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1. NOTHING
Ahmed, Moustache. Ahmed takes the stage and points his stick threateningly at the audience. AHMED . What are you looking at? There’s nothing here. Me, Ahmed, I’m absolutely nothing. Superlatively nothing. And, believe me, looking at nothing is exactly the same as not looking. Check out how I’m nothing.1 Ahmed’s improvisations on nothing. He tries to make himself look as narrow and as shrunken as possible, as if he were disappearing on stage. If one of you were clever, really a genius, better at straightening out the messes of the world than Ahmed and Einstein put together, you’d say this right into my nothing-face: “My little Ahmed-nothing, how do you know that you’re nothing? Huh? Because if you know you’re nothing, it’s because you’re something. Because nothing is nothing and nothing can’t know much. Especially not nothing. Nothing knowing nothing? That’ll be the day! To know nothing, you have to be something and not nothing.” And then, me, Ahmed, I’d look like a sucker. If nothing can be a sucker. Does nothing suck? There’s a lollipop, but is there a nothing-pop? The pop, the crackle, the snap . . . Ahmed’s improvisation on nothing and popping. Anyway, no doubt about it. Me, Ahmed, I didn’t know I was nothing and I would never have known it. If it hadn’t been for Moustache.
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Albert Moustache. Moustache, he’s not nothing at all. He has a moustache. He’s a big hulk of a guy, Moustache. He carries weight in Sarges-les-Corneilles, Moustache does. He’s something, Moustache, not nothing. And then one day . . . But I’m not going to tell you. Me, Ahmed, I’m not going to make nothing speak. Nothing says nothing, that’s only natural. Moustache is going to tell you himself. He’s the something that says something. Naturally. Moustache! Moustache! Moustache makes his entrance. My dear Moustache, just tell them who I am, me, Ahmed. MOUSTACHE . There’s no “you.” There’s just “all of you.” You, you’re in the all of you. All of you immigrators from all over the world. The Orientals and them who come from Africa. Them who are gobbling up all the welfare money. Them on account of who we don’t have any more work, not even sweeping the street. All of you who bow and scrape before an Islamic God who looks like death warmed over and uppity to boot. Now if you were you and not all of you, you might be someone, who knows? But, fortunately, your you is in the all of you of the others. All one big block! That belongs in one big cell block! And that’s the end of that! AHMED. Take it easy, fatso. So, I’m not someone? MOUSTACHE. You’re all a bunch of less-than-nothings. AHMED. What did I tell you? Less than nothing! That’s not nothing, being less than nothing. Because less than nothing, well, that’s got to be something! Above nothing there’s something and below nothing there’s something too. MOUSTACHE. Are you trying to mess with my head again, towel head? Less than nothing is even more nothing than nothing. AHMED. And how can you assume that nothing can be more or less, fatso? In nothing there’s not a thing. More nothing is still nothing. It can’t change, nothing. Nothing is like zero Celsius. Above zero, it’s hot, below zero, it’s freezing. If I’m less than nothing, I’m freezing. It’s freezing, yeah, it’s freezing cold . . . Hey, Moustache, are you freezing? Can you feel how it’s below zero? Do you freeze up at thirty below nothing? It’s colder than a witch’s tit on account of less than nothing!
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Moustache is frozen solid; he’s literally petrified. MOUSTACHE. Shiver me timbers! I get the feeling I’m a snowman. AHMED. Hey, it’s Moustache the snowman! Deep down, he looks to me as
though he’s a hell of a lot less than nothing! MOUSTACHE (in a sepulchral voice). The Arab has turned me into a coldstorage truck. AHMED. Let’s see if it sounds hollow. Ahmed smacks Moustache with his stick, and Moustache falls to pieces. No way! I just smashed my proof. My beloved proof, Moustache, that I was nothing. And even less than nothing! I don’t know nothing anymore. Whatever. It’s only nothing that knows nothing. Anyway, the stick isn’t nothing. When nothing has a stick, it’s something. When they tell you you’re nothing, smack the proof with your stick. That’ll cool him down for good. Well, anyway, I’ve got to warm myself up. Ahmed improvises on the theme of warming things up; he induces a heat wave. Moustache is reconstituted; he stands up straight again. MOUSTACHE. Where am I? Who am I? Where am I going? Who am I
going? Where was I heating? Who’s heating? Who? . . . AHMED (giving him another smack with his stick). Whoever says to nothing
“you’re nothing” is nothing. Moustache collapses again. (wiping his face). You think it’s nothing, being something? Believe me, it’s not nothing . . .
