Martin McDonagh - The Pillowman

ACT THREE

Police interrogation room. Katurian hurriedly writing out a lengthy confession. He hands the first page to the seated Tupolski. Ariel is standing, smoking.

TUPOLSKI. "I hereby confess to my part in the murders of six people; three carried out by me alone, three carried out by myself and my brother while acting out a number of gruesome and perverted short stories I had written." Brackets, "Attached," close brackets. (Pause.) "My most recent killing was that of my brother, Michal ... " Yeah, thanks for that, Katurian. We'd never've been able to pin that one on you. "Held a pillow over his head ... " blah blah blah ... "save him the horror of torture and execution at the hands of his ... " blah blah blah. Stuff about how much he loves his brother. Yeah, you really showed it. "My most recent killing prior to that was of a little mute girl, about three days ago. I do not know her name. This little girl ... was ... "

ARIEL. (Pause.) This little girl was what?

TUPOLSKI. It's the end of the page.

ARIEL. Write quicker.

TUPOLSKI. Write quicker. (Pause.) Or is it "write more quickly"? "Write quicker." "Write more quickly."

ARIEL. It's "write quicker" ...

TUPOLSKI. It's "write quicker." (Ariel cricks his neck, reading upside down what Katurian is writing. Katurian, almost instinctively, covers what he's writing with his hand. Ariel slaps him across the head.)

ARIEL. You're not doing your fucking exams!

KATURIAN. I'm sorry ... (Ariel reads over Katurian's shoulder.)

ARIEL. "Killed as we acted out a story called ... 'The Little Jesus.' " Which one's "The Little Jesus"? I didn't see that one ...

TUPOLSKI. What? (Ariel flips through the box file, finds "The Little Jesus" story.)

ARIEL. He says they killed her like a story called "The Little Jesus." Did you see that one?

TUPOLSKI. (Sickened, sad.)Yes. I did. (Ariel starts reading through the story. Katurian glances at Tupolski and is disturbed by his stare. He gives him the second page of the confession and continues writing.) Where did you leave her body?

KATURIAN. I've drawn a map. There's a wishing well about two hundred yards behind our house in the Kamenice forest. Right behind that wishing well, her body's buried there. With two other people. Two adults.

TUPOLSKI. What two other people?

KATURIAN. I'm getting to that. (Tupolski checks his gun. Katurian notices but continues writing.)

TUPOLSKI. (To Ariel.) Where are you up to?

ARIEL. "She'd wear a little beard and would go around in sandals."

TUPOLSKI. Ariel, if you're reading a story to find out how a child got murdered, wouldn't it be an idea just to skip to the end of it?

ARIEL. Oh. Right.

TUPOLSKI. Like, skip to the bit about the crown of thorns. Or skip to the bit about the cat-o'-nine-tails. Or skip to the bit about the "carrying a crucifix around the room until her legs fucking buckled." Or skip to the bit right after that. (Pause.) I'll get them to send out the forensics people, pick up the body. (Tupolski exits with Katurian's map. Ariel finishes the story and starts quietly crying. Katurian looks at him, then continues with the confession. Ariel sits, sickened.)

ARIEL. Why does there have to be people like you? (Katurian finishes the page, continues on another. Ariel reads through the first page.) "And I held him down as my brother cut his toes off, acting out a story called 'The Tale of the Town on the River.' Attached." (Pause.) "And I held her down, as he fed her a number of little figures made from apples, with razor blades inside them, acting out a story called 'The Little Apple Men.' Attached." (Pause.) Do you really think we're not going to burn every one of your stories the minute we kill you?

KATURIAN. I've confessed to everything truthfully, just like I promised I would. And I believe that you'll keep all my stories with my case file and not release them until fifty years after my death, just like you promised you would.

ARIEL. What makes you think we'll keep our word?

KATURIAN. Because I think, deep down, you're honourable men.

ARIEL. (Standing, seething.) Deep down?! Deep lucking down...?!

