A Line in the Sand by Guillermo Verdecchia

Author:Guillermo Verdecchia [Verdecchia, Guillermo; Youssef, Marcus]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Drama, Canadian theatre, Marcus Youssef, Guillermo Verdecchia, Desert Storm, Military, Docudrama, Middle east conflict, Canadian soldier, Detainee
ISBN: 978-1-77201-083-1
Publisher: Talonbooks
Published: 2016-04-14T00:00:00+00:00

Scene Two

MERCER in Vancouver. A phone rings and rings and rings. MERCER regards it then finally answers.

MERCER:

Hello?

Jen. Hi.

I’m OK. You know. Bit surprised. I mean, I was thinking of calling you but I wasn’t sure you’d want to. Talk to me.

Pretty fucking weird. I don’t know. I thought there’d be a lot bigger deal in the papers and that but there was hardly anything.

It was … The desert was wild.

Not much. Lying low. Watching TV. Been going for ­drives around. Down to the water and that. It’s nice up here. Quiet. Like always. I’ve got the house to myself.

How are you? How’s school?

Good.

I don’t know really. Just try and chill. Get my shit together. I want to go back to Germany.

I’m just trying to take it one day at a time. Getting my shit together.

Yeah well, something happened. It’s over. I have to deal with it and if other people want to be freaked out about it that’s their problem. Life goes on.

I’m not saying you. No.

A long pause.

Thanks. Thanks.

SADIQ appears.

Next week. I’m not into it right now. Coffee. Starbucks. Next week. You’re on.

OK. I’ll call you. Monday or something.

I will. Promise.

You too. Bye.

MERCER hangs up phone. He does not ­acknowledge SADIQ in any way.

SADIQ:

Mercer. You cannot touch me now. I am too far. You have left only pictures. Photographs. Can you see me?

I have surprise for you. Guess where I go? Not America, Mercer. I am in Sudbury. Ontario. Canada. Cold. When I come to my room it is full of clothes and parka. I am wearing my new sweater. Stanfield’s. Very nice, very warm.

In Palestine, you know, boys like me, smaller too, throw rocks. Intifada. Israeli soldiers come and break hands of boys. Some boys die. Not just boys, everyone fight. You think it is crazy but no. They have reasons for to fight in Palestine, the mothers and fathers and ­children and the children to come. They are fight for a home, for to survive.

You come to Qatar to Kuwait Mercer. Why? Why you fight here? Not only you, whole world. Come. Why? You do not know, you go only where they tell you.

Who tell you to hit me Mercer? Why you burn me? Do you know what reason? He break my foot, the big one, blonde hair straight. You say nothing. Do nothing. I ask why for what reason?

You are no reason. You are an animal, you Canadian peacekeeper, you are shit, a beast. If I could reach that gun, I would like to kill you and all your friends. He deserve to die, that one hang himself. You too.

You tell me of Canada and your father and you lonely and the hole in you. You hurt. You cry. Do you cry for me Mercer? Who cry for me? My family, sisters and mother and father too. But they do not matter to you. Death mean little to us you say. But no. We laugh like you. We bleed like you. We die like you. We deserve to life like you.

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