Accidental
Death
of an Anarchist
[ Morte accidentale di un anarchico ]
by Dario Fo
translated by
Ed Emery
[Please note: You may find that there are
typographical errors in this text. For the final version please consult the
printed version in Dario Fo: Plays One, Methuen Books, London 1992.]
All rights reserved. This text shall not
by way of trade or otherwise be copied,
reproduced or recorded in a retrieval
system. Nor shall it be lent, resold, hire out or otherwise circulated without the owners' specific
written consent.
For performance rights, please contact:
ed.emery [@]
britishlibrary.net
Please be aware that this translation can only be performed with
explicit permission in writing from the agency representing Dario Fo and Franca
Rame, the Danese-Tolnay agency in Rome.
Original text copyright © Franca Rame
Translation copyright © Ed Emery
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
Accidental
Death
of an
Anarchist
by Dario Fo
translated by
Ed Emery
Author's Prologue
We wish to make it clear that the dialogue
in this play is based on a reconstruction of authentic documents from the
Pinelli case. There was no need need to invent any of the situations that you
will find represented here.
There is no greater equaliser than the
stupidity of men especially when those men have power.
An interesting point worth noting:
At the moment that the anarchist was about
to plunge from the window down onto the pavement where Pinelli had fallen,
there was a group of journalists present, from various major Milan-based
newspapers. These journalists were coming from a press conference that had been
taking place at police headquarters.
Act One
Scene One
An ordinary room at central police
headquarters. A desk, a filing cabinet, a cupboard, a few chairs and a
coat-stand on which are hanging a dark overcoat and a black hat. There are also
a typewriter, a telephone, a window, and a door on either side of the stage.
On-stage, INSPECTOR BERTOZZO and a POLICE CONSTABLE are engaged in
interrogating a man: the MANIAC.
INSPECTOR BERTOZZO: [As he flicks
through a pile of paperwork, he turns to the MANIAC, who is seated, calm and
relaxed] Ha, so this isn't the first time you've passed yourself off as someone
else! Here it says that you've been caught twice posing as a surgeon, once as a
captain in the bersaglieri... three times as a bishop... once as a marine
engineer... in all you've been arrested... let's see... two plus three, five...
one, two... three... eleven times in all... So this makes the twelfth.
MANIAC: That's correct. Arrested twelve
times... But I must point out, Inspector, arrested, but never found guilty...
My record is clean!
INSPECTOR BERTOZZO: Well... I can't
imagine how you've managed to duck out of it every time... But I can assure you
you're going to get a dirty record this time: you can count on it!
MANIAC: I know how you feel, Inspector: a
spotless record just waiting to be sullied it would make anyone's mouth
water.
INSPECTOR BERTOZZO: Very funny...
According to your charge sheet, you were arrested while passing yourself off as
a psychiatrist, a lecturer, formerly teaching at the University of Padova...
Trading under false pretences... You do realise that you could go to prison for
that?
MANIAC: Certainly false pretences
perpetrated by a sane person. But I'm mad, Inspector: certified mad! Look, I've
got my medical record, here: sixteen times in the nuthouse... and always for
the same reason. I have a thing about dreaming up characters and then acting
them out. It's called 'histrionomania' comes from the Latin histriones,
meaning 'actor'. I'm a sort of amateur performance artist. With the difference
that I go for 'Thιatre Veritι' my fellow performers need to be real people,
but people who don't realise that they're in my plays. Which is just as well,
'cos I've got no money and couldn't pay them anyway... I applied to the Arts
Council for a grant, but since I don't have political backing...
INSPECTOR BERTOZZO: You had the nerve to
charge two hundred thousand lire for a single consultation...
CONSTABLE: [Standing behind the MANIAC]
Jesus!
MANIAC: A reasonable rate for any
self-respecting psychiatrist... Sixteen years studying before you qualify!
INSPECTOR BERTOZZO: Sure, but when did you
ever study psychiatry?
MANIAC: Sixteen years I've studied...
Thousands of lunatics like myself... day after day... And at night too!
Because, unlike your normal psychiatrist, I slept with them... Often as not,
three to a bed, because there's always a shortage of beds these days.
Anyway, feel free to check. I think you'll
find that my diagnosis for the poor schizophrenic I was arrested for was
spot-on.
INSPECTOR BERTOZZO: Your two hundred
thousand lire was pretty spot-on too!
MANIAC: But Inspector, I had to... it was
for his own good!
INSPECTOR BERTOZZO: Ah, for his own good,
eh? So a big bill's part of the cure?
MANIAC: Sure! If I hadn't stung him for
two hundred thousand, do you really think the poor bastard, and more particularly
his family, would have been satisfied? If I'd asked for a mere fifty thousand,
they'd have thought: 'He can't be a lot of use. Maybe he's not a real
professor. Must be newly qualified...' But this way, it knocked them sideways
and they thought: 'Who is this man? God Almighty?' And off they went, happy...
They even kissed my hand... 'Thank you, Professor...' Kissy-kissy-kissy.
INSPECTOR BERTOZZO: I'll say this you
run a good line in patter!
MANIAC: It's true, though, Inspector. Even
Freud says: 'Be you sick, be you ill, the best cure is a big fat bill for the
patient and for the doctor!'
INSPECTOR BERTOZZO: Now, let's take a look
at your visiting card... [He shows the card] If I'm not mistaken, it
says here: Professor Antonio Rabbi, psychiatrist. Formerly lecturer at the
University of Padova... Come on, now, talk your way out of that one...!
MANIAC: First of all, I really am a
lecturer... I teach drawing, actually... Decorative, free-hand, I do evening
classes at the Church of the Holy Redeemer...
INSPECTOR BERTOZZO: I'm impressed, my
compliments! But it says here: 'Psychiatrist'!
MANIAC: Well done but after the full
stop! Are you familiar with the rules of grammar and punctuation? Read it
properly: Professor Antonio Rabbi. Full stop. Then there's a capital P.
Psychiatrist! Now look, you can't tell me it's going under false pretences to
say: 'psychiatrist.' I presume you're familiar with the grammar of the Italian
language? Yes? Well in that case you should know that if a person writes 'archaeologist'
it doesn't mean he's studied it's like saying 'stamp collector',
'vegetarian', 'arthritis sufferer'...
INSPECTOR BERTOZZO: Yes, but what about
this: 'Formerly lecturer at the University of Padova'?
MANIAC: I'm sorry, now you're the one
trading under false pretences: you just told me that you knew the rules of
grammar and punctuation, and now it turns out that you can't even read
properly...
INSPECTOR BERTOZZO: I can't even what...?!
MANIAC: Didn't you see the comma after the
'formerly'?
INSPECTOR BERTOZZO: Oh yes... You're
right. I didn't notice it.
MANIAC: So you didn't notice it! You
didn't notice it, and just for that you're ready to send an innocent man to
prison?
INSPECTOR BERTOZZO: You're really mental,
you know... What's a comma got to do with anything?
MANIAC: Nothing, for someone who knows
nothing about grammar...! I think you should come clean I want to see your
school reports... Who was responsible for promoting you... [The INSPECTOR
tries to interrupt him] Let me finish...! Remember, the comma is the key to
everything! If there's a comma after the 'formerly', the whole meaning of the
phrase changes.
The comma indicates a pause for breath...
a brief hiatus... because 'the comma always indicates a change of
intentionality.' So it goes like this: 'Formerly', and here we could do with a
sarcastic sneer, and if you want to add an ironic chuckle, all the better!
'Formerly...' [He grimaces and gives a high-pitched laugh] 'Lecturer at
the University, another comma, of Padova...' It's like it's saying: 'Come on,
what do you take me for... Pull the other one... Only an idiot would fall for
that!
INSPECTOR BERTOZZO: So I'm an idiot, am I?
MANIAC: No, you're just a bit short on
grammar... I could give you lessons if you like. Do you a decent price... I say
we start straight away... There's a lot of ground to make up. Recite me a list
of the personal pronouns.
INSPECTOR BERTOZZO: Will you stop
pissballing about! I think we can all agree that you've got performance mania,
but I'd say you're just pretending to be mental... I'd lay money you're as sane
as me!
MANIAC: Hmm, I don't know about that. Mind
you, being a policeman does funny things to the brain... Let's have a look at
your eye, a moment.
He presses down his lower eyelid with his
thumb.
INSPECTOR BERTOZZO: Will you stop that!
Let's get on with your statement!
MANIAC: I could type it myself, if you
like, I'm a qualified typist, forty-five words a minute...
INSPECTOR BERTOZZO: Stay right where you
are, or I'll have the handcuffs on you!
MANIAC: You can't! Straitjacket or
nothing. I'm mad, and if you put handcuffs on me... Article 122 of the Penal
Code states: 'Any public official applying non-clinical or non-psychiatric instruments
of restraint on a psychologically disturbed person, thereby resulting in a
worsening of his condition, commits a crime punishable by five to fifteen years
imprisonment, and loss of pension and rank.'
INSPECTOR BERTOZZO: Read up on the law,
have we?!
MANIAC: Know it inside out. Studied it for
twenty years!
INSPECTOR BERTOZZO: Where did you study
law?
MANIAC: In the nuthouse! Very good for
studying, you've no idea! There was a paranoid clerk to the court who gave me
lessons. A genius, he was! I know it all. Roman law, Italian law,
ecclesiastical law... The Justinian code... the Frederican... the Lombard...
the Greek Orthodox... the lot! Try me with a few questions!
INSPECTOR BERTOZZO: No thank you. Can we
get on. It says nothing in your CV about your being a lawyer!
MANIAC: Ah, no, I'd never want to be a
lawyer. Defence never was my style. Too passive. I prefer sitting in
judgement... handing down sentences... coming down like a ton of bricks! I'm
one of yours, Inspector. You can call me Antonio, if you like.
INSPECTOR BERTOZZO: You just watch your
step... I've had enough of you taking the mickey.
MANIAC: Alright, alright...
INSPECTOR BERTOZZO: Now this might be
interesting. Have you ever passed yourself off as a judge?
MANIAC: No, unfortunately. Chance never
arose. I'd love to, though: best job in the world! First of all, they hardly
ever retire... In fact, just at the point when your average working man, at the
age of 55 or 60, is already ready for the scrapheap because he's slowing down a
bit, losing his reflexes, your judge is just coming into his prime. A worker on
the line's done for after the age of fifty can't keep up, keeps having
accidents, chuck him out...! Your miner has silicosis by the time he's 45 get
rid of him, quick, sack him before he sues for compensation! Same goes for the
bank clerk, after a certain age he starts getting his sums wrong, starts
forgetting the names of the bank's clients, can't tell a discount rate from a
mortgage rate. Off home, you... move along, son... You're past it...! For a
judge it's quite the opposite: the more ancient and idio... [He corrects
himself] ...syncratic they are, the higher they get promoted, the classier
the jobs they get! You see them up there, little old men like cardboard cutouts,
silly wigs on their heads, all capes and ermine... with two pairs of glasses on
cords round their necks because otherwise they'd lose them... And these
characters have the power to wreck a person's life or save it, as and how they
want: they hand out life sentences like somebody saying: 'Maybe it'll rain
tomorrow...' Fifty years for you... Thirty for you... Only twenty for you,
because I like your face! They make the law and they can do what they like...
And they're holy too... Don't forget, in Italy you can still be done for
slander if you say nasty things about judges... In Italy... and in Saudi
Arabia! Ah, yes, yes... The judge is the job for me what a role! What
wouldn't I give to be able to play a judge just once in my life? An Appeal
Court judge would be lovely! 'Your honour... this way please... silence in
court... please be upstanding for the judge... Oh dear, lost our marbles, have
we, Sir? I'll let you know if I find them...'
INSPECTOR BERTOZZO: Right. Now are you
going to stop this nonsense? You're doing my brain in. Sit down! Right there.
And shut up.
He pushes him towards the chair.
MANIAC: [Reacting hysterically]
Hands off or I'll bite!
INSPECTOR BERTOZZO: What do you mean,
bite?
MANIAC: You. I'll bite you. On the neck and
on your gluteus maximus! Nyung...! And piss-all you can do about it. Article
122b: 'Provocation and violence towards a person of diminished responsibility.
Six to nine years, with loss of pension!
INSPECTOR BERTOZZO: Sit down, or I'm going
to lose my temper! [To the CONSTABLE]
And what are you doing standing there like a prat? Sit him down!
CONSTABLE: But he bites, sir!
MANIAC: Precisely. Grrr! Grrr! ...And I
should warn you, I've got rabies. Got it from a dog... A rabid mongrel who took
off half my bum. He died, I survived. Survived, but I'm still infected: grrr
grrr! Woof, woof!
INSPECTOR BERTOZZO: That's all we bloody
needed not only is he away with the mixer, he's got rabies too! Right, are we
going to take your statement or not? Come on, be a good chap! Then I'll let you
go... promise...!
MANIAC: Oh no, don't throw me out,
Inspector. I feel safe here with the police... I feel protected, somehow!
Life's so dangerous out there on the street... People are so horrible...
Driving around in their cars, hooting their horns, screeching their brakes...
And going on strike! Then you've got trams and subway carriages with their
doors shutting all of a sudden... Squish...! Keep me here with you... I can
help you get confessions out of your suspects... And subversives... I know how
to make nitroglycerine suppositories...!
INSPECTOR BERTOZZO: Right. Shut! Up!
MANIAC: Inspector, either you let me stay
here with you, or I'm going to throw myself out of the window... What floor are
we on? The third...? One short, but it'll do. I'm going to jump, and when I'm
down there, splattered on the pavement, groaning in my death agony... because I
can assure you it won't be an easy death... I'll groan and I'll scream and I'll
tell the journalists that it was you who threw me out. Here we go!
He runs to the window.
INSPECTOR BERTOZZO: [He tries to stop
him] Please! Stop it! [To the CONSTABLE] Put the catch on that
window!
MANIAC: Alright, then, I'll throw myself
down the stairwell.
He runs to the door.
INSPECTOR BERTOZZO: Oh for God's sake! Now
I've really had enough! Sit down! [He pushes him onto a chair, and then
addresses the CONSTABLE] You, lock the door... take the key and...
MANIAC: Throw it out of the window...
The CONSTABLE goes towards the window, in
a daze.
INSPECTOR BERTOZZO: Yes, throw it... NO...
Put it in the drawer... close the drawer... take the key out...
The CONSTABLE moves mechanically, doing as
instructed.
MANIAC: ...put it in your mouth and
swallow it!
INSPECTOR BERTOZZO: No, no, no, NO...!
Nobody gives me the run-around! [To the CONSTABLE] Give me that key. [He
opens the door to show the MANIAC out] Get out, go, leave...! And throw
yourself down the stairs if you want... Do what you like... Get out, or I'll be
the one going crazy!
He pushes him out of the room.
MANIAC: No, Inspector... Have a heart...
Don't push like that...
INSPECTOR BERTOZZO: Get out! [Having
finally succeeded in getting rid of the MANIAC, he closes the door] Oh, at
last!
CONSTABLE: Don't forget, Inspector, you've
got a meeting with Dr Bellati, and we're five minutes late already.
INSPECTOR BERTOZZO: Eh? What time is it?
[He looks at his watch] Oh for God's sake! That imbecile has left me so's I
don't know if I'm coming or going... Come on, we'd better get a move on...
They leave the room. The MANIAC peeks in
at the other door.
MANIAC: Yoo-hoo, Inspector... Can I come
in? Don't be angry. I've only come back to pick up my papers... Not talking to me,
eh? Oh come on, no hard feelings... Pax... Well, look at that, not a soul in
sight. I'll just have to help myself... [He does so] Medical record...
visiting card... Oh look, here's my charge sheet too.... Too bad, tear it up,
there you go, nice knowing you. [He picks up more papers] Another charge
sheet. Who's this one? [He reads] 'Burglary...' A trifle, a trifle...
