KATURIAN. (Pause.) When?
MICHAL Hah?
KATURIAN. When am I going to be a famous writer?
MICHAL. Some day, I said.
KATURIAN. They're going to execute us in an hour and a half.
MICHAL. Oh yeah. Well, I guess you aren't gonna be a famous writer then.
KATURIAN. They're going to destroy everything now. They're going to destroy us, they're going to destroy my stories. They're going to destroy everything.
MICHAL. Well, I think it's us we should be worrying about, Katurian, not your stories.
KATURIAN. Oh yeah?
MICHAL. Yeah. They're just paper.
KATURIAN. (Pause.) They're just what?
MICHAL. They're just paper. (Katurian thuds Michal's head down once against the stone floor. Michal, stunned by the idea of it rather than the pain, feels his bleeding head.)
KATURIAN. If they came to me right now and said, "We're going to burn two out of the three of you — you, your brother, or your stories," I'd have them burn you first, I'd have them burn me second, and I'd have it be the stories they saved.
MICHAL. You just banged my head on the floor.
KATURIAN. I noticed that.
MICHAL. (Crying.) You just banged my head on the floor!
KATURIAN. I said I noticed that.
MICHAL. You're just like Mum and Dad!
KATURIAN. (Laughing.) Say that again?!
MICHAL. You're just like Mum and Dad! Hitting me, and shouting at me!
KATURIAN. I'm just like Mum and Dad? Let me work this out ...
MICHAL. Oh don't start that ...
KATURIAN. Mum and Dad kept their first-born son in a room where they tortured him for seven straight years, and you made a little boy bleed to death, made a little girl choke to death, did God knows what to another little girl and you're not like Mum and Dad, but I banged a fucking dimwit's head on the floor once and I am like Mum and Dad.
MICHAL. Yes, exactly. Exactly.
KATURIAN. I see your logic, Michal. I see where you're coming from.
MICHAL Good. You should.
KATURIAN. I'll tell you this. If Mum and Dad are looking down right now, I think they'll be glad to see you turned out to be exactly the type of boy they could be proud of.
MICHAL. Don't say that ...
KATURIAN. Truly proud of. You're a carbon copy of them, almost. Maybe you should grow a little goatee beard here, get glasses, like him ...
MICHAL. Don't say that!
KATURIAN. Or wear a lot of diamonds, like her. Tawlk like thiiss, my son ...
MICHAL. Don't say that or I'll kill you!!!
KATURIAN. You're not gonna kill me, Michal. I ain't seven!!!
MICHAL. I'm not like them. I didn't want to hurt anybody. I was just doing your stories.
KATURIAN. What did you do to the third girl?
MICHAL. No, I'm not telling now. You've hurt my feelings. And my head.
KATURIAN. You'll tell quick enough when they get hold of you.
MICHAL. I can take it.
KATURIAN. Not like this you can't.
MICHAL. (Low.) You don't know what I can take.
KATURIAN. (Pause.) No. I suppose I don't.
MICHAL. When I was in here listening to you screaming next door, I thought this musta been kinda like how it was for you all those years. Well, let me tell ya, it's easier from this side.
KATURIAN. I know it is.
MICHAL. You only had it for an hour and you came in whingeing your snotty head off. Try it for a lifetime.
KATURIAN. That doesn't excuse anything.
MICHAL. It excused the two you murdered. Why shouldn't it excuse the two I murdered?
KATURIAN. I murdered two people who tortured a child for seven years. You murdered three children who hadn't tortured anybody for any years. There's a difference.
MICHAL. As far as you know they hadn't tortured anybody. The razor-blade girl seemed like a right little shit. I bet she at least did ants.
KATURIAN. How did you kill the third girl, Michal? I just need to know. Was she like in a story too?
MICHAL. Mm.
KATURIAN. Which story?
MICHAL. You're gonna be mad
KATURIAN. I'm not gonna be mad.
MICHAL. You're gonna be a bit mad.
KATURIAN. Which story was she like?
MICHAL. Like, um ... she was like in, um ... "The Little Jesus." "The Little Jesus." (Katurian looks at Michal a while, hands to his face, and, as he pictures the horrific details of the story, he slowly starts to cry. Michal goes to say something but can't, as Katurian continues quietly crying.)
