New Play Project: AT HOME AND ABROAD

AT HOME AND ABROAD

(MARTINSON’s non-descript office in Washington, D.C. (well, Foggy Bottom, to be precise). MARTINSON is white, serious-looking, conservatively dressed. His desk is covered with neat piles of paper. He has a file in front of him. There’s a knock on his door.)

MARTINSON:
Come.

(TERRY enters. He is black, early thirties, wearing a simple suit and tie.)

TERRY:
Is this office 304? There’s no sign. I was sent a message. Told to come here.

MARTINSON:
(indicates the chair in front of his desk, not unkindly, but not warmly)
Sit.

TERRY:
(as he sits)
Is this / Room 304?

MARTINSON:
Do you love your country, son?

(TERRY freezes, mid-sit.)

TERRY:
Is this Room 304?

MARTINSON:
Do you love your country?

TERRY:
Yes?

MARTINSON:
You sound unsure of that.

TERRY:
Of course I do. I work for the / State Department.

MARTINSON:
I’m aware of where you work.

TERRY:
Don’t you…work here, too?

(Slight beat. MARTINSON consults his file.)

MARTINSON:
Winston. Terrence M.

TERRY:
Yes?

MARTINSON:
D.C. native. Technically.

TERRY:
Well. I moved here from New York when I was about one. What’s this about, sir?

MARTINSON:
Columbia, double B.A. in poli sci and American history. Master’s from Harvard Kennedy, Public Policy. Second Master’s, Georgetown. What? Got tired of the Ivies?
(TERRY opens his mouth to say something, but isn’t sure what he can say at this point. MARTINSON barrels on.)
Joined State, public relations department. Writing press releases and blog posts. Three years now. Still in the PR department. A little overqualified, aren’t you?

TERRY:
I…just wanted to help out. Wherever I could.

MARTINSON:
I see. Can’t pass a background check. Why would that be?

TERRY:
Is there some kind of problem? If something’s come up, something wrong with my work, with my…I can answer any question you have. Anything at all.

MARTINSON:
Okay. Tell me about your father.

(A beat.)

TERRY:
Do I have to answer that question?
(MARTINSON says nothing in a way that says, “Yes. You do.”)
I didn’t know him. Ever. He died before I was born. My mother moved me here as soon as she could because she had family here.

MARTINSON:
Was his name Winston?

TERRY:
…No. It’s my stepfather’s name.

MARTINSON:
What was his name? Your father’s name.

TERRY:
…Makimba. His last name was Makimba.

MARTISON:
Which is your middle name.

TERRY:
Yes.

MARTINSON:
It’s an African name, yes?

TERRY:
Yes.

MARTINSON:
The same last name, interestingly, of William Ade Makimba.

(Behind them, MAKIMBA appears. He is in his fifties, regal, dressed in military garb, fierce and powerful. He stands proudly.)

TERRY:
Yes.

MARTINSON:
Ever thought you might be related? You two?

TERRY:
…Yes.

MARTINSON:
I thought so, too. So I checked. You are. He’s your uncle. The dictator of Okundi. The butcher of Amas Bay. One of America’s sworn enemies. Your uncle.

TERRY:
I’ve never met him. I’ve never talked to him. Jesus Christ, I’ve never set foot in Africa. In any part of Africa. My dad died and my mother cut off all ties.

MARTINSON:
Yes. Your father died. In a car accident. You were told.

TERRY:
Oh, Jesus.

MARTINSON:
It was a car accident. Don’t worry. His car crashed. When your uncle’s operatives ran it off the road.

TERRY:
Look…I don’t even know your name.

MARTINSON:
Call me Martinson.

TERRY:
Mr. Martinson. My mother was an American citizen. I’m an American citizen.

MARTINSON:
Your unborn child will be an American citizen.

(LAURA, white, 7 months pregnant, appears.)

TERRY:
Yes. You wanted to know if I love my country. I do. Absolutely. In every possible way. And, yes, I joined the State Department because I wanted to help. And you’re right. I knew about this thing with my uncle, so I set my sights low and didn’t want anyone poking around. The man is…a terror on earth. I don’t want to be associated with him.