You're free! [He tears it up] And what did you do? [He reads it] Taking
and driving away... insulting behaviour... Rubbish... Off you go, son, you're
free! [He tears it up] Free, the lot of you! [He pauses to read one
of the sheets] No, not you... You're an arsehole... You can stay... You're
going to do time! [He places the sheet in a prominent position on the desk
and then opens the cupboard, which is bulging with files] Nobody move...
the Day of Judgement has arrived! Amazing! Would these all happen to be charge
sheets? How would it be if I put a match to the lot of them...? [He pulls
out a cigarette lighter and is about to set fire to a bundle of papers when he
reads the title page] 'Judge's Report on the Death of the...' [The he
reads the label on another bundle] 'Judge's Decision to Adjourn the Inquest
of...' [Just at this moment, the phone rings. The MANIAC answers it]
Hello, Inspector Bertozzo's office...
Who's calling? No, I'm sorry, I can't get him for you if you won't tell me
who's calling... Well fancy that... the Inspector... Himself in person?! I
don't believe it! Oh come on! What a pleasure... Inspector Defenestra...! No,
nothing, nothing... And where are you calling from? Oh of course, how silly of
me, from the fourth floor... Where else? Anyway, what do you want with
Bertozzo? No, he's busy at the moment, so you'll have to tell me. What's that?
A High Court judge is being sent up specially from Rome...? If you ask me, he's
being sent up to re-open the case of the death of the anarchist. Sure it must
be because Rome's not happy with the way the original inquest was put on hold
when the judge adjourned it indefinitely. That's what you've heard as well? Oh,
it's only a rumour... I thought as much... First it suits them to a T, and then
they have second thoughts... Of course, of course, they're responding to the
pressure of public opinion... Do me a favour! When did they ever give a damn
for public opinion... Exactly, and here's Bertozzo, laughing like a drain. [He
moves the phone away slightly and laughs] Ha, ha! And making rude
gestures... Ha, ha! [He pretends to call over to BERTOZZO] Bertozzo, our
friend on the fourth floor says it's all very well for you to start cackling
about it, you're not stuck in the middle... But he and his boss are in deep
shit... [He pretends to be BERTOZZO laughing] Ha, ha... He's suggesting
that you'd best keep your heads up! Ha, ha... No, this time it's me who's
laughing! Frankly, I'd be very happy to see your boss the Superintendent up to
his neck in it... Yes, I mean it sincerely, and you can tell him I said so...
Inspector Anghiari that's me, by the way would be delighted... And so would
Bertozzo, listen to him laughing. [He holds the phone away from him] Ha,
ha! You hear that...? And who cares if they flush you down the pan... Yes, you
can tell him that too: Anghiari and Bertozzo couldn't give a shit! [He lets
out a tremendous raspberry] Prrruttt. Yes, it was Bertozzo who did the
raspberry. Alright, no need to get hysterical...! Good man, we'll talk about it
when we meet. So, what was it you were wanting from Bertozzo? What documents?
Yes, you tell me, and I'll write them down. The copy of the judge's reasons for
putting the anarchist's inquest on hold... Fine, I think we can provide that...
And the copies of the statements... yes, yes, it's all here in the archive...
Oh yes, quite right, you're going to have to start doing your homework... you and
that ex-concentration camp commandant boss of yours... If the judge who's
coming is even half as much a stickler for procedure as they say... Know him?
Of course I know him! His name's Malipiero, Judge Malipiero. Never heard of
him? Well, you will. As it happens, he spent time in a concentration camp
during the War on the receiving end... You should ask your boss, maybe he
remembers seeing him there. OK, I'll get the stuff to you right away.
See you... Wait, wait! Ha, ha, Bertozzo
just said something really funny... You won't blow a fuse if I tell you, will
you? You sure? Alright then, I'll tell you. He said... Ha, ha... by the time
this visiting judge's finished with you, they'll probably give you a nice
posting down in the South somewhere, Vibo Valentia in Calabria, maybe... where
the police station only has one floor and the inspector's office is in the
basement... Ha, ha... you get it? In the basement! Ha, ha! Ha, ha, you like
that? You didn't like it? OK, save it for another day. [He listens to the voice
on the phone] Fine, I'll tell him straight away. Bertozzo, the
soon-to-be-Calabrian inspector [1] at the other end of the line tells me when
he catches up with the pair of us, he's going to give us a punch on the nose!
Roger, message received, prrruttt [A raspberry] from both of us, over
and out! [The MANIAC puts down the phone and returns to rifling through the
papers]
'To work, your Honour, because time is
getting short.' God, I've come over all hot flushes! If I manage to persuade them
that I really am a High Court judge... if they don't tumble me... it'll be a
cracker! Let's see now, first of all, find a walk... [He tries a walk with a
slight limp] No, that's the clerk of the court. [He tries another]
Arthritic, but dignified! There, not bad, with a bit of a crick in the neck...
like a retired circus horse... [He tries it, but then decides against it]
No, I think I'd prefer the 'palais glide',
with the little twitch at the end. [He tries it] Not bad! And the 'jelly
knee'*? [He tries it] Or maybe the stiff knee of the beak-leaper.* [He
tries it. Short sharp steps, rocking from heel to toe] Heavens, the
glasses... No, no glasses. The right eye closed a bit... there, that's right,
rading from squint,* man of few words... a bit of a cough: cough, cough! No, no
cough... How about a twitch? Hmmm, we'll see how it feels come the time. A bit
of a smoothie, maybe, nasal tone, jovial sort: 'No! My dear Superintendent,
you're going to have to stop that, you're not running a concentration camp now,
you know you should remember that once in a while!'
No, I think I'd prefer something
different: cold, detached, short-shrift, bit of a drone, slightly shortsighted,
gloomy sort... has glasses, but only uses one lens: like so. [He tries this
out, as he sorts through a few papers]
Well, look at that! Brilliant! Just what I
was looking for! Hey, calm down, son... Back in character, if you don't mind!
All present and correct? Let's see: the judge's reasons for adjourning the
inquiry into the anarchist's death... Ha, and here's the police report into the
anarchist group in Rome, the one that was run by the male dancer... Very good!
He places all the documents in his bag. He
goes over to the coat-stand and puts on the black overcoat and the dark hat
that are hanging there. Re-enter INSPECTOR BERTOZZO. He doesn't recognise him
in this guise, and is momentarily taken aback.
INSPECTOR BERTOZZO: Hello, can I help you?
Are you looking for someone?
MANIAC: No one at all, Inspector. I've
just come back to get my papers...
INSPECTOR BERTOZZO: What you again? Get
out!!!
MANIAC: Please, just because you're in a
bad mood, no need to take it out on me.
INSPECTOR BERTOZZO: Get out!
He pushes him towards the door.
MANIAC: Oh for God's sake! You're all neurotic
in here! First there was that lunatic who's going round looking for you, to
smash your face in.
INSPECTOR BERTOZZO: [This stops him in
his tracks] Who's that? Who's going round looking for me?
MANIAC: A character in a white roll-neck.
Hasn't he given you a smack in the gob yet?
INSPECTOR BERTOZZO: A smack in the gob?
MANIAC: That's what he said, I said.
INSPECTOR BERTOZZO: Listen, I think I've
wasted enough time with you. Would you do me a favour? Piss off, and don't come
back!
MANIAC: What, never, never, never? [He
mimes blowing him kisses. The SUPERINTENDENT reacts irritatedly] Take my
advice next time you meet the Inspector from upstairs, you'd best duck!
He exits. INSPECTOR BERTOZZO gives a great
sigh of relief, and then goes over to the coat-stand. He sees it is empty.
INSPECTOR BERTOZZO: [Running after him]
Huh the bastard! He goes round pretending to be mad, and then he steals your
overcoat...! Hey, you! [He stops the CONSTABLE, who enters at this moment]
Quick, get after that head-case... the one who just left... he's gone out with
my coat... and my hat... and probably my briefcase too... That's right, that
was mine too! Quick, before he gets away!
CONSTABLE: At once, Sir... [He goes to
the door, but then stops. He speaks to someone outside the door] Yes, Sir,
he's in his office.
INSPECTOR BERTOZZO: [He rummages around
to find the sheets that were torn up by the MANIAC] Where the hell have
those charge sheets gone?
CONSTABLE: Inspector Bertozzo, the Inspector
from the Special Branch upstairs would like a word with you.
INSPECTOR BERTOZZO raises his head from
the desk, gets up, and goes over to the door.
INSPECTOR BERTOZZO: Hello, there...! I was
talking about you just a moment ago, with some nutter, who said... Ha, ha, can
you imagine it... He said the next time you see me, you're going to give me...
[From outside the door we see a rapid movement of somebody's arm. BERTOZZO
receives a punch in the face, which sends him reeling as he completes his sentence]
...a smack in the gob!
He falls to the ground. The MANIAC peers
in through the opposite door and shouts:
MANIAC: I told you to duck!
Blackout. A musical interlude: a march in
the style of the 'Entry of the Clowns'. This continues for as long as is
necessary to change the scene.
Act One
Scene Two
The lights come up, and we find ourselves
in an office which is very similar to the previous one. The furniture is more
or less the same, although arranged differently. On the wall at the back of the
stage hangs a large portrait of the Italian President. There is also a large
window, which is wide open. On stage are a CONSTABLE, and the MANIAC, who is
standing facing the window, with his back to the door. After a moment, enters
the INSPECTOR FROM THE FOURTH FLOOR. He is wearing a sports jacket and a
roll-neck sweater.
SPORTS JACKET: [Murmuring to the CONSTABLE
standing at the door] What does he want? Who is he?
CONSTABLE: I don't know, Sir. He came
sweeping in here like he was God Almighty. He says that he wants to talk with
you and the Superintendent.
SPORTS JACKET: [He is continuously
massaging his right hand] Wants to talk,
does he? [He goes over to the MANIAC] Good morning, I gather you wanted to see
me.
MANIAC: [He looks him up and down, coolly,
and barely moves his hand to raise his hat] Good morning. [He watches
curiously as the INSPECTOR IN THE SPORTS JACKET continues massaging his hand]
What have you done to your hand?
SPORTS JACKET: Er, nothing... Who are you?
MANIAC: Nothing, eh? So why do you keep
rubbing it? An affectation, is it? Or is it a nervous tic?
The INSPECTOR IN THE SPORTS JACKET becomes
impatient.
SPORTS JACKET: Could be... I said, with
whom do I have the pleasure...?
MANIAC: I knew a bishop once who used to
rub his hand like that. A Jesuit.
SPORTS JACKET: Are you suggesting...?
MANIAC: [Ignoring his reply] You should
see a psychiatrist. When people keep rubbing their hands like that it's a sure
sign of insecurity... guilt complex... and a lousy sex life. Do you have
problems with women, perhaps?
SPORTS JACKET: [Losing his temper] Right!
That'll do!
He bangs his fist on the desk.
MANIAC: [Referring to his gesture]
Impulsive! There's the proof! Tell me the truth it isn't a tic at all, is it...?
You've just given someone a right-hander, haven't you? Come on own up!
SPORTS JACKET: What d'you mean, 'own up'?
Would you mind telling me who you are? And among other things, you might care
to remove your hat!
MANIAC: You're right. [He removes his hat
with studied slowness] I hope you don't think I was being rude, keeping it
on... It's just that you've got the window wide open... and I have a real problem with draughts. Don't you?
Would you mind if we closed it?
SPORTS JACKET: Yes I would!
MANIAC: Oops, sorry I spoke! Pleased to
meet you. Professor Marco Maria Malipiero, first counsel to the High Court...
SPORTS JACKET: [Taken aback] Oh I see...
MANIAC: [Ironically, aggressively] What do
you see?
SPORTS JACKET: Nothing, nothing.
MANIAC: Precisely... [Once again
aggressive] You see nothing! Who was it told you that I was supposed to be
arriving to take a second look into the business of the anarchist's death?
SPORTS JACKET: [In a tight spot] Well,
actually... I...
MANIAC: I'd like the truth, please... I
get terribly upset when people lie to me... I have a tic too, see... here in my
neck, and when people lie to me, look, it starts to vibrate.... look, see? So,
did you know I was coming, or didn't you?
SPORTS JACKET: [Swallowing nervously] Yes,
I did know... But we weren't expecting you so soon... actually...
MANIAC: Of course and that's precisely
why the Supreme Court decided that I should come up early... We too have our
informants, you know. And so we've caught you on the hop, eh? Does this worry
you?
SPORTS JACKET: No, no, of course
not...[The MANIAC points to the nerve vibrating in his neck] ...Oh, alright,
yes, it does... [He shows him to a chair] Sit down, please... Can I take your
hat for you...? [He takes it, but then has second thoughts] Or maybe you'd
prefer to keep it...?
MANIAC: No, no, help yourself, it isn't
mine anyway.
SPORTS JACKET: Eh? [He goes towards the
window] Would you like me to shut the window?
MANIAC: Not at all. Don't put yourself out
on my account. I wonder, would you mind calling in the Superintendent... I'd
like to start as soon as possible.
SPORTS JACKET: Certainly... But wouldn't
it be better if we all went to his office. It's a bit more comfortable.
MANIAC: I'm sure it is. But it was in this
office that the unfortunate business with the anarchist happened, wasn't it?
SPORTS JACKET: Yes, it was.
MANIAC: [Flinging his arms open] Well,
then!
He sits down and takes a number of
documents from inspector bertozzo's briefcase. He also has another, enormous
bag with him, from which he pulls an assortment of odds and ends: a magnifying
glass, a pair of tweezers, a stapler, a judge's wooden gavel... and a copy of
the Penal Code. Over by the door the INSPECTOR IN THE SPORTS JACKET is talking
quietly to the CONSTABLE.
MANIAC: [As he continues putting his
papers in order] If you don't mind, Inspector, I'll have no whispering while
I'm here. Out loud, please!
SPORTS JACKET: I'm sorry. [Turning to the
CONSTABLE] Ask the Superintendent to join us at once, if he can.
MANIAC: And even if he can't.
The INSPECTOR IN THE SPORTS JACKET
corrects himself.
SPORTS JACKET: Yes, even if he can't.
CONSTABLE: [He exits] Yessir...
SPORTS JACKET: [For a moment he watches as
the JUDGE orders his papers and pins a number of sheets up on the side wall, on
the flaps of the shutters, and on the cupboard. All of a sudden he remembers
something) Oh yes... The statements! [He picks up the phone and dials a number]
Hello, get me Bertozzo... Where's he gone? Upstairs to see the Superintendent?
He replaces the handset, then picks it up
again to dial another number. The MANIAC interrupts him.
MANIAC: Pardon my interrupting,
Inspector...
SPORTS JACKET: Yes, your honour...?
MANIAC: This Inspector Bertozzo that you're
so concerned about, would he maybe have something to do with the re-opening of
the anarchist's inquest?
SPORTS JACKET: Yes... no... I mean, well,
since he's the one with all the paperwork...
MANIAC: We don't need it... I have
everything we need here, so why bother getting a second copy?
SPORTS JACKET: Well I suppose we can do
without.
From off-stage we hear the angry voice of
the SUPERINTENDENT. He comes flying into the office with CONSTABLE following
close behind looking embarrassed.
SUPERINTENDENT: What exactly did you mean
by that, Inspector, to come to your office if I can, and even if I can't?
SPORTS JACKET: I'm sorry, Super... It's
just that since...
SUPERINTENDENT: Just that since be damned!
You're getting too damn big for your boots, d'you know that? What's more, I'm
not at all amused by your insolent style of behaviour... Especially when it
comes to punching your colleagues in the face!
SPORTS JACKET: But Superintendent...
Didn't Bertozzo tell you about the raspberry and his moronic joke about
underground police stations in Calabria?
The MANIAC pretends to be sorting out his
paperwork. He suddenly ducks beneath the edge of the desk, and then re-emerges.
SUPERINTENDENT: Raspberries!! Look, let's
not start behaving like children. We need to keep on our toes... we're in the
hotseat now. [The INSPECTOR IN THE SPORTS JACKETsignals to him desperately, in
an attempt to shut him up] ...with all these bloody journalists running round
making insinuations... telling lies... and don't try to shut me up, because I
believe in speaking my mind and I don't care who... [The INSPECTOR IN THE
SPORTS JACKET gestures towards the JUDGE, who pretends to be absorbed in
something else] Oh, I see! And who's this, for God's sake?! A journalist? Why
didn't you tell me...
