Play: Disembowelment

You like that steak? Not too rare? I usually get it rare and sometimes they get it too bloody. No? It’s okay? Okay then.

You want some wine to go with that, there’s some in the mini-bar. Wine makes steaks go down better, red wine, I think. My ex-wife and I took a wine course once, she was always into that self-improvement bullshit. Me, I was fine with beer.

No, no, I don’t want any. I – had a small drinking problem a few years ago, so it’s just water now. Steak and water.

I don’t usually do this, you know, but you looked so hungry out there in the cold, and – you don’t mind me shooting off, do you? No, that’s right, you eat, I talk, that sounds ‘bout right.

I could tell when I saw you, you know. That you’re a good listener. You got that ‘do your own time’ look. What? Yeah, it’s a prison thing, but don’t worry, I didn’t serve. I worked in the big house up in Texas once upon a time. Worked in the V.P. – vulnerable prisoners unit – the wife used to get a kick out of that, when she still found the blue suit sexy. (smiles) She wasn’t too good for handcuffs too, I’ll tell you that. But vulnerable prisoners, she thought that was a – whatcha-call-it – redundancy. “A redundancy in terms.” She could be a real bleeding heart sometimes. I could never tell her that the V.P.s are the bughouse crazy ones.

No, not doing that anymore. Hung up the blue suit and gave back the big stick about – what is it – yeah, ‘bout two years already. Now I’m in sales, travel round going to conferences in tux and tie, like, how crazy is that, right?

Fuck… two years. Can’t believe it’s been so long since – well, never mind ‘bout that.

(he broods for a moment)

It’s not that I hate this job, you know. I get to travel, go to fancy hotels, expense hookers. Tax-free fucking in big hotel beds.

But it’s boring shit, you know. The steaks and the hookers and the fucking products. I could roll off the fucking products for you by heart now, all 132 of them, fucking products and their S/N codes.

(he shakes his head in disgust, and then looks up)

You don’t mind me f-bombing, right? My wife hated it, said it was – uncouth. Unrefined. She was a real bitch sometimes, especially at the end. But we were happy once, you know. In the beginning. She liked that I worked in a prison, thought I was bettering society. I liked her too; she was a hotshot therapist, and she wasn’t just good at talking, you know what I’m saying?

(he smiles)

She could be such a cheerleader sometimes. But that was before she got all bughouse. Said I liked my job too much, wouldn’t you know. One second I’m saving the world a prisoner at a time, the next I’m some batshit crazy guy who gets off on suffering. She never got it, you know. She just never got it.

(he wait for a reaction, and is satisfied)

I’m glad you agree with me. You look like the sort of person who don’t mind blood and dirt, if you don’t mind me saying. (beat) You want another steak? I can getcha another one, might wanna get one for myself too. No?

But that’s all over for me now, you know. Now it’s this sales shit. Can’t get used to it – You know what they say; you never really get out of prison.

(he pauses)

Why did I quit then? (beat) I didn’t. I’d go back to the big house in a snap, but they won’t take me back.

Why?

No, it’s nothing like that. What do you think we are? It’s nothing like that. Me and five others, we were just – unlucky, you know. Two years ago something bad happened, we saw it, and they took us off, those who didn’t quit. ‘Shock And Extreme Trauma’, I still remember, is what the psych called it. Fucking trash-talk, basically.

You sure you wanna hear this? It’s pretty graphic.

Okay. So they called us to go to one of the cells, ‘assistance’ they called it, and they didn’t tell us anything more, so we knew it was gonna be bad, right. So I took this new kid, Evans, and two more officers, Hunt and Williams, and we went down with our sticks, you know.

And when we got there, the two officers already there were standing outside the cell. They wouldn’t go in cause it was blood everywhere, see. Floor, walls, bed literally dripping with blood. One of the cellies, Ricketts, strangled his bunkie and opened him up with a shank, see. Belly button to Adam’s apple. The sick bastard pulled out the liver and intestines, gave his bunkie a fucking lobotomy. So the stuff’s lying everywhere, there’s an eyeball on the locker, and another eyeball on the floor all stepped on and ground to bits, and the sick bastard’s standing at the back of the cell, holding his fucking bunkie’s heart, saying he’s gonna eat it and no-one can stop him. It was – it was…

(he shakes his head)

So Evans is puking everywhere, right, and nobody’s moving, and fucking Ricketts is there chewing on the goddamn heart, slurping it up, in goddamned fact, but we gotta follow protocol, right. So I went in, dragged Hunt in to cuff Ricketts, and I –

I gave Scofield – that was the bunkie’s name – I gave Scofield mouth-to-mouth. The fucker’s obviously dead, lying there with his insides on the outside, but you gotta follow the book, and the others – well.

