to go home.

KEVIN:
I’m taking you home.

CARLOS:
No. My home in London. I want to go home. I don’t want to go to Iraq.

KEVIN:
I’m afraid that’s not possible.

CARLOS:
I want to go home. Forty…forty-one Regent’s Road. Forty-one Regent’s Road… Primrose Hill. London. London NW1… NW1…four…4QD. 4QD. London 4QD!

KEVIN:
You’re not going home.

CARLOS:
I want to go home. TAKE ME HOME!

KEVIN:
Ya got somethin’ to say?

CARLOS:
Where is my ring?

KEVIN:
What ring?

CARLOS:
My wedding ring.

KEVIN:
Cannat help ya.

CARLOS:
It’s silver with a red stone. A bright red stone.

KEVIN:
Haven’t seen it.

CARLOS:
Did you take it?

KEVIN:
I’d be careful going round making accusations. It’s a long flight.
(Beat.)
Now…

TANNOY:
Lufthansa flight LU67 now boarding at gate thirty-four. Gate thirty-four.

KEVIN:
Now what I need from you. Is some advice on what to see while I’m in Baghdad. I’ve only got a few hours before me flight home…

CARLOS:
What’s going to happen to me in Iraq?

KEVIN:
I divn’t knaa. My job’s to hand ye over to the authorities. That’s me done. You’ll have to ask them. Nowt to dee with me. Now. I’ve had a look on Tripadvisor.
(Looking at his phone.)
There’s only two reviews. Baghdad doesn’t seem to be a very popular tourist destination. Shame you’re not Turkish. I coulda had more time in Istanbul. Looks a lot more lively. And I heard the birds are alreet too. But em…what do you reckon? Shall I gan to the Iraq Museum or the Maximall?

KEVIN:
HERE! Wakey-wakey! Iraq Museum or Maximall? I haven’t got time to do both. And I wanna get some decent pictures to stick on Facebook.

CARLOS:
The Iraq Museum or the what?

KEVIN:
The Maximall. Here. Hang on. I’ll read ya the review.
(Reading from his phone. He reads slowly and stumbles over the occasional word.)
This isn’t actually a mall. It is a four-storey department store which offers an experience like any Western department store. Clean, good fitting rooms and nice help. The food court on the top floor is clean and nice. Food offerings are the usual fast food crap. However there is one cafe where the atmosphere is truly lovely
with modern (not tacky) decor and huge windows of what was going to be the biggest mosque in the world before construction stopped. In America, I avoid shopping and malls and departments like the plague, but I go here to just feel a slice of cleanliness in a city where there is still garbage and filth everywhere.
(Beat.)
Sounds alright. What d’ya reckon?