Cover

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a play by
NICOLAS BILLON

Coach House Books / Toronto

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ALSO BY NICOLAS BILLON:

The Elephant Song

Fault Lines: Greenland – Iceland – Faroe Islands

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To my father, Pierre.

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Foreword

by Louise Arbour

Harm, hurt, hate, guilt, punishment, shame, pardon, redemption and justice are all intertwined in a reality where the line between offender and victim is often blurred. The greatest harm inflicted on a victim is when, infected with hate, she morphs into the mirror image of her abuser. This is how the cycle of violence is perpetuated, often with increased cruelty and madness.

Fifty years after Nuremberg, international criminal justice was resurrected in an effort to break this cycle of violence and, in the words of the chief Nuremberg prosecutor, to ‘stay the hand of vengeance.’ Whether this civilizing project will succeed remains to be seen. In the meantime, we struggle with two larger questions: Where can victims find peace if justice is elusive? Can offenders find closure if punishment is not extended to them?

Real peace and closure, it is often said, can only come from forgiveness. Whether forgiveness arises from an inner generosity or merely from an impetus to overcome residual pain and despair, it is a difficult and necessary process for both the offender and the victim. Yet how can the victim forgive her torturer without betraying who she was before the humiliating pain inflicted upon her? In addition, the victim’s pain and shame is often aggravated by a sense of guilt for having put herself in that situation. As she prepares to forgive the offender, she may also have to forgive herself, an even more painful process.

In turn, for the perpetrator of heinous crimes – the torturer, the rapist, the cold-blooded killer – justice allows for closure, for a claim that harm has been remedied, that reparation has been made, that the past is now buried. But without a judicial process, the offender is left to deal with his deed by himself, to take ownership of his crimes and, if he is ever to expect forgiveness from his victim, to eventually forgive himself. It is, I believe, a near-impossible task.

This is why the offender becomes a victim of his own crimes, locked forever in the windowless room of his shameful past, destined to remain his ugly self, and delusional about who he is and what he’s done.

And this is how justice brings closure and peace. It tells the painful truth and, even in the face of irreparable harm, it helps both victim and offender to forgive each other and maybe, one day, to forgive themselves.

LOUISE ARBOUR is a former Supreme Court of Canada justice and former Chief Prosecutor of the International Criminal Tribunals for the former Yugoslavia and Rwanda.

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Production History

Butcher had its world premiere on October 17, 2014, at Alberta Theatre Projects in Calgary, as part of the Enbridge playRites Series of New Canadian Plays. The cast and crew were as follows.

Josef Džibrilovo / John Koensgen
Hamilton Barnes / Andrew Musselman
Inspector Lamb / Eric Nyland
Elena / Michelle Monteith
Young Girl / Natalie Julia Marshall

Director / Weyni Mengesha
Production Dramaturg / Laurel Green
Set and Lighting Designer / David Fraser
Costume Designer / April Viczko
Sound Designer / Peter Moller
Composer and Cellist / Morag Northey
Fight Director / Karl Sine
Stage Manager / Johanne Deleeuw
Assistant Stage Manager / Heather Rycraft
Child Supervisor / Jessica Del Fiero

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A Note on the Lavinian Language

Christina E. Kramer and Dragana Obradović have created an imaginary South Slavic language, which we’ve baptized Lavinian. The idea was to create a language that sounds South Slavic but is not identifiable with any single group nor comprehensible to anyone outside the world of the play.

It is a phonetic language, which makes it easier to speak and memorize. Pronunciation keys for all Lavinian dialogue is provided in an appendix.

Since most of the Lavinian is understood within the context of the dialogue, the English translation is provided within linked footnotes, and also separately in the appendix. This placement allows for the reading experience to be closer to that of seeing the play performed.

Under no circumstance should the Lavinian be translated in performance (e.g., surtitles).

Josef Džibrilovo: YO-sef Dzhi-BRI-lo-vo

Marko: MAR-ko

Gnivomir Ilić: GNI-vo-mir I-lich

Juraj Plamen: YU-ray PLA-men (NB: ray rhymes with sky)

Kazimir Mstijov: KA-zi-mir MSTI-yov

Istvak Pasić: IST-vak PA-sich

Danijel: DA-ni-yel

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Dramatis Personae

Josef Džibrilovo, 75
Hamilton Barnes, 36
Inspector Lamb, 45
Elena, 34
The Young Girl, 12

TIME AND PLACE

The action takes place in a Toronto police station during the early morning hours of December 25th.

STAGE DIRECTIONS

A slash (/) indicates where the next speaker interrupts the current one.

A star (*) before two character names indicates dialogue spoken at the same time.

Prologue

Darkness.

The deep, booming sound of something massive crumbling to the ground. A derelict building? The twin towers? Civilization?

A note, human in tone but not in quality, echoes in the dark. It is soon followed by a second dissonant note, then a third …

The Furies are waking.

There’s another soundscape in our world: the relentless pitter-patter of rain. It will echo throughout the space for the duration of our story, and will vary in intensity from soft to violent to diluvial.

Scene 1

Lights up.

The spartan office of a police station. It is void of personality: greyish walls, metal furniture, industrial lighting.

Those who enter this room often feel queasy: it’s the faint wave of institutional nausea.

A small, grilled window provides the only hint of a world beyond. Below the window is a steam radiator. It clangs every now and then.

On top of a filing cabinet is a small, sad-looking Christmas tree with multicoloured lights.

Slumped on a chair is JOSEF, dressed in a military uniform that has seen better days. He’s exhausted, in part from fatigue but also from years of running and hiding and secrecy. There’s a Santa hat on his head.

Two men loom over him: LAMB and HAMILTON.

Lamb wears a cheap but functional suit. He’s made a minimal effort to clean up for work.

Hamilton wears a dripping wet trench coat. There’s the faint trace of a British accent when he speaks.

Josef is in a daze. A grimace of pain crosses his face. We’ll soon find out why.

Hamilton looks at Josef, examines his features. Lamb watches Hamilton.

HAMILTON: Sorry.

LAMB: No?

HAMILTON: No.

LAMB: You’re sure?

HAMILTON: I’m sure.

LAMB: Take another look.

Hamilton looks at Josef again.

HAMILTON: I wish I could help, but … I’ve never seen this man before.

LAMB: So he doesn’t look familiar at all … ?

Hamilton shakes his head, shrugs.

LAMB: Damn. (sighs) I took this shift ’cause I figured it’d be quiet, ya know?

But instead, I’m stuck with … (half-hearted salute) Sergeant Santa.

HAMILTON: Has he said anything?

LAMB: Nothing except for … (checks his notes) ‘Ne-chu-vi-nicho-rachi.’

At least that’s what it sounds like. He said it / every time –

JOSEF: (slurs) Ne ću vi ničo rači …

LAMB: Right. That.

HAMILTON: Is he drunk?

LAMB: There’s no alcohol on his breath. He was a bit wobbly on his feet, though. He’s under the influence of something.

HAMILTON: Drugs?

Lamb shrugs.

HAMILTON: And he said that every time you what?

LAMB: Said what?

HAMILTON: The, thing, sentence … ‘Ne-chu-vi’-whatever.

LAMB: Oh yeah. Every time I asked him a question. Why? Any idea what he might be saying?

Hamilton shakes his head.

LAMB: I thought it was Russian at first, but no, it’s some obscure Eastern European … (checks his notes) Lavinian.

HAMILTON: I have a colleague who’s from there.

LAMB: You think he’s up right now?

HAMILTON: Uh … Not at three in the morning, no.

LAMB: Yeah. It’s just … I called for a translator, but on Christmas Eve? God knows when he’ll get here. If.

Oh, and I guess it’s technically Christmas now. Merry Christmas.

HAMILTON: … Thanks.

LAMB: (indicates his notes) Anyway, I tried Google translating this but apparently I can’t spell for shit because it tells me he’s saying, ‘I want very much to woo you.’

