Only a Permit

Only a Permit

by S.R.Shalabi

)An Israeli military checkpoint on the outskirts of Jerusalem. Soldiers are positioned on high ground on either side of the road, shielded by blocks of concrete, and protected from the rain by specially-constructed shelters. Down on the road there are more concrete blocks and plastic barricades barring the way to vehicles and pedestrians. Combat-ready soldiers, bristling with arms, have divided into two groups: one group searches the cars in the background, while the other examines the pedestrians' ID cards.

                 By one of the concrete blocks three men wait for their ID cards to be examined. One is an old man in his 70s, his head wrapped in his keffiyeh, the second a young man sitting on a boulder, who appears to have lost an eye recently, and the third a man in his forties, holding a bunch of flowers and a newspaper.

                 Two soldiers stand near them, apparently arguing with the driver of a minibus which the three men have been travelling in. One soldier exchanges insults with the driver, then they send him away.)

Young man: Bastards! They're turning the driver back. Didn't I tell you on the way they wouldn't let us in? Even if God and his angels intervened for us, it wouldn't make any difference. The devil has spat on us! We're doomed!

Old man: Who are these people anyway? They've only been here a few days, son. The Arabs won't put up with this kind of thing. They'll soon come and drive them out.

Young man: God help you, old man. You're going soft in the head. A few days? They've been here fifty-three years, impossible to shift, holding us back and not leaving us anything we can recognise as ours.

Old man: No, son. (He takes a key from his pocket.) I'm going to Yafa today. To my house. I can't bear to be away from it any longer. It'll be just like it was when I left it. (Sadly) Maybe the flowers will have died, but that's not the end of the world. I'll get some more. They didn't bother about the people when they went in, so they're not going to care about the flowers.

Young man: Look! I told you he was crazy!

Old man: The problem isn't that I'm crazy. It's that you can't see.

Young man (angrily): Can't see! Oh yes I can! I saw so much I lost my eye. I was stupid. (Switches to talking about himself sarcastically, in the third person) He said 'I'm going to get it back' - he didn't mean Haifa, or Yafa, unfortunately  -  'They've cordoned off my grandmother's garden, and I'm going to get it back.' And I didn't see. Then I saw. I saw the bullets. I saw blindness incarnate.

Old man (rolling back his jacket sleeve to reveal a plastic arm): And you'll see even worse things if you don't make a stand. (He moves slowly away and the young man doesn't attempt to answer.)

Man in his forties (talking to the young man, as he watches the old man walking away): Calm down, brother. Leave him alone. Let him dream.

(The old man is moving between the soldiers, and it looks as if he is being sent from one to another.)

Young man (suddenly shouting): You too? And you're not even senile like him. You don't have an ID card or a national number, yet you want to get into Jerusalem. You don't have a permit. I swear, the whole world's gone mad!

Man in his forties: Shhhh.

Young man (sarcastically):  Why should you be scared? Somebody like you, without a national number or an ID card! That means you must be a militant. You must have done time. Otherwise they'd have been quite happy to get you an ID card, even to make you a minister, like the rest of their fu...! But you look like someone who's learnt to be silent in Arab prisons. Say something! Everyone talks all the time in this country. (Despairingly) For nothing!

Man in his forties: Why are you so fired up? The problem isn't that I'm afraid. I'm in a hurry, and it doesn't make sense to be delayed any longer than necessary. My aunt's in a critical condition in Maqasid Hospital. I had no choice but to risk crossing here. How was I to know they were going to stop us this time?

Soldier 1 (approaching, holding two cards): An ID card to let you get in  . . . and a medical certificate too? A terrorist who comes to attack us and visits the doctor while he's with us . . .

Young man: Do you want to charge me for taking my eye out now?

Soldier 1: I've been working for a year with Maghen David. (Feigning regret) Your eye got a bullet in it. I'm afraid you won't be able to see with it again. You're wasting your time going to hospital. (He looks intently at the two men)  Where's the other ID card?

Young man: What other one?

Soldier 1 (angrily): The other one! There are two of you, and only one ID card.

(Soldier 2 enters, followed by a bride in a wedding dress. He indicates to her to stand with the two men, then waits for orders from his colleague.)

                                      

Young man: Here's someone else who's incurred the wrath of the gods today!

Girl: I'm going to get through! My fiancé's waiting for me on the other side and he's got all the permits and papers. I'm going to get through.

Young man: I pray you'll just be delayed, and when they've seen the papers they'll let you go. But they like humiliating people and messing them around.

Soldier 1: Shut up! I don't have time to waste. Who's the one without an ID card?

(The young man makes as if to reply, but the man in his forties gets in first.)

Man in his forties: Me.

(Soldier 2 tries gently to reason with the young man to prevent him starting an argument.)

Soldier 1: You don't have a permit, and you're even trying to get inside Israel without any ID! Come to think of it, why are you in the country at all if you don't have an ID card? Have you done something against Israel? Are you a terrorist?

Young man (escaping from Soldier 2): It's because you haven't issued him with a national number yet. The guy's my relative. He's never been involved in politics in his life.

Soldier 1: You shut up! I wasn't talking to you. (To the man in his forties) Whereabouts are you going in Jerusalem?

Man in his forties: I'm visiting my aunt in Maqasid Hospital.

Soldier 1: You're lying! You want to get in to commit terrorist acts. Tell the truth: why don't you have an ID card?

Young man (sarcastically to Soldier I) : Go on, you tell him. If he'd had one, it would have been really useful!

Soldier 1 (turning angrily towards him, while Soldier 2 goes after him at once) Why don't you shut up? How would you like to spend a couple of days at this checkpoint? (He gives him a shove, but the young man recovers his balance and straightens up.)

