Saddam Insane
by Cally Phillips
Genre: Drama
Swearwords: None.
Description: Sitting on the top deck of a bus won't ever be the same again.
_____________________________________________________________________
David sits on the bus. Minding his own business. David is a college student. Nothing to make you look twice at him. Scruffy, unshaven, young. But someone notices him. It’s Carl. Carl is the sort of young man you do notice. He’s a hoodie. He makes you nervous. He has a cast to his eye and this is enough to spell ‘danger’ to you and make you glad he’s chosen to sit next to David not to you. Let’s be honest, Carl is the kind of guy you’d cross the street to avoid. David may feel the same. He’s not as lucky. He’s in the window seat and Carl is now blocking his exit.
There is a moment’s pause. Then Carl speaks. Loud enough for us all to hear.
‘I call him Saddam Insane.’ He laughs. Too loudly. Too raucously. I feel fear.
‘Get it?’ he asks, since David doesn’t respond, and the rest of us burrow into our newspapers.
Carl is on a roll.
‘Hussein. Saddam Hussein,’ he pauses for effect, ‘and I call him Saddam Insane,’ and laughs again, delighted at his play on words.
David has to respond.
‘And you think that’s funny?’ he asks.
It’s obvious that Carl’s sides are nearly splitting.
‘Why? Why do you think that’s funny?’ David asks.
We wait for there to be a consequence. Carl doesn’t look like the kind of young man you question.
But David’s question seems to take him aback. I know that if you or I asked him what he thought was funny we’d get a fist in the face, but it seems that Carl thinks David just isn’t getting his most outrageously funny joke. So he’s going to explain.
‘Well, he’s the enemy, isn’t he?’ he says.
‘Is he?’ David asks.
I almost duck in my seat. Surely no good will come of this.
‘Of course, everyone knows that,’ Carl replies.
I hope to God he’s not going to take a poll. There are five of us on the top deck of the bus but I don’t fancy our chances. I kind of hope David will just keep his mouth shut. He doesn’t.
‘Do they?’ he says. ‘Everyone?’
Carl still misses the point. He still thinks his is the job of the enlightener. He obviously doesn’t do irony. And so Carl continues on his mission.
‘Yeah, I mean, he’s got weapons of mass destruction, innit?’
‘So have we,’ David points out.
I await one of Carl’s weapons connecting with David’s head. The tension is palpable. But nothing I can do. Nothing any of us can do. Not our conversation.
Carl still doesn’t get the level on which his ideas are being challenged. So he replies, as if David is a bit thick, ‘Yeah, but, he won’t let us inspect them.’
Carl has read a paper, it’s clear. Probably the Sun. And he knows what’s what. He has an advantage over David (at least in his own mind) possibly for the first time. I wonder if they are a pair of communications students and I fear for society. And not just because of the threat of weapons of mass destruction.
David is going to make his point. It occurs to me, that unlike me, he’s not afraid of Carl.
‘Will we let him inspect ours?’ he asks.
Carl blanks him on that. He starts a new line of discussion.
‘And the election. What a farce. A hundred percent of the votes. I mean. What’s that about?’
For a moment I wonder what election he’s talking about. Then I realise we have moved from Iraq to US politics. Carl really is a reader! And proud of it.
‘Pregnant chads,’ David replies. I sense he’s getting a bit fed up with Carl.
‘What?’ Carl asks, and for the first time the conversation has changed. The control has shifted. David has taken it. He’s in charge now and Carl is asking the questions.
‘What?’ Carl says.
David, a braver man than I am, pursues his advantage.
‘What percentage of the vote do you think George W got?’
Carl’s not looking happy. He’s cracking his knuckles. I hope they don’t connect with David’s face any time soon. When you look at him a bit closer (as now I do) David seems like quite a ‘nice’ lad, ‘ordinary’, maybe even ‘sensible’ and I hope he knows what he’s doing.
‘I don’t know,’ Carl confesses.
I don’t think making Carl feel as stupid as he looks is a smart move. But David isn’t bothered.
‘Well it’s wasn’t anywhere near fifty one percent was it? In fact he got less votes than the loser. What’s that about? They disallowed loads of votes so he’d get in, he still didn’t get the most and…’
Carl intervenes. He’s finally come up with an answer, dredged from the weapon of mass ineducableness that is contained within his skull. And he’s proud of himself.
‘Yeah, but we’re a democracy,’ he states. Like he knows what that means.
‘So?’ David replies. Oh no, this is asking for it, I think.