HAMILTON: I doubt that, somehow.

LAMB: Yeah, otherwise he ain’t gonna like my answer. (glances at Hamilton) Not that gay isn’t, you know … (gives a thumbs up)

So whaddya make of the whole military uniform? That’s / really throwing me off –

HAMILTON: You said he had my card on him?

LAMB: Oh yeah. Wait’ll you see this.

Lamb opens a desk drawer and pulls out a metal hook attached to a string. Baited on the hook is a card.

HAMILTON: Jesus.

LAMB: Had this around his neck. Ever seen one before?

HAMILTON: Is that for shark fishing?

LAMB: It’s a butcher’s hook, you know, for meat. My uncle brought one home for Halloween one year ’cause I was dressing up as Captain Hook. (holds up the hook and sneers like a pirate) Yar!

Startled, Hamilton takes a step back.

LAMB: Didn’t mean to … Sorry.

Hamilton gestures, as if to say, ‘It’s fine.’

LAMB: Anyway. My mom didn’t let me use it, she was afraid I’d take some kid’s eye out with it …

Lamb removes the card from the hook and hands it to Hamilton.

HAMILTON: (reads from the card) ‘Prohapsi me.’[1]

LAMB: Google says it means ‘Arrest me’ in Lavinian. That’s how I figured where he’s from. At least I know I spelled it right.

Hamilton flips the card over.

LAMB: That’s your business card, yeah?

HAMILTON: … It is.

LAMB: You see why I’m confused that you don’t know him.

HAMILTON: I’m as confused as you are.

LAMB: I’m getting that vibe.

HAMILTON: (to Josef) Sir? Sir. (points to business card) How did you get my card?

JOSEF: Ne ću vi ničo rači.[2]

LAMB: At least he’s consistent.

HAMILTON: (to Josef) Did someone give this to you?

LAMB: I don’t think he speaks English.

HAMILTON: Yeah. (looks at Josef) Does he even understand where he is?

LAMB: Dunno. When the two kids brought him in, he / was a bit –

HAMILTON: Kids?

LAMB: Right, so, these two kids – well, these two young guys or whatever, they show up at the station around midnight or so carrying our friend here. Officer Taylor, the desk clerk – you met him downstairs, on your way in – says, ‘Can I help you,’ blah-blah-blah, but they just dump Sergeant Santa on a chair and take off.

(takes business card from Hamilton) Is it possible someone’s playing a prank on you?

HAMILTON: If so, it’s not funny.

LAMB: Yeah, well … Stranger things have happened. Few months ago we had a teenager drop off his Alzheimer’s grandma ’cause he had a date and didn’t want to babysit her. (shakes his head) Who treats family like that, am I right?

HAMILTON: Yeah.

LAMB: Anyway, it’s just the details here that don’t make sense, ya know? The uniform? (picks up the hook) You can’t get this at a hardware store.

And your business card. (beat) Maybe someone thought he’d need a lawyer.

HAMILTON: An intellectual property lawyer?

LAMB: Maybe he’s a serial downloader.

Hamilton scowls.

Lamb chuckles and puts the hook back in the desk drawer.

LAMB: Is this your first time in a police station or something?

HAMILTON: It is, as a matter of fact.

LAMB: Well, so you know, you’re allowed to make jokes in here.

HAMILTON: It’s the middle of the night, Inspector.

LAMB: And I woke you up. My bad.

What I’m trying to figure out is, why use your business card? If I want to leave someone a note, I’ll use a Post-it.

HAMILTON: Could he be homeless? Mentally ill? Maybe I gave him money, I don’t know, and that’s how he got my card … ?

LAMB: ‘Here y’are, my good man, go get yourself a sandwich and oh, here’s my card in case you’re ever arrested for, you know, plagiarism … ’

HAMILTON: Yeah, okay.

LAMB: In any case, I don’t think he’s homeless.

Hamilton looks at Lamb.

