Sarajevo, from The War Zone Is My Bed

Characters: DAHLIA: Thirties writer. Native of Sarajevo PETER: Forties American journalist

Setting: Sarajevo *The same set as Part One: a dark, sparse, bombed apartment bedroom.

Time: Winter 1994

Sarajevo

(PETER is sitting up at the foot of the bed, with the only light directed on him, as DAHLIA is asleep.)

PETER You’re a walking x-ray. That’s how I see you. Though you don’t know it. You think you’re controlled. You think it’s reserve, but it’s there: every thought, every emotion, every tear, every regret, every disappointment . . . in yourself . . . others . . . me, especially me. You stand on a higher moral ground, and you look down on us, me. You show . . . everything. You give . . . everything. You risk . . . everything, for what? Honesty? Directness? Brutal honesty? The final word? What if I’m not here to listen? What if no one’s left to listen? You’re supposed to reveal everything. So where’s your joy?

(LIGHTS UP. DAHLIA awakens.)

PETER Where’s your joy?

DAHLIA Why do you ask?

PETER Because I can’t see it.

DAHLIA Should you? Is your curiosity about me? Or rather me with you? Are you asking if I were satisfied by you? Couldn’t you have asked me that?

PETER It was just a question.

DAHLIA A silly one.

PETER I didn’t think so. Until you made it more than it was intended.

DAHLIA You don’t like my thinking?

PETER It’s your head. You’re too much in it.

DAHLIA Where else should I be? In yours?

PETER You’re already in mine.

DAHLIA You let me in.

PETER My mistake. (Pause) Don’t do that?

DAHLIA What?

PETER Look at me like that.

DAHLIA Like what?

PETER Right through me.

DAHLIA Is that what I’m doing?

PETER What you always do.

DAHLIA Is there something you don’t want me to see?

PETER Too late.

DAHLIA What time is it?

PETER Soon.

DAHLIA That’s not why I asked.

PETER Was I being egocentric?

DAHLIA (Playful) When are you not?

PETER You’re angry?

DAHLIA Yes.

PETER Shall I go?

DAHLIA No. I could be joyful for you. Is that what you had in mind?

PETER Not for me.

DAHLIA Thank you for your concern.

PETER It’s more than concern.

DAHLIA Then stay.

PETER I can’t.

DAHLIA Then take me with you.

PETER If I were better, I would.

DAHLIA But you’re not.

PETER I never was.

DAHLIA Oh. So the good get better, and the bad get worse, and those in between . . . are the most pathetic.

PETER Something like that.

DAHLIA I wonder what page I’ll be on.

PETER What?

DAHLIA Of your lovely book . . . your book of stories. Well that’s what you’ve been doing here these past six months, right? That’s what journalists do, right? Report on stories about exciting people like me, caught up in war. In mess. In grime. In filth. In no heat and no hot water. In missing people. In people who were here and now they’re not. In people who become . . . nothing. Become? No. Maybe they were always nothing, so what would it matter, to them. But to you, that would be a different story. You come here to be around people like us. Nothing. So where will I be?

PETER Not just you.

DAHLIA Only me! Same stories, different faces. No! The same face. Out there, there aren’t many, but what I see are too many reflections of myself; and that’s not a very good thing.

PETER That’s not what “this” was about.

DAHLIA No?

PETER You’re not making this very pleasant.

DAHLIA Is that what you want “this” to be? Is that what defined us . . . whatever “us” was? Is “pleasant” what defined “this”? This place? Your reason for being here? Honestly, none of this sounds very pleasant.

PETER I thought “this” was pleasant.

DAHLIA I think of pleasant as being peaceful. And “this” was never peaceful.

PETER I’m excluding what went on outside these four walls.

DAHLIA You can’t! You have no right to do that! What went on outside doesn’t belong to you! You can’t exclude anything that happened here!

PETER It’s survival.

DAHLIA Which you know nothing about.

PETER Which I learned from you.

DAHLIA Then you stole from me!

PETER What are you talking about?

DAHLIA The stories . . . my stories! You made them yours! You made “this” story your story!

PETER It’s everyone’s.

DAHLIA You adopted it! I was born to it!

PETER I wanted to bring attention . . .

DAHLIA You wanted to be a hero!

PETER No. No one wins. I see that now.

DAHLIA (Desperate) You wanted to become famous!

PETER I wanted to write the truth! I wanted to bear witness. I wanted people to know!

DAHLIA Through your words.

