Helvetica, an allegory
Act I - the village

by Susan Weber

SCENE ONE - the inn
When this Sun rises, he takes his star encrusted shield to the verdant canton of Thurgau. He meets his mother there, a journeywoman named Momma. She gives her Sun a roughly woven cloak of common virtue to disguise his brilliant, overwhelming light. He takes the name of Son, his laughter bright but muted. At river’s edge they watch three residents—of Asian, Indian, and African descent—who play smooth stones across the water. Church bells peel in splendorous salute. Momma and Son climb the ancient steps. The inn they seek is old as time itself. At the road’s bend, Son stops, pointing to the inn.

Son: Momma look! My sight must be afflicted by the heat for I, now mortal, see the world differently.

Momma: I see it too, a mane and snout of deepest gold. I fear the Lion’s agile growl.

Lion: Welcome, pilgrims. I know your quest from this day’s messenger. Tarry not, but come inside, that you may gather strength for noble purpose.

Son (to his mother’s ear): Think you it means us harm?

Momma: I see kindness in his carriage. And the cub nudges close around him now.

Lion: My gentle cub, bright shining as the sun.

Momma (watching the cub scramble down the alley and away): Suns and sons I know to treasure well.

Inside the gabled inn the pilgrims rest, with sweets and sparkling water to revive them.

SCENE TWO - the castle
They find Lion in the narrow streets. Residents of Asian, Indian, and African descent greet them now, returning to their work.

Lion: You are well, I trust.

Momma: Thanks to your care, we are.

Lion: Now to your quest. You wish to find your father’s and (turning to Son) your grandfather’s birthplace.

Momma: According to our family lore, my father and his brothers—

Son: There! The castle we’ve been told about! The tower and the clock, arched passageway beneath, the sturdy windowed walls to either side.

Momma (rushing on ahead): The legendary castle of my father’s birth!

With giant paws the lion kneads the undulating stone, his purr the merest undertone. At last he speaks in musical simplicity, a few low beats.

Lion: Pilgrims. This tower has never been a castle, but a gateway only.

Son: Do you from hearsay speak, or are you sure?

Lion: Long ago the bishop of a mighty congregation on the Bodensee frequented this place. He wanted walls built here to guard his entourage. But no village was permitted thus to fortify itself. To build his wall, he proclaimed this place a “city,” and the deed was done. Of the four strong gates, the only one remaining stands before you.

Momma: How know you of these matters, sir?

Lion: Love of architecture has informed me. Come, there is more to compliment your quest.

Through streets and fountained gardens they meander. Their guide reveals the secrets that the buildings keep. Beyond a square of cobblestone stands a plain white multi-storied structure with a steep tiled roof. Widow casings glow with deep vermillion.

Lion: This building is the oldest in the city. An imposing tower once stood beside it. And though it's been a residence, a brewery, a meeting place—the people to this day and long before have called it castle.

Son: When was the castle built?

Lion: The cellar and some rooms are from late Medieval times. The rest, destroyed by fire, has been rebuilt.

Momma: Late Medieval times. That’s when the Old Swiss Confederacy was founded.

Stars begin to form their constellations. The pilgrims wish their gracious host good night.

SCENE THREE - the parting
By dawn, they leave their gabled rooms and find the lion waiting by the door peering out into the gloom.

Lion: The fog is heavy with the rain. Your sleep was sound I trust?

Momma: Forebears of many generations visited our dreams.

Son: And left as many questions. Were records kept about our family?

Momma: We wonder if they lived in the well-built castle of the commoners.

Lion: The record keeper is a friend. Have you haste in leaving?

Momma: We go to Zürisee to meet our living Swiss relations.

Lion: Are they wanderers as well?

Momma: They are truth tellers, Lion, such as you.

When they step into the swelling storm, thunder growls and rumbles. Lightening slashes through the sky. Son pulls the roughly woven cloak around him closer. Lion holds a shield above them both.

Lion: I will hunt for the origins you seek, but take my shield against the storm.

Momma: We cannot, friend. You may have use for it.

Son: Take the lion's shield if so he offers. Or take my cloak instead.

Momma: Good Son, you need it more than I!

Lion (holding out a deep vermillion cloak): Your safety matters, madam. Take this cloak, my layered mane protects me.

Son and Lion rest their patience on her. At last she bows and slips into the deep vermilion cloak.

Momma: I see I have no choice but honor kindness. I’ll wear your cloak and hope we meet again.

Lion: Journey’s mercies until then.

With residents of Asian, Indian, and African descent, the cub joins his father in the storm. All watch the pilgrims disappear around the bend. Shoulders shiver, tails swish valiantly, damp paws tremble on the smooth soaked stones.

Public Domain photo Trisha M Shears