KATURIAN. Why that one?
MICHAL. (Shrugs.) It's a good story. You're a good writer, Katurian. Don't let anybody tell you different.
KATURIAN. (Pause.) Where did you leave her?
MICHAL. Down where you buried Mum and Dad. At the wishing well.
KATURIAN. (Pause.) That poor fucking thing.
MICHAL. I know. It's terrible.
KATURIAN. Well, I hope it was quick.
MICHAL. Quickish. (Katurian cries again. Michal puts a hand on his shoulder.) Don't cry, Kat. It'll be alright.
KATURIAN. How will it be alright? How will it ever be alright?
MICHAL. I dunno. It's just sort of something you say at a time like this, isn't it? "It'll be alright." Course it wont be alright. They're gonna come and execute us any minute, aren't they? That isn't alright, is it? That's almost the opposite of alright. Mm. (Pause.) Will they execute us together or separate? I hope it's together. I wouldn't wanna be on my own.
KATURIAN. I haven't done anything!
MICHAL. Look, don't start that again or you'll get on my nerves. And even if they don't execute us together, they're bound to bury us together, save digging two holes, 'cos I'd hate to be buried all on my own. That'd be horrible. All alone in the ground, ierrghh! But at least we'll be together in Heaven, whatever happens. And hang out with God and that. Have races.
KATURIAN. Which particular Heaven is this you're going to, Michal? Child-killer Heaven?
MICHAL. No, not Child-killer Heaven, smart-arse. Normal Heaven. Like in the films.
KATURIAN. Do you want to know where you're going when you die?
MICHAL. Where? And don't say somewhere horrible just because you're in a mood.
KATURIAN. You're going to go to a little room in a little house in a little forest, and for the rest of all time you're going to be looked after not by me but by a person called Mum and a person called Dad, and they're gonna look after you in the same way they always looked after you, except this time I'm not gonna be around to rescue you, 'cos I ain't going to the same place you're going, 'cos I never butchered any little fucking kids.
MICHAL. That is just the most meanest thing that any person has ever said to any other person and I am never never going to speak to you again ever.
KATURIAN. Good. Then let's just sit here in silence till they come back and execute us.
MICHAL. The meanest thing I ever heard! And I told you not to say anything mean. I said, "Don't say anything mean," and what did you do? What did you do? You went and said something mean.
KATURIAN. I used to love you so much.
MICHAL. (Pause.) What do you mean, "used to"? That's an even meaner thing to say than the other mean thing you said, and that other thing was the meanest thing I ever heard! Jesus!
KATURIAN. Then lets just sit here in silence.
MICHAL. I'm trying to sit here in silence. You keep saying mean stuff. (Pause.) Don't ya? (Pause.) Don't ya, I said? Oh, is this the sitting here in silence thing? Okay. (Pause. Michal scratches his arse. Pause.) Except I've got another bone to pick with you, actually. A bone which is all about this little rubbish story I read a little while ago. A little rubbish story called "The Writer and the Writer's Brother," the story was called, which was the biggest pile of rubbish I ever read.
KATURIAN. I never showed you that story, Michal.
MICHAL. I know you never show
ed me that story. And with good reason. It was rubbish.
KATURIAN. So you've been snooping round my room while I'm at work, have you?
MICHAL. Of course I've been snooping round your room while you're at work. What the hell do you think I do while you're at work?
KATURIAN. Massacre infants, I thought.
MICHAL. Uh-huh? Well, when I'm not massacring infants I'm snooping around your room. And finding stupid little stories that aren't even true at the end. That are just bloody stupid at the end. That I died and Mum and Dad lived. That's a bloody stupid ending.
KATURIAN. Now I'm getting literary advice from Jack-the-fuck-ing-Ripper.
MICHAL. Why didn't you make it a happy ending, like it was in real life?
KATURIAN. There are no happy endings in real life.
MICHAL. What? My story was a happy ending. You came and rescued me and you killed Mum and Dad. That was a happy ending.
KATURIAN. And then what happened?
MICHAL. Then you buried them out behind the wishing well, and put some limes on them.
KATURIAN. I put lime on them. "Put some limes on them." What was I doing, a fruit fucking salad? And then what happened?
