MICHAL. Aha! I get it!
KATURIAN. Do we know that the brother has killed three children?
MICHAL. No.
KATURIAN. No. Do we know that the brother has confessed to killing three children?
MICHAL No.
KATURIAN. No. Do we know that they found a kid's toes in a box in their house? No. Do we ... Oh my God ...
MICHAL. What?
KATURIAN. We don't even know that there were any children killed at all.
MICHAL. It was in the papers.
KATURIAN. Who runs the papers?
MICHAL. The police. Ohh. You're quite clever.
KATURIAN. Oh my God. "A writer in a totalitarian state is interrogated about the gruesome content of his short stories and their similarities to a number of child-murders that are happening in his town. A number of child-murders ... that aren't actually happening at all." (Pause.) I wish I had a pen now. I could do a decent story out of this. If they weren't going to execute us in an hour. (Pause.) Whatever they do, Michal, no matter what, you don't sign anything. No matter what they do to you, you don't sign anything. You got it?
MICHAL. Whatever they do to me, I don't sign anything. No matter what they do to me, I don't sign anything. (Pause.) Can I sign your name?
KATURIAN. (Smiling.) Especially don't sign my name. Especially don't sign my name.
MICHAL. "I killed a loada kids," signed Katurian Katurian. Hah!
KATURIAN. You little shit ...
MICHAL. "And it was nothing to do with his brother, Michal, not even a bit," signed Katurian Katurian. Hah!
KATURIAN. I'll beat the shit out of ya ...
MICHAL. Don't ... (Katurian hugs him. Michal hugs back, too strongly on Katurian's wounds.)
KATURIAN. Arrghh, Jesus, Michal!
MICHAL. Sorry, Katurian.
KATURIAN. It's alright. (Pause.) We'll be alright, Michal. We'll be alright. We'll get out of here. If we just stick together.
MICHAL. Yeah. My arse is really itchy today. I don't know why. Have we got any of that powder left?
KATURIAN. No, you used it all. Like it was going out of style.
MICHAL. Mm. But we ain't going home for a while anyway, are we?
KATURIAN. No.
MICHAL. Gonna have to sit here with an itchy arse then.
KATURIAN. Yeah, but could you keep telling me about it, because it's really keeping my spirits up.
MICHAL. My, really? No, you're just being stupid. You can't have an arse keep your spirits up, can ya?
KATURIAN. It depends on the arse.
MICHAL. What? Stupid. (Pause.) Well it's itchy anyway. I'll tell you that. I'm trying not to itch it or anything, y'know, 'cos you're here, but, I'll tell ya, it's itchy, man. (Pause.) I've got one itchy arse. (Pause.) Tell us a story, Katurian. It'll take my mind off ...
KATURIAN. Take your mind off your itchy arse ...
MICHAL. My itchy arse, yeah ...
KATURIAN. What story do you want?
MICHAL. Um, "The Little Green Pig."
KATURIAN. No. Thatsh justh thilly ...
MICHAL. Itsh not justh thilly, it's good, "The Little Green Pig." I was trying to r'member it just now.
KATURIAN. No, I'll do a different one. What'll I do?
MICHAL. Do "The Pillowman."
KATURIAN. (Smiles.) Why "The Pillowman"? (Michal shrugs.) Jeez, that's from a while ago, isn't it?
MICHAL. Yeah, its from, like, a while ago.
KATURIAN. Let's see, how does that start...?
MICHAL. "Once upon a time" ...
KATURIAN. I know, but I'm trying to think how it actually starts ...
MICHAL. (Irritated.) "Once upon a time" ...
KATURIAN. Alright, Jesus. (Pause.) Once upon a time ... there was a man, who did not look like normal men. He was about nine feet tall ... (Michal looks up, silently whistles.) And he was all made up of these fluffy pink pillows: His arms were pillows and his legs were pillows and his body was a pillow; his fingers were tiny little pillows, even his head was a pillow, a big round pillow.
MICHAL. A circular pillow.
KATURIAN. It's the same thing.
MICHAL. But I prefer "a circular pillow."
KATURIAN. His head was a circular pillow. And on his head he had two button eyes and a big smiley mouth which was always smiling, so you could always see his teeth, which were also pillows. Little white pillows.
MICHAL. "Pillows." Do your mouth smiley like the Pillowman's mouth is. (Katurian gives a big dopey smile. Michal gently touches Katurian's lips and cheeks.)