MARTINSON:
And yet, you are.

TERRY:
Only in name. In blood. Do not fire me because of this. I should have disclosed it, I know. But…I don’t know the man.

MARTINSON:
I’m not here to fire you. I couldn’t, even if I wanted to. I don’t work for the State Department.

TERRY:
…What?

MARTINSON:
What do you know about the Right Honorable General Makimba?

TERRY:
Not much. To be honest. He’s not a very nice man. Or a good leader.

MARTINSON:
That’s not…strictly true. On either point.

(MAKIMBA steps forward. The sound of a crowd swells up. He gestures for quiet. They respond. He speaks with a rich, sonorous voice, with more than a hint of English education to it.)

MAKIMBA:
My people! We have come so far! So far from the dark days of colonial oppression, foreign interference and abuse, corporate raiding and guerilla attacks. A new day is dawning in our country, a new era. And we must face it with courage, conviction and a belief in justice, justice made manifest. The old ways, the too few with too much, the too many with too little, this must end. And it will. Once we have forgotten the old ways, burned them out of our memory with passion and clarity, then we can turn our face towards a new sun, a new world, a new Okundi!

(The crowd cheers. MAKIMBA holds his hands up in triumph. Freeze.)

TERRY:
I don’t really watch the news or anything.

MARTINSON:
You do press releases for the State Department.

TERRY:
We kind of make the news. I just type it up, really. It gets exhausting, following all of it. Laura, my…partner. She’s better about it. She needs to be.

(LAURA is addressing her students. A map of Africa appears. She points to it vaguely.)

LAURA:
Did you know that once upon a time, they called Africa the Dark Continent? They did. It wasn’t a very nice thing to call it, was it? No, Jordan, it wasn’t because everyone this is black. Well, not just because. You see, it’s very, very big and there are lots of kinds of people there. It was a place of mystery and secrets. Adventure. But…that was a long time ago. Things are different there now. And right now, it’s very, very poor. For a lot of reasons, Dylan. No, we can’t go into all of them today. We’re going to start with one country. Okundi.

(She points at one country. Freeze.)

MARTINSON:
Maybe I should be talking to her.

TERRY:
Maybe.

MARTINSON:
But. I’m talking to you. What do you know about Okundi?

TERRY:
Not a lot.

MARTINSON:
Do you know they just had elections there? Free elections. First time in a couple of decades.

TERRY:
That…sounds good.

MARTINSON:
Is it?

TERRY:
…Yes?

MARTINSON:
Only if the right guy wins. Then it’s good. My job is to make sure the right guy wins.

TERRY:
Can I just say…that doesn’t sound very democratic.
(MARTINSON looks at TERRY steadily.)
Aren’t we in the democracy business?

MARTINSON:
You were. When you worked at the State Department.

TERRY:
I work at the State Department.

MARTINSON:
No. You don’t.

TERRY:
I…didn’t sign up for this. I’m sorry. I work at the State Department. I like working at the State Department.

MARTINSON:
I’m sure you did.

TERRY:
You’re not listening to me, Martinson. If that’s your name. I don’t even know what you want from me.

MARTINSON:
No, you don’t. You haven’t even waited to hear what I have to say. You haven’t heard what I want from you. You don’t know. Don’t jump to conclusions.

TERRY:
…Okay.

MARTINSON:
We are. In the democracy business. We make democracy happen. Sometimes it needs a little help. Okundi hasn’t had an election in three decades. Makimba is…

(MAKIMBA speaks again.)

MAKIMBA:
And I tell you this, my people: I lead us out of the dark days of colonialism and internal strife. I lead us out of chaos. And I promise you, I promise all of you, that I will lead us into the future!

MARTINSON:
Complicated. The U.N. wants the elections monitored. We’re good at that.

TERRY:
Monitoring elections?

MARTINSON:
Democracy. With help. With your help. Your country is asking for your help.

