The Invisible Hand

by Ayad Akhtar

Genres: Cultural Heritage; Family Life; Literary Fiction

Synopsis

A chilling examination of how far we will go to survive and the consequences of the choices we make.

In remote Pakistan, Nick Bright awaits his fate. A successful financial trader, Nick is kidnapped by an Islamic militant group, but with no one negotiating his release, he agrees to an unusual plan. He will earn his own ransom by helping his captors manipulate and master the world commodities and currency markets.

"[A] tense, provocative thriller about the unholy nexus of international terrorism and big bucks...." (Seattle Times). "Ahktar again turns hypersensitive subjects into thought-provoking and thoughtful drama" (Newsday). "The prime theme is pulsing and alive: when human lives become just one more commodity to be traded, blood eventually flows in the streets" (Financial Times). "Whip-smart and twisty" (Time Out New York), "The Invisible Hand offers genuine insight into the future of the West" (Village Voice).

Release date: August 25, 2015

Publisher: Little, Brown and Company

Print pages: 144

Sample

A holding room. Spare. In disrepair. A table center stage. Two chairs. Along the far left wall, a small cot. And above it, a window near the ceiling. Covered in bars.

There’s a door stage right.

Sitting at the table is NICK BRIGHT. Intelligent and vital.

Across from him is DAR—early 20s—a rural Pakistani who speaks English with a thick accent. He wears a Kalashnikov over his shoulder.

Dar is leaning over Nick’s handcuffed hands. It may take us a moment to realize:

Dar is cutting Nick’s fingernails.

We hear male voices offstage talking in a foreign language—voices to which Dar appears to be listening.

 

NICK: How’s your mother, Dar?

DAR: Good. Good.

NICK: That’s good.

Dar smiles, nervously.

Goes back to cutting.

NICK (CONT’D): So she’s not too sick?

DAR: What?

NICK: Your mother. She’s not too sick?

DAR: She sick, Mr. Nick. She sick.

(Beat)

But she happy see her son.

NICK: That’s good you went to see her, Dar.

Dar forces a nervous smile, checking over his shoulder as…

… the voices diminish.

Dar stops—listening.

We hear the faint sound of a door closing. Then silence.

Dar gets up and goes to the door stage right—listening.

Then crosses to the window upstage center—listening.

In the distance, we hear a car engine start up. Then drive off.

Dar returns to the table. He rests the gun against the chair. He hands Nick the nail cutter as he pulls a key and undoes one of the cuffs.

DAR: They go. You can cut. I know you don’t like I cut for you.

NICK: Thank you, Dar.

The shift is palpable. Dar is clearly more at ease.

DAR: I not go my mother, Mr. Nick.

(Explaining, off Nick’s confusion)

I not go see my mother. I had plan. I not tell you.

NICK: You had a plan?

DAR: Before I not tell you.

Now I tell you.

You remember my cousin, he have farm? Potato farm?

NICK: Changez, right?

DAR (Smiling warmly): You remember.

NICK: Of course I remember, Dar.

DAR: Ramzaan coming. Prices going up and up. Like I tell you.

NICK: Like they do every year.

DAR: Changez tell me good crop in Jhelum. Very good year for him.

NICK: I remember.

DAR: Changez is good man, Mr. Nick. People like him. He have respect.

NICK: Right.

DAR: I tell him what you tell me. Sell me all potato, all farmer he has friends. Give for me lowest price. I sell potato high price when Ramzaan come.

I tell him, we all share money, together.

NICK: And?

DAR (Nodding): He talk to them. They don’t sell potato to other.

They give me.

(Quietly)

I tell here, I go my mother.

But I not go my mother.

I get trucks…

NICK: … Trucks?

DAR: Three trucks. Drive potato from Jhelum to Multan market, highest price.

NICK: How did you get trucks?

DAR: I pay.

NICK: With what?

DAR: Potato. I had so many!

(Laughs)

After three days, potato gone.

(Beat)

Seven. Five.

NICK: Seven, five… what?

DAR: Dollar.

NICK: Seventy-five dollars.

DAR: I make.

NICK: You’re kidding?

DAR: I change from rupee to dollar. Like you told me: Change all your saving to dollar, Dar. More…

(Speaking Punjabi)

… pucka.

NICK: Stable.

DAR (Repeating): Stable.

NICK: Dar, this is wonderful news.

DAR: A lot of money for me.

(Beat)

Thank you for give me help.

Nick smiles, moved. They share a moment.

We hear sounds in the hall.

Nick quickly takes a seat.

Dar nervously takes the nail cutter, as Nick locks the cuff back onto his wrist.

Just as…

… we hear the lock of the stage right door opening.

Enter BASHIR—mid to late 20s—sinewy and intense. A human barracuda.

Both Dar and Nick visibly nervous by his sudden appearance. Dar stands. A sign of respect.

Bashir speaks English perfectly, with a working-class British accent.

BASHIR: Mr. Bright?

NICK: Bashir.

BASHIR: Been a while.

Three weeks, innit?

(Off Nick’s silence)

How’ve you been?

NICK: Fine.

BASHIR: No complaints?

Wouldn’t want to be hearing anything about how you’d been mistreated or some such…

Want to. . .