Arabian Nightmares: Three Plays

Three Plays

Henry Naylor

• Publisher: Nick Hern Books
• Year: 2017
• eBook ISBN: 9781780018508
• Topic: Literature
• Subtopic: British Drama
• Index: Literature

Three timely one-act plays set in war-torn Syria and Iraq, by 'one of our best new playwrights' ( The Times ), featuring the epic and bloody adventures of an Iraqi translator, a London schoolgirl and a crackshot sniper.. The Collector is a tale of creeping darkness, set during the Coalition's occupation of Iraq, as a team of prison guards become brutalised by war. 'Outstanding new writing… first class' ( Scotsman ) Echoes is a bloody story of colonialism – ancient and modern – and the rhyme of history, drawing astonishing parallels between the lives of a Jihadi bride and a Victorian pioneer. 'A dark and daring look at colonial cruelty… hugely impressive' ( Guardian ) Angel is set in a Syrian town, where the apparently indestructible Angel of Kobane – a crackshot sniper with a hundred kills to her name – is all that stands between the town's citizens and the fearsome approach of ISIS. 'War reportage at its best – and great theatre' ( The Times ) All three plays premiered at the Edinburgh Festival Fringe between 2014 and 2016, and have subsequently toured the UK and globally, including runs in London, around Australia and at New York's 59E59 Theaters. They have won eleven major international fringe awards, including several Fringe Firsts, and Angel was one of The Times ' Top 10 Best Plays of 2016.

THE COLLECTOR

The Collector was first performed at the Gilded Balloon, Edinburgh, on 30 July 2014, with the following cast:

ZOYA/THE NARRATOR	Ritu Arya
KASPER	William Reay
FOSTER	Lesley Harcourt
Director	Henry Naylor

It was produced by Henry Naylor and the Gilded Balloon’s Karen Koren.

The show transferred to the Arcola Theatre, London, in November 2014, restaged by director Michael Cabot, and with lighting design by Ross Bibby.

Kathryn Barker Productions under the auspices of Kathryn Cabot launched their own tour of the show in autumn 2016, with the following cast:

ZOYA/THE NARRATOR	Shireen Farkhoy
KASPER	William Reay
FOSTER	Olivia Beardsley
Director	Michael Cabot
Lighting Designer	Andy Grange
Stage Manager	Holly Curtis

To SLK
For everything xx

Characters

ZOYA, an Iraqi woman

KASPER, an American reservist, forties

FOSTER, an American interrogator, twenty-four

The story of The Collector is told by three different storytellers. They each speak directly to the audience, through the ‘fourth wall’.

First to speak, a young, beautiful Iraqi woman, ZOYA. She’s strong, smart – a modern Scheherazade. She begins her narration like it’s the start of The Arabian Nights…

ZOYAHere is the land of magic and genies and flying carpets.

Of tyrants and despots and murderous Ba’athists.

A land of sweetmeats and Turkish delights,

Of Sinbad and Saddam and Arabian Nights.

It’s a magical nation of fable and mystery

A place with a long and ancient history

Boasting a rich and combustible soil,

Fertilised with blood and soaked in oil.

Writing began here and even drawing,

And beating with hoses and waterboarding.

Ours is the story of all mankind

Of the triumphs and failings of the human mind.

So if you’re with us, or against us, pull up your chairs

And share with us these Arabian nightmares.

COLONEL ‘KASPER’ KASPROWICZ. He’s a charismatic American reservist. Mid-forties. The head honcho at Mazrat Prison.

KASPERNo one liked going into cell C27, after the Nassir incident. Not even the dogs.

Full of bad spirits.

But I didn’t believe in ghosts. Used to say I’ll believe in ’em when I see ’em.

Then came 17th December 2003. The day after ‘Nassir’.

We had a prisoner we called ‘Tom Selleck’ – cos he looked like Tom Selleck – who launched a dirty protest. Imagine Magnum PI smearing his cell in shit.

We had to punish the guy, hard.

But what could we do? We kicked his ass every night already. We needed a punishment to match the severity of the crime.

So I thought ‘Let’s fuck him up; let’s put him in C27.’

So we dragged him in.

And to begin with he was just crying and complaining…

Nothing out of the ordinary.

And we settled in to play cards in the guards’ room.

…Six o’clock, nothing. Seven o’clock – nothing.

Eight o’clock… he starts screaming.

Proper screaming. Tried to ignore it.

…But then we heard, The Thud.

The sound of a body falling heavily on the floor.

Over and over.

Thud. Thud. Thud.

Fuck. I mean fuck.

Don’t care what Tom Selleck had done. Couldn’t leave him there.

So we’re running up the stairs, shouting and hollering, trying to drown out our fears… when the noises… the screaming, the thuds.. suddenly stop.

And I get to the cell. And Selleck’s crouching in the corner. And he’s whimpering. And I look across. And he’s not alone.

There’s a figure standing there.

Dressed in black.

Silent.

Unmoving. And it has no face. Just a soul-sucking dark shadow where a face should be.

When people talk about ghosts – they say they feel a presence. Not me. I felt the absence. The despair of the void.

And for the first time that war, I was scared.

A transition; we’ve moved back in time, to the start of the story.

ZOYAUnder Saddam, there was one popular music station – controlled by his son, Uday: ‘The Voice of Youth.’

Played our leading boy band – Unknown to No One – on loop.

Their biggest hit? A song honouring Saddam’s birthday, which was played twice an hour.

‘Get up, get up, let me hear you say,

To the Father of the People: Happy Birthday.’

Or some such thing.

Crazy.

Would be like NSYNC singing George Dubya their compliments of the season.

Just occasionally, ‘The Voice’ played Boyzone.

But as war loomed, even they got banned. In Iraq, even Ronan Keating was dangerous and edgy.’

So, you can imagine: Western music was all underground, performed in deserted garages, sweaty backrooms…

That was I how I first saw Nassir. He was singing

Eminem covers in a defunct warehouse.

Shaved head, telling everybody he was Slim

Shady, the Real Slim Shady.

Was subversive.

Rebellious.

Very rebellious; it was dangerous to play Western music in the weeks before the war. Showed a ‘troubling affinity’ with the enemy.

So we, Nassir and his crowd, were risking a lot for his art…

But it was worth it.

For me.

I fell in love with him at first sight.

He was selling CDs after his gig. I had to have one. If only to be able to talk to him.

‘You’re risking a lot. Aren’t you worried about the Mukhabarat?’ I asked him.

‘The secret police? They’d put you in prison for owning a Westlife CD.’

‘Maybe they don’t get everything wrong.’

He laughed, a warm smile. ‘You love music?

Proper ...

Table of contents

• Cover
• Title Page
• Contents
• A Few Thank-You
• The Collector
• Echoes
• Angel
• Afterword
• About the Authors
• Copyright and Performing Rights Information