MANIAC: [Without raising his eyes from his
paperwork] No, Superintendent, don't worry, I'm not a journalist... There won't
be any nonsense like that, I can assure you.
SUPERINTENDENT: I'm very glad to hear it.
MANIAC: This young man here, who, in my
opinion, is rather too irritable for his own good, and who, as I gather from
your conversation, also appears to be allergic to raspberries...
[Confidentially, taking him aside] A word of advice, Superintendent... speaking
as a father: this boy needs a good psychiatrist... You should take him to see
this friend of mine... He's a genius. [He hands him a visiting card] Professor
Antonio Rabbi... ex lecturer... watch out for the comma...
SUPERINTENDENT: [Not knowing how to
disengage himself] Thank you, but if you'll allow me, I...
MANIAC: [Suddenly changing tone] Certainly
I'll allow you... Sit down, and let's get started... By the way, did your
colleague tell you that I...
SPORTS JACKET: Oh, I'm sorry, I forgot...
[To the SUPERINTENDENT. This gentleman is Professor Marco Maria Malipiero,
first counsel to the High Court...
MANIAC: I wouldn't insist on the
'first'... Let's just say 'one of the first'!
SPORTS JACKET: As you wish.
SUPERINTENDENT: [Having difficulty recovering
from the shock] Your Honour... I really don't know...
SPORTS JACKET: [Coming to his help] His
Honour the Judge is here to re-open the inquiry into the case of the ...
SUPERINTENDENT: [In an unexpected
reaction] Oh of course, of course, we were expecting you!
MANIAC: You see, you see what a
straightforward man your superior is? He prefers to play his cards openly!
Learn from him! Another generation, another school, I would say!
SUPERINTENDENT: Another generation...!
MANIAC: Actually, if you don't mind my
saying so, there's something very, how can I put it, familiar about you... As
if we've met before somewhere... years ago. You wouldn't happen to have been in
charge of some concentration camp during the War, would you?
SUPERINTENDENT: [Stammering] Concentration
camp...?
MANIAC: No, no, of course not, what am I saying?! A man like
yourself running a concentration camp? Unheard of! So, let's get down to
business. [He thumbs through his papers] Right, now, according to these
statements... On the evening of the... the date's immaterial... an anarchist, a
railway shunter by profession, was right here in this room, being interrogated
as to whether or not he had been involved in the bomb attack at the Milan Bank
of Agriculture, which caused the death of sixteen innocent civilians. And here
we have your precise words, Superintendent: 'There was strong evidence pointing
in his direction'! Was that what you said?
SUPERINTENDENT: Well, yes, but that was
only right at the start, your Honour... Later on...
MANIAC: We'll stick with the 'right at the
start' for the moment... One step at a time. So, at about midnight, the
anarchist was 'seized by a raptus' these are still your words he was seized
by a 'raptus' and went and threw himself to his death from the window. Now,
what is a 'raptus'? Bandieu says that a 'raptus' is a heightened form of
suicidal anxiety which can seize even people who are psychologically perfectly
normal, if something provokes them to extremes of angst, in other words, to
utter desperation. Correct?
SUPERINTENDENT AND SPORTS JACKET: Correct.
MANIAC: So we need to find out who or what
it was provoked this anxiety, this desperation. I suspect that the best way
would be if we do a reconstruction. Superintendent, the stage is yours.
SUPERINTENDENT: Me?
MANIAC: Yes, go ahead: would you mind
re-enacting your famous entrance?
SUPERINTENDENT: I'm sorry, what famous...?
MANIAC: The one that brought about the
'raptus'.
SUPERINTENDENT: Your honour, there must be
a misunderstanding here. It wasn't me who did the entrance, it was one of my
officers...
MANIAC: Tut, tut, tut, it's not very nice
to pass the buck to your subordinates. In fact I find it rather naughty... Come
on, now, play your part...
SPORTS JACKET: I think I should explain,
your Honour, it was just one of those tricks of the trade that the police
occasionally use, to put pressure on a subject to confess.
MANIAC: Who asked your opinion? I was
speaking with your superior! You should
learn some manners. From now on, you only speak when spoken to... Understand?
And now, Superintendent, I'd like to see
you doing that entrance.
SUPERINTENDENT: Oh alright. It went more
or less like this. Our anarchist suspect was sitting there, right where you're
sitting now. My colleague er, I mean, I came in somewhat brusquely...
MANIAC: Well done!
SUPERINTENDENT: And I went for him!
MANIAC: That's what I like to hear!
SUPERINTENDENT: My dear railway shunter,
not to mention subversive... You'd better stop making fun of me...
MANIAC: No, no... Stick to the script,
please. [He waves the statements] No censorship here, if you don't mind... That
wasn't quite what you said!
SUPERINTENDENT: Well, I said: 'Have you
quite finished taking the piss?'
MANIAC: Well done. And then what did you
say?
SUPERINTENDENT: We have evidence to prove
that you were the one who planted the bombs at the station.
MANIAC: What bombs?
SUPERINTENDENT: [In a lower tone, more
discursive] I'm talking about bombing on the twenty-fifth...
MANIAC: No, no, use the same words you
used that evening. Imagine that I'm the anarchist railwayman. Come on, let's
have you: 'What bombs?'
SUPERINTENDENT: Don't play dumb with me! You
know very well what bombs. The ones you planted on the train at the Central
Station eight months ago.
MANIAC: Did you really have this evidence?
SUPERINTENDENT: No, but as the Inspector
was explaining just now, the police use these ploys every once in a while...
MANIAC: Aha... Shrewd move!
He slaps the SUPERINTENDENT on the back,
much to his surprise.
SUPERINTENDENT: But we had our
suspicions... Since the suspect was the only anarchist railwayman in Milan...
there was a good chance it was him...
MANIAC: Absolutely I agree... crystal
clear. Since it's obvious that the bomb on the railway must have been planted
by a railwayman, by the same logic we can say that the bombs at the Law Courts
in Rome were planted by a judge, the bombs at the Monument to the Unknown
Soldier were planted by a soldier, and the bomb at the Bank of Agriculture was
planted by either a banker or a farmer,
take your pick... [He turns nasty] Do me a favour, gentlemen... I'm here to
conduct a serious inquiry, not to play cretinous word-games! So let's get on
with it! Here it says: [He reads from a sheet of paper] 'The anarchist seemed
unaffected by the accusation, and was smiling incredulously] Who made that
statement?
SPORTS JACKET: Me, you honour.
MANIAC: Well done. So he was smiling...
But it also says here and this is word for word what you said at the time:
'Undoubtedly one element in his suicidal crisis had been the fear of losing his
job, of being sacked.' So? One minute he's smiling incredulously, and the next
he's terrified? Who was it terrified him...? Who was it hit him with the
bombshell that he was about to lose his job?
SPORTS JACKET: Er, well I, er...
MANIAC: Now look, please, there's no need
to play coy with me. I know you're not running a girls' school here... I don't
see why, when every police force in the world comes down like a ton of bricks,
you have to be the only two going gently-gently. Don't you ever watch the
police crime serials on TV? It's your absolute right to carry on like that. Of
course it is!
SUPERINTENDENT AND SPORTS JACKET: Thank
you, your honour!
MANIAC: Don't mention it. Anyway, I
realise it can be hard for you: you go and tell an anarchist: 'Things are
looking pretty bad for you... Let's hope your employers don't find out you're an
anarchist... Know what I mean? Otherwise bang goes your job on the railways...'
And naturally he gets depressed... To tell the truth, anarchists are very
attached to their jobs... Basically they're just petty bourgeois... attached to
their little creature comforts... regular income every month, Christmas bonus,
pension, health insurance, a peaceful old age... Believe me, there's no one
like your anarchist for planning for his old age... I'm referring to your
present-day anarchists, of course... your wishy-washy anarchists, not the real
anarchists of yesteryear, the ones who had to flee persecution from one country
to the next... Speaking of persecution, Superintendent...? Oh no, my goodness,
what am I saying?! Anyway, to recapitulate, you put the anarchist in a state of
terminal depression, blacken his day for him, and he throws himself out...
SPORTS JACKET: If you'll allow me, your
honour, it didn't happen straight away... There's still my contribution to
come...
MANIAC: Ah yes, Inspector, you're right...
First of all you went out. Then you came back in again... And after a dramatic
pause, you said... Come on, Inspector, let's have your lines... Imagine that
I'm the anarchist again...
SPORTS JACKET: Right, fine. [He goes out
of the door, and comes back in, playing his part] 'I've just had a phone call
from Rome... I've got a bit of news for you: your friend sorry, your comrade
the dancer, has confessed... He's admitted that he was the one who planted
the bomb at the bank in Milan.'
MANIAC: Was this true?
SPORTS JACKET: Of course not.
MANIAC: And how did our railwayman take
this?
SPORTS JACKET: Badly, in fact. He went
white as a sheet, asked for a cigarette... lit it...
MANIAC: And threw himself out of the
window.
SUPERINTENDENT: No, not straight away,
actually...
MANIAC: But you did say 'straight away' in
the first version, didn't you?
SUPERINTENDENT: Yes, I did.
MANIAC: What's more, you yourself told the
newspapers and the TV that before his tragic gesture, the anarchist was 'in a
tight spot'. Was that what you said?
SUPERINTENDENT: Yes, 'in a tight spot'.
MANIAC: And what did you go on to say
then...?
SUPERINTENDENT: That his alibi, that he
had spent the afternoon of the bombing playing cards in a bar by the Canal, had
collapsed.
MANIAC: And that therefore our anarchist
was also strongly suspected of the bombing at the Milan bank, in addition to
the trains. And you ended your statement by saying that the anarchist's suicide
was an 'obvious admission of guilt'.
SUPERINTENDENT: Yes, Sir.
MANIAC: And you, Inspector, were
announcing to all and sundry that there was proof that he was a villain and a
hardened criminal. But just a couple of weeks later, Superintendent, you issued
a statement to say here it is [He shows him a piece of paper] that
'naturally' I repeat, 'naturally' there was no such evidence against our
poor railwayman. Am I right? So that he was completely innocent. And you,
Inspector, even went as far as to say: 'The anarchist was a good lad.'
SUPERINTENDENT: Yes, fair enough... We'd
made a mistake...
MANIAC: Of course, of course... We all
make mistakes... But if I might say so, you went right over the top: first you
arrest an innocent citizen more or less at random, then you abuse your powers
by detaining him beyond the legal limit, and then you go and traumatise the
poor man by telling him that you have proof that he's been going round planting
bombs on railways; then you more or less deliberately terrorise him that he's
going to lose his job; then you tell him that his card-playing alibi has
collapsed, and then comes the coup de gr*ace you tell him that his friend and
comrade in Rome has confessed to the bombings in Milan. In other words, his
best friend is a mass murderer. Thereupon he becomes terminally depressed,
observes that 'this is the death of anarchism', and throws himself out of the
window!
I mean, are we crazy or what? If you ask
me, when you give a person the run-around like this it's no wonder he gets
seized by a 'raptus'. No, I'm sorry, in my opinion you are all extremely
guilty! I regard you as totally responsible for the anarchist's death you
should be charged at once with having driven him to suicide!
SUPERINTENDENT: You can't be serious, your
honour! You said it yourself, our job is to interrogate suspects, and if we
want to get them to talk, every once in a while we have to use tricks and
ploys, and sometimes psychological violence...
MANIAC: But here we're not dealing with
'once in a while'. This was continuous, premeditated violence. To start with,
did you or did you not have proof that this poor railwayman had lied about his
alibi? Answers, please!
SUPERINTENDENT: No, we didn't have
specific proof... But...
MANIAC: I'm not interested in 'ifs' and
'buts'! Is it or is it not the case that at this precise moment there are two
or three old age pensioners right here in Milan who could have corroborated the
anarchist's alibi?
SPORTS JACKET: It is.
MANIAC: So you lied, on TV and in the papers,
when you said that his alibi had collapsed and that there was a whole pile of
evidence against him? It seems that you don't only use your tricks and traps
and porky-pies to get suspects to confess you're quite happy to foist them
onto an unsuspecting public too! Where did the information come from, that the
anarchist dancer had confessed?
SPORTS JACKET: We made it up.
MANIAC: Well, how very creative! You
should take up writing, you two. And you'll probably get the chance, believe
me. Plenty of time to write, in prison.
So, feeling a bit knocked out, eh? Well, I
think I should add that down in Rome they have a stack of evidence of major
procedural irrgularities having been committed by the pair of you. You're done
for: the Ministry of Justice has decided that you must be made an example of,
and that you must be dealt with with the full severity of the law, so as to
restore the public's lost faith in the police.!
SUPERINTENDENT: What? I don't believe it!
SPORTS JACKET: How could they...?
MANIAC: It's true, I'm afraid: your
careers are in tatters! Blame it on politics, friends! At the start you served
a useful function: something had to be done to stop all the strikes... So they
decided to start a witch-hunt against the Left. But now things have gone a bit
too far... People have got very upset about the death of our defenestrated
anarchist... they want someone's head on the block, and the government's going
to give them yours!
SUPERINTENDENT: Ours?!
SPORTS JACKET: That's right!
MANIAC: There's an old English proverb
that says: 'The Lord of the Manor set his mastiffs on the peasants... The
peasants complained to the King, so the Lord of the Manor went and killed his
dogs, to make amends.'
SUPERINTENDENT: And you really think...
MANIAC: Well, who am I, if not your
executioner?
SPORTS JACKET: What a poxy job!
SUPERINTENDENT: I've been set up... and I
know who did it... Ha, he's going to pay for this!
MANIAC: I'd say a lot of people are going to
be very happy to see you two get your come-uppance...
SPORTS JACKET: They'll make mincemeat of
us! Can you imagine the headlines? The humiliation... the sniggering... the
jokes behind our backs...
SUPERINTENDENT: Everyone turning their
backs on us, pretending they don't know us... They won't even give us a job as
car park attendants by the time we're finished!
SPORTS JACKET: What a bastard world!
MANIAC: No what a bastard government!
SUPERINTENDENT: Your Honour, you're going
to have to advise us. What do we do now?
MANIAC: How should I know?
SPORTS JACKET: Yes what would you
advise?
MANIAC: If I were in your shoes...
SUPERINTENDENT: Yes?
MANIAC: I'd throw myself out of the
window!
SPORTS JACKET AND SUPERINTENDENT: What?!
MANIAC: You asked my opinion... the way
things are looking... rather than have to endure the humiliation... Take my
advice, jump! Why wait? Wait for what? What's left for you in this lousy world?
Call this living? Bastard world, bastard government... Bastard bloody
everything! Jump!
He hauls them over to the window.
SUPERINTENDENT: No, your Honour, what are
you doing? There's still hope!
MANIAC: There's no hope, you're done
for... Understand...? Done for!! Jump!
SUPERINTENDENT AND SPORTS JACKET: Help! No,
stop...! Don't push!
MANIAC: I'm not pushing. You've been
seized by a 'raptus'!
He forces them both up onto the window
ledge and pushes them, trying to get them to jump. Enter the CONSTABLE who had
gone out at the start of the interrogation.
CONSTABLE: What's happening, Sir?
MANIAC: [Letting go of them] Ha, ha,
nothing. Everything's fine... Isn't it, Inspector? Eh, Superintendent? Come on,
put the officer's mind at rest.
SUPERINTENDENT: [He comes down, from the
window-sill, shaking] It's...er... alright... relax... It was only...
MANIAC:
...A 'raptus'.
CONSTABLE: A 'raptus'?
MANIAC: Yes. They were trying to throw
themselves out of the window.
CONSTABLE: Them too?
MANIAC: Yes, but not a word to the press,
eh!
CONSTABLE: No, sir.
SPORTS JACKET: It's not true, though it
was you, your Honour, you were trying...
SUPERINTENDENT: Exactly.
