Leaving Ben Gurion

LEAVING BEN GURION

a small play about small victories

Characters:

ALEXANDER, a young, clean-shaven man, who has spent the past week and a half in Palestine.
INTERNAL MONOLOGUE, the voice inside ALEXANDER’s head. Dressed in a poorly-made parrot costume.
SECURITY OFFICER, a stern young Israeli woman.
SEVERE MAN, a youngish, bespectacled man wearing a suit and tie. He has never ever ever ever smiled in his life.

The setting is a terminal hall in Tel Aviv’s Ben Gurion International Airport, on July 30th. SECURITY OFFICER stands behind a large, horseshoe-shaped desk in the centre of the hall. ALEXANDER is at the desk- his big rucksack atop it. INTERNAL MONOLOGUE stands at his shoulder. In the background, SEVERE MAN paces around, looking important and severe. Further still behind him is a long queue of passengers, waiting to have their passports checked.

SECURITY OFFICER: Open the bag.
[ALEXANDER opens bag, while SECURITY OFFICER puts on a pair of surgical gloves]
INTERNAL MONOLOGUE: She’s going to look at everything. She’s going to put everything on the desk. Everyone is going to see my pair of Woody Woodpecker briefs. And she’s going to see the textiles I bought in Hebron. The ones that say “Al-Khalil” in Arabic. She’s gonna love that.
SECURITY OFFICER: Unpack the bag.
[ALEXANDER begins to unpack the bag. He tries to place his various pairs of briefs away from public view. SECURITY OFFICER starts to sort through everything, swabbing the items with a toilet brush-like tool that detects explosive material. From the bag, ALEXANDER takes the decorated book and Palestinian textiles, and places them on the desk. SECURITY OFFICER immediately takes an interest in them. She turns them over, and looks at the Arabic script.]
INTERNAL MONOLOGUE: I’m done for. Why did I think this would be okay to bring? She may as well have found coke in my bag. But I’ve got a cover-story. I’m just going to say that I bought it in the Old City of Jerusalem. That’s believable. That’s a safe bet. Tourists buy lots of rubbish there.
SECURITY OFFICER: Where did you get these?
ALEXANDER: East Jerusalem.
INTERNAL MONOLOGUE: WHAT THE FUCK? WHY WOULD I SAY THAT? That’s entirely the wrong thing to say. Why couldn’t I just stick to the script?
SECURITY OFFICER: [looking surprised] East Jerusalem?
ALEXANDER: [innocently] Uh, does the Old City count as East Jerusalem?
SECURITY OFFICER: [sarcastically] I don’t know, does it?
INTERNAL MONOLOGUE: Nice one.
[SECURITY OFFICER steps back from the desk, and walks over to SEVERE MAN. The two converse in Hebrew briefly, glancing over at ALEXANDER, who looks back at them. INTERNAL MONOLOGUE begins to mime a rigorous cavity search. SEVERE MAN approaches the desk, where the textiles lay.]
SEVERE MAN: [severely] How long have you been in Israel?
ALEXANDER: Since the 19th.
SEVERE MAN: [severely] Where have you been staying?
ALEXANDER: In Jerusalem.
SEVERE MAN: [severely] What were the names of the places you stayed?
ALEXANDER: I stayed at the Hashimi Hostel, and th-
SEVERE MAN: [interrupting, severely] What was the name?
ALEXANDER: Hashimi.
INTERNAL MONOLOGUE: I’m going down, man. So far down.
SEVERE MAN: [severely] And you said you bought these in East Jerusalem?
ALEXANDER: I bought them in a textiles shop in the Old City, yes.
SEVERE MAN: [severely] Do you know anyone in East Jerusalem?
ALEXANDER: No.
INTERNAL MONOLOGUE: Haha! Yes I do! But I’m not telling you that!
SEVERE MAN: [severely] Have you been doing any volunteer work or taking part in any projects in the time that you’ve been here?
ALEXANDER: No.
INTERNAL MONOLOGUE: That one’s actually true, you know.
SEVERE MAN: [severely] I’m not airport security, I’m not immigrations, I’m just asking you some questions for your own...
INTERNAL MONOLOGUE: You’ve lost me, man. I’ve zoned out, and I’m just staring over your shoulder. You're a nasty little man, going through the motions. I'm lucky enough not to be taken seriously by you. Because if I had brown skin, I'd already be being interrogated alone somewhere. Just like everyone I spoke to at Hashimi, who only came to Jerusalem so they could pray at Al-Aqsa, and had to sit through seven-and-a-half hours of questioning at the border. Just like the British girls in the queue behind me, who had to be asked where their surnames came from.
ALEXANDER: [pretending to be understanding and cooperative] Okay.
[SEVERE MAN and SECURITY OFFICER step back and talk again. ALEXANDER looks around at the other passengers waiting in the queue. One woman meets his eyes, and smiles- a “You’re screwed, and it’s probably your fault” smile. SEVERE MAN and SECURITY OFFICER finish their conversation- SEVERE MAN nods and walks away. SECURITY OFFICER returns to the desk. After swabbing every single thing that has been taken from the rucksack, she returns the gunpowder toilet brush to its place behind the desk, but does not say a word.]
ALEXANDER: [expectantly] Can I put everything back now?
SECURITY OFFICER: [shrugging] Yeah, okay.
INTERNAL MONOLOGUE: I MADE IT THROUGH. I successfully lied my Palestinian gifts past airport security. I’m so cool. I’m like a spy. I’m James fucking Bond. I’m Harvey Keitel in Pulp Fiction. I’m 1970s Michael Jackson, in space. I’m through.
ALEXANDER: [trying to suppress a self-satisfied smile of relief, in a bright, friendly, and innocently grateful voice] Thank you.

fin