The CTR Anthology
Page 74
Lucie: Sure … You have my phone number.
(David lets her go reluctantly. He stays on the ramparts stage right, staring at the view.)
Projection
THE TELEPHONE: EXTERIOR, NIGHT
(François enters, takes a quarter from his pocket and exits to a pay-phone in the stage left wing. A light behind him projects his shadow, his every movement, grotesquely across the entire wall. Sounds of dialing. Someone answers the phone, the voice sounds from offstage.)
Lucie: Allô … ? Allô … Allô!
(François hangs up violently. Then, he calms down and dials again)
Lucie: Allô … Allô! François, c’est toi hein?
(The phone clicks as François hangs up again. He steps out of the phone booth on to the stage again. He kicks the wall, again and again. Lights catch David who still stands alone on the ramparts, and who shares François’s mood.
David hangs his body over the ramparts: he is an inverse mirror image of François. From above and below, both men lean against the wall, pressing their faces, their bodies, against the bricks.)
Blackout
Projection
THE LINE UP: INTERIOR, NIGHT
(The Line Up is a re-cap scene of important visual moments from the story so far. These run in a choreographically structured, repetitive series of movement fragments. The music accompanying the scene is very important.
First, four pin-spots lights shine on the wall from above, to reveal that the bricks are bleeding, copiously.
François enters, to recap briefly his restaurant work,
Lucie re-enacts her moment of shock in the subway, David enters for his meeting with Lucie,
François kneels at the wall for the lashing scene,
Lucie and David indicate their affair;
Lucie falls as the corpse at the end of The Wound scene.
François and David repeat the “top shot” moment, shaking hands over her corpse.
The speed of the movement increases, and the mood becomes increasingly desperate as the characters fling themselves around in an exteralization of their introspective mental processes at this point. Excerpts from Lucie’s movie are projected on the wall at various moments, while David tears down parts of the wall, throwing loose bricks over the stage. The scene builds to a point of frenzy, and lights finally black out on the three characters in a line-up, alone, bewildered, dis-connected from one another.)
Projection
THE SPRING: EXTERIOR, DAY
(François enters with a bucket of water, with which he sluices the wall. He starts to scrub at the brickwork. David enters, with a travel bag and sunglasses)
David: Hello François.
(François looks at him belligerently)
Have you seen Lucie?
François: Not for a month at least. She must be busy shooting her movie.
David: I came to say goodbye, but if she’s off on location –
François: You’re going away?
David: I’m going back to East Berlin. The government is sending me to organize a series of conferences on Investigative Techniques. Now that the wall has disappeared, there’s a sudden necessity there for up-to-date psycho-technology. But, in fact, my motives for going are … more personal than professional.
François: And what are the government’s motives, to share technology?
Or sell free enterprise? … The art of understanding the criminal mind goes everywhere that capitalism goes.
David: Share knowledge.
(François snorts.)
If you see Lucie, tell her I’m here.
(Finally, he has to ask.)
What the hell are you doing, François?
François: I’m washing the wall.
David: Yes, I can see that, but why?
François: The landlord told me to strip my graffiti off the garden wall before I move out, or else he’ll prosecute me.
David: Prosecute, for graffiti! What did it say?
François: L’histoire s’écrit avec le sang.
(David looks blank.)
History is written with blood.
David: And what is that supposed to mean?
François: It means that we write history through war, fascism … and murder.
David: Are you talking about political assassinations?
François: No, I mean murder … The smallest little killing … of some totally unimportant person … in a way that’s still a political act, don’t you think?
David: Is that what they teach you in Political Science?
François: Why are you asking me so many questions? This feels like an interrogation scene in a bad detective movie.
(Staring scornfully at David, François takes his bucket and brush and exits, leaving David alone, and thoughtful.)
Blackout
Projection
TRACKING FORWARD: EXTERIOR, NIGHT
(Very creepy horror music plays as Lucie appears stage left, in her film costume. As she crosses the stage, wary and afraid, François appears behind her, so close he is on her heels. Centre stage, she stops suddenly.)
Lucie: Everywhere I go, you are there. Leave me alone. Go away …
(She drops abruptly out of character, and the music cuts out.)
That’s no good. I’m sorry. I just can’t seem to feel it. It’s not coming.
(She composes herself to try again and return to the stage left exit. The music starts as she enters. Now, David follows her.)
Lucie: Everywhere I go, you are there. Leave me alone. Go away.
(She stops again, as does the music.)
I’m sorry. Let’s take it again. Just give me a second.
(She thinks.)
Lucie: Okay.
(She returns to enter again, with the music. This time, the camera is at her back, breathing down her neck. Her lines come as though she has been driven to the edge.)
Lucie: Everywhere I go, you are there. Leave me alone … Go away!
(She steps out of character.)
Now that one worked, eh? That’s a keeper? Yah!
Blackout
Projection
APARTMENT #8: INTERIOR, DAY
(François is packing boxes in the washroom of his apartment. The washbasin is set in the wall, as before. Lucie enters, with books.)