KATURIAN. Well, the Pillowman had to look like this, he had to look soft and safe, because of his job, because his job was a very sad and a very difficult one ...
MICHAL. Uh-oh, here it comes ...
KATURIAN. Whenever a man or a lady was very very sad because they'd had a dreadful and hard life and they just wanted to end it all, they just wanted to take their own lives and take all the pain away, well, just as they were about to do it, by razor, or by bullet, or by gas, or ...
MICHAL. Or by jumping off of something big.
KATURIAN. Yes. By whatever preferred method of suicide — "preferred"'s probably the wrong word, but anyway, just as that person was about to do it, the Pillowman would go to them, and sit with them, and gently hold them, and he'd say, "Hold on a minute," and time would slow strangely, and as time slowed, the Pillowman would go back in time to when that man or that lady was just a little boy or a little girl, to when the life of horror they were to lead hadn't quite yet begun, and the Pillowman's job was very very sad, because the Pillowman's job was to get that child to kill themselves, and so avoid the years of pain that would just end up in the same place for them anyway: facing an oven, facing a shotgun, facing a lake. "But I've never heard of a small child killing themselves," you might say. Well, the Pillowman would always suggest they do it in a way that would just look like a tragic accident: He'd show them the bottle of pills that looked just like sweeties; he'd show them the place on the river where the ice was too thin; he'd show them the parked cars that it was really dangerous to dart out between; he'd show them the plastic bag with no breathing holes, and exactly how to tighten it. Because mummies and daddies always find it easier to come to terms with a five-year-old lost in a tragic accident than they do with a five-year-old who has seen how shitty life is and taken action to avoid it. Now, not all the children would go along with the Pillowman. There was one little girl, a happy little thing, who just wouldn't believe the Pillowman when he told her that life could be awful and her life would be, and she sent him away, and he went away crying, crying big gloopy tears that made puddles this big, and the next night there was another knock on her bedroom door, and she said, "Go away, Pillowman. I've told you, I'm happy. I've always been happy and I'll always be happy." But it wasn't the Pillowman. It was another man. And her mummy wasn't home, and this man would visit her every time her mummy wasn't home, and she soon became very very sad, and as she sat in front of the oven when she was twenty-one she said to the Pillowman, "Why didn't you try to convince me?" And the Pillowman said, "I tried to convince you, but you were just too happy." And as she turned on the gas as high as it would go she said, "But I've never been happy. I've never been happy."
MICHAL. Um, could you skip on to the end, please? This bit's a bit boring.
KATURIAN. Well, that's a bit rude, Michal, actually.
MICHAL. Oh. Sorry, Katurian. (Pause.) But could you skip on to the end please?
KATURIAN. (Pause.) Well ... the end of the Pillowman ... See, when the Pillowman was successful in his work, a little child would die horrifìcally. And when the Pillowman was unsuccessful, a little child would have a horrific life, grow into an adult who'd also have a horrific life, and then die horrifìcally. So, the Pillowman, as big as he was and as fluffy as he was, he'd just go around crying all day long, his house'd be just puddles everywhere, so he decided to do just one final job and that'd be it. So he went to this place beside this pretty stream that he re
membered from a time before ...
MICHAL. I like this bit ...
KATURIAN. And he brought a little can of petrol with him, and there was this old weeping willow tree there, and he went under it and he sat and he waited there a while, and there were all these little toys under there, and ...
MICHAL. Say what the toys was.
KATURIAN. There was a little car there, and a little toy dog and a kaleidoscope.
MICHAL. There was a little toy dog?! Did it yap?
KATURIAN. Did it what?
MICHAL. Did it yap?
KATURIAN. Er ... yes. Anyway, there was a little caravan nearby, and the Pillowman heard the door open and little footsteps come out, and he heard a boy's voice say, "I'm just going out to play, Mum," and the mum said, "Well don't be late for your tea, son." "I won't be, Mum." And the Pillowman heard the little footsteps get closer and the branches of the willow tree parted and it wasn't a little boy at all, it was a little Pillowboy. And the Pillowboy said, "Hello," to the Pillowman, and the Pillowman said, "Hello," to the Pillowboy, and they both played with the toys for a while ...
MICHAL. With the car and the kaleidoscope and the little toy dog what yapped. But I bet mostly with the little toy dog, ay?
