Genre: Society, Family
VOICES IN THE DARKNESS
by Rick Lee
We can only see the back of the woman talking. She speaks very quietly. The man sitting opposite her doesn’t interrupt, but his face is full of expression as he hears her story – at first supportive, but then disbelief, horror, crying, reaching out to hold her hand.
‘My brother, Johnny . . . he was eleven years older than me, he died of a brain tumour over a year ago, but he told me what had happened to him. I already knew he’d been sent to an institution when he was about twelve; he was always in trouble at school, either fighting or running away, and it wasn’t until he was in prison in his thirties that he was diagnosed as dyslexic . . . far too late to save him from what happened to him at the residential school.
He told me the names of some of the men. Some of them I’d heard of – politicians, important people . . .but also teachers, police officers, even priests.
I decided I had to do something . . . tell someone . . .’
(looks away)
‘It was really frustrating. Nobody would believe me. They said I had no evidence. My brother was a convicted offender, a violent man . . . he’d attacked police officers and prison officers on many occasions.’
(looks away again)
‘But suddenly out of the blue I got a package through the post. There were photographs of my brother taken at the residential school. One was the usual school portrait, but the others were . . . awful . . . terrible . . . obscene . . .’
(She cries, recovers, composes herself)
There was a letter telling me the name of the men in the pictures and the important positions they’d held at the time. Some of the same names Johnny had told me.
At first I couldn’t believe it . . . or see what I could do about it. I’d no confidence in the people I’d already tried to convince and I was afraid they’d take the evidence away and I’d never see it again.
(pause)
‘But then I got another message . . .
I was told where to find the men in the photograph . . . to contact a woman called Peta, who told me that she and some other women had been invited to a weekend up in the north of Scotland.
I decided to go, although I realised I’d have to play a part. I was told that one of the men in the photographs liked eastern European women. I have some Polish friends, who taught me enough words to get by.
We were flown to Stornoway in a private jet.
I recognised the man as soon as I got there and it was easy to grab his attention.’
(She stops, takes her a minute to gather herself, wipe her eyes and grit her teeth.)
‘I let him try to have sex with me, but managed to get him so drunk he passed out.
Another friend had given me some really strong drugs which I put in their drinks.
But then the shooting started . . . I don’t remember much after that . . .’
(she stops, looks away again)
‘I’m not sorry about what I did . . . they deserve to die . . . all of them . . .’
Long silence. The man is unable to say anything. Tears roll down his face
She is more composed and says the last few words as though they’re lines form a poem
‘I can hear lost boys sobbing in their beds, sobbing and crying themselves to sleep.
But no-one listens to the voices in the darkness’
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Deadline for POETRY Festival – Get your poem made into a MOVIE and seen by 1000s. Three options to submit:
http://www.wildsound.ca/poetrycontest.html
WATCH this month’s poetry readings performed by professional actors:
http://www.wildsoundfestival.com/april_2015_poetry_readings.html
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