SCENE ONE

(The yard. Clothes and white sheets hanging from clotheslines. INA is taking down the wash. ANNEMARIE is playing, running back and forth between the sheets.)

I'm in a hallway, Mama! A hallway leading to heaven!

What do you see?

I see clouds, and people in white robes, and angels playing their harps.

Do you see anyone we know?

There's Uncle Johann!

Is he happy?

He's as happy as could be, playing his harp. He's got a bunch of angels dancing around him. I'm looking down now, leaning over the edge of the cloud. I can see you, miles below me, taking down the wash. I'm leaning so far over that I'm losing my balance. Now I'm falling! I'm falling off the cloud! Aaaaaaahhhh!

(ANNEMARIE lands on her back, out of breath.)

It was beautiful, Mama! I wish you were there.

You were only playing, dear.

For a moment I saw it! Really! Have you ever seen heaven, Mama?

No. But I hope I will, someday.

I hope so too, Mama.

(GUNTHER enters, looking for somebody.)

Father!

Hello, child. Have you seen your brother?

No. Guess where I just was.

Not now. Ina, have you seen Hans?

He's not home from school yet.

Oh. I thought he'd be home like a shot for his birthday supper.

No matter. I haven't started cooking it yet.

If you did, maybe the breeze would carry the smell of supper to his nose and lead him home.

I haven't even had time to buy the meat.

(Pause while INA works. GUNTHER is struck by something about INA and gazes at her intently.)

Father?

Sh.

(INA grows uncomfortable as GUNTHER watches her, and concentrates more and more on her work.)

My darling. Always working. The wash, the floor, the cooking, the cleaning. All without end.

There's much to do.

Just once I'd like to sit with you for an afternoon. Just look at you, in the sun. My darling Le--

Ina. My name is Ina.

What did I say?

Her name.

Oh. Slip of the tongue.

Whose name?

Nobody's.

I must have been preoccupied.

Tell me.

Listen. The angels are calling. They want you to play.

(ANNEMARIE moves away.)

I've decided. Today's the day I'll tell him.

About...

That's right.

Gunther, please. Not yet. We don't know how he'll take it.

He'll be glad to know.

We're all so happy now, the four of us. Telling Hans could upset everything. Just wait one more year.

Today Hans is seven years old. It's time he knew.

Gunther--

Now Ina, I want you to close that pretty little mouth of yours. If anything would upset Hans, it would be all this chatter. Let me know as soon as Hans gets home.

(GUNTHER exits.)

Mama, what's Papa going to tell Hans?

Nothing concerning you, darling.

Everybody knows but me. I feel left out.

Don't feel that way, Annemarie.

Is it something to do with his birthday?

It... Yes. It is.

Is it a present he's getting?

In a way.

What is it?

I can't say.

Is it better than what I got for my birthday?

One can't really compare what--

Is it?

You got to ride a pony for your birthday.

It is better, isn't it?

(Beat)

Your father's going to tell Hans a story.

Do I get to hear it?

Not just yet.

When?

When you're old enough.

You hate me!

I don't--

You all hate me!

We don't. You mustn't say that.

It's true!

No, it's not. Annemarie, stop crying. Please.

If you stop crying I'll tell you the story.

You will?

Yes. That's better. Now the story is: Once upon a time there was a woman. When she died she was buried in our yard, under the juniper tree.

That's all?

Mm-hm.

What a stupid story. You're lying.

No, I'm not.

Yes you are. Hans is getting a horse, isn't he?

What gave you that idea?

He's getting a horse and a cart and and and a room full of toys.

He's getting nothing of the kind.

And I don't get anything at all.

(Off, we hear HANS whistling.)

Shush. Here he comes. Don't spoil his birthday.

(HANS enters.)

Hello, Hans. Happy birthday.

Thank you, mother.

(A beat.)

Annemarie.

What?

Wish your brother happy birthday.

No.

Annemarie. Say it.

Happy birthday.

That's a good--

I HATE YOU!

Annemarie! Your own brother. Don't say such things.

I HATE YOU! I WISH YOU WERE DEAD!

(ANNEMARIE runs off.)

Annemarie! Oh, Hans. She didn't mean it. Don't pay any attention to her. Just sit quietly and wait for your father.

Look, a butterfly! I thought they'd all gone with the summer!

(HANS chases the butterfly.)