MICHAL. And then what happened? And then you started sending me to school and then I started learning things, which was good.
KATURIAN. And then what happened?
MICHAL. And then what happened? (Pause.) When I won the discus?
KATURIAN. And then what happened about three weeks ago?
MICHAL. Oh. And then I done some children in.
KATURIAN. And then you done some children in. How is that a happy fucking ending? And then you got caught and executed, and got your brother executed, who hadn't done anything at all. How is that a happy ending? And, hang on, when did you win the discus? You came fourth in the fucking discus!
MICHAL. We're not talking about ...
KATURIAN. You came fourth out of fucking four in the discus! "When I won the discus."
MICHAL. We're not talking about did I win the discus or not, we're talking about what would be a happy ending! Me winning the discus, that would be a happy ending, see? Me dead and left to rot, like in your stupid story, that would not be a happy ending.
KATURIAN. That was a happy ending.
MICHAL. (Almost tearful.) What? That I am dead and left to rot, that's a happy ending?
KATURIAN. What was left in your hand when you died? A story. A story that was better than any of my stories. See, "The Writer and the Writer's Brother" ... you were the writer. I was the writers brother. That made it a happy ending for you.
MICHAL. But I was dead.
KATURIAN. It isn't about being or not being dead. It's about what you leave behind.
MICHAL. I don't get it.
KATURIAN. Right at this moment, I don't care if they kill me. I don't care. Bur they're not going to kill my stories. They're not going to kill my stories. They're all I've got.
MICHAL. (Pause.) You've got me. (Katurian just looks at him a moment, then looks down sadly. Michal turns away tearfully) But, okay, so we agree you're going to change the end of the "Writer and his Brother" story and have me alive at the end and Mum and Dad are dead and I win the discus. That's okay, then. And you should probably just burn the old story really just so's nobody sees it and thinks it's the proper story and that I'm dead or something. Should probablv just burn it.
KATURIAN. Okay, Michal, I'll do that.
MICHAL. Really?
KATURIAN. Really.
MICHAL. Wow. Cool. That was easy. Well, y'know, in that case, there's probably a lot more of your stories you should burn too, 'cos some of 'em, and I'm not being funny or anything, but some of 'em are a bit sick, really.
KATURIAN. Why don't we just burn all of them, Michal. It'd save a lot of time weeding out the sick ones from the not-sick ones.
MICHAL. No, no, that'd be silly, burning all of them. No. Just the ones that are gonna make people go out and kill kids. And it wouldn't take long weeding out the ones that aren't gonna make people go out and kill kids, 'cos you've only got about two that aren't gonna make people go out and kill kids, haven't ya?
KATURIAN. Oh really, yeah?
MICHAL. Yeah.
KATURIAN. And which ones would they be? Which ones, out of the four hundred stories I've written would you deign to save?
MICHAL. Well, the one about the little green pig, that's a nice one. That wouldn't make anybody go out and murder anybody, rea-ally ... and ... (Pause.) And ... (Pause.) I suppose that's about it, actually. "The Little Green Pig" one.
KATURIAN. That's about it?
MICHAL. Yeah. I mean, if you want to be on the safe side. I mean, you've got some that'd probably make somebody go out and maim somebody, not actually kill them, but, y'know, if you want to be on the safe side, it's just "The Little Green Pig" one. It might make someone go out and paint somebody green, or something, hah! But that's about it.
KATURIAN. This would ail be fine, if it wasn't for the fact that the three stories you chose to act out just happened to be the three most repulsive stories you could've chosen to act out. They weren't the first three you happened to come across, they were the three that most suited your repulsive little mind.
MICHAL. So, what, I could've done ones that wouldn't've been so horrible? Like what? Like "The Face Basement"? Slice off their face, keep it in a jar on top of a dummy, downstairs? Or "The Shakespeare Room"? Old Shakespeare with the little black pygmy lady in the box, gives her a stab with a stick every time he wants a new play wrote?
KATURIAN. He didn't do all those plays himself.
MICHAL. But you see what I mean, Kat? They're all sick. You couldn't've picked one that wouldn't've been just as sick.
KATURIAN. Why did it have to be "The Little Jesus," though?
