812 The American Century: Literature since 1945to the agents. But that is part of the point, since it is difficult if not impossible to
work out just what form, in this context, definite proof of innocence would assume.
In this environment, where facts are not the only game in town and the suspicion of
conspiracy is rife, it is a question, not of truth, but of whose story gets told. The final
speeches of any length in the play are given to Bartlett and then, in an apparent time
shift, to Asfoor. Bartlett explains the choices available to Khaled. He can claim he is
innocent, “in which case proving it might be difficult.” Or he can confess that he
is guilty – and so, Bartlett suggests, “score ... points” “by telling us now” “because
we’ll find out soon enough.” Or he can admit that he is “innocent of being guilty.”
Which would mean, Bartlett explains, “You didn’t know what you were getting into.
Stumbled into it. Through deception. Other people’s. Your own stupidity.” “And that
would be okay too,” Bartlett helpfully adds. “We can work with that. We can work
with you to make that seem plausible.” History, Bartlett is suggesting, is coextensive
with story. Reality is something acted out, a master narrative constructed by the
agents of empire, those in authority; it is a matter of language. A language that Khaled
does not have, although Bartlett is certainly trying to help him have access to it – and
in the process, incriminate himself. It is also a language that, in the final speech of the
play, Asfoor confesses that he longs to learn. “I must learn the language that is
everywhere,” Asfoor declares. “Language that has fallen on our heads and made us
like – like children again.” “And one day,... I might even teach it,” he adds, “I will
teach language back ... I will make them speak words they never spoke before.
I will make them like children too.... And soon my language will fall on their heads.
Like theirs falls on ours. Exploding in our brains ‘til we can’t even dream in peace.”
The elision between words and bombs here offers a powerful rider, both metaphorical
and literal, to the speech of Bartlett that immediately precedes it, and to the verbal
dynamics of the entire play. In the war between terrorist and counterterrorist, words
become weapons, vital agents in the reconstruction of reality and the destruction of
the real. Language as communication, in short, is replaced by language as power.
In The God of Hell Sam Shepard also starts with the narrative premise of
unexpected visitors. The setting here is the American heartland of Wisconsin. Emma
and Frank are dairy farmers. They are visited, first, by a mysterious stranger called
Haynes. When Haynes shakes hands with Emma, bolts of electricity are emitted
from his fingers. Then, while Haynes is briefly staying with the couple in the
basement of their house, they receive another visitor, a purveyor of flags, bunting,
and other patriotic paraphernalia called Welch. “Whole country’s made of salesmen,”
Welch declares, as he alternately smooth talks and tries to intimidate Emma and
Frank. Manically energetic, Welch staples flags and bunting all around the house,
while questioning the couple about how many rooms the house has and who might
be staying in the basement. Gradually, it becomes clear that he is a government agent
and that Haynes is his prey. Haynes, it seems, has escaped from a secret nuclear
facility called Rocky Buttes, having been contaminated by plutonium. Welch is out
to get him back and, in response to any objections or protests, simply insists, “We can
do whatever we want.... We’re in absolute command now. We don’t have to answer
to a soul, least of all a couple of Wisconsin dairy farmers.” “This guy is taking overGGray_c05.indd 812ray_c 05 .indd 812 8 8/1/2011 7:31:47 PM/ 1 / 2011 7 : 31 : 47 PM