CONSTABLE: You were trying to throw
yourself out, your Honour?
SUPERINTENDENT: No, he was doing the
pushing.
MANIAC: It's true, it's true: I drove them
to it. And they were in such a desperate state that they were almost ready to
go... When a person is desperate, it takes practically nothing...
CONSTABLE: I know, sir!
MANIAC: And now look at them, they're
still in a panic... Ooh, look at those long faces!
CONSTABLE: [Excited at being brought into
the conversation by the JUDGE) Yes, Sir, up shit creek without a paddle, you
might say...
SUPERINTENDENT: Constable!
CONSTABLE: I'm sorry, I meant, er, down
the pan...
MANIAC: So flush the chain, and away we
go...! Cheer up, gentlemen!
SUPERINTENDENT: It's all very well for
you... If you were in our position... Do you know what, there was a moment just
then when... I was actually almost about to throw myself out!
CONSTABLE: Throw yourself out, Sir? You
yourself, personally?
SPORTS JACKET: Yes. Me too!
MANIAC: You see, you see, Superintendent
amazing, the effect of a 'raptus'! And whose fault would you say it was?
SUPERINTENDENT: Those bastards in the
government... Who else? ...First they give you a free hand...'Let's have a bit
of repression, create a climate of subversion, the threat of social
disorder...'
SPORTS JACKET: You bend over backwards for
them, and then...
MANIAC: No, no, no... not at all... The
fault would have been entirely mine!
SUPERINTENDENT: Yours? Why?
MANIAC: Because not a word of what I said
was true! I made it all up!
SUPERINTENDENT: What do you mean? You mean
to say that down in Rome they're not really out to get us?
MANIAC: Never even crossed their minds.
SUPERINTENDENT: And what about the 'stack
evidence' against us?
MANIAC: Doesn't exist.
SPORTS JACKET: And the business about the
Ministry wanting our heads on the block?
MANIAC: All lies: they all love you, down in
Rome. They think the sun shines out of your you-know-whats.
SUPERINTENDENT: You're not just having us
on, are you?
MANIAC: Not at all! The government thinks
you're entirely wonderful! And by the way, the English proverb about the lord
killing his dogs? I made that up too. Whoever heard of a lord killing his dogs
to satisfy a peasant? If anything, it'd be the other way round! And if a dog
happened to die in the fray, the king would immediately send its owner a wreath
and a telegram of condolence.
The INSPECTOR IN THE SPORTS JACKET goes to
say something. The SUPERINTENDENT is nervous and tetchy.
SPORTS JACKET: Unless I've got this
wrong...
SUPERINTENDENT: Of course you've got it
wrong... Leave this to me, Inspector...
SPORTS JACKET: Certainly, sorry, sir...
SUPERINTENDENT: I don't understand, your
Honour, why you wanted to set us up like that...
MANIAC: Set you up? Not at all, it was
just one of the 'tricks of the trade' which we visiting judges also like to use
every once in a while, in order to demonstrate to the police that such methods
are uncivilised, not to mention criminal!
SUPERINTENDENT: So you still think that
when the anarchist jumped out of the window, it was because we pushed him?
MANIAC: But you just said as much
yourselves, a moment ago... when you panicked!
SPORTS JACKET: But we weren't even in the
room when he threw himself out! Ask the officer, here!
CONSTABLE: It's true, your Honour. When he
threw himself out, they'd just gone out!
MANIAC: That's like saying that if a man plants
a bomb in a bank, and then goes out, he's not guilty, because he wasn't there
when it went off! Ha! You run a fine line in logic here.
SUPERINTENDENT: But no, your Honour,
there's been a misunderstanding... The constable was referring to the first version...
but we're talking about the second.
MANIAC: Oh yes, of course... There's a bit
of a rewrite, the second time round, isn't there.
SUPERINTENDENT: Well, I wouldn't exactly
call it a rewrite... more like a correction.
MANIAC: Fair enough. Let's take a look at
this 'correction'.
The SUPERINTENDENT signals to the
INSPECTOR IN THE SPORTS JACKET.
SPORTS JACKET: Well, we have...
MANIAC: Don't forget that here I also have
your statements for the second version. Please, go ahead...
SPORTS JACKET: We've altered the time of
our... what can I say... our ploy about the anarchist's alibi and so on...
MANIAC: How do you mean?
SUPERINTENDENT: Yes, well, you see, we
stated that our session with the anarchist, when we tried to trick him, didn't
happen at midnight, it happened at about eight in the evening.
SPORTS JACKET: Twenty-hundred hours, if
you prefer...!
MANIAC: Ah, so you've brought the time of
his flying lesson forward by four hours! A sort of super-summer-time, eh?
SPORTS JACKET: No, not the time of his
fall. That still happened at midnight... the same as before. There were
witnesses.
SUPERINTENDENT: Including the journalist
who was down below in the courtyard at the time, you remember? [The JUDGE
indicates that he doesn't] The one who heard him bouncing off the ledge and
hitting the ground, and came running over... He took a note of the time it
happened.
MANIAC: OK... so the terminal depression
happened at eight o'clock and the suicide happened at midnight. So now what do
we do with the 'raptus'? What I mean is, unless I'm mistaken, your whole
version of the suicide is based on this 'raptus'... Everyone concerned, from
the judge who did the original inquest through to the Public Prosecutor, has
always stressed that the poor devil threw himself out because of a... sudden
'raptus'... and now, hey presto, you've done away with the 'raptus'!
SUPERINTENDENT: No we haven't. Not at all.
MANIAC: Yes you have. We now have a gap of
four whole hours between the moment when you, or your colleague, comes into the
room and perpetrates this monstrous joke that 'we have concrete proof', and
then the suicide. So where's my 'raptus' gone all of a sudden? After a gap of
four hours, the anarchist would have had time to recover from a lot more than
just your little porky pies... You could have told him that Bakunin was a
supergrass for the police and the Vatican combined, and he'd have got over it!
SUPERINTENDENT: No, there was a raptus,
but we just wanted to show that it couldn't have been caused by our feeding him
false information... precisely because there was a gap of four hours between
then and the time of his suicide!
MANIAC: Of course you're right! That's
brilliant... Well done!!!
SUPERINTENDENT: Thank you, sir.
MANIAC: So that way nobody is going to be
able to lay the blame at your door! Alright, a few white lies were told, but
they couldn't have been the reason for his death!
SPORTS JACKET: Exactly. So we're not
guilty.
MANIAC: Congratulations! We still don't
have the faintest idea why the poor wretch threw himself out of the window, but
that doesn't matter! For the time being, the main thing is, you're innocent.
SUPERINTENDENT: Allow me to thank you again.
I must admit, I was beginning to think that you had it in for us.
MANIAC: How do you mean?
SPORTS JACKET: That you'd made up your
mind that we were guilty.
MANIAC: Oh my goodness, no... Quite the
opposite. I realise that I have been rather provocative, but I only did to
force you to come up with ideas that were sufficiently convincing for me to be
able to help you get out of this mess.
SUPERINTENDENT: I'm really grateful to
you... It is good to know that the judiciary is still a policeman's best friend!!!
MANIAC: You might even say
'collaborator'...
SPORTS JACKET AND SUPERINTENDENT: Of
course.
MANIAC: But you're going to have to
collaborate too, if you really want me to get you out of this... and put you
completely in the clear.
SUPERINTENDENT: Absolutely.
SPORTS JACKET: My pleasure.
MANIAC: Well, the first thing we're going
to have to prove absolutely irrefutably is that during that four-hour gap
the anarchist had lost all trace of that famous 'psychological collapse', as
the inquest judge called it at the time.
SPORTS JACKET: Well, there's the statement
by the officer here and mine too where we say that, after a moment's
uneasiness, the anarchist relaxed again...
MANIAC: Do we have that in black and
white?
SPORTS JACKET: Yes, I think so...
MANIAC: Oh yes, here it is in the second
version of the events... [He reads] 'The railwayman became more relaxed and
said that he didn't have a good relationship with the ex-dancer.' Excellent!
And let's not forget that our railwayman was very well aware that the anarchist
group in Rome was choc-a-bloc with spies and police informers... I believe he
himself had said as much to the dancer: 'The police and fascists are using you
as a way of creating a climate of social disorder... Your group is full of paid
provocateurs... who seem to be able to do what they like with you... and the
Left's going to carry the can for all this...'
SPORTS JACKET: Maybe that was why they had
a row?
MANIAC: Very possibly, and since the
dancer seems to have ignored his warnings, maybe our railwayman was beginning
to think that he was a police spy too.
SUPERINTENDENT: Ah yes, could be.
MANIAC: And therefore not worth worrying
about. Case proven. The anarchist was happy!
SPORTS JACKET: In fact he was smiling...
You remember I said so, in the first version.
MANIAC: True, but unfortunately we have a
small problem in the first version you also said that the anarchist lit a
cigarette, and that he was 'utterly dejected'.
SUPERINTENDENT: You're right, your Honour,
that was his idea. I told him, I said: 'We're supposed to be police officers
leave the fancy screenplays to the movie-makers...
MANIAC: You know what I say? The only way
to find a sensible solution to all this is to chuck it all in the bin and start
over again.
SPORTS JACKET: You mean draw up a third
version?
MANIAC: Not at all, not at all just make
the two we've already got a bit more plausible.
SUPERINTENDENT: I agree.
MANIAC: So, rule number one: What's said is
said, and can't be unsaid. We have to take it as given that you, officer, and
you, Superintendent (or someone acting on your behalf), played your little
charade... that the anarchist smoked his last cigarette, and uttered his famous
last words... But here's where the difference comes: he didn't throw himself
out of the window, because it wasn't yet midnight, it was only eight o'clock in
the evening.
SUPERINTENDENT: As in the second
version...
MANIAC: And, as we know, railwaymen are
very particular about time-keeping.
SUPERINTENDENT: So this gives us plenty of
time to change his mood... and to delay his suicidal intentions.
SPORTS JACKET: Things were going
swimmingly!
MANIAC: Yes, but how did this change come
about? Time on its own is not sufficient to heal certain wounds... Somebody
must have given him a hand... I don't know... a kind gesture, or something...
CONSTABLE: I gave him a piece of chewing
gum!
MANIAC: Well said. And you?
SUPERINTENDENT: Um, I wasn't there...
MANIAC: No, this is a very delicate
moment, you must have been there!
SUPERINTENDENT: Oh alright, I was.
MANIAC: Right, now, for a start, can we
say that you were both a bit moved by the state the anarchist had got into?
SPORTS JACKET: Yes. In fact I felt really
sorry for him.
MANIAC: And might we also say that you,
Superintendent, were also sorry to see him feeling so bad...? You are, after
all, a sensitive sort of chap, are you not?
SUPERINTENDENT: Yes, I was ever so
sorry... Sad, even.
MANIAC: Perfect! And I bet you couldn't
resist going up to him and putting your hand on his shoulder...
SUPERINTENDENT: No, I don't think so.
MANIAC: Oh come on, a fatherly gesture...
SUPERINTENDENT: Well maybe... I don't
remember.
MANIAC: I'm sure you did! Please, tell me
you did...!
CONSTABLE: He did, he did... I saw him!
SUPERINTENDENT: Fair enough, if he saw
me...
MANIAC: [Turning to the INSPECTOR IN THE
SPORTS JACKET] You, on the other hand, gave him a friendly pat on the cheek...
like this.
He gives him a friendly pat on the cheek.
SPORTS JACKET: No, I'm sorry to disapoint
you, but I most definitely did not... No friendly pats on cheeks.
MANIAC: You do indeed disappoint me... And
do you know why? Because that man was not only an anarchist, he was a
railwayman! Have you forgotten that? And do you know what this railwayman
means? It's something that goes back to the childhood of every one of us. It
means train sets clockwork...
electric... Didn't you ever have a train set when you were a kid?
SPORTS JACKET: Yes, I did... A steam
train... With real steam... An armoured train, of course.
MANIAC: And did it go toot-toot?
SPORTS JACKET: Sure, toot-toot...
MANIAC: Wonderful! When you said 'toot-toot',
I saw your eyes light up! Inspector, I just know that you felt affection for
this man... because in your subconscious you connected him with your train
set... If your suspect had been... a bank clerk, or something... you wouldn't
have given him a second thought... But he was a railwayman... and you, I just
know... you gave him a friendly pat on the cheek.
CONSTABLE: That's right, that's right I
saw him... He patted him on the cheek. Twice!
MANIAC: See...? We have witnesses! And
what did you say as you were patting him on the cheek...?
SPORTS JACKET: I don't remember...
MANIAC: I'll tell you what you said: you
said, 'Cheer up... don't look so miserable (and you called him by his name), you'll see, this won't be
the death of anarchism!'
SPORTS JACKET: No, I don't think so...
MANIAC: Oh come now... for goodness
sake... You did say it... Otherwise I'm going to get annoyed. My neck, look at
my neck. Did you or did you not say it?
SPORTS JACKET: Oh alright, if it makes you
any happier...
MANIAC: Well say it, then... I have to put
it in the statement.
He begins writing.
SPORTS JACKET: Well, I said... 'Cheer up
[name of actor], don't look so miserable... You'll see, this won't be the death
of anarchism!'
MANIAC: Well done. And then you sang a
song.
SPORTS JACKET: We sang a song...?
MANIAC: Of course... Because you were all
in such a good mood... You were all friends, comrades, even... And you couldn't
resist having a good sing. Let's see, what could you have sung? How about an
anarchist song? 'Nostra partia *e il mondo intiero', I imagine...
SPORTS JACKET: No, I'm sorry, your Honour,
but we really can't go along with that, an anarchist sing-song...
MANIAC: Oh, you can't, eh? Well, you know
what I say? At this point I give up! You can damn well sort yourselves out...
It's down to you! I'll string together the facts that you've told me so far...
and do you know what will come out excuse the terminology a big bloody
mess! Yes, really! You say one thing, then you
contradict it... First you give one version, then half an hour later,
you give a completely different one... You can't even agree among yourselves.
You tell the world's press, and, if I am not mistaken, the TV news as well,
that 'naturally' there are no written minutes of your interrogation of the
anarchist, because there wasn't time, and then all of a sudden, a miracle, we
find that we have two or three and all signed by his very own hand! If one of
your suspects was to contradict himself one half as much as you have been,
you'd have had him hung, drawn and quartered by now!
Do you know what people are going to think
of you? That you're a bunch of bent bastards and liars... Who do you think is
ever going to believe you again? And do you know why people won't believe
you...? Because your version of the facts, as well as being total bollocks,
lacks humanity. Not a shred of fellow-feeling... You never ever let yourselves go... let
rip... Laugh, cry... Sing!
People would be happy to forgive all your
cretinous blunders if they could only see two decent human beings behind it all
two policemen who, just for once, allowed their hearts to rule their heads,
and agreed to sing the anarchist's favourite song with him... just to make him
happy... 'Nostra partia *e il mondo intiero...' It would bring tears to their
eyes... They'd sing your praises, shout your names from the rooftops, hearing a
story like that! So please, for your own sakes... Sing!! [He sings the song,
quietly at first, and encourages the POLICEMEN to sing. At first they are
embarrassed, but then, one after the other, they join in]
Raminghi per le terre
E per i mari
Per un'idea lasciamo
I nostri cari.
Come on, sing up! [He puts his arm round
their shoulders to encourage them]
Nostra patria θ il mondo
intiero...
Let's have a bit of oomph, for God's sake!
...Nostra legge θ la
libertΰ
Ed un pensiero ed un
pensiero...
Nostra patria θ il mondo
intiero...
Nostra legge θ la
libertΰ
Ed un pensiero
Ribelle in cuor ci
sta...
The lights fade on the singers.
Blackout
Act Two
Scene One
The stage is still in darkness. We hear
again the song that ended Act One. The lights come up, and as they reach full
intensity, the chorus ends in a descanted finale.
MANIAC: [Clapping, hugging his fellow
singers and shaking hands all round] Well done, brilliant! I think we can say
that we've done it. How could anyone possibly doubt that at that moment the
anarchist was in an extremely good mood?!
