Helvetica, an allegory
Act II - the meadow

by Susan Weber

SCENE ONE - the veranda
Twilight. Drenched by the storm, the pilgrims enter the veranda. Tables spread with white cloths, silver wine, and sumptuous provisions fill the space. Local residents—of Asian, Indian, and African descent—dine at one spread table. Sparkling lights define a darkened lake, the Züriesee. Misted mountains occupy the distance. Momma lays her cloak across a chair’s straight back.

Son: What is our purpose here?

Momma: To meet with kin and listen to their wisdom.

Son: How are we kin?

Momma: We are cousins once or twice removed. She is sheep whisperer; her brother is a goatherd. Here they are!

They enter, in Goatherd’s hand a box of turquoise blue.

Goatherd: Hello cousins! I bring Schaffhauserzungen for your journey, sweet tongues from the house of sheep.

Son: I thought you herded goats!

Goatherd: Herd them would I never! I climb with goats to mountain peaks there (pointing) beyond the Züriesee. The sheep tongues were my sister’s plan.

Sheep Whisperer (embracing the pilgrims): My brother is a goat, never tiring of the rocky trek or fearful of the heights.

They settle at a table. The siblings pass the food and serve the wine.

Goatherd: Your message said you plan to climb to Rütli from the turquoise lake.

Sheep Whisperer (lifting her glass and joined by all): Success upon your climb!

Momma: My son’s the fearless climber. As for me, I fear the heights.

Goatherd: The path to Rütli is not steep.

Momma: I am glad to hear it!

Goatherd (lifting his glass): May the clouds smile on your journey (drinking). And why to Rütli, cousins?

Momma: To find the origins of Switzerland, and ours as well.

Son: The land was plagued with conflict and invasion. Overlords oppressed the commoners.

Momma: Rütli is the meadow where the founders claimed their independence.

Sheep Whisperer: You’re well informed, good cousins. What will you then of me?

Son: Sheep Whisperer, tell us more about your work.

Sheep Whisperer: I whisper to the stubborn human goats. Forgive me brother—I do not speak of goats who are your friends.

Momma: Where are these stubborn humans then?

Goatherd, Sheep Whisperer, and the other diners—of Asian, Indian, and African descent: Everywhere!

Sheep Whisperer: Goatish humans—brother, be not cross!—look down from lofty heights. They warn all other climbers if they follow, they will fail.

Son: How do you thwart the lies of lofty goats?

Sheep Whisperer: I prove them wrong at every turn! I whisper in the ears of agile climbers, “Stay strong, it can be done!”

Goatherd, Sheep Whisperer, and the other diners—of Asian, Indian, and African descent (whispering): Our whispers make a whirlwind greater than the hubris of the overlords.

Goatherd: In those who stand for justice, stubbornness can be a useful skill.

Sheep Whisperer: Well noted, gentle brother.

Momma: We admire your brave ambitions. Thank you for the feast to speed our quest.

Son (holding up the box of turquoise blue): And for the sweet confection. Are these tongues magic?

Goatherd, Sheep Whisperer, and the other diners—of Asian, Indian, and African descent: In every way!

Momma (standing with the rest, and putting on her deep vermillion cloak): How do we use this magic?

Sheep Whisperer: They will tell you. Those with useful tongues dare not stay silent.

Goatherd (in parting): Don’t forget to watch the clouds!

SCENE TWO - a meadow
A green meadow with stone benches grouped in a circle. In the background, brilliant turquoise water. With packs and alpine walking sticks the pilgrims join three wanderers—of Asian, Indian, and African descent—who stand before a carved wood plaque.

Son (reading): Here in Rütli meadow in the late Middle Ages, compatriots of three founding cantons—Uri, Schwyz and Unterwalden—made a sacred oath.

As Momma reads sections of the oath aloud, Son and the other wanderers join in.

Momma (reading): We want to be a single people.

Momma and Son (reading): We want to be free.

Momma, Son, and other wanderers (reading): And never be afraid of human power.

Son: Human power. Tyranny, I guess?

Momma (reading from the plaque): In those times the Austrian overlords exploited hunters, farmers, artisans, and fishers in these mountains.

Son (unfolding a map): From Rütli the trail climbs high above the turquoise lake.

Momma: It’s my nature to avoid the heights.

Son: And mine to entertain them. We’ll turn back the moment you grow wary?

Momma: Yes, come, the path is over here.

The pilgrims depart. Whispered conversation of the the other wanderers mingles with the sound of distant cowbells.

SCENE THREE - another meadow
The pilgrims enter a meadow at a higher elevation than the first. A crude fence that stands along one section of the stage represents the drop-off to the lake. Behind a sturdy bench, rocky outcroppings border the evergreen woods.

Momma: Look, from massive stump of evergreen this bench was carved.

Son: Let’s have our lunch.

Momma, the deep vermillion cloak around her shoulders, joins Son on the bench.

Son: Here, some apples and a spicy wurst.

Momma: Chocolate, cheese, and crusty bread.

Son: Is our way too high?

Momma: Though we’ve climbed a heady distance, the path avoids the drop-off to the lake. (She takes an apple) Do you have the knife your father gave you?

