House of Many Tongues by Jonathan Garfinkel

Scene 2
    2003. A house in Jerusalem.
    The bundle in the raft becomes ALEX, aged fifteen.
    He holds a pen and a pad of paper. SHIMON, drinking beer, wears army fatigues.
    Alex: Dad, who’s my mother?
    Shimon: The land is your mother. Are you writing this down?
    May 15, 1988. The fortieth anniversary of our nation. And the birth of my son.
    Alex: I don’t want to write this.
    Shimon: We write our history. Together. Father and son.
    Alex: (He puts down the pen.) I don’t want to.
    Shimon: Come on, kid. It’s our story.
    Alex: I don’t like this story.
    Shimon: It’s your story. How you were born.
    Alex: I want to know who my real mother is.
    SHIMON presents ALEX with a gun.
    Shimon: Happy fifteenth birthday, Alex.
    Alex: The gun?
    Shimon: 1934 German Mauser. I fought in the ’67 War with this. Defended and overcame with this. An entire hillside ours because of this gun.
    ALEX reluctantly takes it.
    Alex: That’s great, Dad.
    Shimon: It’s consistency. Better than any woman you’ll ever meet. Beautiful. Powerful. Reliable too.
    Alex: This gun is not beautiful.
    Shimon: This gun is the Miracle of ’67.
    My legacy.
    From me to you.
    Alex: I don’t want your gun.
    Shimon: You have to write the story of the gun.
    Our story.
    The miracle of how you were born!
    Alex: I don’t want to write your book.
    Shimon: Hope was you on a river arriving into my arms.
    Hope was this house I found in the fucked-upness of war.
    Hope was the birth of this nation!
    Nearly sixty years ago, David Ben-Gurion had a vision for our people:
    To be a light unto nations.
    In one week’s time, your hero Ilan Ramon will be the first Israeli to travel
    into outer space. This hope will become manifest.
    That’s how great this country is.
    We can send men to the stars!
    Alex: (robot-like) This is the twenty-first century. I don’t believe in miracles. I don’t care how great this country is.
    Shimon: Sure you do.
    Alex: I don’t care about outer space.
    Shimon: To tell a story, you have to start at the beginning.
    We will write the truth.
    Alex: Tell me who my mother is and I’ll write your story.
    Shimon: I give you this gun and you write our story.
    Alex: Uch! (ALEX storms out.)
    Shimon: Help me write!
    Help me be my eyes.
    Happy birthday, Alexander.

Scene 3
    ALEX in his room, writing.
    Alex: My dad’s a liar.
    Under his mattress there lives a woman named Melissa.
    I found her.
    Melissa’s beautiful. She’s glossy, folds out in three parts and comes from Ohio. She also has lemon meringue slathered permanently around her breasts. Makes her tits look like a glazed challah.
    I follow her body with my eyes. Down. Down to something I’ve never seen before. It’s mysterious and beautiful and I have an urge to do something—to make contact.
    Melissa’s Vagina: Liberate me, Alex.
    Alex: Oh my God… her thing… it speaks.
    Melissa’s Vagina: Liberate me.
    Alex: It says.
    Liberate you?
    Melissa’s Vagina: Take me away from him.
    Alex: It says.
    But I’m only fifteen,
    I say.
    Melissa’s Vagina: It’s time for you to become a man.
    To travel to where no Israeli has ever gone before.
    To boldly enter the cosmos.
    Use your tongue—for a man needs to use his tongue
    so he can learn to speak
    in new ways.
    Cunnilingus .
    Alex: It says.
    Cunnilingus?
    I say.
    Enter RIVKA.
    Rivka: Happy birthday, Alex!
    Radio sounds.
    Alex: Houston, this is space shuttle Columbia. We’re ready for takeoff.
    Houston: Copy, Alex. All systems go.
    Alex: I’m heading to where no man has gone before.
    Houston: Roger that. You be careful in there.
    Alex: I’m staring into the cosmos, Houston. I’m ready for entry. And I’m terrified.
    Rivka: Did you do your homework?
    Alex: You betcha.
    Rivka: That’s fantastic!
    Alex: The truth is, Rivka… May I call you Rivka?
    Rivka: You always call me Rivka.
    Alex: I like your stockings.
    Rivka: Huh?
    Alex: You’re wearing very nice stockings.
    Rivka: Right.
    Alex: Your stockings look like silk. Are they?
    Rivka: