Taking a cue from The Mumpsimus:
THE OFFICER: Now hear this. You are mountain people. You hear me? Your language is dead. It is forbidden. It is not permitted to speak your mountain language in this place. You cannot speak your language to your men. It is not permitted. Do you understand? You may not speak it. It is outlawed. You may only speak the language of the capital. This is the only language permitted in this place. You will be badly punished if you attempt to speak your mountain language in this place. This is a military decree. It is the law. Your language is forbidden. It is dead. No one is allowed to speak your language. Your language no longer exists. Any questions?
YOUNG WOMAN: I do not speak the mountain language.
Silence. The OFFICER and SERGEANT slowly circle her. The SERGEANT puts his hand on her bottom.
SERGEANT: What language do you speak? What language do you speak with your arse?
OFFICER: These women, Sergeant, have as yet committed no crime. Remember that.
SERGEANT: Sir! But you’re not saying they’re without sin?
OFFICER: Oh, no. Oh, no, I’m not saying that.
SERGEANT: This one’s full of it. She bounces with it.
OFFICER: She doesn’t speak the mountain language.
The WOMAN moves away from SERGEANT‘s hand and turns to face the two men.
YOUNG WOMAN: My name is Sara Johnson. I have come to see my husband. It is my right. Where is he?
OFFICER: Show me your papers.
She gives him a piece of paper. He examines it, turns to SERGEANT.
He doesn’t come from the mountains. He’s in the wrong batch.
SERGEANT: So is she. She looks like a fucking intellectual to me.
OFFICER: But you said her arse wobbled.
SERGEANT: Intellectual arses wobble the best.
From Harold Pinter’s Mountain Language.
© 2005, Edward Champion. All rights reserved.