Son: It’s here, well tempered as its owner was.

They share the food. Son offers Momma the box of turquoise blue. She takes a sweet confection.

Momma: Sweet tongues from the house of sheep! Come—take your share.

Holding the confection in their fingers, the pilgrims look around them.

Momma: Our cousin said to watch the clouds. Like sheep they gather ‘round us.

Son: Their wooly flanks are close enough to touch.

When they bite into the sweets, clouds become a whirlwind. The two cry out, covering their eyes. At last the swirling stops. A bare-footed figure dressed in multi-colored robes rests her large vermillion shield against the bench. On the shield’s a cross of burnished steel she leans her spear. Tossing her thickly woven crown around the spear, she sits between the pilgrims to release the braids encircling her head.

Helvetia: You called.

Momma and Son (they barely whisper): Did we?

Helvetia: No need to whisper. We are equals here.

She kneads her toes with calloused hands, her shoulders slumping.

Momma (strength returning to her voice): Who are you?

Helvetia (wearily, but kind): I am your sister (turning to Son), and yours. Nice disguise, by the way.

Son (running a hand along his roughly woven cloak): I feel we’ve met, but how?

Helvetia: Show me a Swiss franc, brother (waiting as he takes it out). Whose image do you see?

When the pilgrims look, they startle.

Son: Why, you’re the—

Helvetia: Helvetia the symbol of Helvetica, or as you call it, Switzerland. I’m warrior strong and noble (with her bare toe she taps the wreath lassoing her spear) and all about our interwoven people who get along so well.

Son: Interwoven people are the roots of Switzerland.

Helvetia: My role is to personify our greatness. But the casualties of greatness, who will speak for them?

Momma: What casualties are these?

When Helvetia waves her hand, tiny frogs fly out, swarm around their eyes and ears and leap into their hair. Momma pulls the deep vermillion cloak around them both. They squirm in their confinement.

Momma: Stop them from attacking us!

Son: There are too many!

When Helvetia claps her hands the creatures vanish. The pilgrims come up gasping from the cloak to see Helvetia laughing in her hand.

Helvetia: What do you fear?

Son: They leapt all over us!

Momma: They meant to harm us surely!

Helvetia: Did they bite your ears, gnaw your eyelids, bring forth welts and blisters?

Son (squinting at his palm): You missed one, sister.

Momma (squinting too): A most beguiling frog.

Helvetia: Come, I’ll show you more.

She takes the pilgrims to the cliff above the turquoise lake. Her multi-colored robes skim the grass.

Helvetia (turning to Momma): How do you fear the heights?

Momma: I have the real sensation I will fall.

Helvetia: Do you feel this now?

Momma: Closer to the fence I know I will.

With both hands, Helvetia takes Momma by the shoulders and walks beside her to the crude fence. They face the audience. Momma shuts her eyes and grips the railing.

Helvetia: What do you see?

Momma: Darkness only.

Helvetia: What do you smell?

Momma: Sharp pine sap, sweet wild flowers, and (sniffing) some kind of dung, I think.

Helvetia: The cows do graze nearby. What do you hear?

Momma: The cowbells and my rapid breath. Insects. Birds. The long low drone of a boat below.

Helvetia: Do you taste anything?

Momma (rolling her tongue inside her lips): Vanilla. Nuts. Cream. Sweet tongues from the house of sheep! (Son and Helvetia laugh with her)

Helvetia: What do you see?

Momma (slowly opening her eyes): Pine cones clustered under dark green boughs. Across the lake, lush mountains gashed through with granite plunging to the water.

Helvetia: What do you feel, my sister?

Momma: Your hands on my shoulders. Your arm on my back. My own heart pounding. And… (turning to Helvetia) …joy?

Momma’s eyes fill with tears. Helvetia guides her back to Son who has been watching.

Helvetia (turning to Son): How are you with valleys?

Son: I prefer the wide perspective. In real life I’m closer to the peaks.

Helvetia: Here’s my challenge then. Tomorrow, set your path along the shore. Consider mountains from that deep perspective. And (placing a frog on his shoulder) take this creature with you.

Touching the sleeve of his roughly woven cloak, Son looks up from the frog to speak.

Son: When will you share your magic?

Helvetia: Again and again and again. You are my hope for the casualties of greatness.

Momma (musing): Those with useful tongues dare not stay silent.

Helvetia swirls into a dance across the grass. In one swoop she scoops up her implements. For an instant she stands, posing as the proud Helvetia. Then she winks, bowing to the pilgrims.

Helvetia: Thank you for your company. You are two of my favorite Swiss!

Clouds bunch around her like boisterous sheep. She strokes those closest to her and joins the herd returning to the sky.

Son: Do you believe we are her favorite Swiss?

Momma: I know we share the honor with some others.

Son (holding his forearm before him to watch the frog hopping down his sleeve): This one and a multitude of kin.

They look around as if waking from a dream. As the pilgrims descend to the water, wanderers of Asian, Indian, and African descent approach the bench. One of them picks up the box of turquoise blue, passing it to others. The wind swirls around them. Cowbells sound in the distance.


Photo Susan Weber CC BY-SA 4.0