by Ayad Akhtar
Beat.
Afzal’s phone sounds with a text.
Another beat.
Afzal returns, a cup of coffee in hand.
AFZAL (CONT’D): Dark roast.
ELI: What do I owe you?
AFZAL: On me. Actually, on the house. They recognized me from television…
ELI: Wait… you’re…
AFZAL: Always there for you.
ELI: The taxi company.
AFZAL: Zama Yellow Cab.
ELI: Right. Zama.
AFZAL: Named after my two girls. Za-rina, Ma-hwish. Zama.
ELI: 444-ZAMA?
AFZAL: Do you have any idea how many hundreds of thousands of dollars it’s taken to have that jingle printed on your brain?
ELI: Probably don’t want to know, do I?
AFZAL: Why not?
ELI (Pointing at Afzal’s phone): You got a text…
Afzal picks up his phone. Checks.
Grunting to himself. Displeased.
AFZAL: Busy. Busy doing what, for God’s sake? Busy ignoring your father.
ELI: Is that Zarina?
AFZAL (Dismissive): No. The other one.
(Putting the phone down)
So—tell me about yourself, Eli.
ELI: So is she not coming?
AFZAL: No.
ELI: Um—you know, sir… I—uh—thanks for the coffee. I understand that you would want to know more about your daughter’s potential romantic interest, but… I’ve never gone on a date with someone’s father before.
AFZAL: Look. I told you. We’re a conservative family. Humor me. Good news is: I like you already. Dignified. Restrained. Intelligent.
ELI: You can tell all that?
AFZAL: A man of my instincts, son. I’ve gone from driving a cab to owning thirty percent of the taxis in our great city. I know a winner when I see one.
C’mon.
(Beat)
So, you run a mosque in Cobb County.
ELI: How did you know?
Beat.
AFZAL: She told me.
ELI: What else did she tell you?
AFZAL: That you were a convert.
ELI: When I was twenty-three.
AFZAL: Mashallah. How did it happen?
ELI: Kind of a long story, sir…
AFZAL: You’re my only appointment this afternoon.
Beat.
ELI: I grew up in Detroit, in the inner city. I’ve been around Islam as long as I can remember. First time I ever went to a mosque, I was in high school. I’d never experienced anything like it—
AFZAL: Subhanallah.
ELI: The sense of community. The call to prayer. Watching folks praying? It just—it opened me up. I wanted to be a part of that.
AFZAL: Mashallah. Being born into our faith is a great blessing. But even greater to find your way to it.
ELI: I don’t think of it that way, sir. God’s mercy belongs to everyone.
Afzal grunts.
AFZAL: So, what’s this about a soup kitchen?
Beat.
ELI: Well, a lot of our folks eat pretty much one meal a day, and it’s at our masjid. It’s a pretty run-down part of town. We do a lot of home improvement. I’m a licensed plumber, actually.
AFZAL: Fix their houses. Then convert them. Good business plan.
ELI: Our outreach is more about serving others than bringing people to the faith.
AFZAL: You’re a do-gooder!—
ELI: Well…
AFZAL:—Only good thing I did in my life, young man, is my two girls. They are the sum achievement of an otherwise cosmically useless existence. Useless. Shuttling people back and forth. Half the time because they’re too drunk to drive. Look. Don’t get me wrong. Gotta put food on the table. Have to take care of my angels.
(Beat)
How much money do you make?
ELI: Excuse me?
AFZAL: You’re not deaf, are you?
ELI: No, I’m not, sir.
AFZAL: So how much money do you make?
ELI: It’s just…
AFZAL: What?
ELI: It’s a personal question.
AFZAL: I’m assuming you have matrimonial intentions…
ELI: Matrimonial—
AFZAL: You listed “interested in marriage” on your online profile.
ELI: Look. I think your daughter is amazing…
AFZAL: You think my daughter is amazing? How would you know? From a profile? Pictures? Smiley faces?
ELI: Well, I’ve met her, actually.
AFZAL: You met her? Where? When?
ELI: About a year ago. At a talk at Georgia Tech. An event. With Ayaan Hirsi Ali.