So that was that.

You have the same look that my ex had. But that’s the worst part, I promise you.

So afterwards they made us all take psych sessions. Evans quit immediately, don’t blame the kid. It was a sick piece of shit. Godbear, Abrams, and Hunt didn’t last much longer either. So me and Williams, we stuck it out a bit longer, then Williams left too. Said he couldn’t eat meat without puking. Then it was just me, and then the psych wrote a report, said I was repressing ‘Shock And Extreme Trauma’, so they took me off too. Wrote each of us a big fat check afterwards. I got 500,000 big ones.

Then Rachel – my ex – left, said she couldn’t stand it, couldn’t even stand the thought of it, and she wasn’t even there.

(he pauses)

But like I said, I’d go back to the big house in a snap, I really would.

Why the fuck would I do that?

It’s just – how the fuck should I put this… It’s just – in the big house you have to keep sharp, you know? You have to deal with the rats, the rabbits, and the big bitches – that’s those doing life – they always have a shank somewhere for someone. Then you gotta deal with the new boots, pencil whip the convict bosses to keep ‘em in line, keep a finger on who’s riding with who, make sure the blickey doesn’t get out of hand, and all the while you gotta know when to keep your fucking nose out of gangs taking it to the square. You gotta – Grab The Danger, I don’t know, and when you can do all that, you feel –

(he pauses)

Yeah. Kinda like being a hobo. Kinda. (beat) And dying – people get shanked all the time. Sick shit goes down. Just – sick shit goes down, you know what I mean? And you gotta have people who are – not strong, but – people who won’t crack, you know? And you, and you can’t get – whatcha-call-it – desensitized too. Everyone gets desensitized, but desensitized gets you killed in a prison. Desensitized gets you killed in a war. That’s why I always told the wife that if you’re working in the V.P. you gotta – not love it – but you gotta – stay sharp. Take pride in your work, I guess some people say.

So I told her, Rach, baby, you keep talking, and you keep trying to stop all the bad stuff from happening, and when you get rid of all the rapists and murderers and the people who fuck 18 month-old babies and the people who chop up bodies and throw them into different cans round the state, you stop that, then I’ll stop too.

But until then, I told her, if I tell you I feel – I felt – alive – every day I spent in the V.P., don’t fucking stare at me like I’m crazy, I told her. Because you need people like me to keep your prisons, fight your wars – pull the heads off your chickens and slice the throats of your pigs. It’s people like us who keep doing while you keep talking, I told her. But she never got it. Even at the end. She kept crying, said she was Crying For My Humanity, wouldn’t you know it. She didn’t get it…

I Was More Human Than She Was. She was happy just – surviving. Talking. Fucking. She never saw – everything came to her in words, memories, nice products with labels. Repression. Guilt. Anger. Rage. Fear. But there are – you see a guy keestering a shank because he’s so scared out of his fucking mind, you hear fishes screaming after they’ve spent five days in the hole, or you step on an eyeball smashed to bits – after that you just – there are just – just some things that are – bigger, bigger than fucking words, you know what I’m saying? Even – hunger, or desperation – I get that, I’ve seen it, I don’t – I wouldn’t blame them…

(he looks down, and then looks up again, almost a challenge)

Well. They’re just such fucking huge things for such tiny words, but she never got that. Sometimes she was just a real mensch in her tailored Guccis. But I get it.

(he pauses)

And I did, you know. Feel alive. Like I was connected to something deep. I was the very best of the blue suits, rarely got red on me, but you know, guess I was lucky. But that’s all over now. Now it’s this – this pussy product-pushing. Getting fat and punchy. Sometimes I want – sometimes I think even a mugger could take me, you know?

(he looks away from the listener, but again nothing happens. He looks back)

I see. “This is the way the world ends, not with a bang but a whimper”, huh.

(a beat)

I think I will have one of those steaks. I’m gonna order up another rare one. You sure you don’t want one too?