Careful, Hans. Mind the wash.

What a beautiful day for a birthday.

I see storm clouds, just over the horizon.

I hope it doesn't rain.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO ME
SAID THE DOG WITH THE FLEA
I'M FEELING SO HAPPY
WHAT A GREAT WAY TO BE

How clever.

Do you want to hear another one?

HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO ME
SAID THE SHIP TO THE SEA
I'M FEELING SO WAVY
LIKE I'M STUNG BY A BEE

Wasn't that clever?

Very.

Another butterfly! They're everywhere!

(HANS runs in and out of the sheets.)

Hans, please. I'm trying to take the wash down before it rains. I can't do it when you're running around like that.

Sorry.

Sit still and wait for your father.

(HANS sits. Pause. HANS whistles.)

Hans--

Sorry.

There's never a moment's peace when you're around. Always a Hans in every corner. You'll drive me mad someday.

(Pause. HANS scratches an itch.)

Hans!

Sorry.

(Beat. INA hums as she works. GUNTHER enters.)

Hans! Happy Birthday!

Thank you, father.

Careful! You'll knock the wash off the line.

Let him play, Ina.

I spent the afternoon up to my elbows in the cold stream getting it clean, and he's making it dirty again.

Silly girl. It hasn't fallen.

It was about to.

Is something upsetting you?

I... No. Let me work.

Raise your nose from the grindstone, just for today. For Hans' special day.

It's about to storm. The wash needs to go inside.

After the wash, then.

Then I have to make dinner.

After dinner.

Then there are the dishes.

Leave them. Or have Annemarie do them.

We still need meat for the stew.

I'll go to the butcher's. You'll rest. Say, when Annemarie came to fetch me she was crying. She wouldn't say why.

Oh.

I thought you might know.

Maybe she stumbled, running to the house. Poor girl.

(INA exits with the laundry basket.)

Hans, come over here. Join me under the juniper.

I always feel so happy whenever I sit here.

Well, I know a story which might explain why. You see, once not very long ago there were a man and a woman who lived in a cottage where our house now stands. They were happy and so in love that they thought they had everything. But by and by they came to feel that the great love they shared wasn't enough, and the little cottage started to seem somehow empty. What they needed was a child to fill the empty space. They waited and prayed every night for a whole year, and then waited some more. But no matter how much they waited and prayed, no child joined them in their empty home.

Then, one night in the dead of winter, the woman stepped outside to eat an apple. Even though it was so cold that her teeth chattered, she would rather stand out in the wind and snow than sit inside the empty cottage. She stood right here, under the juniper, as she peeled the apple. As the peels fell away onto the snow she sighed and said to herself, "I wish I had a child white as snow and red as blood." While she was lost in these thoughts, the little knife slipped and cut her finger so that three drops of blood landed in the snow among the apple peels.

The pain in her finger lasted only a moment, and then she felt so happy, as if a voice inside her told her without words that her wish would come true. The cottage that had seemed so empty only moments before now looked warm and happy with the light from the windows spread out like a golden blanket. Eating her apple, she went back inside.

A month later, the snow melted away, and after two months green filled all the corners where white had been. In the third month, flowers bloomed everywhere, and in the fourth leaves appeared and the forest swelled with the sounds of thousands of birds. Five months later the woman stood under the juniper where she had cut her finger, and she was so overcome with joy that she fell to her knees. After six months, when all the fruit had become quite ripe, the woman spent all day in her bed. Seven months later she picked the berries from the juniper and ate them so ravenously that she became sad and ill. One night in the eighth month, as she lay awake next to her husband, she said to him, "If I should die, bury me under the juniper tree." Then, nine months after she cut her finger under the juniper, she had a child white as snow and red as blood, just as she had wished. When she saw the child, she died of happiness.

The man remembered what his wife had asked of him and buried her here, with the juniper as her headstone. When he finished filling in the grave all his grief disappeared, for something told him that his wife was at peace. He went into his cottage and started the next chapter of his life with his new son.

The man was myself. The child was you. And the woman was your mother.

But Mother was just here, taking down the wash.

Ina is your mother now. But the mother I just told you about was your true mother. The one who gave you life. Maybe that's why you're so happy here, because this is where it all began for you.

She could smile and make the lilacs bloom in the depths of December. She was quite a woman, your mother.

[END OF EXCERPT]