KATURIAN. Could you beat me up after I've finished this? I'm just up to the part about murdering my mother and father. (Katurian continues writing. Ariel lights a cigarette.) Thank you.

ARIEL. (Pause.) You killed your mum and dad? (Katurian nods.) This may seem a ridiculous question, but, er, why?

KATURIAN. Um ... There's a story in there called "The Writer and the Writers Brother." I don't know if you saw it ...

ARIEL. I saw it.

KATURIAN. Well ... I kind of hate any writing that's even vaguely autobiographical. I think people who only write about what they know only write about what they know because they're too fucking stupid to make anything up, however "The Writer and the Writer's Brother" is, I suppose, the only story of mine that isn't really fiction.

ARIEL. Oh. (Pause.) How old was he? When they started.

KATURIAN. He was eight. I was seven.

ARIEL. How long did it go on for?

KATURIAN. Seven years.

ARIEL. And you heard it all those years?

KATURIAN. I didn't know exactly what it was, till the end, but yes.

ARIEL. And then you killed them? (Katurian nods, handing the finished confession to Ariel.)

KATURIAN. I held a pillow over each of their heads, then I buried them behind the wishing well behind our house. I thought the wishing well was kind of apt. Anyway, its the same place where the mute girls buried. (Ariel goes over to the filing cabinet, checks inside.)

ARIEL. Y'know, your childhood could be used as a pretty decent defence in court. Well, it could if we weren't going to bypass all that court shit and shoot you in an hour.

KATURIAN. I don't want to bypass anything. I just want you to keep your word. To go ahead and kill me, and to go ahead and keep my stories safe.

ARIEL. Well, you can certainly half-trust us.

KATURIAN. I can trust you.

ARIEL. How do you know you can trust me?

KATURIAN. I don't know. There's just something about you. I don't know what it is.

ARIEL. Oh, really? Well, y'know, I'll tell you what there is about me. There is an overwhelming, and there is an all-pervading, hatred ... a hatred ... of people like you. Of people who lay even the littlest finger ... on children. I wake up with it. It wakes me up. It rides on the bus with me to work. It whispers to me, "They will not get away with it." I come in early. I make sure all the bindings are clean and the electrodes are in the right order so we won't ... waste ... time. I admit it, sometimes I use excessive force. And sometimes I use excessive force on an entirely innocent individual. But I'll tell you this. If an entirely innocent individual leaves this room for the outside world, they're not gonna contemplate even raising their voice to a little kid again, just in case I fucking hear 'em and drag 'em in here for another load of excessive fucking force. Now, is this kind of behaviour in an officer of the law in some way questionable morally? Of course it fucking is! But you know what? I don't fucking care! 'Cos, when I'm an old man, you know what? Little kids are gonna follow me around and they're gonna know my name and what I stood for, and they're gonna give me some of their sweets in thanks, and I'm gonna take those sweets and thank them and tell them to get home safe, and I'm gonna be happy. Not because of the sweets, I don't really like sweets, but because I'd know ... I'd know in my heart, that if I hadn't been there, not all of them would have been there. Because I'm a good policeman. Not necessarily good in the sense of being able to solve lots of stuff, because I'm not, but good in the sense of I stand for something. I stand for something. I stand on the right side. I may not always be right, but I stand on the right side. The child's side. The opposite side to you. And so, naturally, when I hear that a child has been killed in a fashion ... in a fashion such as this "Little Jesus" thing ... You know what? I would torture you to death just for writing a story like that, let alone acting it out! So, y'know what? (Takes out from the cabinet a large, grim-looking battery and electrodes.) ... Fuck what your mum and dad did to you and your brother. Fuck it. I'd've tortured the fuck out of them if I had them here, just like I'm gonna torture the fuck out of you now too. 'Cos two wrongs do not make a right. Two wrongs do not make a right. So kneel down over here, please, so I can connect you to this battery. (Katurian backs away.)