A
play in one act
CHARACTERS
Sherry:
31, blue short-sleeved plain blouse over purple shorts, blue flip-flops, long
straight hair.
Amir:
33, grey-striped pajamas (both shirt and pants), barefoot, shirt collar
halfway turned-up, mussed hair, one-day’s worth of stubble.
TIME
The
present, late morning.
PLACE
Amir
and Sherry’s one-bedroom apartment in Tehran, Iran. Their kitchen is on the
right which opens to the living room at the center. The bathroom is a darkened
room in the far-left corner. The side of the bathroom facing the audience is
made of glass. The TV is on, mostly showing commercials and music clips on low
volume, except when noted in the play (the audience cannot see the screen).
There’s a large travel bag open on the floor next to a wooden coffee table,
near the TV.
(SHERRY is in the kitchen. She’s humming to
the music on the TV and every now and then takes a quick look at it. She’s
spreading oil on a medium-sized frying pan. She cracks eggs on the edge of the
pan and empties the shells, each time causing a sharp sizzle. A few pieces of
the eggshell find their way into the pan. SHERRY considers taking them
out and then ignores it. When she picks up the fourth egg, she hesitates before
breaking it.)
SHERRY
(Loud.)
How
many eggs—
(The sound of the toilet
flushing swallows Sherry’s high-pitched voice. She falls silent, shaking her
head. Then, she picks up a spoon and stirs the egg yolks and whites. AMIR
exits the bathroom and smiles victoriously in SHERRY’s direction. He
slams the door shut and waits for SHERRY to acknowledge him. She
doesn’t.)
AMIR
(Shouts.)
What
a brilliant suction this flush has!
(AMIR flaps his hands in the
air, in an attempt to dry them.)
SHERRY
You
don’t have to yell.
AMIR
Wanted
to make sure you heard me.
SHERRY
I’m
not yelling and you’re hearing me.
(AMIR
retracts a stool and sits on it. SHERRY places sausage pieces on eggs.
The sizzle resumes.)
SHERRY
(Waits for the sizzling to die
down.)
How
many eggs did you want?
AMIR
As
many as you see fit.
(SHERRY
removes an indigo bowl from the cabinet,
places it on the island and grates
cheese into it.)
SHERRY
I
wouldn’t know what’s going on in your belly.
AMIR
But
you do know it was just emptied.
(SHERRY wipes the sweat off her
brow.)
SHERRY
Gross! Can’t you see I’m cooking?
AMIR
Come
on! Don’t ruin your continental breakfast with that frown.
(AMIR approaches SHERRY
from behind and places his hands on her cheeks. SHERRY jumps in place.)
SHERRY
Don’t
touch me. Your hands are wet.
AMIR
(Surprised.)
It’s
just soap and water.
SHERRY
Whatever!
(Amir
looks around, finds a fork, punctures a piece of the omelet right from the
hot pan, and loads up his fork.)
AMIR
(Sniffs.)
I
love this smell. Reminds me of the food carts in Bangkok. Oh, how I miss
strolling down those tight and narrow alleys.
(SHERRY
collects the cheese curds haphazardly spread around the area. At first,
she’s uncertain what to do with them. Eventually, she empties them back into
the bowl.)
SHERRY
What
else was tight and narrow in Thailand?
AMIR
(Ignores her.)
Dammit!
I burned myself.
(SHERRY
twists the fork out of AMIR’s
hand and tosses it in the sink. It lands on a heap of unwashed dishes and makes
a loud clattering sound.)
SHERRY
Be
a good boy and go back to your seat. I’ll bring you your food when it’s ready.
(AMIR
swaggers back to his stool. He turns to the TV which is showing a commercial
about a tour to Malaysia and Singapore. SHERRY sprinkles cheese curds on the omelet.)
AMIR
I
wish we could go to Thailand together.
SHERRY
No
one invited me.
AMIR
You’re
aware of our financial straits. It was a business trip anyway.
(SHERRY
grabs two teacups and fills them with tea. Then, she carries them to the island.)
SHERRY
I
don’t really get it. What was the point of replacing our Iranian toilet with a
Western-style one? It cost us like two tickets to Thailand.