LAMB: The homeless have an unmistakable … (taps his finger on his nose) aroma. He doesn’t. And there’s no way to say if he’s … (makes ‘crazy’ gesture) I called the CAMHs and psych wards in the area. No one’s gone missing.

HAMILTON: It’s pretty clear he’s drugged, though.

LAMB: Yeah. (snaps his fingers) Maybe he was playing hard to get, so the two kids gave him a roofie …

Hamilton stares at Lamb.

LAMB: I know, I know. My wife says I’ve got the worst combination ever: a foul sense of humour and lousy timing.

HAMILTON: It’s fine. (beat) The download joke was okay.

LAMB: Yeah? With two daughters of Internet age, you learn a thing or two about copyright.

HAMILTON: (smiles, angles to leave) Anyway –

LAMB: Okay, can I be that guy?

HAMILTON: What guy?

Lamb takes out his phone.

LAMB: The guy who brings up his kids and then immediately shows you their picture?

HAMILTON: … Sure.

LAMB: I used to hate people who did this. Before I had kids, right? And then I had my own … (smirks) Now I’m that douchebag.

Lamb hands the phone to Hamilton.

LAMB: That’s Erin, she’s thirteen, and that’s Iris, seven.

HAMILTON: They’re lovely.

LAMB: Yeah. They’re pretty special.

I finish my shift just in time for presents in the morning.

Hamilton hands the phone back to Lamb.

LAMB: Any kids?

HAMILTON: No.

LAMB: Lucky you, in a way. Because a wife and two daughters? That’s a lot of estrogen in the house. I mean, lots of pink, lots of pastel-coloured everything, eh? Yeah. Wow.

But you know what the worst is? The bathroom. Hands down.

So much (pronounces ‘shea’ as ‘shee’) shea butter this, pomegranate that … It’s a goddamn fruit garden is what it is. I swear, you could fart in there all day and no one would ever know. (laughs)

All right, all right, you know you’ve hit bottom when the fart jokes start, am I right? (beat) Hit bottom?

HAMILTON: Oh, yes. I see.

LAMB: Wait, I’ll say it for you: ‘Shut the hell up, Inspector.’ (laughs) Oh, I should follow my own advice sometimes.

HAMILTON: (thin smile) Don’t worry about it. (puts out his hand) I’m sorry I couldn’t be of more help, Inspector.

They shake hands. Hamilton turns to leave –

LAMB: Look, do me a favour. Stick around for a bit. Just in case we get lucky and the translator shows up.

HAMILTON: Is it … ? I have breakfast at my cousin’s in Brampton / tomorrow, I could use –

LAMB: Of course, I totally understand. But I’m sure you want to clarify the whole business card thing as much as I do, no? Just give me another twenty minutes.

I’ll get you a coffee, and I solemnly swear to not make any more jokes. That’s a better deal than my wife gets.

Hamilton shrugs and takes off his coat.

LAMB: Thank you. I appreciate it. I’m gonna YouTube some hockey fights to pass the time, if you’re interested.

Lamb goes to his desk and takes his empty coffee mug.

Hamilton shakes his coat and hangs it on the back of a chair.

LAMB: Still raining, eh?

HAMILTON: Yeah.

LAMB: Do you remember when we had, you know, snow at this time of the year?

HAMILTON: I grew up in England.

LAMB: Doesn’t it snow there?

HAMILTON: Occasionally. Lots of rain.

LAMB: Then you must be feelin’ right at home, friend. How do you take your coffee?

HAMILTON: Black, thank you.

LAMB: No.

Trust me. Not black.

HAMILTON: … One sugar?

Lamb indicates more.

HAMILTON: Two …

Lamb indicates more.

HAMILTON: Three … ?

LAMB: It’s for your own good.

Lamb goes to Josef.

LAMB: Coffee? (mimes drinking with his mug) Do. You. Want. A. Coffee?

Josef nods. Lamb pats him on the shoulder.

LAMB: (to Hamilton) Poor guy. Hell of a way to spend Christmas.