PETER It didn’t matter who was telling this story! But someone had to, and no one was. So I did. But I never took from you. You spoke freely.

DAHLIA So that’s the definition.

PETER No, but that’s what you wanted to hear. It was more than your story.

DAHLIA What was it Peter, that made you want to fuck me?

PETER Don’t do this.

DAHLIA No. You’re leaving, and this is my chance to know. Was it your loneliness? Your fear? My story? Was it me or my story, or our story? Or this war? Is it this war you actually wanted to fuck?

PETER What are you getting out of this?

DAHLIA Not as much as you did.

PETER I met you, first, and then your story.

DAHLIA How much was your book deal?

PETER People back home started talking about people like you. Empathizing with people like you.

DAHLIA Thanks to you.

PETER Thanks to someone.

DAHLIA Feel better?

PETER No.

DAHLIA Did you think your words would ease anything?

PETER Attention was given.

DAHLIA After the fact.

PETER It was better than never.

DAHLIA That’s easy for you to say.

PETER There’s nothing else I can.

DAHLIA Strange for a journalist.

PETER I don’t have words for this moment.

PETER You’re a writer.

DAHLIA Was.

PETER You still are.

DAHLIA I stopped.

PETER You shouldn’t have.

DAHLIA There was no point in continuing.

PETER I don’t believe you. I know you value words. You know what they can lead to. You know they can serve as the catalyst for something greater, greater than what’s happening at the moment. I see through you, and I know you think differently.

DAHLIA Words over people.

PETER I value you.

DAHLIA You use me. And I let you.

PETER I’ll miss you.

DAHLIA How can you miss something you never had?

PETER I had you.

DAHLIA In a place very far away, where no one knows you, where you have no past or future, where every action and every word can be attributed to war, something out of your control. We’re false, you and I. You can do what you wish, because it isn’t real.

PETER It was to me.

DAHLIA It “was” because you always knew it would be “was” and not “is” and not “will be.” It “was” is easier than it “is.” We’re not “is.”

PETER Why did you stop writing?

DAHLIA I let you write for me.

PETER You should have written your stories.

DAHLIA I couldn’t.

PETER Maybe later?

DAHLIA Maybe never.

PETER Too close? Too much credence if you actually document them? Give them a voice? Would that have made it true for you?

DAHLIA I never denied what was happening to this place.

PETER To others, not to yourself.

DAHLIA I am “others.”

PETER You’re the writer, though you deny it. You can’t help it. You’re like me. An observer on the outside, looking in. You never really considered yourself as one of them. Them being the powerless, the victims. You? A victim? I don’t think so.

DAHLIA Take your stories and enjoy what they bring to you. Don’t worry. Guilt-free. You have my permission.

PETER It would have been someone else.

DAHLIA But it wouldn’t have been you.

PETER And you would have been with him, whoever he may have been. Because you would have been his voice. And that would have given you a little bit of what you were, before this . . . mess, and that would have been enough. And you would have been standing here, on this day, having the same conversation with him, rather than with me. You said it yourself. Same story. Same faces. We’re one, here. If it weren’t I, it would have been someone else.

DAHLIA As I would have been someone else.

PETER I don’t know. But I don’t think so.

DAHLIA So you could be the just one.

PETER It’s because of her. Her plus me. Plus this. Plus what I’m leaving you to. Plus this absence . . . plus this nothing.

DAHLIA Her? Why don’t you give “her” her name, so we could baptize this fucking moment!

PETER And you?

DAHLIA Me what?

PETER What would you do if you had any power? Any real power? Where would you go? You ask if it were you or your story. I could ask you the same question. Was it me, or the thought of getting on that plane with me today? Remember, we’re not powerless people, you or I, in this scenario. What would your answer be; with your brutal honesty . . . directness. You tell me, was it me, or your being with someone like me, an observer looking in, who isn’t really a part of this stinking convoluted mess!

DAHLIA We’re inseparable from what we are and where we come from. You’ve just proven that.

PETER So I have my answer.

DAHLIA It was a senseless question.

PETER Why?

DAHLIA Because you asked me here, at this time. Everything encompassing this moment is senseless.

PETER This is not senseless.

DAHLIA Look at yourself. You came, you observed, you wrote, and now you leave. How can I think of this as anything but senseless?

PETER Why even let me in?

DAHLIA I hoped for more. There.

PETER But you knew . . . about . . . her . . . my situation . . .

DAHLIA Your situation? No. Not really. Not until this moment.

PETER I can’t give more.

DAHLIA You don’t want to.