AMIR
Come
on, Western-style is awesome. You relax on the rim and leaf through your
magazine while doing it. What’s the point of squatting over a hole in that
awkward position?
SHERRY
I
don’t mind squatting. I love to squat. I long to squat—
AMIR
Now
you’re being ridiculous. These days, everywhere we go, we see Western-style
toilets. Don’t you envy other people’s toilets?
(SHERRY jerks back her head and
gazes him in awe. He laughs.)
Okay,
maybe you don’t.
SHERRY
If
there’s anything to envy, it’s their peaceful life, their warm relationsh—
AMIR
Warm
relationship? Seriously? Like Elnaz and Masoud?
SHERRY
You’re
always on the hunt for one of my friends to have a tiny squabble with her
husband to use it against me.
AMIR
A
tiny squabble?
SHERRY
Their
marriage has slipped into a temporary phase. It’ll correct itself.
AMIR
Temporary
phase? They’ve been married for four years and have been stuck in this
temporary phase for three and a half of those.
SHERRY
Stop
picking on my friend. I shouldn’t have told you about their fight. I’m sure
things’ll go back to normal once I return from my trip.
(AMIR notices the travel bag on
the floor. It’s covered by a couple of unfolded dresses and a long scarf. Next
to it lays a pair of light-yellow loafers.)
AMIR
Have you packed by the way?
SHERRY
As
you see, I’m not done. It’s just four days anyway.
AMIR
(Sighs.)
So
short. Going all the way to Isfahan for only three performances.
(SHERRY turns the stove nub,
cuts the omelet and extracts half on a plate and puts it down on the island in
front of AMIR.)
SHERRY
How
many Isfahanis are interested in watching a postmodern play?
AMIR
No,
I mean you could stay longer by yourself. Isfahan has lots to offer.
SHERRY
You
love it to be left alone with your films, don’t you?
AMIR
I
can’t watch films with you around?
SHERRY
Not
if Irene Jacob is in them, I suppose.
(AMIR ignores her. He puts a bit
of omelet on a piece of bread, salts it, and takes it to his mouth. Sherry
observes him.)
The
corners are a bit burned. I should have removed it from the heat earlier.
AMIR
Food
made with love is always a treat… Why don’t you try it yourself? Want me to
make you a wrap?
(Without
waiting for SHERRY’s response, AMIR cuts a slice of bread and
steps towards the pan on the stove. He’s about to fish some omelet with his
fork when his finger touches the hot edge of the pan. He quickly withdraws his
hand.)
SHERRY
Watch
out! It’s hot. Let me empty the rest onto the plate.
AMIR
That’s
okay.
(AMIR
continues to make her a wrap and puts it on her plate. SHERRY starts
to eat. For a while the only noise in the house is the music coming from the TV
that filters through the hum of the hood.)
SHERRY
(Swallows the last piece more
quickly)
You’re
obsessed with Irene Jacob, in a morbid way. The other day you told Elnaz how
she looked like her. And now you’re writing a critique about her.
AMIR
(chuckles while chewing)
I’m
not writing a critique about her. Next month is late Kieslowski’s seventieth
birthday. 24 Frames is running a tribute for him. Each critic is writing
a review on one of his movies. They assigned Red to me.
SHERRY
They
did or did you ask them to?
AMIR
I
can’t believe we’re actually having this conversation.
SHERRY
Why
not Blue?
AMIR
Then
you’d have said I fell in love with Binoche.
(SHERRY opens her mouth to say
something but decides against it.)
Eat
your omelet before it gets cold.
(SHERRY sinks her fork into her
food and reluctantly nibbles at it.)
SHERRY
(looks down at her plate.)
Even
in bed with me, you’re thinking about her.
AMIR
You
don’t even bother to ask; you just enlighten me about my bedroom fantasies.
SHERRY
I
know what I’m talking about.
AMIR
Now
you’ve run out of women around us and are targeting a poor French actress?
SHERRY
Does
it matter if she’s in France? You like traveling solo.
AMIR
So,
the only problem here is how to get myself to Paris? Irene Jacob is waiting for
me with a bouquet of roses at the arrival area?
SHERRY
The
problem is that you’re living with me, but your thoughts wander to France.
AMIR
Oh
God! God! I feel like I’m living in a Woody Allen flick.