Lucie: Salut François, j’t’ai rapporté les livres que tu m’avait prêté …
“L’orgasme au masculin,” j’ai trouvé ça ben interessant.
François: Tu peux les garder encore si t’en a pas fini.
Lucie: Non, non … j’sais c’que j’voulais savoir …
(She looks through his cosmetics in the washbasin.)
Ouan … T’en as des affairs pour un gars – !
(She pokes around in the boxes he is packing, as he puts the books in.)
Tu marques pas ce que tu mets dans tes boîtes?
François: (With a shrug):
C’est pas nécessaire. Pour ce que j’ai …
Lucie: Marque où c’est que ça va toujours, sinon tu vas être mêlé quand tu vas arriver.
She points to a box.)
Ça c’est à quoi? Des cosmétiques? J’vas écrire pharmacie dessus.
(She writes on the box.)
Pis, celle-la?
François: La dedans … des couverturs, serviettes, des débarbouillettes, des livres, des vieux journaux …
Lucie: J’pourrais écrire “divers” – !
(She looks inside the box, and finds a long leather strap with a strange fastening at the end. She pulls it out, curiously.)
Lucie: Ça ça sert quoi?
(François stops, looks at her, then decides to answer. He puts the strap around his neck and demonstrates.)
François: Quand je me masturbe, j’me sers de ça. J’tire pis j’lâche, j’tire pis j’lâche. Pis juste avant de venir, j’tire de plus en plus fort … Mais un moment donné, y faut qu’tu lâches – si tu veux pas venir pour la dernière fuis
Lucie: Ça sert tu juste à
ça?
(François takes the strap from around his neck and goes to the washbasin.)
François: Viens ici.
(Lucie hestitates.)
Viens ici.
(She goes where he indicates, and crouches by the washbasin. He ties the belt around Lucie’s hands, passes it through the u-bend on the wash-basin, and wraps it round her neck before tying it off.)
François: La m’a serrer un peu …
(He puts a blindfold over her eyes, rendering her completely helpless.)
Comme ça, t’as vraiment l’impression d’etre vulnérable …
Lucie: Pis après?
(Above and behind the wall, David appears with a file. He is in his office, reading Franèois’ testimonies from the Legaré inquiry. Franèois continues talking to Lucie.)
Franèois: Des fois, quand on se ramasse une gang de gars –
David: (Reading): Sometimes, when we get together, a bunch of friends and myself –
Franèois: Y’en a un qui se fait attacher comme ça –
David: – One of us gets tied up just like this –
Franèois: Pis, au hasard y’en a un qui est choisi pour aller le rejoindre –
David: Then, at random, one of us is chosen to go in and join him –
Franèois: Celui qui est attaché, y peut rien faire.
David: The one who’s tied up can do nothing.
François: Y peut rien voir –
David: Can see nothing –
François: Pis l’autre y fait ce qui veut avec …
David: While the other one does whatever he wants … Interrogation number eleven, fifteenth of August, nineteen eighty-two, Quebec City.
(The light slowly fades on David. François stands in the trance of memory, the only sound being his hand opening and closing a metal clip he has taken from the box. Lucie becomes anxious in the silence.)
Lucie: François? François – ? François …?
(François comes back to earth, and moves to her to release her.)
François: Tu veux-tu que je te détache?
(As he is untying her, she notices scars on his wrist. She takes his hands, to look more closely. Then she looks in his face.)
Lucie: C’est tu toi qui l’a tuée?
François: Je pense pas, non …
Lucie: Pourquoi tu dis “j’pense” pas?
François: Parce que des fois, je l’sais plus..
Lucie: Moi j’le sais …
que tu serais pas capable de faire mal á une mouche. (She touches his face. He cant meet her eyes, they are both very moved. Slowly, François opens up to her, and starts very tenderly and passionately to kiss her. Lights fade to black.)
Projection
THE RAIN: EXTERIOR, DAY
(Rain falls steadily from the ceiling of the theatre. David walks alone on the ramparts, and above and behind the wall, with his umbrella. Lights fade as he completes his cross of the stage.)
Projection
APARTMENT #7: INTERIOR, NIGHT
(Lucie stands in the washroom of her apartment, lost in thought. David enters, hesitantly.)
David: Lucie … ! Where were you, I’ve been looking for you all afternoon.
Lucie: I was at François’. I … helped him pack his things.
David: (Comes right in)·. That’s right … he’s moving to Montreal, he told me this morning. Did he tell you why?
Lucie: No.
David: It’s raining outside, so you will be able to shoot tonight.
Lucie: I should be there now, but I decided not to go.
David: (Surprised): Why?
Lucie: Because … we are supposed to shoot the death sequence, and I feel … I think that I don’t have the right to do that.
David: Well. (He doesn’t understand) That’s … very courageous of you. Too bad, found some very interesting research material for you. Here … (He gives her the file he’s brought.) Read this.
Lucie: (Takes it and reads): “The autopsy has revealed that the stab wounds were caused by a sharp, pointed instrument which penetrated the skin and underlying tissues …” What is this?