SPORTS JACKET: I'd say he was probably
even happy.
MANIAC: Of course he was! He felt at home.
It felt like being in his anarchist group in Rome where, as we know, there were
always more plain-clothes police than there were real anarchists.
SUPERINTENDENT: 'He emerged spiritually
unscathed from the onslaught of our false accusations.'
MANIAC: So, no 'raptus'. The 'raptus'
comes later. [He points to the INSPECTOR IN THE SPORTS JACKET] When?
SPORTS JACKET: Around midnight.
MANIAC: And what caused it?
SUPERINTENDENT: Well, I suppose the
reason...
MANIAC: No, no, no, for goodness sake! You
suppose nothing... You're not supposed to know anything about it,
Superintendent!
SUPERINTENDENT: Why am I supposed not to
know anything...?
MANIAC: For the love of God, here we are,
going to extraordinary lengths to get you out of this mess, to prove that you
had nothing to do with the death of the anarchist... because you weren't even
there...
SUPERINTENDENT: You're right, I'm sorry...
I wasn't thinking.
MANIAC: Well you should be thinking,
Superintendent... Pay attention... So, as Totς said in one of his farces, 'At
this time, the Superintendent was not in the station'! But the Inspector was.
SPORTS JACKET: That's true, I was. But I
went out shortly afterwards...
MANIAC: Oh, here we go, passing the buck
again. Now, there's a good chap, tell me what happened around midnight.
SPORTS JACKET: There were six of us in the
room: four constables, myself, and a lieutenant from the carabinieri.
MANIAC: Oh yes, the one who then got
promoted to captain.
SPORTS JACKET: That's the one.
MANIAC: And what were you doing?
SPORTS JACKET: We were interrogating him.
MANIAC: What, again? 'Where were you...
what were you doing... don't get funny with me, son...!'
SPORTS JACKET: Not at all, your Honour...
No, we were interrogating him jokingly...
MANIAC: You're kidding! Jokingly?!
SPORTS JACKET: No, really... Ask the
officer, here...
He pushes the CONSTABLE towards the JUDGE.
MANIAC: No need to. It may seem
incredible... [He waves a sheet of paper] ...but here it is, in the statement
made to the judge who adjourned the inquest!
SPORTS JACKET: Certainly, and he never
raised any doubts about it.
MANIAC: Ha, I can well believe it... But
in what sense, 'jokingly'?
SPORTS JACKET: In the sense that we were
being playful... We were interrogating him but trying to have a laugh at the
same time.
MANIAC: I don't understand; were you
playing Blind Man's Buff? Putting funny hats on? Blowing trumpets?
SPORTS JACKET: Well, we didn't quite go
that far... But we were having a bit of a chuckle... A few jokes, a few gags...
CONSTABLE: That's right, we were having a
good laugh. You know, the Inspector might not look it, but he's got a terrific
sense of humour... When he's on form some of his interrogations are
hilarious... Ha, ha, he's terrific!
MANIAC: Now I understand why the
government's decided to change your motto.
SPORTS JACKET: Change our motto?
MANIAC: That's what I said the
Ministry's already decided.
SUPERINTENDENT: They're going to change
it?
MANIAC: Well, not so much change it as
complete it... How does it go at the moment?
SPORTS JACKET: 'The police at the
service of today's citizens.'
MANIAC: Well, from now on it's going to
be: 'The police at the service of today's citizens to give them a good
laugh!'
SPORTS JACKET: Ha, ha, pull the other one,
your Honour!
MANIAC: Not at all, I quite believe that
you treat your suspects 'jokingly', as you say... I remember, I was in Bergamo
at the time when they were interrogating the members of the so-called 'Monday
Gang' you remember? there was even a priest involved, and a doctor, and the
man who ran the chemist's shop... virtually the entire village put on trial,
and then found innocent. Well, I was staying in a little hotel right near the
police station where the interrogations were taking place, and just about every
night I was woken up by shouting and screaming. At first I thought it was the
sound of people being beaten up... but then I realised that they were laughing.
Yes the suspects were laughing: 'Ha, ha, oh Jesus! Stop it, ha, ha! Help,
you're too much! Inspector, stop it, I'll die laughing!'
SUPERINTENDENT: Joking apart, you do of
course know that every one of the officers involved, from the chief inspector
to the lowest constable, all went to prison for that?
MANIAC: Yes. For comical behaviour liable
to occasion a breach of the peace, wasn't it? [The POLICEMEN have had enough of
his joking] No, no, I'm being serious. You have no idea how many completely
innocent parties move heaven and earth just to get themselves arrested and
brought to this station! You think they're anarchists, communists, autonomists,
trade unionists... No, the truth is, they're all just poor, sick manic
depressives, hypochondriacs, gloomy people, who disguise themselves as
revolutionaries just so's they can be interrogated by you... and at last have a
damn good laugh! Get a bit of enjoyment, for once in their lives!
SUPERINTENDENT: I would say that you're
not just making fun of us, your Honour, you're taking the piss!
MANIAC: Goodness, no, I wouldn't dream of
it...
SUPERINTENDENT: [Rubbing his arms] Would
you mind if I shut the window? It's turned cold all of a sudden...
MANIAC: Go ahead... You're right, it has
turned a bit parky!
SPORTS JACKET: That's because the sun's
just gone down.
Responding to a gesture from the INSPECTOR
IN THE SPORTS JACKET, the CONSTABLE goes to shut the window.
MANIAC: Exactly. But on the evening in
question, it appears the sun didn't go down.
SPORTS JACKET: What?
MANIAC: I said: on the evening when the
anarchist threw himself out of the window, did the sun stay up? Are we to
assume there wasn't a sunset?
The three POLICE OFFICERS don't know what
to make of this. They look at each other.
SUPERINTENDENT: I don't understand.
The MANIAC pretends to get annoyed.
MANIAC: All I'm saying is that here we
are, at midnight, in the middle of December, and the window was still wide open.
In other words, it couldn't have been cold... And if it wasn't cold, that can
only mean that the sun hadn't gone down... Or maybe it went down later than
usual one o'clock, perhaps, like Norway in July.
SUPERINTENDENT: Not at all. We'd just
opened it to get a bit of fresh air in, hadn't we?
SUPERINTENDENT: Yes, there was a lot of
smoke.
CONSTABLE: The anarchist smoked a lot, you
know!
MANIAC: So you opened the windows. And the
shutters too?
SPORTS JACKET: Yes.
MANIAC: In December? At midnight, with the
thermometer sub-zero, and a freezing fog...? 'Open the windows who cares if
we all die of pneumonia!' You must at least have had your coats on?
SPORTS JACKET: No, we were in our jackets.
MANIAC: Oh very sporty!
SPORTS JACKET: But it wasn't cold at all.
Honestly!
SUPERINTENDENT: Quite mild, really...
MANIAC: Oh yes? That evening the weather
forecast for the whole of Italy said that it was going to be cold enough to
freeze the bollocks off a polar bear, and you weren't cold... In fact it was
positively springlike! What do you have here your own personal Gulf stream
running through the drains under police headquarters?
SPORTS JACKET: Excuse me, your Honour, but
I don't understand; a short while ago you told us you were here specially to
help us, but instead all you've done is cast doubt on everything we say, poke
fun at us and make us feel like shit...
MANIAC: You're right, maybe I have been
overdoing it. But I feel like I'm doing doing one of those idiot puzzle games you
get in kids' comics: 'Find the 37 mistakes made by Inspector Biggio Stupidoni.'
I don't see how I'm supposed to help you. [The POLICE OFFICERS sit there, dumb
and disconsolate] Alright, alright... no need to sit there looking like you're
at a funeral cheer up! I promise, no more joking. Total seriousness! So let's
forget about all the earlier business...
SUPERINTENDENT: Good idea.
MANIAC:
...and let's concentrate on the nitty-gritty: the anarchist's jump.
SPORTS JACKET: I agree.
MANIAC: So, our anarchist, seized by this
'raptus' (in a minute we'll have to see if we can find a more plausible reason
for this) ... suddenly gets up, takes a short run, and... wait a minute which
of you gave him a leg-up?
SPORTS JACKET: What do you mean, a
'leg-up'?
MANIAC: I mean, which of you stood next to
the window with his fingers interlocked like so to give him a good foothold
and then... Whee! Heave-ho, and out he goes!
SPORTS JACKET: Surely, your Honour, you're
not implying that we...?
MANIAC: No, please, don't get me wrong...
I was only wondering... after all, it is rather a high jump, with not much of a
run-up, and without a little helping hand... I wouldn't want anyone to be able
to suggest...
SPORTS JACKET: There's nothing to suggest,
your Honour, I assure you he did it all by himself...!
MANIAC: Did our friend perhaps have bouncy
rubber heels?
SPORTS JACKET: No he did not...
MANIAC: Alright, so what do we have? On
the one hand we have a man who stands about five foot feet tall, all on his own,
with no help, and with no ladder handy... On the other, half a dozen police
officers, only a couple of yards away, and one standing right next to the
window, who were unable to stop him in time...
SPORTS JACKET: But it was all so sudden...
CONSTABLE: And you have no idea what a
slippery customer he was... I only just managed to grab him by one foot.
MANIAC: Ha! You see, you see, my technique
of provocation works! You grabbed him by one foot!
CONSTABLE: Yes, but his shoe came off in
my hand, and down he went anyway.
MANIAC: Never mind. The important thing is
that his shoe came off in your hand. That shoe proves irrefutably that you were
trying to save him!
SPORTS JACKET: Irrefutably and
incontrovertibly!
SUPERINTENDENT: [To the CONSTABLE) Well
done!
CONSTABLE: Thank you, Super...
SUPERINTENDENT: Shush!
MANIAC: Just a minute,... something
doesn't quite fit here. [He shows the POLICE OFFICERS a sheet of paper] Did our
suicidal friend have three shoes?
SUPERINTENDENT: Three shoes?
MANIAC: That's what I said. One ended up in the hands of this officer
here... We have his statement to that effect, a couple of days after the
event... [He shows them the sheet of paper] Look, here.
SPORTS JACKET: Correct, your Honour... He
was interviewed by a journalist from
Corriere della Sera.
MANIAC: But in this Appendix here, we're
assured that as the anarchist lay dying on the pavement below, he still had
both his shoes on his feet. This was witnessed by various bystanders, including
a journalist from L'Unit*a and various other press people who happened to be
passing.
SPORTS JACKET: Well, I can't imagine how
that happened...
MANIAC: Neither can I! Unless this officer
was very quick about it, and went rushing down to the second floor, stuck his
head out of the window as the anarchist was coming past, put his shoe back on
mid-flight, and then shot back up to the fourth floor just in time for the body
to hit bottom.
SUPERINTENDENT: There, you see, you see,
you're making fun of us again!
MANIAC: You're right... I couldn't resist
it... I'm sorry. So, three shoes... Would you happen to remember if he was a
tri-ped?
SUPERINTENDENT: Who?
MANIAC: Our suicidal railwayman... If it
turns out he had three feet, that would explain why he had three shoes.
SUPERINTENDENT: [Tetchily] No, he was not
a tri-ped!
MANIAC: Alright, no need to get ratty...
Anyway, that's the least you'd expect of an anarchist!
CONSTABLE: That's true!
SUPERINTENDENT: Shut up, you!
SPORTS JACKET: Oh God, what a mess...
We're going to have to find a plausible explanation, because otherwise...
MANIAC: I've got it!
SUPERINTENDENT: Let's hear it.
MANIAC: Here goes: obviously, one of his
shows was too big, so since he didn't have a handy in-sole lying around, he put
another, smaller shoe on first, and then put the bigger one on, on top of it.
SPORTS JACKET: Two shoes on the same foot?
MANIAC: Yes. Perfectly normal... Remember
galoshes? When people used to go round wearing rubber overshoes...
SUPERINTENDENT: Exactly. Used to.
MANIAC: No, but people do still wear
them... And do you know what I say? I say that what the officer was left
holding wasn't a shoe at all, it was a galosh.
SPORTS JACKET: No, that's impossible: an
anarchist in galoshes...! Only conservatives wear galoshes...!
MANIAC: Anarchists can be very
conservative, you know...
The telephone rings. They all freeze. The
INSPECTOR IN THE SPORTS JACKET picks up the phone.
SPORTS JACKET: Excuse me... Yes, what is
it... Hang on a moment... [To the SUPERINTENDENT] It's the desk sergeant below,
he says there's a journalist at the main entrance asking to see you,
Superintendent.
SUPERINTENDENT: Oh yes, I told her I'd see
her today. She's the one from L'Espresso or L'Europeo, I don't remember
which... Ask him if her name's Feletti.
SPORTS JACKET: [Down the phone] Is her
name Feletti? [To the SUPERINTENDENT] Yes, Maria Feletti.
SUPERINTENDENT: That's the one... She
wanted an interview. You'll have to ask her to come back another day. I'm busy
today...
MANIAC: I wouldn't dream of letting you do
that: I can't let you get yourself into hot water on my account.
SUPERINTENDENT: How do you mean?
MANIAC: I know that journalist she's a
mean lady... not the sort of person to get on the wrong side of... Very touchy!
She's quite capable of doing you a very nasty article... You really ought to
see her!
SUPERINTENDENT: But what about your
Inquiry?
MANIAC: It can wait. Haven't you realised
yet that you and I are all in the same boat? And it's best to have people like
that with us, not against us, believe me!
SUPERINTENDENT: Oh alright. [Turning to
the INSPECTOR IN THE SPORTS JACKET] Have her sent up.
SPORTS JACKET: Send her up to my office.
He puts the phone down.
SUPERINTENDENT: Will you be leaving now?
MANIAC: Wouldn't dream of it... I'm not a
man to abandon my friends. Specially not at times of danger!
SPORTS JACKET AND SUPERINTENDENT: You're
staying?
SUPERINTENDENT: Who are you going to say
you are, though? If the journalist finds out who you really are, and why you're
here in the first place, she's going to splash it all over the front page! Why
don't you just come out with it you're out to destroy us!
MANIAC: No, don't worry, I'm not out to
destroy you at all. She won't have the first idea who I really am.
SPORTS JACKET: She won't?
MANIAC: No, of course not. I could just be
someone else... It'd be child's play for me, believe me. Criminal
psychopathologist... Head of Interpol... Head of forensic... Take your pick... Any
time the journalist gets you in a tight corner with a particularly nasty
question, you just give me a wink and I'll join in... The important thing is to
keep you two in the clear.
SUPERINTENDENT: This is very good of you,
your Honour...
He shakes his hand emotionally.
MANIAC: You'd better stop calling me 'your
Honour'. As from this moment I am Captain Marcantonio Banzi Piccinni, from the
Forensic Department... OK?
SPORTS JACKET: But there's a real Captain
Banzi Piccinni... He works out of Rome...
MANIAC: Precisely. That way, if the
journalist writes something we don't like, it'll be a cinch to show that she
made it all up... We simply call in the real Captain Piccinni from Rome.
SPORTS JACKET: That's amazing... it's
brilliant! Do you really think you can play the part of the Captain?
MANIAC: Have no fear during the War I
was an army chaplain with the bersaglieri.
He opens his bag and rummages around in
it.
SUPERINTENDENT: Shush! Here she is! [The
JOURNALIST enters] Ah, Miss Feletti, do come in.
JOURNALIST: Good morning. Which of you
gentlemen is the Superintendent?
SUPERINTENDENT: I am. Pleased to meet you.
What a shame we've only ever met on the phone...
JOURNALIST: How do you do. The policeman at
the front door was giving me a hard time...
SUPERINTENDENT: I'm sorry all my fault
I forgot to tell him you were coming. May I introduce you to my colleagues
here... Constable Pisani; the inspector in charge of this office...
JOURNALIST: Very pleased to meet you.
SPORTS JACKET: The pleasure is all mine...
Miss.
He gives her a military handshake.
JOURNALIST: Ouch, that hurt!
SPORTS JACKET: I'm sorry...