SHERRY
It’s
not a film. It’s our lives.
AMIR
On
what fucking grounds do you make such an absurd accusation?
(SHERRY
is hesitant for a moment, then makes up her mind and exits the scene. AMIR
sips from his tea while watching her trail, now curious. SHERRY returns
with a bunch of A4 papers. She passes him one.)
SHERRY
Look
for yourself.
(AMIR peers over the paper. It’s
a page full of sentences and several scratching. AMIR shrugs, appearing
clueless about the point she’s trying to make.)
AMIR
What
about it?
SHERRY
Here.
(AMIR follows SHERRY’s finger that settles somewhere at
the bottom of the page.)
AMIR
This
is your evidence of betrayal?
SHERRY
First,
you wrote “innocent gaze of Irene Jacob”. Then, you scratched “innocent” and
wrote “ethereal.” Again, you changed that to “graceful.” and finally to
“exquisite.”
AMIR
Sherry!
In this thousand-word piece, there are over a hundred cross-outs. And you’re
bickering over this?
(SHERRY is still staring at the
words, shaking her head.)
SHERRY
(Softly.)
This
is different. You thought more about it.
AMIR
Turn
off the hood. I couldn’t hear you.
(SHERRY reaches over and turns
off the oven vent. She leans against the stove.)
SHERRY
This
is different. You deliberated.
AMIR
Were
you there when I was (draws imaginary quotes) “deliberating?”
SHERRY
You
crossed out “innocent” and above it wrote “ethereal”. And of all the scratches
on this page, you only crossed one word out three times. “Innocent” to
“ethereal” to “graceful” to “exquisite.” Three times!
AMIR
Are
you an actress or Sherlock Holmes? Another reason to type my shit from the
get-go.
SHERRY
You
didn’t answer me.
AMIR
You
could teach Medea. Seriously.
SHERRY
You’ve
said it before.
AMIR
Did
I? When?
SHERRY
(Wistfully,
savoring every word as a faint smile creeps into her mouth.)
Five
years ago, when you came to Roudaki Theater to write a review on our rendition
of Euripides’ Medea. After the show,
you snuck into the dressing room to tell me no one in the past twenty-five
centuries could act Medea’s insanity better than me.
AMIR
How
could I tell if you were better than some Greek actress twenty-five centuries
ago? I was just trying to get into your pants. I had no idea you’d be like this
in your personal life.
SHERRY
(wears a serious face again.)
But
you liked it, didn’t you?
AMIR
For
the stage, yes. Not here.
SHERRY
I
don’t have a good feeling Amir. What am I supposed to do? Something is wrong, I
don’t know what.
AMIR
The
wrong is that you’re going on a trip and you’re already missing me.
SHERRY
I’m
going crazy. I feel like we’re turning into two strangers under the same roof.
Because of my travels, maybe? Or because of the things you do—
AMIR
Things
I do? What did I do wrong? Well, other than this. (He lifts the paper and flaps
it) It’s my job to write. In fact, if it wasn’t for my writing we wouldn’t have
met. The way I praised you, no one has ever praised Brando.
SHERRY
Maybe
that’s why.
AMIR
Because
you don’t want me to name other women in my reviews? To admire them? I’m
supposed to only write about you?
(SHERRY is silent.)
No,
it’s not that Sherry. I’ve been writing for years and you’ve never complained.
SHERRY
Amir,
it’s not something to rationalize.
AMIR
I’m
a critic, that’s my language.
SHERRY
And
I’m an actress.
AMIR
To
hell with stereotypes. Tell me what you want? You want me to remove all the
references to Irene Jacob? Or, do you want me to write she was the film’s
Achilles heel?
SHERRY
My
problem with you is that you take every serious thing as a joke.
AMIR
And
you take jokes seriously.
SHERRY
Amir,
it’s not a joke. It’s not a joke.
AMIR
I
offered to change the text.
SHERRY
It’s
not about Irene Jacob.
AMIR
But
you started with her. Didn’t you say I told Elnaz she looked like her? Then,
didn’t you say I brought her name in my review? And then—
SHERRY
Amir,
let it go. I don’t know what’s wrong with me, okay?