AHMED
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2. THE EVENT
Ahmed. Ahmed paces back and forth on the stage, very agitated. AHMED. Something’s definitely going to happen. Don’t you feel it? The
world is out of whack, it’s not in its right place. People are acting weird. I ran into the awful Moustache, and he forgot to tell me that I, Ahmed, am unwelcome in Sarges-les-Corneilles.2 And that the Arabs should go back where they came from on the next boat. He didn’t say anything. I even think he may have nodded at me. A nod from Moustache to Ahmed! It surpasses human understanding. I ran into my friend Rhubarb. He forgot to tell me that he respected my difference. That my culture isn’t his culture, but that all communities, whether cultural, religious, sexual, racial, cigarette smoking, or vituperating, should respect one another. That they ought to turn the right cheek when the other person kicks them in the left sternum. He even forgot to talk to me about human rights, Rhubarb did! Not a single word about ethics! Nothing about democracy! He was incredibly weird. I ran into my girlfriend Fenda, the black girl in the sky-blue and gold robe, who came from Africa to Sarges-les-Corneilles to put some real splendor and delight into all this bland whiteness. And she was weird! She forgot to tell me that we Arabs, as far as women are concerned, need to grow up someday. That if we think we’re going to get any peace or security by locking beauty up in the home and covering
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it with a veil when it goes out, this only shows what children we are. That, with just one eye and three stray hairs, any woman can express her desire to whomever she wants. And even more radiantly than when she’s naked. No, she didn’t say anything like that, Fenda didn’t. I even think she may have murmured, “Take care, Ahmed!” Incredible! Even me, I’m weird. I got up this morning, and I didn’t have any brilliant ideas. Stealing a meter maid’s hat? Who cares? Sabotaging the elections at the chamber of commerce by filling the ballot box with dishwater? Why bother? Emptying out the supermarket four times by phoning in bomb threats? Just thinking about it bores me. Sending around pictures of naked women during the city hall meeting? I’ve done it a hundred times already. A poster campaign with the police chief ’s photo, and “Wanted” written underneath it? What a drag. No, nothing tempts me; today, I’m happy, I’m exhausted. I’m waiting. Something’s definitely going to happen. You yourselves, down there, in front of me, you’re weird. What the hell are you doing, sitting there, lined up on chairs, looking at me? Huh? You’re saying to yourselves: something’s going to happen. Otherwise you’d just be doing your thing, like me. We’re here to wait together. So let’s wait. Improvisation on waiting. But where’s it going to happen? That’s what’s bugging me. It’s going to happen, I’d swear to it. But where? Up above? To the right? In back, all the way in back? It’s hard not knowing where. When you know where it’s going to happen, you get ready, you secure the place, you build a platform, or a barricade. Or a booby trap. But if you don’t have a clue where it’s going to happen, you’re nervous, you look around everywhere, you take big risks. ‘Cause there are big risks. I’m warning you. You’d better look around, you too. While we’re waiting. New improvisation on waiting. Hey! On the left, over there! Get ready! Protect your ears! No, that’s not it. It’s nothing. It’s a false alarm. I find false alarms worse than anything, when you know it’s going to happen. We’re all
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nervous enough already, we’re tired of waiting, and then there’s this false alarm, over on the left side, which really puts us on edge. If there’s going to be an alarm, at least it could be a true one! A false alarm is one of life’s biggest misfortunes. Anyway! Let’s wait. Improvisation on waiting. Mind you, sometimes a false alarm is a relief. It’s a relief from the waiting. Of course, nothing happens in a false alarm. You think it’s going to happen, but it doesn’t. But at least what happens is that you think it’s happening. There’s always that. Otherwise, you just wait, and the waiting wears down our belief. You could end up not even thinking it’s going to happen anymore. Fortunately, we’re sure about it. But even with something you’re sure about, if you wait for it too long, you believe in it less and less. And then a false alarm, which, granted, is exasperating, is a bit of a relief. But wrongly! Since nothing happened. But sometimes, you have to admit, being wrong is a relief. When being right means waiting forever, you end up wondering if it isn’t better to be wrong. A good false alarm, a true false alarm, it exasperates you, but it’s also a relief. At least for a minute or two. Because afterward, once you’ve seen that the true false alarm was absolutely false, that nothing happened, you have to go back to waiting for it to happen. And without knowing where it’s going to happen, besides. Improvisation on waiting. Something’s wrong. It should have happened. Or else maybe it happened someplace else? Did we have the wrong place? I’m really tired, today. Nothing’s going the way it was expected to. We’re just going to wait a little bit longer, but I don’t believe in it anymore. Waiting. OK, too bad. Sorry for making you wait. It’s still weird . . . Too bad. We’ll try to find out if it’s happened someplace else. Even though someplace else, that covers a fair amount of territory. Verifying it won’t be easy. But I’ll let you know. Sorry.
