Терри Биссон - The Left Left Behind

I think she means photographs, Paul.

There’s one on the wall upstairs. My God, Mr. Robeson! (pumping his hand with both of hers) Grandpa never met you but he talked about you all the time. You were his hero. (to her friends) This is so cool! It’s like, mystical!

No, no, my child. It’s just a quantum singularity. As I explained…

HOOVER, still unnoticed, sits sulking. DOUG stands behind him and points down at his head.

This other one here’s apparently some kind of cop.

Of course! J. Edgar Hoover? (to EINSTEIN) But I don’t get it. Where the hell did he come from?

Young lady, you don’t want to know.

Well, whatever. (to ROBESON and EINSTEIN) But we’re being so rude. Please excuse us, we’re planning for a big demonstration today. (points to the table) Can we get you something?

Don’t let us interfere with your righteous work. (wipes his brow) But a beer would be nice.

We have microbrews!

A white wine would be nice. (politely turns to HOOVER) And for our friend here—

Friend! (petulantly straightens his skirt) Hardly. But I guess I could do with a martini.

Uh—a martini? Uh…

I’ll have a fruit juice, then.

ANNIE, the good hostess, starts for the drink table, then stops and looks back at HOOVER with distaste.

It’s organic. Is that OK?

LIGHTS UP on SAME SCENE, a little later. EINSTEIN is lighting his pipe. CLAIRE looks on, shocked, but doesn’t say anything. HOOVER sniffs his juice suspiciously. ROBESON takes a drink of beer and frowns; examines the bottle.

What is this stuff? Home brew?

Microbrew. We have lots of little breweries, each with its own distinctive flavor.

We had better stuff during prohibition, son.

Paul, please. The wine is very good. You say it’s from California? Astonishing.

You are easily astonished.

An important quality for a scientist. Especially a theoretical scientist. So tell us, what’s this protest about?

Lots of stuff. Invasions of other countries, the Patriot Act. The government is spying on people, arresting them without warrants, trampling on freedom of speech.

What else is new? That’s what government does, my dear. This one, anyway.

It’s not supposed to. But since 9-11 they’ve gone ballistic.

9-11? What’s this 9-11? A new law?

Terrorism. Islamic fundamentalists flew airliners into skyscrapers in New York, killing 3,000 people.

The only fundamentalists we had to worry about were the Christians.

Oh dear. And why?

They hate us. Because we support Israel.

We don’t support Israel. The government supports Israel.

But don’t we all support Israel?

You’re a Zionist? (hands him a newspaper) You support this?

Israeli tanks? These are Israeli soldiers? Oh dear. They look like—storm troopers.

They are storm troopers. That tank is knocking down a Palestinian home.

Collective punishment. Ethnic cleansing.

This is ghastly. Israeli storm troopers. I was afraid of this. You know, Paul, they once wanted me to be president of Israel.

I know.

I almost wish I had never come back to see this. Jews occupying another’s land. The racist attitudes toward the Arab inhabitants always troubled me…

The Palestinians.

The Palestinians. We Jews were once Palestinians, you know. But then this idea, of casting the Arabs out of the land, of making a religious state… It was not right.

Apartheid. Like South Africa.

There is no more Apartheid. South Africa is free. Black ruled.

There’s an advance! So Africa is coming together at last.

Well, not exactly.

He hands ROBESON a newspaper.

Africa too! (shakes his head) What kind of world have we left you kids?

Africa. What do you expect from naked savages?

Watch your tongue old man. Or—

Or you’ll what? Your threats mean nothing to me.

Nor yours to me. Never did!

Gentlemen, please! We’re dead, remember? Let bygones be bygones.

You never went to Africa anyway. You only talked about it.

It’s true. I always liked my creature comforts. But how could I go? You took away my passport.

That was the State Department.

Bullshit! You were behind every act of repression: you, with your thin smirk.

You could have left any time. (sarcastic) You were the great international Negro.

I could have left. But never returned to the US.

What did you care? You always hated America.

I loved America. I just wanted it to live up to its dream. And my people are as much American as yours are. More so. We built this country with our unpaid labor.

Hear that, kids? That’s commie talk. Straight from the horse’s mouth

Gentlemen! J. Edgar, you’re not drinking your juice.

It tastes funny.

Since when don’t you like funny?

Young man, perhaps you could bring our companion here a white wine, like mine. It’s very nice on a summer day. California, you say?

HOOVER is handed the wine. He tastes it approvingly, and pours the fruit juice onto the ground. Then he opens his purse and pulls out a cigar.

Uh—excuse me! You can’t smoke here.

HOOVER ignores her and lights up. Points to EINSTEIN with his cigar.

He’s smoking.

That’s different; it’s a pipe. It smells good.

Tell it to Winston Churchill, kid. Or FDR. Besides— (points to two activists on the steps sharing a joint) They’re smoking too.