SUPERINTENDENT: [Pointing to the MANIAC
who is busy fiddling around] ...and finally Captain... Captain?!
MANIAC: Here we are... [When he stands up,
we see that he is wearing a false moustache, a black patch over one eye, and a
brown leather glove on one hand. The SUPERINTENDENT is momentarily lost for
words, so the MANIAC does his own introductions] Captain Marcantonio Banzi
Piccinni, of the Central Forensic Department. Please excuse the stiff
handshake... Wooden, don't you know... Souvenir of the Nicaragua campaign
ex-parachutist with the Contras, working with the CIA... Make yourself at home,
Miss.
SUPERINTENDENT: Would you like something
to drink?
JOURNALIST: No thank you... If you don't
mind, I'd like to start right away... I'm afraid I'm in a bit of a rush.
Unfortunately my article has to be in tonight in time for the morning edition.
SUPERINTENDENT: Fine, as you like. We're
ready, so let's get started.
JOURNALIST: I have a few questions I'd
like to ask. [She reads from her notebook] The first is to you, Inspector, and
you'll have to excuse me if it's a bit provocative... If you don't mind, I use
a tape-recorder... unless you object, that is...
She takes a tape-recorder out of her
handbag.
SPORTS JACKET: Well, actually... we
don't...
MANIAC: Absolutely no problem go ahead...
[To the INSPECTOR IN THE SPORTS JACKET] Rule One: Never say no.
SPORTS JACKET: But supposing something
slips out... If we want to deny it, she'll have the proof...
JOURNALIST: Excuse me, gents, is there a
problem?
MANIAC: [As if everything is fine] No, no,
not at all... The Inspector was just telling me what a remarkable woman you are
brave, fearless, progressive, dedicated to the cause of truth and justice...
come what may!
JOURNALIST: The Inspector is too
generous...
SPORTS JACKET: So, fire away.
JOURNALIST: Why is it that you're known as
'The Window-Straddler'?
SPORTS JACKET: The Window-Straddler? Me?
JOURNALIST: Yes. 'Inspector
Window-Straddler'.
SPORTS JACKET: And who, might I ask, calls
me that?
JOURNALIST: I have here a photocopy of a
letter from a young anarchist in San Vittore prison. He was remanded in custody
the same week that the anarchist fell to his death, and he says some
interesting things about you, Inspector... And about this very room.
SPORTS JACKET: Oh yes? And what does he
have to say?
JOURNALIST: [Reading] 'The Inspector on
the fourth floor forced me to sit on the window-sill with my legs hanging over
the edge, and then he started provoking me: "Go on, throw yourself
out," and insulting me... "Why don't you jump...? Too scared, eh? Go
on, get it over with! What are you waiting for?" I had to grit my teeth
and hold on tight, because I really was on the point of jumping...'
MANIAC: Excellent. It reads like something
out of a Hitchcock film.
JOURNALIST: Please, Captain... my question
was directed to the Inspector, not to you... How do you reply to that?
She reaches the microphone in the
direction of the INSPECTOR IN THE SPORTS JACKET.
MANIAC: [Sotto voce, to the INSPECTOR]
Cool, calm and collected!
SPORTS JACKET: I have nothing to say to
that... And in fact I would like to ask you a question: in all sincerity, do
you really think that I had the railwayman sitting across the window too?
MANIAC: Sssh don't fall for it. [He hums
to himself] Here she goes, swinging low, bye, bye... vulture...
JOURNALIST: Am I right in thinking you're
trying to disrupt the proceedings, Captain?
MANIAC: Not at all... Just humming. And if
you'll allow me, I have a question for you too, Miss Feletti... What do you
take us for a TV ad for washing powder...? You're trying to suggest that we
do the 'window test' with every anarchist we get our hands on?
JOURNALIST: No doubt about it, you have a
wonderful way with words, Captain.
SPORTS JACKET: Thanks... You got me out of
a tight spot, there...
He slaps the MANIAC on the back.
MANIAC: Go easy with the back-slapping,
Inspector... I have a glass eye!!
He points to his black patch.
SPORTS JACKET: A glass eye?
MANIAC: And mind how you shake my hand. It's
artificial.
JOURNALIST: While we're on the subject of
windows, in among the papers handed over by the judge who adjourned the inquest
there's no sign of the forensic report on the trajectory of the fall.
SUPERINTENDENT: What trajectory of what
fall?
JOURNALIST: The trajectory of the fall of
our alleged suicide.
SUPERINTENDENT: What use would that be?
JOURNALIST: It would enable us to tell
whether the anarchist was alive or dead at the moment that he came out of the
window. In other words, whether he came out with a bit of impetus, or whether
he just slithered down the wall, as appears to have been the case... Also
whether there were any broken bones in his arms and hands (which there were not
which suggests that the alleged suicide did not put his hands out in order to
protect himself at the moment of impact a gesture that, if he had been
conscious, would have been normal and absolutely instinctive...
SPORTS JACKET: Yes, but you're forgetting
that we're dealing with someone who threw himself out because he wanted to die!
MANIAC: Doesn't mean a thing. Here,
unfortunately, I have to say the lady is right... As you see, I am entirely
objective. There have been many experiments done on this front: they've taken
potential suicides, thrown them out of windows, and they found that right at
the last moment all of them, zap... put their hands out to protect themselves!
SUPERINTENDENT: A fine support you're
turning out to be... You're mad!
MANIAC: That's right. Who told you?
JOURNALIST: But the most disturbing
detail, on which I would appreciate an explanation, is the fact that, again
among the materials handed over by the judge who shelved the inquest, there is
no sign of the cassette tape that recorded the precise time of the phone call
that rang for the ambulance... a phone call which came from here, at Central
Police Headquarters, and which, according to the people at the ambulance
station, occurred at two minutes before midnight.
At the same time, the journalists who were
present at the scene all stated that the fall happened at precisely three
minutes past midnight... In other words, the ambulance was called five minutes
before the anarchist went out of the window. Could any of you explain this
curious discrepancy?
MANIAC: Well... we quite often call
ambulance in advance, just in case... Because one never knows, does one... And
as you see, sometimes it turns out to be a good idea.
SPORTS JACKET: [Slapping him on the back]
Well done!
MANIAC: The eye watch out...!
SUPERINTENDENT: I don't quite see what
you're accusing me of. Is it a crime all of a sudden, to plan ahead? A mere
three minutes before time... Anyway, in the police we pride ourselves on
keeping one step ahead!
SPORTS JACKET: And if you care to check,
I'm sure you'll find that all those journalists' watches were running slow... I
mean, fast...
SUPERINTENDENT: Or maybe the time-stamp
clock at the ambulance station was running slow when we phoned them...
CONSTABLE: Very possible, Sir.
JOURNALIST: Sounds more like Alice in
Wonderland!
MANIAC: What's so strange? We're not in
Switzerland, you know... In Italy people set their watches as and how they feel
like... fast, slow... this is a nation of artists and rebels, Miss Feletti!
Individualists who set their own terms with history.
SPORTS JACKET: Well said, brilliant!
He slaps him on the back again, and we
hear the chink of the glass eye falling on the floor.
MANIAC: There, you see?! What did I tell
you...? You've knocked my eye out!
SPORTS JACKET: [Going down on all fours to
look for it] Excuse me, Miss, what were you saying?
JOURNALIST: We were talking about how
we're a nation of artists and rebels... and I must say, I have to agree with
you: some of our judges seem to be particularly rebellious: strange how they
can write off perfectly satisfactory alibi witnesses... not to mention losing
vital evidence like cassette tapes and forensic reports on trajectories, and
neglecting to ask themselves how come ambulances turn up five minutes before
time... All mere trifles, of course! And what about
the bruises on the back of the dead man's
neck, for which there has not as yet been any satisfactory explanation.
SPORTS JACKET: You should be careful,
Miss... Loose talk can be a dangerous thing...
JOURNALIST: Was that a threat?
MANIAC: No, no, Superintendent... I really
don't think the lady is indulging in loose talk at all... I imagine she's
referring to a version of the events which I have heard referred to several
times... and which, strangely enough, seems to have originated here in this
very building.
SUPERINTENDENT: What version would that
be?
MANIAC: It is rumoured that during the
anarchist's final interrogation, at just a couple of minutes to midnight one of
the officers present started to get impatient, and he came over and gave him a
mighty wallop on the back of the neck... Relax, Inspector... The result of this
was that the anarchist was half-paralysed and started struggling for breath...
So they decided to call an ambulance. In the meantime, in an attempt to revive
him, they opened the window, put the anarchist in front of it, and made him
lean out a bit for the cool night air to revive...! Apparently, there was a
misunderstanding between the two officers supporting him... as often happens in
these cases, each of them thought the other one was holding him... 'You got
him, Gianni?' 'You got him, Luigi?' And bomp, down he went...
The INSPECTOR IN THE SPORTS JACKET comes
towards the MANIAC, seething, but then slips on the glass eye and falls.
JOURNALIST: That's right!
SUPERINTENDENT: Have you gone mad?
MANIAC: Yes. Sixteen times, to be precise.
SPORTS JACKET: What the hell was that?
MANIAC: My glass eye, that's what! Look, you've
made it all dirty. Officer, would you mind getting me a glass of water to wash
it in?
The CONSTABLE exits.
JOURNALIST: You must admit, that version
would clear up a whole series of problems why the ambulance was called in
advance, why the body appeared to be inanimate when it fell... and even why the
Public Prosecutor chose to use that curious phrase in his summing-up.
MANIAC: What phrase was that? Could you be
more specific, my head's already aching!
JOURNALIST: The Public Prosecutor stated,
in a written deposition, that the anarchist's death was an 'accidental death'.
Please note. Accident, not suicide, as you have been maintaining. There's a lot
of difference between an accident and a suicide. But the way the Captain here
has just described it, it could very well have been an 'accident'.
The CONSTABLE returns. He hands the glass
of water to the MANIAC, who is so absorbed in what the JOURNALIST is saying
that he swallows the glass eye with a gulp of water, as if it was a pill.
MANIAC: Oh God the eye! I've swallowed
my eye... Oh well, let's hope at least it gets rid of my headache...
SUPERINTENDENT: [Whispering to the fake
CAPTAIN] What on earth are you playing at now?
SPORTS JACKET: [Alternating with the
SUPERINTENDENT] Don't you think you've been giving her too much rope? Now she
must think she's got us where she wants us.
MANIAC: Just leave it to me. [To the
JOURNALIST] Right, Miss... I am now going to demonstrate how this last version
is totally inadmissible.
JOURNALIST: Inadmissible, eh? In the same
way that the judge who shelved the case dismissed the alibi statements by the
old age pensioners as inadmissible?
MANIAC: This is the first I've heard of
inadmissible old age pensioners.
JOURNALIST: I'm surprised you're not up to
date on this! In his summing up, the judge who closed the inquest said that the
three alibi witnesses offered by our anarchist friend were inadmissible. Those
were the ones who said they had spent the tragic afternoon of the bombing
playing cards with him, in a bar along the Canal.
MANIAC: So why did he say they were
inadmissible?
JOURNALIST: In the judge's own words: 'The
people we are dealing with here are old, sick, and in at least one case
disabled.'
MANIAC: And he actually wrote that in his final
document?
JOURNALIST: Yes.
MANIAC: Well, who's to say he's wrong?
Objectively speaking, how can anyone expect some ancient pensioner, who's
probably a war cripple into the bargain, or maybe been invalided out of the a
factory an ex-worker, note that, an ex-worker has even the minimum
psychological and physical qualities required for the delicate task of being a
witness?
JOURNALIST: Why not an ex-worker? What do
you mean?
MANIAC: Do you live in the real world,
Miss Feletti? Instead of jetting off to Mexico, Cambodia and Vietnam, one day
why don't you try visiting Marghera, Piombino, Rho or Sesto San Giovanni? Do
you have any idea of what condition a worker is in, these days, by the times he
gets to his pension? (And from the latest government statistics it appears that
fewer and fewer of them actually do!) They're squeezed dry, worn to a frazzle.
Hardly an ounce of life in them!
JOURNALIST: I think you're rather
overstating your case.
MANIAC: Oh yes...? Well, in that case you
should go and look in at one of the bars where our old age pensioners go to
play cards, and you'll find them scratching each other's eyes out, calling each
other names, and not even able to remember who dealt the last hand: 'Oi, it was
me who put down the seven of spades.' 'No, you put it down in the last game,
not this one.' 'What do you mean, the last game, this is the first game we've
played today... You're going senile.' 'No, you're the senile one - you seem to
have forgotten, diamonds is trumps, not hearts.' 'Oh is it - I thought it was
clubs.' You're out of your mind!' 'Out of my mind? Who do you think you're
talking to?' 'I don't know? Do you?' 'Don't have the first idea.'
JOURNALIST: Ha, ha, you're too much. But
joking apart... isn't it maybe their fault, if they end up in this pitiful
state?
MANIAC: No, not at all. It's society's
fault! But we're not here to sit in judgement on world capitalism, we're here
to discuss whether witnesses are reliable or not. If a worker's a wreck because
he's been over-exploited or because he's had an accident in the factory, that
should not concern us; our concern is with justice and law and order.
SUPERINTENDENT: Well said, Captain!
MANIAC: If you don't have the money to buy
yourself vitamins, proteins, wheatgerm, Royal jelly and calcium phosphate for
your memory... well so much the worse for you, I, in my capacity as judge, must
tell you no... I'm sorry, but you're out of the game, you're a second-class
citizen.
JOURNALIST: Ha you see, you see I knew
that when we got down to basics we'd get back to class prejudice... class
privilege!
MANIAC: And who has ever suggested
otherwise? I agree absolutely. Our society is divided into classes, and so are
witnesses there are first-class witnesses, and second, and third, and
fourth-class. Age doesn't come into it. The point is, people go to university.
They study for years. And all for what? To be treated in the same terms as some
half-starved old age pensioner? You must be joking!
The MANIAC comes out from behind the desk,
and we see that he has a pirate-style wooden leg. Everyone looks at him in
atonishment. The MANIAC continues, casually:
MANIAC: Vietnam. Green Berets. Operation
Cobra, rescuing prisoners behind the lines... Not a nice experience, all in the
past, though, prefer not to talk about it!
The door opens. INSPECTOR BERTOZZO looks
in. He has a patch over one eye.
INSPECTOR BERTOZZO: Excuse me, do you mind
if I interrupt?
SUPERINTENDENT: Come in, feel free,
Bertozzo...
INSPECTOR BERTOZZO: I just wanted to drop
this off.
He is holding a metal box.
SUPERINTENDENT: What's that?
INSPECTOR BERTOZZO: It's a copy of the
bomb that exploded at the bank...
JOURNALIST: Oh God...!
INSPECTOR BERTOZZO: Don't worry, Miss,
it's got no fuse in it.
SUPERINTENDENT: Put it down there... Now,
there's a good chap... I want you to shake hands with your colleague here...
Come on, you too, Inspector... Friends again!
INSPECTOR BERTOZZO: Hold on, Super he
could at least explain why he went and gave me a black eye...
The SUPERINTENDENT elbows him in the ribs.
SPORTS JACKET: Don't pretend you don't
know. What about the raspberry?
INSPECTOR BERTOZZO: What raspberry...?
SUPERINTENDENT: That'll do, gentlemen...
We have visitors...
MANIAC: Indeed we do...
INSPECTOR BERTOZZO: Superintendent, all I
want to know is what on earth got into him... He comes into my office, and
without so much as a by your leave... Smack!
MANIAC: He could at least have asked your
permission first!
INSPECTOR BERTOZZO: There, you see... But
excuse me, your face is a bit familiar.
MANIAC: Must be because we're both wearing
eye-patches.
EVERYBODY: [Laughing] Ha, ha!
INSPECTOR BERTOZZO: No, no, seriously...
MANIAC: Allow me to introduce myself. Captain Marcanonio Banzi
Piccinni... From Forensic.
INSPECTOR BERTOZZO: Piccinni? No... You
can't be... I know Captain Piccinni personally...
SUPERINTENDENT: [Giving him a little kick]
Oh no you don't.