TERRY:
My help?

MARTINSON:
We have a man on the ground there, in Okundi. But…he’s…compromised. We need some…

TERRY:
Local flavor?

MARTINSON:
That’s cute. But yes. A face that they can trust. A face that they can understand.

TERRY:
You want me to go there, to Okundi and…

MARTINSON:
Observe. Report. Monitor.

TERRY:
That’s all?

MARTINSON:
That’s all. Listen. Terry. Come on. I’m not asking you for a lot here. You take a trip. A couple of weeks, tops. A tropic country. Get away from D.C. for a while. And while you’re there…

TERRY:
Throw an election.

MARTINSON:
No one asked you to do that.

TERRY:
Yet.

MARTINSON:
Think about the upside.

TERRY:
The upside?

MARTINSON:
For you. For your country. For your brother.

TERRY:
Leave him out of this.

MARTINSON:
He’s going to need your help. Isn’t he?

(CUBBY appears. He’s in a prison jumpsuit, talking on a payphone.)

CUBBY:
I know you check this voicemail, bro. Sooner or later, you gotta get these messages. And sooner or later, you gonna have to talk to me. We got shit to settle. You know that. You can’t hide from me. You can’t hide from blood. I’m not going to be in here much longer. When I get out, we gonna have to talk.

(Freeze.)

MARTINSON:
You’re going to need help.

TERRY:
I can’t help you. I won’t.

(A beat.)

MARTINSON:
You were right.

TERRY:
Right?

MARTINSON:
To think you wouldn’t pass a background check. You wouldn’t. You didn’t.

TERRY:
What background check?

MARTINSON:
The one I ordered. This one. Ties to a foreign government. A convict brother. That doesn’t sound like the kind of person we want with access to sensitive documents.

TERRY:
I write press releases.

MARTINSON:
You make the news. You just said so. Maybe you’ve done some unauthorized editing. Changed the news a little bit. I’m sure if we look at every single scrap of paper you’ve ever touched, talked to all of your colleagues, friends, neighbors, asked enough people enough questions, we can find something. In about a year. Maybe two.

TERRY:
You don’t have to threaten me.

MARTINSON:
I didn’t want to. Your country loves you, Terry. Your country needs you. So. Again. I ask. Do you love your country?

(MAKIMBA, LAURA and CUBBY all turn and look at TERRY.

Shift. TERRY and LAURA in their bedroom. He’s packing.)

TERRY:
A couple of weeks. Tops. Maybe less.

LAURA:
A couple of weeks.

TERRY:
I’ll be doing…good. Giving back.

LAURA:
To who? Who are you giving back to?

TERRY:
I don’t know. Africa. My people.

LAURA:
People you don’t know. People you’ve never met. People you have no connection to.

TERRY:
Just because I didn’t know my father…

LAURA:
And have never been there.

TERRY:
You’ve never been to Ireland. And yet, I remember a girl who really loved her green beer on St. Patty’s Day.

LAURA:
Yeah, but I didn’t pick up a gun to go shoot some Beefeaters, either.

TERRY:
No one’s shooting anyone.

LAURA:
It’s a war-torn country. That’s how they describe it. War-torn. Torn apart by war.

TERRY:
Laura…

LAURA:
You know nothing about the country, nothing about the people, nothing at all.

TERRY:
Thanks for reminding me. Maybe that’s what I’m trying to change.

LAURA:
Read a book. Don’t get on a plane.

TERRY:
Honey. I have to go. My country is asking me. It’ll be a couple of weeks. I’ll be on the phone with you the whole time. You can take the phone to the birthing class. I’ll bring you back something for your class.
(LAURA is still sulking.)
There’s nothing you can say, anyway. I have to go.

(LAURA gets out of bed.)

LAURA:
I have to grade homework.

TERRY:
This isn’t my fault. I didn’t ask for this. I tried to get out of it.

LAURA:
But you didn’t.

(She goes. TERRY sits, holds his head in his hands.

Shift.

TERRY is on the plane.)