Girl: For the love of the Prophet, let these people through, then we can go too!

Young man: The guy's in a hurry. It's an emergency. His aunt's in hospital. She's going to die.

Soldier 1: My arse! There's no way he's getting into Jerusalem. What I want to know is how somebody like him thinks he's going to get into Israel illegally. (Looking as if he's just remembered something) In fact, how did he get into Greater Israel at all?

(A mobile phone rings. The man in his forties hesitates before answering it. He listens for a few moments. His expression changes, and the flowers and newspaper fall from his hand.)

Man in his forties: May your own life be long, Doctor . . .

Soldier 1: So? Was that the Tanzim to organize the movie about your sick aunt?

(There is a long pause as the man looks at him in silence and Soldier 2 approaches as if anticipating an incident.)

Soldier 2 (looking from one to the other): No. He's not lying. He's telling the truth. We're sorry. (Then he is infected by his companion's anger) But you people always lie, and you've got no respect for the IDF.

Soldier 1: All the same, he's going to be interrogated.  I'm going to get the police to question him. Stay here with him. (He turns to the girl.) And where's your permit?

Girl (mockingly, showing a blue Jerusalem ID card): I'm one of your citizens, your honour.

Soldier 1: Only because we're nice to you. But you're not like a Jewish citizen. Jewish citizens don't help terrorists. Your husband-to-be isn't an Israeli citizen. Where are his papers?

Girl: It was you who turned my brother back when he was going to get them. If you let me through, I'll go and get them from my fiancé.

Soldier 1: Why doesn't he come here? Or is he afraid to? Are they looking for him?

Girl: Why do you complicate everything? Do you only know how to make people hate you? What do you want with his papers? He's not trying to get in. Leave people in peace, and let us through!

Soldier 1: I don't care whether you hate me or love me. All that concerns me is Israel's security. No terrorist enters Israel, even if he is  a bridegroom!

Girl: Has he ever tried to get into Israel? He's waiting for me to come out.

Soldier 1: Then why doesn't he come to the checkpoint? It means he's scared. He's up to something!

Girl: God help us! He's going to drive us all mad!

Soldier 1: Either get your fiancé to come here, or go to him barefoot.

(The girl grumbles, but takes her shoes off, oblivious to the soldier's sarcasm. Meanwhile, the old man has almost got through the roadblock. Soldier 2 notices this.)

Soldier 2 (still keeping an eye on the young man): Just a minute, old man! Where are you off to? Hey!

Old man (from a distance, waving his key): I'm going to my house. To Yafa!

Soldier 1 (addressing his colleague angrily in Hebrew) : Get him back! Tell him! (Then sarcastically, in Arabic, imitating children's talk) House gone. All gone. Old key, new lock!

(Soldier 2 goes to try and reason with the old man, and the two of them appear to be arguing. The soldier tries to behave kindly. The old man takes out some old papers. The soldier attempts to explain that these won't do by showing him blue, green and orange ID cards. The old man ignores him and walks on and the soldier goes after him.

                 Soldier 1 hurries towards them. He drags the old man along and hurls him beyond the barricade, then snatches his papers from him and drops them on the ground behind him.)

Soldier 1: Go to your house then! No Yafa! All gone!

Young man: Bastard!

(The young man takes out his orange card, throws it on the ground and tramples on it, then runs towards the two soldiers and the old man. Soldier 1 levels his weapon and fires it. The young man falls, covered in blood. The girl screams.)

Soldier 2 (in Hebrew, pushing aside Soldier 1 who has frozen in shock, and examining the victim):You've killed him.

Soldier 1 (in Hebrew):  He's a terrorist! (Then in Arabic) He's a terrorist! He was going to kill me. He lost his eye while he was attacking Jews.

(Some soldiers gather and seize the man in his forties, fearing a reaction.)

Soldier 2: Don't !. . . Stop it! Let him go. Send them all back. Everybody go back. Hurry! Nobody's getting through the checkpoint. (He turns to the man in his forties) You! Go back quickly, before he sees.

(He pushes him, trying to make him go back the way he came, but the man does not take his eyes off the scene in front of him.. The girl considers retrieving her shoes, but in the end she gathers up the hem of her dress and begins to hurry barefoot back in the direction of Ramallah.)

Girl (to the man in his forties): Quick! Before the other bastard comes to his senses.

Man in his forties: I'm not going back without him. You don't leave a martyr lying at their feet like that.

(He goes towards the young man. The girl shakes her head sorrowfully.)

Girl (as if talking to herself): God rest his soul.  He's lucky to be a martyr! Tomorrow somebody will respond to his death. But not me, and not today. (She takes the old man's hand, trying to help him up.) Come along, Uncle. You're not going to Yafa today. A man's been killed for your dreams. Hurry up, before a whole tribe gets killed.

Old man: Tomorrow . . . tomorrow the Arabs will come, and we'll be free of these criminals.

Girl: Yeah. Tomorrow. But let's go now. You can wait for them in Ramallah and show them the way. God knows, your Arabs can't see the noses on their faces.

Old man: You're right, daughter. They're always going the wrong way, getting lost.

(He gets up, and the two of them walk away.)

Soldier 2 (addressing the man in his forties, who is standing beside the body, head bowed): Go home quickly, before my colleagues notice.

Man in his forties (gathering up the scattered bouquet): Do you think there are enough flowers for all the martyrs?

Soldier 2 (trying awkwardly to help him pick up the flowers): I'll put the flowers on him, but go before the kitsin arrests you.

Man in his forties: Why? With or without your kitsin, haven't I been in a huge prison called the Big Arab nation for years now? What's it to me if it shrinks with each new disaster?

Curtain.