Lamb exits and shuts the door behind him.

Hamilton sits and takes out his phone.

Josef watches Hamilton.

JOSEF: (whispers) Marko?

Hamilton doesn’t react.

JOSEF: Marko.

Hamilton looks up from his phone.

HAMILTON: I’m sorry … ?

JOSEF: Šta laviš vodje?[3]

HAMILTON: I’m sorry. I don’t speak Lavinian.

JOSEF: Da, ritsaš.[4] (beat) Marko!

HAMILTON: My name is Hamilton Barnes, sir.

JOSEF: Mene ne me preznameš, nelda?[5]

HAMILTON: I’m sorry … Do you know where you are? (points to the floor) A police station. Toronto?

JOSEF: Mi sne vu Torontu!?[6]

HAMILTON: Yes. Toronto.

You didn’t know that?

JOSEF: Kato su me nošli? Bio som abrešan … i nad som vu Torontu …[7]

HAMILTON: Yes. (mimes a rectangle) How did you get my business card?

JOSEF: (takes his head in his hands) Isuse, ne nagu dumliti … Vu rašiju moter, ka su mi doli … ?[8]

HAMILTON: Are you all right?

Josef looks back at Hamilton.

JOSEF: Marko … ?

HAMILTON: No no. (puts hands on his chest) Hamilton. I’m not who you think I am.

JOSEF: Moe glasči me ne jervoraju … [9](stands up) Marko –

Josef puts weight on his foot and a sharp pain forces him to sit down again.

Hamilton stands up. Josef leans over and unlaces one of his boots, then attempts to remove the boot. He’s too feeble.

Josef beckons Hamilton for help.

JOSEF: Ma daj mi pomači stekuti čizle …[10]

Hamilton hesitates, takes a few steps in Josef’s direction –

The door handle jiggles.

Hamilton goes to the door and opens it.

LAMB: Thanks, it’s not easy with … (raises the mug and two styrofoam cups in his hands, puts down the coffees) I bet you couldn’t get him to shut up, eh?

Hamilton notices that Josef has stopped fussing with his boot and pretends like nothing happened.

HAMILTON: Actually …

LAMB: He said something?

HAMILTON: Yeah, a few things but I / didn’t understand –

LAMB: The whole ‘ne-chu-vi’ business?

HAMILTON: No. Other things.

LAMB: Huh. Strange that to you, he would … you know. Talk.

HAMILTON: Yeah. (beat) Well, maybe not, actually.

Lamb raises an eyebrow, as if to say, ‘Do tell.’

HAMILTON: I’m pretty sure Lavinia was under Communist rule. He’s definitely old enough to have lived through it.

Lamb shrugs.

HAMILTON: The police weren’t exactly, you know, guardians of the peace. A lot of people there still have trouble trusting any police for that very reason.

LAMB: He doesn’t know you’re not a cop.

HAMILTON: I don’t exactly give off a ‘law and order’ vibe.

LAMB: (smirks) Nope.

Lamb takes the two styrofoam cups and hands one to Hamilton.

LAMB: Well, if he’s spooked by cops, he picked the right night: it’s a damn ghost ship around here.

Lamb hands the other coffee to Josef.

JOSEF: Vola.[11]

LAMB: What?

JOSEF: (hand over his heart) Vola.

HAMILTON: Is he saying ‘thank you’?

LAMB: Maybe. (repeats the gesture to Josef) Vola?

JOSEF: (hand over his heart) Vola.

LAMB: I guess this qualifies as progress.

JOSEF: Vola.

LAMB: Yeah, okay, now wait ’til you try the coffee.

(to Hamilton) Hey, so how come you know so much about Lavinia?

HAMILTON: My colleague. Whenever we complain about things here, he goes off about ‘back in my day.’

LAMB: That must get annoying.

Hamilton nods.

LAMB: (sips his coffee) Holy fuck this is bad. (points to Hamilton) Don’t drink it before I make you sign a waiver.

Hamilton chuckles and sips his coffee.

