The Complaint

Nick Whitby

• Publisher: Nick Hern Books
• Year: 2016
• Topic: Literature
• eBook ISBN:
  9781780017365
• Subtopic: Drama
• Index: Literature

A chillingly Kafkaesque world where nothing is quite as it seems, and where office politics can lead to unlawful questioning, torture and even murder…

Afra has decided to make a complaint. She is certain that her grievance is legitimate: she is perfectly clear about her rights. And she has no intention of giving up until she has some satisfaction.

Nick Whitby's play The Complaint was first performed at Hampstead Theatre, London, in May 2012.

Scene One

An office with a hot, tropical bareness about it; a plain desk, two wooden chairs, and a slowly rotating ceiling fan. A formal framed photo of a sashed head-of-state hangs on a wall. Blinds separate the room from two other offices at the back/sides. Largely hidden behind these blinds are two barely discernible figures at work. In the main office, MR TABUTANZER is revealed at the desk that’s clear except for an intercom/phone, and an open laptop. On one of the wooden chairs, AFRA is sitting, facing him. It is extremely hot and humid and both of them shine with perspiration, their clothes sweat-stained. Both repeatedly wipe themselves with hankies/towels. MR TABUTANZER is looking (not unpleasantly) between AFRA and the file of notes on the desk. When he speaks it’s with the distinct patterns (and sometimes unusual emphases) of an African.

MR TABUTANZER. They say it will get warmer over the next four months. That is until the end of August or the beginning of September, and then it will become quite cool again. Your complaint was made on the first of December?

AFRA. Yes.

MR TABUTANZER counts on his fingers.

MR TABUTANZER. Twenty-two weeks. Usually a complaint will perish before it reaches twenty weeks. But I think we can say that yours is established. Is this your first?

AFRA. Yes.

MR TABUTANZER. I thought so.

After a silence.

You wish to go through with this, truly?

AFRA. I do.

MR TABUTANZER takes an alcoholic hand-cleanser from a desk drawer and cleans his hands methodically before returning it and lifting the desk phone, pressing a button.

MR TABUTANZER. I need a DV30.

He replaces the receiver, and takes out a packet from another drawer. He opens this and removes a pair of white sterilised reading gloves, putting these on through the following.

You will have to answer a few questions.

TRUMAN enters carrying a brown A4 envelope. He hands it to MR TABUTANZER, all the time glaring at AFRA with inexplicable malevolence.

Thank you.

TRUMAN goes, continuing to glare at AFRA, making her uncomfortable. MR TABUTANZER takes the envelope, blows dust off it, opens it, and tips out a form and a piece of string onto the desk.

Please, draw your chair closer. These are simply formalities, so that your complaint may proceed in a merry fashion. If you cannot answer a question we shall return to it at the end, if there’s time.

AFRA. Time?

MR TABUTANZER. There is a time limit. (Noting it down off his digital watch, which he sets.)

AFRA. Why?

MR TABUTANZER. So that it’s fair on the others. Although in this case there are no others. Forgive me, it’s been so long since anyone has brought a complaint. (After staring at her, he reads.)Date… we have established that… (Writes.)December… da-di-da… Your name… (Fills in.) and also I shall need the name and address of your closest living relative. Just there… after… no, no don’t touch the paper!

He waits as she fills these in.

Very good. (Takes back the form and the pen, disposes of the pen and takes another out of a wrapper.) Are you married?

AFRA. No.

MR TABUTANZER. Cohabiting?

AFRA. No.

MR TABUTANZER. Are you seeing someone on a regular or a semi-regular basis?

AFRA (hesitates). Yes.

MR TABUTANZER. An irregular basis? I shall put ‘yes’ but with two e’s and a dash between the e’s, to give a sense of uncertainty. (Does so.)How would you describe your relations with this person?

AFRA. I wouldn’t.

MR TABUTANZER. Not at all?

AFRA. Not unless I had to. Do I have to?

MR TABUTANZER reads on. After a moment…

MR TABUTANZER. No. Have you ever suffered from malaria?

AFRA. Never.

MR TABUTANZER. ‘Poss-ib-ly…’ (Ticks again.)Question three. Katharine Hepburn or Spencer Tracy?

AFRA. I’m sorry?

MR TABUTANZER. Which would you favour, for example, in a divorce settlement?

AFRA looks blank. MR TABUTANZER leans forward confidentially.

(Softly.) They are attempting to build a psychological profile. (Aloud again.) You can put either one, ‘both’, ‘neither’, or ‘don’t know’.

AFRA. I’m not sure.

MR TABUTANZER. You’re unsure?

AFRA. No. Yes. I mean… yes. I am.

MR TABUTANZER. ‘Unsure.’ (Fills in the box and takes up the piece of string.)Your arm please.

AFRA offers her arm and he slips the looped string around her wrist, removes it carefully, marking it, and tying a knot, stapling it to the form.

AFRA. Why did you do that?

MR TABUTANZER. I don’t know. Again, it is something from the past. Everything is, you see, in flux. I will also need to take a photo of y...

Table of contents

• Cover
• Dedication
• Author's Note
• Original Production
• Characters
• The Complaint
• About the Author
• Copyright and Performing Rights Information