PETER What’s standing before you . . . is a coward. I wrote about events that I was never engaged in, not really engaged in. I wrote from my window, looking down, onto the street. I documented people’s trauma, not my own; though I wanted it to be my own . . . a bit of justification as I defend what I’ve been doing for the past six months. One foot is already out your door. Not as a reflection on you, but on me. I don’t want to see you again. I don’t want to speak to you again. I don’t want to hear your voice. I don’t want to smell you again, or feel your body again. If we were to speak, and the connection would return, and I’d lose my inhibitions and imagine myself being with you. But I’m not strong or brave enough to follow my instincts. So I settle for what I have.

DAHLIA You’re brave enough to admit you’re a coward.

PETER If I had to be you, I wouldn’t have survived.

DAHLIA You don’t know that.

PETER I do.

DAHLIA You run away from everything and everyone. What are you afraid of?

PETER Nothing.

DAHLIA Then stay.

PETER I can’t.

DAHLIA Are you running from me?

PETER Not from . . . to.

DAHLIA To hot water and heat. To mine-less land. To familiarity. To home. To her?

PETER To something that may frighten me.

DAHLIA This doesn’t frighten you?

PETER Oddly, no.

DAHLIA Why do you want to be frightened?

PETER I don’t. I just want to feel something. I want to find something that will wake me up.

DAHLIA You’re not awake?

PETER No. I’m hoping I will be. That’s why I have to go. I feel un-alive. Not quite dead, just not alive.

DAHLIA Is that your own reflection after being with me?

PETER I can’t be with you, because I don’t want to hurt you. I’m afraid it’ll be contagious . . . this sleep, this being “un-alive.” You’re just coming back now, back to yourself.

DAHLIA For me? Am I to feel grateful? Is that what’s left? After everything? Thank you?

PETER I’ll miss you.

DAHLIA (Angry) Miss me?

PETER Yes. I’ll miss you, because I think one feels without more than with. Without, though intangible, obscure, is very real. Someone’s absence is the greater punishment. Accept this and appreciate this, because that’s all I can do. “I miss you” acknowledges that I’m without you. You’re missing . . . you’re missed.

DAHLIA (Calmly) Thank you.

PETER Come on! Hit me! Throw something at me! Throw me out! Make me . . .

DAHLIA Feel something?

PETER Yes.

DAHLIA I can’t do that for you. Or else, I would have already. You feel me. I know you feel me. Because I feel it. You’re very much alive. But you choose not to be. Perhaps you were hoping that this place would be your ending. Perhaps you wish you had never met me, had never felt me. You’re trying now . . . trying to say “this” never was. That’s worse than your leaving, or your wishing to leave . . . or your denying your being alive. Is it easier for you to think of me as an intangible, obscure object? No, then. I don’t accept your enclosure. I’m not missing because I’m standing right here, before you. Honor my presence. Honor us.

PETER How?

DAHLIA Here’s your opportunity. I’ll hand it to you. Take your chance now. Take the risk . . . and see with me. See not just for me, but for you. Stay here, and continue our stories. Write about us after the guests have gone home from the funeral. What do the ones left behind do then? That’s when it’ll get interesting. Will we learn from mistakes? Will we trust? Will we be so desperate that we’ll trust the wrong people, because the right ones have left? We’re not finished . . . you . . . me . . . the people outside these four walls. Your book shouldn’t end here.

PETER You’re right. I think you should continue where I left off.

DAHLIA Why?

DAHLIA What if you had died? You would have broken your promise, wouldn’t you?

PETER I didn’t die.

(Pause)

DAHLIA You just did. (Pause) To me.

(PETER takes his duffel bag, placed near the table, looks at DAHLIA, and heads toward the door. He opens the door and stops. DAHLIA speaks.)

DAHLIA (Cont’d) The joy was before you. Not before the war, but before you. But you didn’t want to see it. You only wanted the sad . . . for your stories. Yes there was sadness, tremendous sadness and loss! You liked me . . . as the sad one. It gave you some purpose for being here. Yes, there was great sadness, but also joy, or hope that there may be joy again. How could I stand here before you without that element of hope! But that wouldn’t have worked for you. I wouldn’t have worked for you. But thank you. For now, it was successful in the end. For us and for you. For now, your efforts are named . . . heroic. Yes, there was joy. There is joy, even now, even at this very moment. I feel it. It’s coming back to me. Perhaps that’s something I could write about once you go through that door.

(PETER waits, then exits.)

End of Part Two