INSPECTOR BERTOZZO: Oh yes I do...!
SPORTS JACKET: Oh. No. You. Don't!
He kicks him.
INSPECTOR BERTOZZO: Look, don't you start
again...
SUPERINTENDENT: Forget it...,
Another kick.
INSPECTOR BERTOZZO: We were at police
college together...
He is kicked by the MANIAC too.
MANIAC: I thought your superior just told
you to forget it!
For good measure he also hits him round
the back of the head.
INSPECTOR BERTOZZO: Hey, stop that!
MANIAC: [Pointing to the INSPECTOR IN THE
SPORTS JACKET] It was him.
The SUPERINTENDENT brings BERTOZZO over to
the JOURNALIST.
SUPERINTENDENT: If you'll allow me,
Inspector Bertozzo, I'd like to present Miss... I'll explain after... Miss
Feletti... Journalist. Know what I mean?
Another dig with the elbow.
INSPECTOR BERTOZZO: My pleasure. Inspector
Bertozzo... No, I don't know what you mean. [He receives a kick from the
SUPERINTENDENT, and another from the MANIAC. The MANIAC is beginning to enjoy
this; he kicks the SUPERINTENDENT. At the same time he slaps both BERTOZZO and
the INSPECTOR IN THE SPORTS JACKET on the back of the neck. BERTOZZO thinks
that it was the INSPECTOR IN THE SPORTS JACKET who did it] You see what I mean,
Superintendent he's always picking in me...!
To end with, the MANIAC gives the lady
JOURNALIST a slap on the backside, and then points to the SUPERINTENDENT.
JOURNALIST: Superintendent, that's hardly
a proper way to...
SUPERINTENDENT: [Thinking that she is
referring to the bickering] You're right, I don't know what's got into them.
Bertozzo, stop that and listen to me! The lady is here for a very important
interview. Know what I mean?
He kicks him, and gives a knowing wink.
INSPECTOR BERTOZZO: Oh, I see...
SUPERINTENDENT: Now, Miss, if you would
like to ask Inspector Bertozzo a few questions... Among other things, the
Inspector is quite an expert on ballistics and explosives.
JOURNALIST: Oh yes could you clarify one
thing for me... You were saying that in that box there's a facsimile of the
bomb that went off at the Bank.
INSPECTOR BERTOZZO: Well, an approximate replica,
since all trace of the original bomb was lost. If you follow me...
JOURNALIST: But one of the bombs was
retrieved, wasn't it? Unexploded...
INSPECTOR BERTOZZO: Yes, the one from the
Bank of Commerce...
JOURNALIST: Could you explain to me why, instead
of defusing and sending it to Forensic which would be normal practice, so
that it could be thoroughly examined when they found it they took it straight
out into the yard and exploded it on the spot?
INSPECTOR BERTOZZO: I'm sorry why do you
ask?
JOURNALIST: You know perfectly well,
Inspector... By destroying the bomb, they also lost the signature of the
killers...
MANIAC: It's true. In fact we have a
saying in Forensic: 'Tell me how you make your bombs, and I'll tell you who you
are.'
INSPECTOR BERTOZZO: [Shaking his head]
Hey, no... that's definitely not Piccinni.
The MANIAC picks up the bomb.
SUPERINTENDENT: Of course he isn't. Shut
up!
INSPECTOR BERTOZZO: Ah, I thought he
wasn't. Who is he, then?
He receives yet another kick.
MANIAC: If Inspector Bertozzo will allow
me, in my capacity as head of the Forensic Department...
INSPECTOR BERTOZZO: Who are you trying to
kid...? What are you up to...? Leave that box alone, it's dangerous!
MANIAC: [He kicks him] I am from Forensic,
young man... Would you mind standing over there, please?
SUPERINTENDENT: Do you really know what
you're doing?
The MANIAC looks at him disparagingly.
MANIAC: You see, Miss, a bomb of this sort
is so complex... Look at all these wires... two detonators... the timing
mechanism... the firing mechanism, all sorts of little levers... as I was
saying, it's so complex that they could very have hidden a second
delayed-action time bomb inside it, and you'd never find it unless you wanted
to spend all day taking it apart piece by piece... And by that time, Boom!
SUPERINTENDENT: [To BERTOZZO] He sounds
like a real expert, doesn't he!
INSPECTOR BERTOZZO: [Stubbornly] Yes, but
he's still not Piccinni...
MANIAC: So that's why they decided to
'lose the bomber's signature', as you put it... They preferred to explode the
bomb right there in the courtyard, rather than risk it blowing up and having an
even worse massacre on their hands... Convinced?
JOURNALIST: Yes, this time you really have
convinced me.
MANIAC: Amazing, I've even managed to
convince myself!
SPORTS JACKET: And I'm convinced too. Well
done. Good thinking.
He shakes the MANIAC's hand energetically.
It comes off in his hand.
MANIAC: There you've pulled it off. I
told you it was wooden!
SPORTS JACKET: I'm sorry.
MANIAC: You'll be pulling my leg off next.
So saying he screws the hand back in
place.
SUPERINTENDENT: [To BERTOZZO] Would you
like to say something, Bertozzo, to show that our department's not asleep on
the job either?
He gives him an encouraging pat on the
back.
INSPECTOR BERTOZZO: Certainly. The real
bomb was rather complicated. I saw it. A lot more complex than this one.
Evidently put together by people with a lot of know-how... Professionals, you
might say.
SUPERINTENDENT: Careful how you go,
there...!
JOURNALIST: Professionals? Military
personnel, perhaps?
INSPECTOR BERTOZZO: More than likely.
The other three all start kicking him.
SUPERINTENDENT: Idiot...!
INSPECTOR BERTOZZO: Ouch! Did I say
something wrong?
JOURNALIST: [As she finishes writing]
Excellent. So what did you do? Even though you were well aware that to
construct let alone plant a bomb of such complexity, would take the skills
and experience of professionals probably military people you decided to go
chasing after this fairly pathetic group of anarchists and completely abandoned
all other lines of inquiry among certain parties who shall remain nameless but
you know who I mean.
MANIAC: That's true, if you're going to go
along with Bertozzo's version, but you can't take his opinion as gospel,
because he's not really an explosives expert... He does it more as a sideline,
a hobby!
INSPECTOR BERTOZZO: [Insulted] What do you
mean, a hobby...?! What do you know about anything...? Who are you? [Turning to
the two other POLICE OFFICERS] Who is he...? Can someone explain?
The others kick him and force him to sit
down.
SUPERINTENDENT: Relax...
SPORTS JACKET: Don't worry...
JOURNALIST: Calm down, Inspector...
Relax... I'm sure that everything you said was true. Just as it's true that the
police and the judicial establishment have moved hell and high water to lay the
blame at the door of this crazy, pathetic gang of confused reamers, with the
vaudeville dancer at their head!
SUPERINTENDENT: You're right they did
look confused but that was only a faηade they were putting up so's nobody
would know what they were up to.
JOURNALIST: OK. So let's take a look
behind that faηade. What do we find? Out of the ten members of the group, two
of them were your own people, two informers, or rather, spies and provocateurs.
One was a Roman fascist, well-known to
everyone except the aforementioned pathetic group of anarchists, and the other
was one of your own officers, disguised as an anarchist.
MANIAC: Mind you, I know the officer in
question, and I can't imagine how he ever got away with it. He's as thick as
two short planks. Ask him what Bakunin means to him and he'll tell you it's a
Swiss cheese, the one without the holes!
INSPECTOR BERTOZZO: How come he's such a
know-all? I hate people like that... But I know I know him from somewhere!
SUPERINTENDENT: I must disagree with you,
Captain. The officer in question is a fine operative, very well trained!
JOURNALIST: And I suppose you have plenty
more of these very well-trained spies scattered around the Left groups?
SUPERINTENDENT: I see no reason to deny
it, Miss. Yes we do.
JOURNALIST: I think you're just calling my
bluff, there, Superintendent!
SUPERINTENDENT: Not at all... In fact you
may be interested to know that we have one or two right here in the audience
tonight, as usual... Watch this.
We hear a number of voices from different
parts of the auditorium.
VOICES: Sir...? Yessir...! Sir...!
The MANIAC laughs, and turns to the
audience.
MANIAC: Don't worry they're all actors.
The real ones sit tight and don't say a word.
SUPERINTENDENT: You see? Our agents and
informants are our strength.
SPORTS JACKET: They help us to keep an eye
on things and keep one jump ahead...
MANIAC: And to plant bombs so as to have a
good pretext for a police-state crackdown... (f2<The POLICE OFFICERS are
startled by this] I was just pre-empting the lady's obvious come-back.
JOURNALIST: Certainly, more than obvious!
Anyway, can you explain: since you had every member of that pathetic little
band of anarchists under close surveillance, how was it that that they managed
to organise such a sophisticated operation without you intervening to stop
them?
MANIAC: Watch out, she's coming in for the
kill!
SUPERINTENDENT: The fact is that, during
the days in question, our undercover agent was absent from the group...
MANIAC: It's true, he even had a note from
his mum (this is true, this is!).
SPORTS JACKET: Please... [Under his
breath] Your Honour...!
JOURNALIST: But your other informer, the
fascist, he was there, wasn't he...? In fact the judge in Rome considered him
to have been the main organiser of the whole thing, the person who, once again
in the judge's own words, had taken advantage of the naivety of those
anarchists in order to involve them in a terrorist conspiracy the true criminal
nature of which they did not suspect. As I say, those are the words of the
judge himself.
MANIAC: A hit, a palpable hit!
SUPERINTENDENT: Well, for a start, I have
to tell you that the fascist you're talking about was not one of our informers
at all.
JOURNALIST: Oh no? Well in that case how
come he was always popping in and out of police headquarters in Rome? And the
political section in particular...
SUPERINTENDENT: I've only your word for
that... This is the first I've heard of it.
MANIAC: [Going to shake the
SUPERINTENDENT's hand] Well said! Touch*e!
The SUPERINTENDENT shakes his wooden hand,
and is left holding it.
SUPERINTENDENT: Thank you... Oh dear, your
hand... I'm sorry!
MANIAC: [Indifferent] You can keep it.
I've got another one here.
He takes another hand out of his bag; this
time it's a woman's hand.
SPORTS JACKET: That's a woman's!
MANIAC: No, it's unisex.
So saying, he screws it into place.
JOURNALIST: [Taking some papers from a
folder] Ah, so this is the first you've heard of it, eh? And I suppose nobody's
told you either that out of a total of 173 bomb attacks that have happened in
the past year and a bit, at a rate of twelve a month, one every three days
out of 173 attacks, as I was saying [She reads from a report] at least 102 have
been proved to have been organised by fascist organisations, aided or abetted
by the police, with the explicit intention of putting the blame on Left-wing
political groups.
MANIAC: [Gesturing with an open hand under
his chin] Terrific!
INSPECTOR BERTOZZO: I'm sure I know him
I'm going to have that patch off!
MANIAC: [Intervening, ironically] What are
you trying to suggest, Miss, with these blatant provocations? Are you saying
that if the police, instead of wasting their time with a raggle-taggle bunch of
anarchists, had concentrated on more serious possibilities for example
paramilitary and fascist organisations funded by big industrialists and run and
supported by leading figures in the armed forces then maybe we'd have got to
the bottom of all this?
SUPERINTENDENT: [To BERTOZZO, who is about
to blow a fuse] Don't worry... Now he's going to turn the whole argument on its
head. I know how he works now. It's Jesuit dialectics!
MANIAC: If that's what you're thinking,
then I have to say, yes... you're completely right... If we'd taken that route,
we would certainly have come up with some juicy titbits. Ha, ha!
INSPECTOR BERTOZZO: So much for Jesuit
dialectics!
SUPERINTENDENT: He's gone mad!
INSPECTOR BERTOZZO: [In a flash of
inspiration] Mad! [With a start] The nutter... It's him!! that's who he is!
JOURNALIST: I must say, to hear a
policeman saying such things... is a bit disconcerting!
SUPERINTENDENT: Well, you should keep them
to yourself and don't go spreading them around.
He leaves BERTOZZO and goes over to the
MANIAC and the JOURNALIST.
INSPECTOR BERTOZZO: [He pulls the
INSPECTOR IN THE SPORTS JACKET aside] I promise you, I know that man... He's
not from the police at all he's just pretending.
SPORTS JACKET: We're perfectly well aware of
that. But don't let the journalist hear you.
INSPECTOR BERTOZZO: But he's a nutter...
Don't you understand?
SPORTS JACKET: You're the nutter... Shut
up, I can't hear what they're saying!
MANIAC: [During the above interchanges the
MANIAC has been in earnest conversation with the SUPERINTENDENT and the
JOURNALIST; he continues out loud] ...Of course, you're a journalist, and you
could really go to town on a scandal like this... It wouldn't be very hard to
discover that the main intention behind the massacre of innocent people in the
bank bombing had been to bury the trade-union struggles of the Hot Autumn and
to create a climate of tension so that the average citizen would be so
disgusted and angry at the level of political violence and subversion that they
would start calling for the intervention of a strong state!
SPORTS JACKET: I don't remember where I
read that was it in L'Unitΰ or Lotta Continua?
INSPECTOR BERTOZZO: [He goes up behind the
MANIAC and pulls his eye-patch off] There, look! You see, he's got an eye, he's
got an eye!
SUPERINTENDENT: Have you gone round the
twist, Bertozzo? Of course he's got an eye! Why shouldn't he have?
INSPECTOR BERTOZZO: So why was he wearing
an eye-patch, if he's got an eye?
SUPERINTENDENT: You've got an eye under
your patch... and people don't go pulling your patch off! [He takes him aside]
Just shut up for a minute, I'll explain after.
JOURNALIST: Oh, how marvellous, you wear
an eye-patch just for fun?
MANIAC: No, it's so as to keep a low
profile.
He laughs.
JOURNALIST: Ha, ha, ha... Now, I'd be
interested to hear more about this scandal of yours.
MANIAC: Oh yes... A huge scandal... A lot
of Right-wing politicians arrested... A trial or two... A lot of big fish compromised...
Senators, members of parliament, colonels... The social democrats weeping, the
Corriere della Sera having to sack its editor... The Left calling for the
fascist parties to be banned... And then... the Chief of Police would be
commended for his courageous stand... and promptly given early retirement.
SUPERINTENDENT: No, Captain... I can't
accept these gratuitous innuendos...
JOURNALIST: This time I have to agree with
you, Superintendent... I believe that a scandal of that scale would actually do
credit to the police. It would give the average citizen the sense of living in
a decent society for once, where the system of justice was a little less
unjust...
MANIAC: Certainly... and as such it would
have served its purpose! Are the people calling for true justice? Instead of
that we'll give them a justice that is just a bit less unjust. And if the
workers start shouting 'Enough of this brutal exploitation', and start
complaining that they're tired of dying in the factories, then we give them a little
more protection on the job... and step up the compensation rates for their
widows!
They want revolution...? We give them
reforms... reforms by the bucketful... We'll drown them with reforms... or
rather we'll drown them with promises of reforms, because we're never going to
give them reforms either!!
SUPERINTENDENT: The man's completely mad!
INSPECTOR BERTOZZO: Of course he is. I've
been trying to tell you that for the past hour!
MANIAC: You see, your average citizen
doesn't actually want all the dirt to disappear. No, for him it's enough that
it's uncovered, there's a nice juicy scandal, and everyone can talk about it...
As far as he's concerned, that is real freedom, the best of all possible
worlds... hallelujah!
INSPECTOR BERTOZZO: [Seizing the MANIAC's
wooden leg and shaking it] Hey look! his leg... it's false, can't you see?
MANIAC: Of course it is... walnut, to be
precise.
SUPERINTENDENT: It's alright, we know, we
know...
INSPECTOR BERTOZZO: No, it's a false false
leg... It's strapped to his knee!
He sets about undoing the straps.
SPORTS JACKET: Idiot... Leave him alone! I
won't have you taking him apart!
MANIAC: No, let him go ahead... Thank
you... I was starting to get pins and needles all up my thigh.