David: The coroner’s report for Marie-Claude Légaré, straight out of the Quebec City police department. There you have investigative notes, interviews, interrogation records from witnesses, a list of suspects. And in the last chapter, there is written proof that François Tremblay is not guilty. (Lucie stares at him, revolted.)
Well? Don’t you care? Doesn’t that make you happy?
Lucie: I already knew that.
David: Yes, but now you have the written proof.
Lucie: No, I mean, I myself had the proof.
David: I’m not sure I understand what you mean.
Lucie: I made love with François.
(A change in lighting and an eerie soundscape indicates that time is frozen momentarily. The source of light appears to be set in Lucie’s back, she is silhouetted against the wall, surrounded by a bright aura which grows more intense as she steps downstage. Behind her, David steps out of his stunned, blank reaction, to smash his fists violently against the wall. Bricks go flying from the top, and crash down. Lucie slowly steps back to her original position in the scene, her light dims, and we crossfade back into “real time,” where David still stares at Lucie, expressionless:)
Lucie: Did you hear me? I, I made love with François … (She is both compassionate for and irritated by David’s non-reaction.)
Say, do something.
(David pretends to have something in his eye; he washes it out at the basin.) Can’t you allow yourself your own emotions?
David: What do you want me to do? You want me to be jealous of a homosexual?
Lucie: (Turns away in disgust): David, please!
David: (Very tight):
I’m sorry.
(A difficult pause, in which Lucie thaws.)
Lucie: At what time is your plane tomorrow?
David: Eleven.
Lucie: If you want, tomorrow we can get up early, and I’ll come to the bus terminal with you.
(David is having difficulty containing his emotion. He shakes his head and backs towards the door, then stops.)
Lucie: David, if you want to cry, cry. If you want to hold me, hold me.
(A moment where David understands, and accepts. Then he starts to cry, and comes slowly back to her, as the lights fade. Projection of Metro logo on the wall, and the sign:)
Projection
BERRI-UQAM: INTERIOR, NIGHT
(François arrives at the metro, as if to wait for a train. We hear the sound of the train approaching. François takes off his leather jacket, and drops it to the floor behind him, then with great deliberation, as the sound of the train becomes deafening, he throws himself off the front of the stage, under the train. The blackout is simultaneous with his jump.)
Projection
THE POLYGRAPH: INTERIOR, DAY
(David is in East Berlin, speaking at his conference. He stands beside a large complicated Polygraph machine.)
David: Now, for our British collaborators, I would like to say first what a pleasure and honour it is for me to speak at this conference here in East Berlin. My name is David Haussmann. I am from Canada where I work with the Quebec Provincial Police. My official title is, in fact, that of Criminologist at the Parthenais Institute in Montreal, which one might call the nerve centre of the Quebec police forces because we’re responsible for research and development in all areas pertaining to criminology.
Today, I’ve been asked to talk to you about this apparatus, which is commonly known as a “lie detector.” This term is particularly exact consisting as it does of “poly,” which is to say, “many,” and “graph,” which of course means “writings.” Accordingly, the apparatus describes the state of a suspect by the monitoring of four physical functions; these are then transmitted into graphic form wherein any unusual activity is at once betrayed. Extensive research has enabled us to state categorically that if a witness, connected to the polygraph machine by m
eans of electrodes, is unreliable, or actually misrepresents the truth, minute changes to his physical state can be perceived by monitoring the changes to these four physical states.
Firstly, the lie registers on the cardiograph with an accelerated heartbeat; at the temple, we monitor for an increase or, in the case of some subjects, a decrease of arterial pressure. Respiration has a direct effect on the vocal quality of the person responding to questions; this contributes yet another reading of the physical response. Lastly, we measure the subject’s perspiration, a symptom which is often barely perceptible to the human eye; however, the polygraph can detect the most minute psycho-physical response occurring during interrogation procedures.
The wall which separates truth from fabrication is sometimes paper-thin; the consequences which could follow our mistaking one for the other are such that we cannot tolerate any approximation. For this first reason, only questions demanding an unequivocal answer must be asked of a witness, whose reply will be restricted to a simple “yes” or “no.”
Some investigators have found that the mystique which has grown up around the Polygraph makes it more useful as a tactical device than an actual lie detector. For example, the law in Canada protects individuals from having to submit to the Polygraph test against their will; however, should a witness agree to participate, some detectives conclude that this person therefore has nothing to hide. Additionally, there are ways that the Polygraph can be used to apply psychological pressure. As an example, I will draw upon a test I conducted personally at the Parthenais Institute in 1982. The questioning went like this:
(The large mirror is dropped to hang at such an angle that François can he seen wired up to polygraph as he sits on the up-stage side of the wall. His voice, when he speaks, is amplified.)
François: Yes.
David: But you can’t actually see me, can you?
Franvois: No.
David: François, are we in Canada?
François: Yes.
David: Is it summertime?
François: Yes.
David: Was it you who killed Marie-Claude Légaré?