AFZAL: That black woman?
ELI: Uh, yes, sir. She’s black. She’s from Somalia.
AFZAL: The one who thinks all Muslims should become Christian?
ELI: That’s not exactly what she thinks—
AFZAL: Why would you go to that?!
ELI: I don’t agree with everything she says—
AFZAL: She wants us to go running around confused, like Christians!
ELI: Confused?
AFZAL: Young man, Jesus Christ was a very good man, very important, we know that—Quran is very clear about that—but he was not the son of God.
ELI: Right.
AFZAL: What did Zarina think about this… event?
ELI: I’m not sure. We didn’t speak about it that much. We ended up sitting next to each other. She seemed pretty engaged to me—
AFZAL (Suddenly): Listen to me, young man. My daughter is a good Muslim. She has fifteen biographies of the Prophet Muhammad, peace be upon him. Fifteen! All lined up in her bedroom.
ELI: I don’t doubt it, sir.
Afzal grunts.
AFZAL: So you spoke to her… then what?
ELI: That was it.
AFZAL: No telephone number? No text messaging?
ELI: I didn’t get a chance to ask her…
But then, lo and behold, I saw her online…
AFZAL (Sarcastic): A year later.
ELI: Yeah.
Beat.
AFZAL: You didn’t say anything about this to me, Eli.
ELI: Say anything to you?
AFZAL (Catching his own slip): To her. I mean, she didn’t say anything to me about—
ELI (Realizing something is amiss): Well… I wasn’t exactly sure if it was her.
AFZAL: I don’t know.
ELI: I figured I’d mention it when I saw her…
Beat. As Eli continues to sort through his confusion.
AFZAL: I liked you, Eli. I really did.
Beat.
ELI: Wait, are you leaving?
AFZAL (Suddenly): Are you a pervert?
ELI: Excuse me?
AFZAL: I’m not going to find some wall in your bedroom covered with pictures of my daughter on it.
ELI: Whoa. Of course not.
AFZAL (Over): Because if it’s there, I will find it. I will.
ELI: I don’t doubt that, sir.
Beat.
AFZAL: How much money do you make?
Act One: Scene Three
At home.
Zarina and Afzal. Arguing.
ZARINA: You did what?
AFZAL: It’s not that big a deal, behti.
ZARINA: How many times have you done this?
AFZAL: Twice.
(Beat)
Okay… more than twice.
ZARINA: How many times?
AFZAL: I’ve been doing it a couple of months.
ZARINA: How many guys have you met?
AFZAL: Five.
ZARINA: For the love of God!
AFZAL: Now wait a second. Just hear me out—
ZARINA (Underneath): I don’t believe this.
AFZAL:—He’s a good man. He’s intelligent. He’s someone who can understand you.
ZARINA: Do you have any idea how inappropriate this is?
AFZAL: A year from now, if you’re married to him, you’ll look back on this—
&nbs
p; ZARINA: If we’re married? Dad. What are you talking about? Are you insane?
AFZAL: Just meet him.
ZARINA: No.
AFZAL: Please.
ZARINA: I am not having this discussion with you.
AFZAL: Zarina, behti. Listen to me. I met seven other young men—
ZARINA: So it was seven?
AFZAL:—all of them good-looking chaps, well employed, perfect son-in-laws…
ZARINA: Unbelievable.
AFZAL: I didn’t come to you—
ZARINA: You opened an account in my name.
AFZAL: I didn’t even try. Why not?
ZARINA (Continuing): You posted pictures. You wrote messages pretending to be me.
AFZAL:—Because I knew. They were not right. You could not be happy with any of them. None of them would ever understand you. This one’s different.
ZARINA: You’re a piece of work!
AFZAL: You should be impressed I pulled it off.
ZARINA: Dad!
AFZAL: Behti, meet him.
ZARINA: No!
Pause.
AFZAL: He says he knows you.
ZARINA: What?
AFZAL: He says he met you before. At a talk at Georgia Tech. That black woman.
ZARINA: Ayaan Hirsi Ali.
AFZAL: Who should be shot, by the way.
ZARINA: Stop it, Dad.
