Thursday, February 11, 2021

BAUERNHOF by Kate Herbert - details & excerpt

BAUERNHOF a play by Kate Herbert

 

LOCATION / PERIOD: 1990-something After Unification. Gedelitz. A village in West Germany just east of the old border. A 300 years old barn-farmhouse converted to a more modern farm dwelling but it still has wood-heating and a central barn within the house. It is Christmas in a very cold winter.

 

WOMAN: German. In her 70's. She wears rough farm clothing which is clean but old. She appears rustic, earthy at first glance  but there are echoes in her face and demeanour of her youthful elegance.  She is slight and has been pretty as a young WOMAN. In spite of age and grief, the ravages of the war and the harsh weather she still has shades of her past glory. She acts as patron to MAREIKE somehow reliving her lost artistic past through her.

 

MAN: Australian of German origin. 50's. Speaks German not like a native. German heritage. Has money earned from a business in importing and retailing domestic appliances.  He has come to Gedelitz where he says someone from his family once  lived.

 

MAREIKE: 16-17 years. German farmer's daughter. Pretty, naive, fast-talking, dizzy and talented country girl. She is the WOMAN's protegee'. Plays violin and has classical singing lessons. Hopes to go to the Conservatory in Berlin. Her grandmother's farm abuts the WOMAN's. She lives with her grandmother and her father.

 

SOPRANO Sings Wien intermittently

 

SET: The design will be an abstract reflection of the German farmhouse. It needs to reflect the icy outside landscape. Possibly old black and white pictures of the wartime period cover the walls or are projected. The naturalistic detail is not needed but some sort of heavy wooden table,  chairs, something to suggest a fire or pot-belly stove, a sofa or chaise longue.. The space could reflect its age and long worn state. A much thumbed photo album, a box of photos, possibly books on a shelf. It is Christmas and we could see a Christmas wreath with four fat candles of different heights, perhaps a tree and the Advent Calendar is referred to with 22 days opened. 

 

SONG WOMAN sings is 'Vienna, City of my Dreams' ('Wien, du Stadt meine Träume.')

 

NOTE: Translations of the German are under the phrases in smaller italics. When MAREIKE and the WOMAN speak together in German, the text is in English. Accents are only slight and grammar is correct if a little formal.

 

With MAN the accents and grammar are accented and they noticeably speak English as a foreign language.

 

SOPRANO Can be live or the song can be sung by the WOMAN herself if she is a singer.

 

MAREIKE might play another instrument if there is no one who can play violin.

  ______________________________________________________________________

Premiered at La Mama Theatre on 4 August 1999. Season 4-22 August 1999

WRITER: Kate Herbert

DIRECTOR: David Latham

WOMAN: Julia Blake

MAN: David Wicks

MAREIKE:  Anne Maloney

SOPRANO: Helen Saifert 

LIGHTING AND SET DESIGN: Meg White

STAGE MANAGER & LIGHTING OPERATOR: Rebecca Etchell
POSTCARD DESIGN : Cally Browning

PHOTOGRAPHY: Georgia Metaxas

__________________________________________________________________________

Excerpt from BAUERNHOF by Kate Herbert 

This excerpt is from towards the end of the play.

 

----------

MAN takes out his wallet and pulls out a small photo and hands it to her

 

WOMAN        Your mother?

 

MAN              You know her?

 

WOMAN        Ich? Nein. Why?  (Me? No.)

 

MAN              Perhaps in the war.

 

WOMAN        Berlin is a big city.

 

MAN              Very big.

 

WOMAN        We all have suffered in the war.

 

MAN pulls out a second photo

 

MAN              And this is my father. I never spoke to him again after Max died - except once, the night he left. My aunt came to look after us. The night my father left, I screamed at him, "I hate God's secret work. And I hate you". This was the last thing I ever said to him. The night my father deserted us for he last time I told my aunt about Pappy and God's Work. She told me to be quiet, not to tell anybody else or my father would be in great danger.

 

WOMAN        The Gestapo had big ears.

 

MAN              She was the only person I ever told about God's Secret Work- until you.

 

WOMAN        It is too late now.

 

MAN              Too late. Yes. The night after my father left, a neighbour came and took my mother into the living room. I remember thinking Frau Kettelman's face looked like crumpled paper. I listened at the door. "They grabbed him on the street this morning, Gudrun. " I opened the door and my mother was standing like a bird, balancing on one leg, clutching her cardigan around her, staring at our neighbour. She                        turned to look at me. I knew it was my fault Pappie was dead. I didn't believe in God's work and God heard me.

 

WOMAN        You are not to blame. You were a child. God does not kill you father. It is the Gestapo.

 

MAN              I helped I was the traitor. After my mother died - it was near the end of the war - my aunt looked after me. She tried - but it's not possible to replace a mother. And she was very young. Young but very strong. Even before my father died, my mother relied on my aunt. But even my aunt was frightened now. Frightened of the Russians soldiers coming into Berlin. Every night she made me sleep in my clothes. All my clothes: leather trousers, pullovers, coat, scarves, walking boots. And I had to keep my back pack on in case we needed to escape in the middle the night. It was stuffed with warm socks and dried food my aunt had got from somewhere. One night, we heard the knock. A secret knock. She pulled me out of bed and we left for the last time. Frau Kettelman waited outside with her two                        children. There was no light because of the black-out. Just the new moon. I remember seeing strings of cloud drifting across it high above the trees. It felt as if we were on the moon. We walked through this blasted landscape, picking our way in the darkness, through smoking rubble. I remember fires burning and gunfire in the distance. Women and children were walking like zombies carrying little cases, or babies on their hips or clinging  like monkeys on their backs. We walked, all of us, women and children and old people, out of the city in a long slow vibrating crocodile, away from those terrifying soldiers who    were coming from the east. We felt like criminals.