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Ahmed shuffles off the stage, looking behind himself often. Finally, he disappears. Brief silence. Then there is a huge explosion, which ought to startle everyone in the audience. After the explosion, a big red feather slowly comes down from the flies, floating as if carried along by the wind. The feather ends up landing on the stage. Ahmed reenters from the rear, looks around, then picks up the feather, and shows it to the audience. It’s no use. Even though we’d taken all precautions. We’d inspected the whole place. You saw, right? We took all the time we needed. But it’s always the same story. It always happens when you’re not waiting for it any more. Sometimes, even, it happens when you’re not waiting for it yet. That’s the worst. I’ve never seen it happen when anyone was waiting for it, the event. Before waiting, sure, it happens. After waiting, it often happens. But while you’re waiting, forget about it! At the end of the day, when you’re waiting for the event, you’re wasting your time. It’s better to be surprised. OK, it’s always a little hard, the surprise of the event, but since it’s inevitable . . . Let’s not wait anymore. Starting today, we won’t wait for anything anymore. At least we’ve learned that. OK, so, see ya next time. Next time it happens. By surprise.3
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3. LANGUAGE
Rhubarb, Ahmed. Rhubarb is on stage, and he seems anxious. RHUBARB . In two hours, and not one more, I have to register the new asso-
ciation. Rhubarb, in two hours, you have to register the name. Make the official declaration. And you don’t have the name yet. Ahmed enters, and listens to Rhubarb without letting himself be seen. It’s important, the name! It’s the rallying point! Everyone should be able to say: I, the person you see before you, am a dues-paying, active, hyperactive, or sedentary member of . . . of . . . well, you see, I don’t have the name for it. I have the thing completely clear in my head, an institution really really in the service of the new citizenship, incapable of corruption, ethical and dynamic.4 But I can’t come up with the name. The name, really, like the thing. AHMED . Can I help you, Rhubarb? RHUBARB (startled). Ahmed! You scared me! This isn’t a problem for you. It’s a question of language. AHMED. Exactly! I’m the master of the French language. You French, you learned the language naturally, so that often it’s gibberish, because French has nothing natural about it. It’s all about precision and syntax. You say: “Yeah, that’s cool.” But I, Ahmed, had to learn the language artificially, not naturally. So that I’m much better adapted to it. I’ll never
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say: “Yeah, that’s cool.” I’ll say: “Behold a truly momentous event.” Many French people will say: “So whadja do wid’ your wheels the other night?” Me, I’ll say: “To what use were you intending to put your vehicle when I saw you leave as the night descended?” You see? It’s like those women who say “I’m so bummed out! My boyfriend just dumped me for another chick.” It’s shameful to relate your despair in such terms! If I were a woman, may Allah the all-powerful forbid it, I would say: “Alas! He who was my beloved bore his flame elsewhere.” The genius of litotes, that’s French. And you get an alexandrine in the bargain: “He who was my beloved bore his flame elsewhere.” When everyone in Sarges-lesCorneilles speaks like that, life there will be delightful. OK, so, what name don’t you have, Rhubarb? I know all the names. RHUBARB I’m setting up an association. It’s gonna be totally awesome. AHMED . Ugh! What disgusting lingo! Say: “a breathtaking innovation” or, if you prefer, “an institutional creation that is unprecedented and unrivaled.” RHUBARB . Fine, fine, OK. How did you put it? A “breathtaking institution without innovation” . . . You’re getting me even more confused! The fact remains, it’s important to inject dynamism into citizens, so that, out of respect for ethics, and in a strong spirit of consensus, they can take control in a global way and find a means to oppose the market economy with an individual approach that’s both transparent and efficient. To put it more colloquially, because, after all, a citizen has to address himself to all communities, all the while preserving his own cultural roots, and not just the roots but also the seeds and the branches and even the flowers if possible, I mean the flowers that grow out of cultural roots; the goal is . . . Oh! You’ve really got me all mixed up! Damn! They have to cut the crap and get their act together, that’s what I’m trying to say. AHMED . Oh! Rhubarb! Don’t just give up like that! Say: “They must cease their drifting, and, with a morale steeped in collective creativity, they must rise to the challenges thrown at them by the harshness of life on the unrewarding soil of Sarges-les-Corneilles.” That way, while you’re at it, you’re also talking about roots. Arriving at the synthesis of thought by means of syntax, that’s what French is all about! RHUBARB . Yeah, yeah, whatever.