AFZAL: What do you see in her?
ZARINA: We’re not getting into this.
AFZAL: You know she thinks Muslims should all convert to Christianity?
ZARINA: Well, I see her point.
AFZAL (Stunned): What point?
ZARINA: She’s just saying Christianity has been around longer than we have. It’s had more time to work out some of the kinks.
AFZAL (Snickering): Believing God can have a son is a sign of working out kinks?
ZARINA: I’m not talking about this with you—
AFZAL: You know what the Prophet said—
ZARINA: I know what the Prophet said—
AFZAL: Then why are you defending them?
ZARINA: Who?
AFZAL: Christians?
ZARINA: I’m not.
AFZAL (Sarcastic): Son of God. As if God could have a son.
ZARINA: Well, if he’s God he can do anything, right?
AFZAL: This is God we’re talking about. Not some guest on David Letterman.
ZARINA: So… random.
(Beat)
So this guy you met… He said he knew me from the Hirsi Ali talk?
AFZAL: He says you had a nice conversation.
ZARINA (Thinking): He’s not white, is he?
AFZAL: Yes.
ZARINA: Glasses?
AFZAL: That’s right.
ZARINA: What was his name again?
AFZAL: Eli.
ZARINA: Right. Eli.
(Beat)
He’s a convert—
AFZAL: Quite a tale. You know he runs a soup kitchen and a masjid on the Northside?
ZARINA: I remember now.
AFZAL: Making people’s lives better. He said he wanted to ask for your number, but he was too nervous. He was too impressed by you.
ZARINA: And what? He just saw me online?
AFZAL: Muslimlove.com. Your profile is amazing, behti. Your old father is not such a fool after all.
ZARINA: I never said you were a fool.
AFZAL: You don’t go from driving a cab—
ZARINA (Coming in, mimicking): To owning thirty percent of the taxis in Atlanta.
AFZAL: Don’t make fun of me.
ZARINA: I’m not.
AFZAL: You are.
(Beat)
All I care about is the two of you. Your happiness. Why do you think I’ve busted my butt out there for thirty-five years? To make sure the three of you were taken care of. There’s only two of you left. After that goddamn cancer took your mother.
ZARINA (Off Afzal’s sudden emotion): Dad, don’t.
AFZAL: The point is, at least you and your sister are taken care of. You and your future families. Many times over—
ZARINA: I know, Dad.
AFZAL: You wouldn’t have the freedom to be writing a book—
ZARINA: Dad. I know.
AFZAL:—and I encouraged it. When you got into Harvard, it was the proudest moment of my life. You wanted to study literature, philosophy? I encouraged it. You wanted to get an MFA in creative writing?
ZARINA: I know, I know…
AFZAL: You were the one who made me see that it’s important we don’t all become doctors and lawyers and whatnot. We need our own kind thinking about the bigger questions. But it takes money. Money, money, money. And it has to come from somewhere.
ZARINA: I know!
Beat.
AFZAL: You’re not happy. You think I don’t see that?
ZARINA: If I’m not happy it’s because I haven’t been able to write for months.
Pause.
AFZAL: Zarina. I’m sorry. I should not have stopped you and Ryan.
Forgive me.
ZARINA: I have.
AFZAL: No you haven’t.
Pause.
ZARINA: I didn’t have to listen to you.
AFZAL: That you did says something about who you are.
ZARINA: I don’t know that I like what it says.
AFZAL: I do.
Beat.
ZARINA: The kids were not going to be brought up Christian, Dad.
AFZAL: I know.
ZARINA: He’d agreed.
AFZAL: I know, behti.
Pause.
ZARINA (Emotional): I’m not sure I know what love is anymore, Dad.
Another pause.
AFZAL: Zarina…
Your mother, bless her soul—she was a saint…—I met that woman and the first thing I thought was, I don’t like her. I just don’t like her voice. I don’t like her nose. I don’t like her. But that didn’t matter. My father told me, That’s your wife, that’s the woman you’ll marry, and there it was.
ZARINA: What was wrong with her nose?
AFZAL: Nothing, behti. Nothing.
ZARINA: I have her nose.