MICHAL. Ah Katurian, what's done is done and can't never be undone. Ta-dun! 'Cos I'm getting a bit sleepy now so I'm gonna have a little sleep for myself if I can just get my mind off my arse which is still itchy like crazy and I haven't even mentioned it. (Michal settles down on the mattress.)
KATURIAN. You're going to sleep?
MICHAL. Mm.
KATURIAN. But they're coming back to torture and execute us any minute.
MICHAL. Exactly, so it might be the last sleep we get for a while. (Pause.) Might be the last sleep we get ever. Wouldn't that be terrible? I love sleeping. Do you think they have sleeping in Heaven? They bloody better, else I'm not going. (Pause.) Katurian?
KATURIAN. What?
MICHAL. Tell me a story.
KATURIAN. I thought you wanted to burn all my stories.
MICHAL. Tell me the one about the little green pig. I don't wanna burn that one, tell me that one. And then I'll forgive you.
KATURIAN. Forgive me for what?
MICHAL. Forgive you for saying those mean things that Mum and Dad would be in charge of me for all time in the little forest and no one would ever come rescue me.
KATURIAN. (Pause.) I can't remember how it goes, "The Little Green Pig" ...
MICHAL. You remember how it goes, Katurian, come on. The first word goes "once," the second word goes "upon." I think the third word goes "a," and the fourth word goes ... oh sugar, what's the fourth word?
KATURIAN. You're a little smart-arse, aren't you?
MICHAL. Uh, "time," the fourth word goes, I just remembered. "Once upon a time ... "
KATURIAN. Okay. Settle down ... (Michal does so, the pillow beside his head.) Once upon a time ...
MICHAL. This is like the olden days. The good olden days. Stories ...
KATURIAN. Once upon a time, on a farm in a strange land, far away ...
MICHAL. Faraway...
KATURIAN. There lived a little pig who was different from all the other pigs around.
MICHAL. He was green.
KATURIAN. Are you telling this story or am I?
MICHAL. You. Sorry. Fingers on lips. Shh.
KATURIAN. He was different from all the other pigs, because he was bright gre
en. Like, almost glow-in-the-dark green.
MICHAL. Glow-in-the-dark green. Like the paint they have in the railway tunnels, that's the glow-in-the-dark like they have in the railway tunnels?
KATURIAN. Yes.
MICHAL. Yes.
KATURIAN. Now are we interrupting or are we listening and sleeping?
MICHAL. We are listening and sleeping.
KATURIAN. Good. Now, the little pig, he really liked being green. Not that he didn't like the colour of normal pigs, he thought pink was nice too, but what he liked was, he liked being a little bit different, a little bit peculiar. The other pigs around him didn't like him being green, though. They were jealous and they bullied him and made his life a misery...
MICHAL. A misery ...
KATURIAN. And all this complaining just aggravated the farmers, and they...
MICHAL. What's "aggravated?" Sorry, Katurian.
KATURIAN. It's alright. It just means it got on their nerves.
MICHAL. (Yawning.) Got on their nerves ...
KATURIAN. It got on the nerves of the farmers and they thought, "Hmm, we'd better do something about this." So, one night, as all the pigs lay sleeping out in the open fields, they crept out and snatched up the little green pig and brought him back to the barn, and the little pig was squealing and all the other pigs were just laughing at him ...
MICHAL. (Quietly.) Bastards ...
KATURIAN. And when the farmers got him to the barn, what they did was they opened up this big pot of this very special pink paint and they dunked him in it till he was covered from head to foot and not a patch of green was left, and they held him down until he dried. And what was special about this pink paint was it could never be washed off and it could never be painted over. It could never be washed off and it could never be painted over. And the little green pig said — (Piggy voice.) "Oh please God, please don't let them make me like all the rest. I'm happy in being a little bit peculiar."
MICHAL. "I'm happy in being a little bit peculiar," he says to God.
KATURIAN. But it was too late, the paint was dry, and the farmers sent him back out into the fields, and all the pink pigs laughed at him as he passed and sat down on his favourite little patch of grass, and he tried to understand why God hadn't listened to his prayers, but he couldn't understand, and he cried himself to sleep, and even all the thousand tears he cried couldn't help wash off the horrible pink paint, because ...
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