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Ahmed the philosopher AHMED. “I understood you very well, and I grant your objection.” RHUBARB. What are you going on about? AHMED. I was translating you into French. You said “whatever”; that’s
atrocious. I proposed: “I grant your objection.” RHUBARB. Give me a break! That’s not the problem! I have to register my
association at city hall in an hour, pal, and I haven’t found the right name for it. AHMED. It’s about making citizens dynamic? Call it “The Association for Civic Dynamite.” That’s a nice metaphor. RHUBARB. You think so? It’s a little rough, you’re forgetting the whole consensus aspect. AHMED. No problem. Call it “The Association for Harmonious Civic Dynamite.” “Consensus” is a little pedantic. The old word harmony is so much better! RHUBARB. You think so? It isn’t a little long? AHMED. You want to sacrifice precision for brevity? Bad call. RHUBARB. But you’re not taking the ethical aspect into account, the completely democratic internal struggle against corruption. AHMED (after having thought a bit). Call it “The Equitable and Transparent Association for Harmonious Civic Dynamite.” RHUBARB. Now that’s really long. And besides, you know, the whole taking control aspect, the whole global taking charge of the human aspect, the whole taking control of the humane aspect, that’s gotten lost. AHMED. You’re starting an association that has as many aspects as members, maybe even more, and you’re complaining about the length of the name? That’s absurd. The name has to capture all aspects of the thing! Let’s think about it . . . The problem is “managing the human” . . . You need a really powerful metaphor to pull it all together . . . or you could make a chiasmus out of the adjectives . . . Oh wait! I’ve got it! You can call it: “The Association for Taking Charge Equitably and for Transparent Globalization for Harmonious and Humane Civic Dynamite.” That’s pretty good. RHUBARB. What worries me is that you’re not getting the efficient aspect, the whole practical aspect. It seems a little too ideological. And now, of course, we’re in the postideological era. They were such a pain, those ideologies!
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Ahmed the philosopher AHMED. You’re absolutely right! This time, we need a striking image,
which makes it completely clear that you’re going right to action. I’m thinking . . . OK, how about: “The Association for Going Through Practical Storms Through the Immediate Effect on Taking Charge Equitably and on the Transparent Humane Globalization of a Harmonious Civic Dynamite”? That way, you’ve got all the aspects right there. RHUBARB. It’s precise and complete. It’s long, but the entire program is there in the name. The name isn’t false advertising, it isn’t an ideological lie. The name describes the thing, period. I’m happy! So what initials does that gives us? AHMED . “The Association for Going Through Practical Storms Through the Immediate Effect on Taking Charge Equitably and on the Transparent Humane Globalization of a Harmonious Civic Dynamite”? Well, if you leave out a few of the conjunctions, the acronym would be the AGTPSIETCETHGHCD. That sounds really great, the agtpsietcethghcd. RHUBARB. It’s true that language can say everything! I didn’t think we could get my plan into a few words so quickly and so clearly! Thanks, Ahmed. Of course, I would certainly have ended up finding something similar on my own, but when you work as a team you come up with a solution a lot faster. OK, I’ve got to get to city hall. AHMED. Don’t forget to write it down exactly. It’s a delicate device, this name! You mustn’t lose a single aspect! RHUBARB. No, no, I’ll remember. So long! AHMED. So long! (Ahmed remains alone, smiles, hums.) The staff member at city hall is going to need an extra piece of paper for the form! Rhubarb comes back, completely out of breath. RHUBARB. How did you say the acronym, again? AHMED. The Agtpsietcehghcd. RHUBARB. The agtiephedghtcd. AHMED. More or less, that should work. RHUBARB. Aghtapcdpcg. Aghtapcdpcp. Ate a pc deep sea pea! Now I’ve
got it! That’s even a mnemonic device: I ate a pc deep sea pea. AHMED. I ate a pc deep sea pea! That’s a very powerful ecological and vegetarian statement! With this acronym, you even get an extra aspect.
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Ahmed the philosopher RHUBARB (knowingly). Sometimes, it’s the word that creates the thing.
OK, I gotta run. We hear, from backstage, Rhubarb singing to himself, less and less distinctly, “I ate a pc deep sea pea,” “I ate a pc deep sea pea” . . . AHMED. Between the word and the thing, there’s nothing. When there’s
something, it’s a long-eared ass. I ate a pc deep sea pea! There’ll be neither word nor thing, that’s what I think. There’ll only be the ass!
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