AFZAL: I was an idiot.
You know what? I fell in love with that nose! It turned out to be the perfect shape.
My nose against her nose? A classic! And her voice?
That was the voice of my soul.
I grew to love it more than Mehdi Hassan’s.
ZARINA (Sarcastic): I’m sure Mom would be happy to hear that. “I loved you more than a has-been crooner…”
AFZAL: Mehdi Hassan was the bloody Frank Sinatra of Pakistan. He was not a has-been crooner…—I was too soft on you, Zarina.
ZARINA: Here we go.
AFZAL: You should have more respect for your old father—
ZARINA: Dad. I was kidding—
AFZAL: Here I am trying to tell you something important—
ZARINA: Okay, Dad.
AFZAL (Continuing): I’m trying to tell you what happened to me. Your mother was a gift, but I didn’t see it. For three years I didn’t see it!
Can you imagine that? Who would think you could wait three years in a marriage before finding love? Hmm? In this country? I fell in love. I am so in love. Here, when things start between two people, the water is already boiling. All it can do is cool off. Like your mother used to say, in the East, we start with a cold kettle, so it has room to heat up over the years.
(Beat)
You’re old enough to know, behti—we lacked for nothing in the bedroom.
ZARINA: Dad.
AFZAL: It was not an instant chemistry… but when we found our rhythm, we found our rhythm.
ZARINA: Dad.
AFZAL: Your mother was an adventurous woman.
ZARINA: I don’t need to…
AFZAL: I lacked for nothing.
ZARINA: I got it.
(Beat)
Why are you telling me this?
AFZAL: Context, Zarina. Context. I want you to understand
the context of my choices.
If I made a mistake with you and Ryan it was because I had a different experience of love. My marriage was arranged. And it took time. Time. It was the only path to love I trusted.
(Beat)
Stop punishing yourself. Move on.
(Beat)
Meet the boy. Just meet him. If for no other reason, just to say to yourself: I. Am. Moving. On.
(Beat)
Meet him for your poor old father.
ZARINA: You’re not poor. And you’re not old.
AFZAL: For your lying and manipulative father.
Who only loves you. And who would gladly give his heart and his life for you to be happy.
Zarina considers him. Beat.
Act One: Scene Four
A restaurant.
Zarina and Eli. Talking.
ELI: So I grew up in a pretty committed house. Not religious denominationally… but committed, to changing things. Making people’s lives better. I feel like they were getting away from their own pasts. My mom was a blue blood WASP from New England. She married a man from a Southern evangelical family. He was brought up that way, but he was an atheist. My dad, I mean.
ZARINA: I got that.
ELI: Obviously, sorry…
(Beat)
Anyway, Marx was the real prophet in our house.
I suppose the whole Freudian thing would be… I had to find a faith to piss my folks off and define myself and whatnot.
ZARINA: That’s not really the whole Freudian thing.
ELI: It isn’t?
ZARINA: The Freudian thing would be more like: If your mother secretly harbored devotional tendencies and hid them from your father, who, as the Marxist, would have thought religion was for fools…
ELI: Which he did.
ZARINA (Continuing): And if, say, you and your mother bonded over talk about religion because that was what she could never discuss with your father, her husband—
ELI: Right…
ZARINA:—If that were the case… then your choice of a religious life would be a challenge to your father’s authority, while bringing you closer to your mother in a secret way he could never compete with.
ELI: Huh…
ZARINA: In essence, you would have found a way—metaphorically speaking—to have married your mother and killed your father. Without, of course, realizing that you did it. Just like Oedipus.
ELI: That’s pretty much it.
ZARINA: Freud’s underrated. You were saying?
ELI: What was I saying?
ZARINA: The inner city. Marx.
ELI: Right. So my dad was into black culture. He loved jazz. We had a portrait of John Coltrane up in our dining room. His whole life was about bettering the plight of the black man, as he called it. And when I say he took it seriously? Where we lived there wasn’t a single white family. All my friends growing up were black. They looked out for me, but I was still the white kid. I guess it’s not surprising I’ve always felt like an outsider. Tupac and Public Enemy.