KATURIAN. And the Pillowman told him all about his sad job and the dead kids and all of that type of stuff, and the little Pillowboy understood instantly 'cos he was such a happy little fella and all he ever wanted to do was to be able to help people, and he poured the can of petrol all over himself and his smiley mouth was still smiling, and the Pillowman, through his gloopy tears, said, "Thank you," to the Pillowboy, and the Pillowboy said, "That's alright. Will you tell my mummy I won't be having my tea tonight," and the Pillowman said, "Yes, I will," lying, and the Pillowboy struck a match, and the Pillowman sat there watching him burn, and as the Pillowman gently started to fade away, the last thing he saw was the Pillowboy's happy smiley mouth as it slowly melted away, stinking into nothingness. That was the last thing he saw. The last thing he heard was something he hadn't even contemplated. The last thing he heard was the screams of the hundred thousand children he'd helped to commit suicide coming back to life and going on to lead the cold, wretched lives that were destined to them because he hadn't been around to prevent them, right on up to the screams of their sad self-inflicted deaths, which this time, of course, would be conducted entirely alone.
MICHAL. Hm. (Pause.) I don't really get the end bit but, ah, so the Pillowman just faded away? Ah.
KATURIAN. He just faded away, yeah, like he never existed.
MICHAL. Into the air.
KATURIAN. Into the air. Into wherever.
MICHAL. Into Heaven.
KATURIAN. No. Into wherever.
MICHAL. I like the Pillowman. He's my favourite.
KATURIAN. Its a bit downbeat, I'll admit. Is your itchy arse alright now?
MICHAL. Oh, it was till you reminded me! Arrgh! (Adjusts himself.) Hmm. But I still can't figure it out.
KATURIAN. Figure what out? Figure out "The Pillowman"?
MICHAL. No, I thought I'd hidden it really well.
KATURIAN. Hidden what really well?
MICHAL. The box with the little boy's toes in it. I thought I'd hidden it really well. I mean, first I'd put it under all my socks and pants in the drawer, which, alright, wasn't very well hid, but then when they started to smell I hid 'em under the dirt in the Christmas tree pot in the attic, 'cos I knew we wouldn't be getting the Christmas tree pot out again for ages. Like, till Christmas. And that'd give 'em plenty of time to go mouldy. They were already a bit mouldy. Were they mouldy when you saw 'em? (Katurian nods, the life drained out of him.) They must've used sniffer dogs or something. You know those sniffer dogs? They must've used them. Because, no way, I hid them brilliant. Christmas tree pot. You only see it once a year.
KATURIAN. You just told me ... You just told me you didn't touch those kids. You just lied to me.
MICHAL. No I didn't. I just told you the man came in and said he'd torture me unless I said I killed those kids, so I said I killed those kids. That doesn't mean I didn't kill those kids. I did kill those kids.
KATURIAN. You swore to me, on your life, that you didn't kill those three kids.
MICHAL. Ohh. See with that one, the "Swear to me on your life you didn't kill those three kids," yeah, I was kind of playing a trick on ya. Sorry, Katurian. (Katurian backs away from him to the mattress.) I know it was wrong. Really. But it was very interesting. The little boy was just like you said it'd be. I chopped his toes off and he didn't scream at all. He just sat there looking at them. He seemed very surprised. I suppose you would be at that age. His name was Aaron. He had a funny little hat on, kept going on about his mum. God, he bled a lot. You wouldn't've thought there'd be that much blood in such a little boy. Then he stopped bleeding and went blue. Poor thing. I feel quite bad now, he seemed quite nice. "Can I go home to my mummy, now, please?" But the girl was a pain in the arse. Kept bawling her eyes out. And she wouldn't eat them. She wouldn't eat the applemen, and I'd spent ages making them. It's really hard to get the razor blades inside. You don't say how to make them in the story, do ya? I checked. So, anyway, I had to force 'em down her. It only took two. Not being mean, but at least that shut her up. (Pause.) It's really hard to get out of your clothes, isn't it, blood? You try washing your shirt tomorrow. It'll take ages. You'll see. (Pause.) Katurian? (Pause.) I'll wash it for ya, if you want. I'm getting quite good at it.
KATURIAN. (Pause. Quietly.) What did you do it for?
MICHAL. Huh? You're mumbling.
KATURIAN. (Tears.) What did you do it for?
