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  • Baghdadi Bath
  • Jawad Al Assadi
    Translated by Robert Myers (bio) and Nada Saab (bio)

Characters

  • Majiid

  • Hamiid

A public bath in Baghdad with small windows and large and small bathing tubs. A large massage table and another smaller table. Upstage center a shower. A misty atmosphere, discarded orange peels, wet rags, articles left by the customers thrown here and there.

Hamiid: (Violently.) Filthy son of a bitch!

Majiid: Who are you cursing?

Hamiid: Come, see for yourself the filth in the bottom of this tub!

Majiid: Did you forget that the customers of this bath are the lowest of the low?

Hamiid: How do you explain the presence of this knife here, hunh?

Majiid: That's normal.

Hamiid: The tub reeks of putrid blood. You think that's normal?

Majiid: Clean the tub and shut up.

Hamiid: What about this gold tooth in the bottom of the tub?

Majiid: Oh?

Hamiid: It looks like real gold! (Sarcastically.) Would it fit on one of your teeth?

Majiid: (Hitting Hamiid with a rag.) Animal . . . stupid moron.

Hamiid: (Joking with his brother.) Put it in your mouth.

Majiid: Let me check it if it's really gold.

Hamiid: I'll give it to the owner of the bath.

Majiid: Give it to me.

Hamiid: What are you going to do with it?

Majiid: I'll sell it, of course.

Hamiid: What if it turns out to be fake?

Majiid: I'll give it to my wife or my mistress. (He tries the gold tooth in his mouth.) [End Page 112]

Hamiid: (Looks in the tub.) Bits of wood . . . tin foil . . . I found it here . . . in piss. (Majiid spits out the gold tooth.)

Majiid: How this bath reminds me of my childhood! When my father used to drag me like a puppy to this very bath and this very tub . . . He'd scrub my body with pumice. He'd massage me on this table . . . and lather my head and body . . . Look . . . I brought the same loofah and stone which father used. Here, sniff your father's smell, you moron! Sniff! Come . . . I'll scrape your body as father scraped mine until all your filth goes down the drain. (Joyfully scrubbing his brother's body.) Whenever you need, I'll peel an orange for you with these two hands of mine! Here, smell the loofah.

Hamiid: Why is the bath empty?

Majiid: Fear . . . People are afraid of surprises. That's why they return to their homes before sunset.

Hamiid: And why shouldn't we return to our homes as well?

Majiid: Because we're not afraid. (He continues to scrub Hamiid and pours water onto his body.)

Hamiid: No, I am afraid.

Majiid: You shouldn't be afraid as long as I'm with you. It's your turn now . . . Pour hot water on my back.

Hamiid: As you wish. (He scrubs Majiid hard and pours water on him. Majiid is overwhelmed with joy.)

Majiid: Lather my head.

Hamiid: I am your faithful servant. (He lathers Majiid's head .)

Majiid: (Comfortably and peacefully.) Hamiid . . . Sing to me . . . I love to listen to your voice . . . especially in the baths . . . (Hamiid begins to sing "The Flying Birds," a popular contemporary Iraqi song. Majiid sings with him.) When I was in elementary school my music teacher predicted I'd be a singer.

Hamiid: Your voice is excellent . . . superb.

Majiid: If I'd followed my teacher's advice I'd have become a famous singer by now, just like Sa'di al-Hilli and Sa'doun al-Jabir and Nazim al-Ghazali. (Hamiid continues to sing.) But my misfortune led me to drive buses . . . Oh, how I hate that filthy profession. All I gained from it was cursing, drinking, and hashish. When I look at myself in the mirror I don't recognize my own strange features. I always scream, "Good morning, Majiid . . . Fuck your fate . . . your filthy misfortune." My attitude has changed . . . I've turned rougher with those who ride in my bus . . . I smoke hashish . . . in the open . . . I go hunting for prostitutes. I have them sit next to me on long rides outside of Baghdad . . . I keep kissing them no matter how disgusting their mouths smell...

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