HAMILTON: That is … unspeakable.

Lamb goes to Hamilton and takes his coffee.

LAMB: And I put four sugars.

The two men chuckle. Lamb turns to take Josef’s coffee –

Josef sips his coffee, nods, and continues to drink it.

LAMB: Communism must’ve been worse than I thought.

Lamb throws Hamilton’s coffee in the garbage.

LAMB: You a hockey fan?

HAMILTON: Not really.

LAMB: Oh no, of course, it’s … soccer, right? No. ‘Football.’

HAMILTON: My parents were from Birmingham, so I was a de facto Villa fan.

LAMB: ‘De facto’ … You always talk Greek and stuff?

HAMILTON: It’s Latin, actually.

LAMB: (smacks his forehead) Latin. Right. Duh.

HAMILTON: Oh God, I didn’t mean –

LAMB: Just pullin’ yer leg.

Explain something to me. I’m asking because I really just don’t get it. How do you get excited about a sport where you’re lucky if they score one goal in a game? That seems crazy.

HAMILTON: Doesn’t that happen in hockey?

LAMB: Sure, every now and then. But it’s the / exception, not the rule.

Lamb’s cellphone rings. He takes it out and looks at the screen.

LAMB: Shit. DW. ‘Da Wife.’ (answers phone) Hey Honey – (frowns) Pumpkin, what are you doing up? ( … ) Well Santa won’t come ’til you’re asleep. ( … ) No no, that’s one of his rules: he doesn’t deliver presents to children who stay up waiting for him. ( … ) Of course I’m sure, sweetie. You can ask Mommy. (turns to Hamilton, whispers) She likes to double-check her facts, the little monster. ( … ) See? Now that you know, go to bed.

(turns to Hamilton and makes a ‘talk talk talk’ gesture) Honey, I’m sure that Santa didn’t forget about you. ( … ) Because he told me. ( … ) That’s right, in fact, he’s with me now. He just told me what he’s bringing you. (makes an ‘okay’ sign to Hamilton) What? ( … ) No, I don’t think Santa has time to talk to you right now – ( … ) Of course he likes you, he’s just very busy – ( … ) All right, all right, I’ll ask him. (presses mute button) Okay, so bad move, telling her I was with Santa. Shit.

(looks at Hamilton) Could you be Santa?

HAMILTON: Sorry?

LAMB: Just say hi or whatever, tell her you’re in a hurry … I’d do a voice but she recognizes me now.

HAMILTON: Uh …

LAMB: Please. She thinks Santa forgot about her.

HAMILTON: … I guess.

LAMB: Bless your cotton socks. It’s Iris, the seven-year-old.

(presses mute button again) Pumpkin? Santa’s gonna say hello, but he’s in a hurry, okay?

Lamb passes the phone to Hamilton.

HAMILTON: Hello?

Lamb places his hands under his diaphragm, miming ‘Deep voice.’

HAMILTON: (deep voice) Nice to meet you, Iris. ( … ) Yes, of course this is Santa.

Lamb mouths ‘Ho ho ho!’

HAMILTON: ( … ) Now don’t you worry – ho ho ho! – I haven’t forgotten about you. You’re next on my list …

Lamb mimes ‘Sleep.’

HAMILTON: … So long as you’re asleep, of course. Will you go straight to bed now? ( … ) That’s a good girl.

Lamb gives Hamilton a thumbs-up.

HAMILTON: ( … ) Good night, Iris. Ho ho ho!

Hamilton hands the phone back to Lamb.

LAMB: Pumpkin? Go to bed now. ( … ) Yes, Santa’s from England. Put Mommy back on the phone. ( … ) Hey. If she’s not asleep in twenty minutes, you have my permission to grind all my Ativan into a glass of warm milk. ( … ) See you soon, Honey. (hangs up)

(to Hamilton) Thank you.

HAMILTON: Don’t mention it.

LAMB: That was a pretty good Santa.

HAMILTON: Oh, thanks.

LAMB: By the way, I was kidding about the Ativan.

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