MICHAL. Don't cry, Katurian. Don't cry. (Michal goes over to hold him. Katurian backs away in disgust.)
KATURIAN. What did you do it for?
MICHAL. You know. Because you told me to.
KATURIAN. (Pause.) Because I what?
MICHAL. Because you told me to.
KATURIAN. (Pause.) I remember telling you to do your homework on time. I remember telling you to brush your teeth every night ...
MICHAL. I do brush my teeth every night ...
KATURIAN. I don't remember telling you to take a bunch of little kids and go butcher them.
MICHAL. I didn't butcher them. "Butcher them," it'd be more like ... (Michal imitates viciously hacking at someone.) Mine was more like ... (Michal imitates a gentle, single hack onto imaginary toes, then delicately throwing the toes away ... ) And ... (Michal imitates placing two applemen inside a little mouth, then swallowing.) "Butcher them." That's a bit strong. And I wouldn't have done anything if you hadn't told me, so don't you act all the innocent. Every story you tell me, something horrible happens to somebody. I was just testing out how far-fetched they were. 'Cos I always thought some of 'em were a bit far-fetched. (Pause.) D'you know what? They ain't all that far-fetched.
KATURIAN. How come you never acted out any of the nice ones?
MICHAL. Because you never wrote any nice ones.
KATURIAN. I wrote plenty of nice ones.
MICHAL. Er, yeah, like, two.
KATURIAN. No, I'll tell you why you never acted out any of the nice ones, shall I?
MICHAL. Alright.
KATURIAN. Because you're a sadistic, retarded flicking pervert who enjoys killing little kids, and even if every story I ever wrote was the sweetest thing imaginable, the outcome'd still be the fucking same.
MICHAL. Well ... we'll never know, will we, 'cos you never did. (Pause.) And I didn't enjoy killing those kids. It was irritating. It took ages. And I didn't set out to kill those kids. I just set out to chop the toes off one of them and to put razors down the throat of one of them.
KATURIAN. Arc you telling me you don't know that if you chop the toes off a little boy and put razors down the throat of a little girl, you don't know that they're gonna die?
MICHAL. Well, I know now. (Katurian puts his head in his hands, trying to think of a way out of this.) Well, the torture man certainly seemed to be on my side. He seemed
to agree it was all your fault. Well, mostly your fault.
KATURIAN. (Pause.) What did you tell him?
MICHAL. Just the truth.
KATURIAN. Which particular truth?
MICHAL. Just that, y'know, all the things I did to all the kids I got from stories you wrote and read out to me.
KATURIAN. You said that to the policeman?
MICHAL Mm. Y'know, just the truth.
KATURIAN. That isn't the truth, Michal.
MICHAL Yes it is.
KATURIAN. No it isn't.
MICHAL. Well, did you write some stories with children getting murdered in them?
KATURIAN. Yes, but ...
MICHAL. Well, did you read them out to me?
KATURIAN. Yes ...
MICHAL. Well, did I go out and murder a bunch of children? (Pause.) "Yes, I did," is the answer to that one. So I don't see how the "That isn't the truth" comes into it. Let alone the "statistic retarded pervert." I mean, you're my brother and I love you, but, y'know, you've just spent twenty minutes telling me a story about a bloke, his main thing in life's to get a bunch of little kids to, at minimum, set themselves on fire, so, y'know? And he's the hero! And I'm not criticising. He's a very good character. He's a very very good character. He reminds me a lot of me.
KATURIAN. How does he remind you of you?
MICHAL. You know, getting little children to die. All that.
KATURIAN. The Pillowman never killed anybody, Michal. And all the children that died were going to lead horrible lives anyway.
MICHAL. You're right, all children are going to lead horrible lives. You may as well save them the hassle.
KATURIAN. Not all children are going to lead horrible lives.
MICHAL. Erm, hmm. Did you lead a horrible life since you was a child? Yes. Erm, did I lead a horrible life since I was a child? Yes. That's two out of two for a start.
KATURIAN. The Pillowman was a thoughtful, decent man, who hated what he was doing. You are the opposite, in every respect.
MICHAL. Well, okay, you know I'm no good at opposites, but I think I know what you're saying. Thank you. (Pause.) "The Pillowman"'s a good story, Katurian. It's one of your best. Y'know, I think you're going to be a famous writer some day, God bless you. I can see it.
Martin McDonagh Page 4