 

SOPRANO rises in volume then fades a little during dialogue

 

My aunt and Frau Kettelman led the way, whispering all the time.  "Schweiz" over and over. We were walking to Switzerland: my aunt, Frau Kettelman, her two daughters and me. I remember walking through trees. Lucky Berlin has so many forests. We walked south. I didn't know if we were escaping the Nazis or the Allies or the Russians. So I walked and I kept on walking. For days. It was cold. So cold. I walked until my aunt went into labour on the road. She kept stopping, bending over panting. Frau Kettelman found a hut. I watched my aunt give birth to that baby. She didn't make a sound but. The baby came out all pink and slippery and sort of over-cooked. I saw its head, then Frau Kettelman pulled it out like a loaf of bread from the oven. It didn't cry. My aunt looked at him when he came out and Frau Kettelman put him on her belly. This tiny baby stared as if it could see her and was silent as a spy.

 

 MAN has walked to the shelves and is randomly looking at books.

 

WOMAN        The horses.

 

SOPRANO stops

SOUNDSCAPE low.

 

MAN              What?

 

WOMAN        I must give the food for Willi und Nikko. Please, you will let me stand up?

 

MAN stares at her then at the barn door, gathering his wits, recognising where he is. He shakes his head.

 

WOMAN        Then you must give the food.

 

He stares again

 

MAN              Where is it?

 

WOMAN        In the buckets.

 

MAN looks at her a moment then opens the door and hesitates then goes carefully into the barn. As he disappears she listens carefully and tries to wriggle free. Hopeless. She tries to shift the sofa. She tries to reach the phone with her foot. She watches the barn door.


FX Loud tearing noise

 

WOMAN jerks, frightened. MAN rushes back into the room looking frightened.

 

MAN              He snapped.

 

WOMAN        Nikko?

 

MAN              Willi.

 

WOMAN        He knows you hurt me.

 

MAN              I haven't hurt you, have I?

 

WOMAN        But I am not- safe.

 

MAN              Aren't you?

 

Long pause. They stare at each other. She struggles a little. She is fragile and close to tears now. There is fear in her eyes but she tries to distract him by returning to his story. She keeps him talking to stop any further violation.

 

WOMAN        The baby, he lives?

 

MAN              My aunt insisted we keep going. We walked at night and slept in the woods in the day. It got colder and colder. One night I thought I heard a kitten whimpering. I got up. It was my aunt. She never complained. I knew it was something awful. The baby had frozen to death in her arms.

 

 The WOMAN is weeping. It is unclear whether it is about the baby or her own safety.

 

MAN              It was my fault.

 

WOMAN        What?

 

MAN              If I hadn't betrayed my father, my mother would not be dead, my father would not be dead, my aunt would never have had to walk to      Switzerland.

 

She is struggling

 

MAN              Don't do that.

                      

WOMAN        It hurts my arms. Please. I am an old WOMAN. Unmake this now. I will not tell anyone. I will let you leave. Please!

 

MAN undoes her arms only

 

WOMAN        And this. (indicates other bindings)Can you also make it so?

 

MAN              (laughs) Make it so! No one is what they seem. You see, I did tell somebody.

 

WOMAN        The neighbour.  Frau Kettelman's

 

MAN              My aunt.

 

WOMAN        Your aunt?

 

MAN              She's the only person I ever told. My mother never told anyone.

 

WOMAN        You cannot know.

 

MAN              I know. My mother never lied. My aunt lied.

 

WOMAN        But she would not tell about your father. You must not believe this.

 

MAN              Frau Kettelman told me- before she died over a year ago. She was my adopted mother. When we got to the Swiss border we found a hut. When I woke up my aunt was gone. I say she died. She abandoned me. Frau Kettelman was kind. She took me to Australia in 1947. I became her son.

 

WOMAN        You must not believe Frau Kettelman.

 

MAN              Why not? She knew her. My aunt left me to die. She was a traitor, a liar, she killed my father and my mother and then she left me for dead.

 

WOMAN        You say your aunt loves your mother. She cannot hurt her so. To kill her husband. What is it you want?

 

MAN              The truth. (Snaps photos. Sound effect) The camera never lies.

 

WOMAN        Stop! I do not like.

 

MAN              Did you have a sister?

 

WOMAN        No family. All dead.

 

MAN              In the war?

 

WOMAN        One brother, yes. The others after. (She points at the box) There. You can see.

 

MAN hands her the album and she flicks pages showing him photos.

 

WOMAN        This is my brother who is dead in the war. This is the younger and here mit his children and his wife. He has a heart attack ten years before. And here is the last brother. This is all four of us        together before the war. (puts album down and gazes into his face) What brought you to me?

 

MAN              Espionage. I am a good detective. Birth records, certificates, statistics. Everything is public record now. Show me your sister.

 

LX change to stark light as if interrogation room

 

SOUNDSCAPE fades up

 

WOMAN        I have no sister.

 

Continues

No comments:

Post a Comment