Interrogation.
"What am I here for?"
"That's a philosphical question. Criminals aren't supposed to be philosophers. So I don't know whether to chastise you or let you go. It all hinges on whether you are a criminal I suppose. So let's find out."
"What am I here for?"
"I'm the interrogator. I ask the questions. I ask all the questions. Save one. which is 'Do you have a cigarette?' That's the only question you're allowed to ask."
"Do you have a cigarette?"
"No. It'll set the fire alarm off. Interrogation rooms are public buildings too. But here are some nicotine patches. Enough to last a 5 year jail term. Think of them as an incentive to confession. And I'm going to turn on the cassette recorder too. But only to stop your asking me to. Because you're not allowed to ask any questions. This does not affect your statutory rights."
[He turns on the tape recorder.]
"It is a... specific time on a specific date. I am interviewing a specific person as regards a specific crime."
"For the tape, the suspect, having realised it would not be the done thing to ask a question, has raised his eyebrow quizzically as if to say 'you're doing everything by the book then, and no more? No appendix, no second volume explaining the calculations that underlie the cliometrics?' I pause. Yes I am, and I don't like your tone."
"I haven't committed any crime, specifically or unspecifically".
"The suspect seems to have spent some time thinking about this denial and the terms in which it is because of this quite comfortably couched."
"The interviewing officer stated, as if for posterity. This isn't a speaking book, you know,"
"Proffered the suspect, impertinently. It is now... (looking at watch) a specific time, a letter after which is either an a or a p, m. I am turning off the tape to smack the suspect around the chops.” He slaps the suspect extremely limp wristedly. He went to turn on the tape again, but didn't. The suspect said nothing. He turned the tape on again.
"Ow!"
"Shouted the suspect."
"He just slapped me!"
"Lied the suspect, for the tape. Put a brave face on, lad, this is an historical document."
"Mollified the corrupt police. This won't stand up in court, for I have a revisionist lawyer, said the suspect, in a ring-modulated voice."
"Denials won't wash with me, Speer-boy, said me, then, at a specific time, your honour, with delivery akin to that of Alec Guiness, I said. Your two accomplices, acting as the two requisite primary sources, have offered testimony that grasses up your ahistorical version of events and reveals the language used in your denial to be too inflated for your time period and social class. They also maintain you ‘done’ the specified crime."
"Can I have a cigarette?"
"The suspect asked, obviously perturbed and playing for time to think."
"Is my testimony, in your opinion, then revealed to be wholly unreliable, with everything I say to be regarded as historically inaccurate?"
"Asked the suspect, obviously beaten. But of course, I replied, condescendingly."
"Then I confess to the specified crime."
"He admitted. (...) Fuck!"
"He ejaculated, whilst the suspect chewed nicorette."
“Get yo’ fuckin’ tambourines together, an’ lets party!”
“My name is Tjinpo Balasanky, and I like the Stone Roses. Very much.”
April 2001
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