JOURNALIST: Do you mind?! Why do you
always have to interrupt? Just because his wooden leg isn't real, you're not
suggesting that he's...?
INSPECTOR BERTOZZO: No, I'm just trying to
tell you... he's a faker... a 'hypocritomaniac'... He's no more a war-wounded
captain from Forensic than I am...!
JOURNALIST: So who is he, then?
INSPECTOR BERTOZZO: He's just a...
The SUPERINTENDENT, the CONSTABLE and the
INSPECTOR IN THE SPORTS JACKET run over and haul him off, to shut him up.
SUPERINTENDENT: Excuse us, Miss, he's
wanted on the phone.
They move her to the front of the stage,
to distract her. Then they take INSPECTOR BERTOZZO, sit him down at the desk
and force him to pick up the phone.
SPORTS JACKET: [Muttering to BERTOZZO] Are
you trying to destroy us? Idiot!
At stage-right,* the JOURNALIST and the
MANIAC continue their conversation, oblivious of the POLICE OFFICERS.
SUPERINTENDENT: Don't you understand...
that's got to stay secret! If the journalist finds out that they're re-opening
the inquest into the anarchist, we're done for!
INSPECTOR BERTOZZO: Who's re-opening the
inquest? [Once again the phone is almost shoved down his throat] Hello?
SPORTS JACKET: You're asking me?! You're the
one who's saying he knows what it's all about... in fact you know damn-all...
You're all yakety-yak... Coming in here and causing trouble...
INSPECTOR BERTOZZO: I'm not causing trouble... I just want to
know...?
SUPERINTENDENT: Shush... [He raps him over
the knuckles with the phone] Get talking on that phone, and shut up!
INSPECTOR BERTOZZO: Ouch... Hello, who's
calling?
JOURNALIST: [Continuing her conversation
with the fake CAPTAIN] Oh, that is terrific! Superintendent, you have no need
to worry. The Captain... or rather, the ex-Captain, has told me everything.
SUPERINTENDENT: What has he told you?
JOURNALIST: Who he really is!
SPORTS JACKETAND SUPERINTENDENT: He told
you?
MANIAC: Yes, I couldn't carry on
pretending... And anyway... she'd already tumbled me.
SUPERINTENDENT: I hope he made you promise
not to put it in your paper?
JOURNALIST: Not at all. This is how I'm
going to start the article. [She reads
from her notes] 'I Met a Plain-Clothes Bishop at Police Headquarters'!
SPORTS JACKET AND SUPERINTENDENT: A
bishop?!
MANIAC: Yes. My apologies for not having
let you in on my secret.
With a simple gesture he turns his collar
round so that it becomes a dog-collar, complete with black shirt-front.
INSPECTOR BERTOZZO: [Giving himself a smack
on the forehead] So now he's a bishop! I sincerely hope you're not going to
believe him?
The INSPECTOR IN THE SPORTS JACKET picks
up a big rubber stamp and jams it in BERTOZZO's mouth.
SPORTS JACKET: You're getting Very Boring!
The MANIAC takes out a red skull-cap and
places it on his head; with austere, simple gestures he unbuttons his jacket to
reveal a baroque gold and silver cross; then he places on his finger a large
ring with an equally large purple gem.
MANIAC: Allow me to introduce myself:
Father Augusto Bernier, Vatican charg*e d'affaires responsible for relations
with the Italian police.
He reaches out his ring for the CONSTABLE
to kiss, which he does, eagerly.
INSPECTOR BERTOZZO: [Coming forward, and
pulling out his rubber-stamp dummy] Vatican charg*e d'affaires...?
MANIAC: Ever since the assassination
attempt on the Pope, the Church authorities have felt that it would be a good
idea to maintain regular channels of communication...
INSPECTOR BERTOZZO: Oh no, you don't! No!
This is going too far a policeman bishop, now?!
The INSPECTOR IN THE SPORTS JACKET jams
the rubber stamp back in his mouth, and pulls him aside.
SPORTS JACKET: We know he's talking
bollocks, but he's doing it to save us... Understand?
INSPECTOR BERTOZZO: Save you? What is
this? He's promised you eternal salvation too?!
SPORTS JACKET: Pack it in, and kiss his
ring!
He forces him across to kiss the MANIAC's
ring. In the meantime, effortlessly, the MANIAC has succeeded in getting his hand
kissed by all the other characters.
INSPECTOR BERTOZZO: No way! Kiss his ring?
You must be joking! You've all gone mad. He's infected you all!
The INSPECTOR IN THE SPORTS JACKET and the
CONSTABLE hurriedly dig out a couple of large sticking plasters and slap them
over his mouth, more or less covering the bottom half of his face.
JOURNALIST: Oh dear, what's the matter
with the poor man?
MANIAC: Some kind of seizure, I should
say. [He takes out a hypodermic syringe that he has concealed in a prayer book,
and prepares to give BERTOZZO an injection] Hold him, a moment, this will do
him good... It's a Benedictine tranquilliser.
SUPERINTENDENT: Benedictine?
MANIAC: Yes, ***! [With cobra-like
rapidity he gives BERTOZZO his injection; then, pulling out the needle, he
says:) there's still a bit left would you like some too?
Without waiting for a reply, he injects
the SUPERINTENDENT, with the agility of a banderillero at a bullfight. The
SUPERINTENDENT emits a stifled groan.
JOURNALIST: You won't believe this, your
Eminence, but a moment ago, when you were talking about the scandals, and you
said, 'that is real freedom, the best of all possible worlds... hallelujah'...
I immediately thought I hope you'll pardon the irreverence...
MANIAC: Go ahead, go ahead...
JOURNALIST: I immediately thought: 'Phew
what a load of priest-talk!' I hope you're not offended.
MANIAC: Why should I be offended? It's
true it was priest talk... but that's because I'm a priest. (INSPECTOR BERTOZZO
picks up a felt-tip pen, turns round the portrait of the Italian president, and
writes on the back of it: 'He's mad! He's a certified schizophrenic.' Then he
holds the message up behind the BISHOP's back] Did you know that when Saint
Gregory was elected Pope, he discovered that his subordinates were up to all
kinds of skullduggery in an attempt to cover up certain notorious scandals? He
was furious, and it was then that he uttered his famous phrase: Nolimus aut
velimus, omnibus gentibus, justitiam et veritatem.
JOURNALIST: I'm sorry, your Eminence... I
failed Latin three times...
MANIAC: It means: 'Whether they want it or
not, I shall impose truth and justice. I shall do what I can to make sure that
these scandals explode in the most public way possible; and you need not fear
that, in among the rot, the power of government will be undermined. Let the
scandal come, because on the basis of that scandal a more durable power of the
state will be founded!'
JOURNALIST: Extraordinary...! Would you
mind writing that quote down for me...?
The MANIAC writes the sentence an
adaptation of the words of Pope Gregory in the JOURNALIST's notebook.
Meanwhile, the INSPECTOR IN THE SPORTS JACKET snatches the President's picture
from BERTOZZO and begins tearing it up.
SUPERINTENDENT: [Going to stop him] What
have you done? You've torn up the President's portrait! You could go to prison
for that! What's got into you?
SPORTS JACKET: Didn't you see what he was
writing, Sir...?
He points to BERTOZZO.
SUPERINTENDENT: You've got a point, about
certain people having a mania for melodramatic messages to the people... But
that was no reason to go shredding up the President's portrait... Shame on you!
The JOURNALIST stands behind the MANIAC as
he writes, apparently pondering the meaning of Saint Gregory's words.
JOURNALIST: So in other words he's saying
that even when there aren't scandals, they need to be invented, because it's a
good way of maintaining power and defusing people's anger.
MANIAC: Correct. A liberatory catharsis of
tension... And you journalists are the privileged high priests of the process.
JOURNALIST: Privileged? You must be
joking! Not in the eyes of our government! Every time we discover a scandal,
they go potty trying to stop the truth getting out.
MANIAC: Certainly... our government... But
our government is still pre-Napoleonic... pre-capitalist... You should take a
look at the governments of more developed countries... in Northern Europe, for example.
You remember the 'Profumo' scandal in England? A minister of defence, caught up
with drugs, prostitution and spying...!!! Did the state collapse? Or the stock
exchange? Not a bit of it. If anything they came out of it stronger than
before. People thought: 'The rot's there, so let it float to the surface...'
We're swimming about in it even swallowing some of it but nobody comes
round telling us that everything's fine and dandy, and that's what counts!
SUPERINTENDENT: Surely not. That would be like
saying that scandal is the fertiliser of social democracy!
MANIAC: Spot on! Manure! Scandal is the
fertiliser of social democracy! In fact I'd go even further: scandal is the
best antidote to the worst of poisons namely when people come to realise what's
really going on. When people begin to realise what's going on, we're done for!
But look at America a truly social-democratic society. Did they ever try to
censor the true facts about the massacres carried out by the American troops in
Vietnam? No they did not! It was on the front pages of all the papers photos
of women butchered, children massacred, villages destroyed. And do you remember
the scandal of the nerve gas? The Americans had manufactured enough nerve gas
in the US to wipe out the entire population of the world three times over. But
did they try to hide the fact? Not a bit of it! In fact, when you turned on the
TV, there they were. Trains. 'And where are those trains going?' 'To the
seaside.' 'And what are those trains carrying?' 'Nerve gas. It's going to be
dumped at sea... A few miles off the shoreline!' So that supposing there's a
little earthquake one day, the containers will crack, and the nerve gas will
come bubbling up to the surface, glug-glug-glug, and we'll all die. Three times
over!
They've never tried to hush up these
scandals. And they're right not to. That way, people can let off steam, get
angry, shudder at the thought of it... 'Who do these politicians think they
are?' 'Scumbag generals!' 'Murderers!' And they get more and more angry, and
then, burp! A little liberatory burp to relieve their social indigestion.
JOURNALIST: But excuse me you say
America's so free, but what do you have to say about the calculated murder of
terrorists, with their families, and the burning of an entire black area of
Philadelphia?
MANIAC: I was talking of the 'right to
liberatory burps', not the 'right to life'.
INSPECTOR BERTOZZO: Get your hands up...!
Backs against the wall or I shoot!
SPORTS JACKET: Bertozzo, are you out of
your mind?!
INSPECTOR BERTOZZO: Hands up, I said...
And you too, Superintendent... or I warn you, I may not be answerable for my
actions!
JOURNALIST: Oh God!
SUPERINTENDENT: Calm down, Bertozzo!
INSPECTOR BERTOZZO: Calm down yourself,
Sir... you'll see... [He pulls several sets of handcuffs out of a drawer in the
desk, passes them to the CONSTABLE and
tells him to handcuff everyone] Go on handcuff them to the coat-rail. [As it
happens, at the back of the stage there is a raised horizontal bar, to which
all the characters are promptly handcuffed, one handcuff round their right
wrist, the other round the bar] And you don't have to look at me like that. In
a minute you'll realise that this was the only way I could get a hearing. [The
CONSTABLE is not sure whether to handcuff the JOURNALIST as well] Yes, the lady
too... And handcuff yourself as well, while you're at it. [Turning to the
MANIAC] Now, you, Mr Bigmouth Bullshit, you will do me the favour of explaining
to these people who you really are... or, since I'm getting very sincerely sick
of the sight of you, I'll blow your damn head off...! OK? [The POLICE OFFICERS
and the JOURNALIST protest at his irreverent tone to such an august personage]
Shut up... you!
MANIAC: I'm happy to explain, but I'm
afraid that if I just tell them, straight out, just like that, they're not
going to believe me.
INSPECTOR BERTOZZO: Maybe you'd like to
sing it, then?
MANIAC: No, I'd just need to show them my
medical card, my papers from the nuthouse, and all that...
INSPECTOR BERTOZZO: Fair enough... Where
are they?
MANIAC: In that bag, there.
INSPECTOR BERTOZZO: Go get them, then. No
funny business, mind, or I shoot!
From his bag the MANIAC takes half a dozen
personal documents.
MANIAC: There...
He hands them to BERTOZZO
INSPECTOR BERTOZZO: [He distributes them
to each of the characters, who take them with their unhandcuffed left hands]
There you are, ladies and gentlemen... Seeing is believing!
SUPERINTENDENT: Nooo! An art teacher?
Indefinite sick-leave? Subject to paranoid delusions?! So he's a bloody mental
case, then?
INSPECTOR BERTOZZO: [Sighing] Haven't I
been trying to tell you that all along?
SUPERINTENDENT: [Reading from a medical
card] It's a list of psychiatric hospitals
Imola, Voghera, Varese, Gorizia, Parma... He's done the lot of them!
MANIAC: I have indeed... the Grand Tour!
JOURNALIST: Fifteen electric shock
treatments... Twenty days solitary confinement...
CONSTABLE: [Reading from a report]
Pyromaniac. Arsonist.
JOURNALIST: Let me see? Burned down the
library at Alexandria... Egypt... in the Second Century BC...?!
INSPECTOR BERTOZZO: Impossible. Give that
here! [He takes a look] No, look, he wrote it in himself, that bit about Egypt!
SUPERINTENDENT: So he's a forger too, as
well as being a hoaxer, an impostor and a quick-change artist... [The MANIAC
sits to one side, with an innocent air, and with his big bag on his knees] I'm
going to lock you away for this, for a long time... Fraudulent impersonation!
MANIAC: [All smiles] Tsk, tsk!
He gestures to indicate 'not possible'.
INSPECTOR BERTOZZO: You can't, Sir. He's
certified, Sir, certified mad.
JOURNALIST: What a shame. I had a really
nice article all lined up... and he's gone and spoiled it!
SUPERINTENDENT: I'll spoil him when I get
my hands on him... Bertozzo, will you please undo these handcuffs...
INSPECTOR BERTOZZO: Maybe better if I
don't, Sir... You know that in Italy nutters are like the sacred cows in
India... God help you if you touch so much as a hair on their heads!
SUPERINTENDENT: The bastard... Coming
here... Pretending to be a judge... Pretending that he was re-opening the
inquiry into the anarchist... When I think of the shock he gave me!
MANIAC: That's nothing compared to the
shock that's in store for you now! Take a look at this! [From his bag he pulls
the bomb that BERTOZZO had left on the desk] Count to ten, and we all get blown
sky-high!
INSPECTOR BERTOZZO: What are you
doing...!? Put that down... Don't be stupid!
MANIAC: I'm mad, not stupid... Mind your
language, Bertozzo... and drop that gun... or I stick my finger in the firing
mechanism here, and poof, away we go!
JOURNALIST: Oh God! Please, Mr, er...!
SUPERINTENDENT: Don't fall for it,
Bertozzo... There's no fuse in that bomb... How can it possibly explode?
SPORTS JACKET: Correct... Don't fall for
it!
MANIAC: Alright, then, Bertozzo since
you're such an expert... even if you are ungrammatical... See if you can spot
the firing mechanism... Look in there... See? It's a Longber acoustic.
INSPECTOR BERTOZZO: [He feels faint. He
drops the gun and the keys to the handcuffs] A Longber acoustic? Where did you
find that?
The MANIAC picks up the keys and the gun.
MANIAC: I had it in here... [Pointing to
his big bag] I've got everything in here! I've also got a tape-recorder on
which I've been recording everything you've said since I came through that
door. [He takes out a tape-recorder and shows it to them] There you go!
SUPERINTENDENT: And what are you planning
to do with it?
MANIAC: I'm going to make a hundred copies
of the tape, and send them to all the papers... and to the political
parties, and to the ministries... Ha,
ha... it'll be a scorcher!
SUPERINTENDENT: No, you couldn't do
that... You know perfectly well, everything we said was deliberately twisted
and distorted by the fact that you were pretending to be a judge!
MANIAC: So? Who cares? the important thing
is to have a good scandal... Nolimus aut velimus! So that the Italian nation
can march alongside the Americans and the English, and become a modern and
social-democratic society, so that finally we can say: 'It's true we're in
the shit right up to our necks, and that's precisely the reason why we walk
with our heads held high!
Ends