‘So it means we’re fair. Majority rule,’ Carl replies. He isn’t going to be beaten in an argument by the likes of David. Even if he has no idea of what he speaks.
David sets him right.
‘It means we make up the definition of fair. Of right. Of justice. To suit ourselves. We’ve elected ourselves the majority and made anyone who opposes us – however many of them there are – the minority.’
I think everyone on the bus has a moment of pause taking that in. Is this really coming out of the mouth of this nondescript young man who is effectively pinned against the glass by a hoodie? We are all impressed, but await the dire consequences which we, as adults, know are likely to be the result of such a discussion with such a ‘type’ as Carl.
Carl is also taken aback. He thought he was in charge. He needs to reclaim his status. He gives it his best shot.
‘But… they support terrorists,’ he says, confident now that he’s scored a winning point.
‘We support terrorists,’ David replies.
Does this boy play chess? Does he understand what he’s doing? Does he have a death wish? He’s right of course, but I wouldn’t point that out to the likes of Carl.
It’s okay, Carl isn’t going to have any of that. He’s a Sun reader, remember. He knows a different truth.
‘No we don’t,’ he says and there’s a definite ‘end of’ tone in his voice.
This should be it. Silence until the next stop and then hope Carl lets David off without pushing him down the stairs. I’m wrong. David hasn’t finished.
‘Yes we do. But only for financial gain of course. One man’s terrorist is another man’s freedom fighter.’
I’m amazed. Where does he get the nerve? This is drama. Then I realise. No it’s not. It’s comedy. Because David ends with a statement that switches the whole story as you’ve read it thus far.
‘And in the capitalist world terrorism is like comedy – it’s all a question of timing.’
How’d you like them apples? Perspective, as they say, is everything.
And have you ever heard of something called ‘Invisible Theatre?’ Well, that’s what all of us on the bus have just experienced. It makes you think. It was supposed to make you think. The boys take a bow and we happily give our money to them and wish them well on their drama course. I think we’ve all learned something today. Unless of course they were playing with us and we’ve just been mugged?
Swearwords: None.
Description: Sitting on the top deck of a bus won't ever be the same again.
_____________________________________________________________________
David sits on the bus. Minding his own business. David is a college student. Nothing to make you look twice at him. Scruffy, unshaven, young. But someone notices him. It’s Carl. Carl is the sort of young man you do notice. He’s a hoodie. He makes you nervous. He has a cast to his eye and this is enough to spell ‘danger’ to you and make you glad he’s chosen to sit next to David not to you. Let’s be honest, Carl is the kind of guy you’d cross the street to avoid. David may feel the same. He’s not as lucky. He’s in the window seat and Carl is now blocking his exit.
There is a moment’s pause. Then Carl speaks. Loud enough for us all to hear.
‘I call him Saddam Insane.’ He laughs. Too loudly. Too raucously. I feel fear.
‘Get it?’ he asks, since David doesn’t respond, and the rest of us burrow into our newspapers.
Carl is on a roll.
‘Hussein. Saddam Hussein,’ he pauses for effect, ‘and I call him Saddam Insane,’ and laughs again, delighted at his play on words.
David has to respond.
‘And you think that’s funny?’ he asks.
It’s obvious that Carl’s sides are nearly splitting.
‘Why? Why do you think that’s funny?’ David asks.
We wait for there to be a consequence. Carl doesn’t look like the kind of young man you question.
But David’s question seems to take him aback. I know that if you or I asked him what he thought was funny we’d get a fist in the face, but it seems that Carl thinks David just isn’t getting his most outrageously funny joke. So he’s going to explain.
‘Well, he’s the enemy, isn’t he?’ he says.
‘Is he?’ David asks.
I almost duck in my seat. Surely no good will come of this.
‘Of course, everyone knows that,’ Carl replies.
I hope to God he’s not going to take a poll. There are five of us on the top deck of the bus but I don’t fancy our chances. I kind of hope David will just keep his mouth shut. He doesn’t.
‘Do they?’ he says. ‘Everyone?’
Carl still misses the point. He still thinks his is the job of the enlightener. He obviously doesn’t do irony. And so Carl continues on his mission.
‘Yeah, I mean, he’s got weapons of mass destruction, innit?’
‘So have we,’ David points out.
I await one of Carl’s weapons connecting with David’s head. The tension is palpable. But nothing I can do. Nothing any of us can do. Not our conversation.
Carl still doesn’t get the level on which his ideas are being challenged. So he replies, as if David is a bit thick, ‘Yeah, but, he won’t let us inspect them.’