AMIR
I
know what’s wrong with you. You’ve grown sensitive. Not only with me. With
everyone. Why don’t you go out with your friends anymore? Why do you prefer to
be alone? That’s why you look for an excuse to rummage through my work.
SHERRY
Nowadays,
no one can stand themselves, let alone see me. I’ve turned into a whiny woman.
Even Elnaz is drifting away. Well, she has her own issues.
AMIR
If
you know this why do you bring tension into our life over nothing?
SHERRY
It’s
not nothing. Something is wrong. Something is not in its right place.
AMIR
Okay.
Find it and then we can fix it together.
(AMIR
extends his hand and puts it on hers. Unsettled, SHERRY draws away.)
SHERRY
Don’t
touch me. Don’t touch me. Don’t touch me.
(She keeps repeating don’t-touch-me
until the consonants join together and turn into a hissing sound. She notices AMIR’s
surprised face. She licks her lips and swallows.)
Why
did you come to bed so late last night? You wanted me to fall asleep first?
AMIR
(Rolls his eyes.)
I
was working.
SHERRY
What
was so important?
(She glances at the papers on
the table and takes a deep breath)
Of
course. It was important.
(They look at each other,
frustrated, as if they both realize they’re stuck in a vicious circle. SHERRY
lifts the pan and throws the leftover into the garbage bin and drops the pan in
the sink and then turns the tap forcefully to rinse it.)
AMIR
Sherry.
Darling. Stop it. You have a flight tonight. You have a performance tomorrow.
And it’s not Medea. Stop acting out the part of Medea. Medea is done.
Medea is dead.
(SHERRY tries to interrupt him
with a chuckle, but he doesn’t let her. He gathers the papers and aligns them.)
I
have to type the final version. And you should take a break and go for a
stroll. The weather is nice today. Pick up Elnaz on your way perhaps.
SHERRY
(Slides
the cheese grater under the running water)
Elnaz’
back pain has returned. This time it’s more severe than ever. Her doctor has
advised her to stay home. It’s so serious he forbade her from using
Iranian-style toilets which is why they—
(SHERRY freezes mid-sentence.
She balances her gaze on AMIR who is leaning on the counter, holding the
papers with one hand. He’s silent, as if observing her next move. SHERRY
tries to say something but only gasps. AMIR takes one step and shuts the
running tap. When AMIR makes sure of SHERRY’s indecision, he
approaches and grasps her arms.)
AMIR
Sherry!
Darling!
(SHERRY pushes AMIR with
all her might.)
SHERRY
(Screams.)
I
SAID, DON’T TOUCH ME.
(AMIR jumps back and puts a hand
on the stove to keep his balance. The stove surface is still hot and pushes him
further back. TV broadcasts news on the recent wildfire in Canada. AMIR
picks up a pen on the coffee table and draws a line on the paper.)
AMIR
There
you go! Irene Jacob is gone. Ceases to exist. Stop it now.
SHERRY
(still nonplused. Almost moaning)
Elnaz?
Elnaz?
(AMIR drops the pen and raises
his hands. SHERRY begins to cough, incessantly to fight off nausea. She
presses her chest and retches a few times. Her mouth and eyes are wide open.
She takes two steps back, her eyes still on AMIR. Without looking back
her hand searches for something to lean on. AMIR gestures as if he’ll
move towards her, but she waves her hand to stop him. She can’t take it any
longer and dashes to the bathroom. The bathroom lights turn on to reveal its
interior through the glass. SHERRY kneels in front of the Western-style
toilet, hugs it and throws up. AMIR is motionless, standing in the
kitchen and hearing her gag. He turns on the oven vent hood to muffle SHERRY’s
disturbing retches. The hood whirl is too loud now, unusually so. Curtain
drops.)
The End
Mehdi M. Kashani lives and writes in Toronto, Canada. His fiction and nonfiction can be found in Passages North, The Rumpus, Catapult, The Malahat Review, Wigleaf, The Walrus, Bellevue Literary Review, Four Way Review, The Minnesota Review, Emrys Journal (for which he won 2019 Sue Lile Inman Fiction Award), The Fiddlehead among others. He has work forthcoming in Epiphany. To learn more about him, visit his website: http://www.mehdimkashani.com