Carl has read a paper, it’s clear. Probably the Sun. And he knows what’s what. He has an advantage over David (at least in his own mind) possibly for the first time. I wonder if they are a pair of communications students and I fear for society. And not just because of the threat of weapons of mass destruction.
David is going to make his point. It occurs to me, that unlike me, he’s not afraid of Carl.
‘Will we let him inspect ours?’ he asks.
Carl blanks him on that. He starts a new line of discussion.
‘And the election. What a farce. A hundred percent of the votes. I mean. What’s that about?’
For a moment I wonder what election he’s talking about. Then I realise we have moved from Iraq to US politics. Carl really is a reader! And proud of it.
‘Pregnant chads,’ David replies. I sense he’s getting a bit fed up with Carl.
‘What?’ Carl asks, and for the first time the conversation has changed. The control has shifted. David has taken it. He’s in charge now and Carl is asking the questions.
‘What?’ Carl says.
David, a braver man than I am, pursues his advantage.
‘What percentage of the vote do you think George W got?’
Carl’s not looking happy. He’s cracking his knuckles. I hope they don’t connect with David’s face any time soon. When you look at him a bit closer (as now I do) David seems like quite a ‘nice’ lad, ‘ordinary’, maybe even ‘sensible’ and I hope he knows what he’s doing.
‘I don’t know,’ Carl confesses.
I don’t think making Carl feel as stupid as he looks is a smart move. But David isn’t bothered.
‘Well it’s wasn’t anywhere near fifty one percent was it? In fact he got less votes than the loser. What’s that about? They disallowed loads of votes so he’d get in, he still didn’t get the most and…’
Carl intervenes. He’s finally come up with an answer, dredged from the weapon of mass ineducableness that is contained within his skull. And he’s proud of himself.
‘Yeah, but we’re a democracy,’ he states. Like he knows what that means.
‘So?’ David replies. Oh no, this is asking for it, I think.
‘So it means we’re fair. Majority rule,’ Carl replies. He isn’t going to be beaten in an argument by the likes of David. Even if he has no idea of what he speaks.
David sets him right.
‘It means we make up the definition of fair. Of right. Of justice. To suit ourselves. We’ve elected ourselves the majority and made anyone who opposes us – however many of them there are – the minority.’
I think everyone on the bus has a moment of pause taking that in. Is this really coming out of the mouth of this nondescript young man who is effectively pinned against the glass by a hoodie? We are all impressed, but await the dire consequences which we, as adults, know are likely to be the result of such a discussion with such a ‘type’ as Carl.
Carl is also taken aback. He thought he was in charge. He needs to reclaim his status. He gives it his best shot.
‘But… they support terrorists,’ he says, confident now that he’s scored a winning point.
‘We support terrorists,’ David replies.
Does this boy play chess? Does he understand what he’s doing? Does he have a death wish? He’s right of course, but I wouldn’t point that out to the likes of Carl.
It’s okay, Carl isn’t going to have any of that. He’s a Sun reader, remember. He knows a different truth.
‘No we don’t,’ he says and there’s a definite ‘end of’ tone in his voice.
This should be it. Silence until the next stop and then hope Carl lets David off without pushing him down the stairs. I’m wrong. David hasn’t finished.
‘Yes we do. But only for financial gain of course. One man’s terrorist is another man’s freedom fighter.’
I’m amazed. Where does he get the nerve? This is drama. Then I realise. No it’s not. It’s comedy. Because David ends with a statement that switches the whole story as you’ve read it thus far.
‘And in the capitalist world terrorism is like comedy – it’s all a question of timing.’
How’d you like them apples? Perspective, as they say, is everything.
And have you ever heard of something called ‘Invisible Theatre?’ Well, that’s what all of us on the bus have just experienced. It makes you think. It was supposed to make you think. The boys take a bow and we happily give our money to them and wish them well on their drama course. I think we’ve all learned something today. Unless of course they were playing with us and we’ve just been mugged?
About the Author
Cally Phillips was born in England of Scottish
parentage. Now in Turriff, she has lived most of her life in various
parts of Scotland, urban and rural.
Cally works for Ayton Publishing as series editor and also promotes the work of “Scotland’s Forgotten Bestseller” S. R. Crockett through his online literary society, The Galloway Raiders www.gallowayraiders.co.uk
Cally works for Ayton Publishing as series editor and also promotes the work of “Scotland’s Forgotten Bestseller” S. R. Crockett through his online literary society, The Galloway Raiders www.gallowayraiders.co.uk