Vessels

Characters

12-17, a girl representational of girls between the ages of 12 and 17, boyish, she is aged beyond her years.

25-54, a woman representational of women between the ages of 25 and 54, androgynous, she is hardened beyond her years.

AGED, an elderly woman, masculine but obviously female, she is a unique mix of fury and peace.

Time

The past and present.

Place

The lesbian diaspora.

Setting

The set should be minimalist, suggestive of a mood rather than literal.

Pre-War

At first I tell myself, "I am not ashamed. I wear star." Then we hear about the triangles. And this, well, it did not resonate, not so much. I still remember. "What comes next?" I wonder. Patches for woman, mother, bitch, whore -- all the appropriate nomenclature for female lined up on my sleeve like military personnel. My badges of dishonor. This way, don't look at me, don't talk to me. You know my place immediate -- no words, no thought is necessary. Ease, acceptance, passivity -- the tranquilizer of a society so that hell can burn around you -- registrations, interviews, people gone missing -- no explanations, small articles on the bottom left corner of the Saturday evening news, but you do not have to acknowledge -- patriot, loyalist -- support the troops! Your mission is acceptance.

(ALL turn to face the Führer. 12-17 transforms as she breaks off from the others.)

To be a man. To fight. I never wanted to be a man. Don't get me wrong. But to be part of something. I know there's the Reich Labor Service for Female Youth. But they're not as important. Don't get me wrong. We're all important. I just want to contribute. Do my part. Play my role.

We would dress up. I don't mean dresses. Suit and tie always for me. We were all so young we had to sneak into the bars. We would save up all our wages for the week, beg or steal to get there. Saturday night was the night. Not to be missed. We would go and break hearts -- or have our hearts broken. All competing for the same girl. Always older. We wanted her to show us the ropes. She would strip me down --

-- piece by piece. My own special education. And, I'm naked in ways I've never experienced before.

There were more gay bars in the Weimar Republic before the war than now -- still

But what means bars? What about centers -- signs of civilization? Real means to express ourselves, not forget ourselves?

Outside the Camps

Not only Jews. But also Jews. I have no preferences. But, I love my country. I believe in my country. So, you see, it's my obligation. What would you do? My allegiance is to my country. So, when they named names, I gave a nod. It was pre-emptive. Them or us. Them or me. I never named names. Just a nod. Here or there -- Only here or there. As the need may be. Never thinking they would come back -- for me.

"In National Socialism, the individual does not count as far as society is concerned."

They don't take lesbians too seriously. A woman "retains her usability in terms of population policy." Except for repeat offenders. I was helping them. Patriot, loyalist, party supporter. Me, a so-called repeat offender.

I was sent to a camp. An all-male camp. See, this is my punishment for how I look, dress. They knew. They all knew. Why else would a woman be there? Lesbian equals man. I am among my own kind. So the thinking goes. They were not yet weak. And although lesbian equals man, I still looked woman enough to a camp full of dehumanized males. Or maybe they're just tired of each other by this point.

I remember thinking to myself, "Oh, God, this is my punishment." And wondering if it could ever be punishment enough.

She's in the barrel, the barrel, the barrel -- point, point, point -- wink, wink, wink...

(AGED and 12-17 are back to back. They raise their arms in unison touching their own cheeks.)

Not everyone was willing to conform. Skills. Political or otherwise. To keep my identity. Never surrender. My camaraderie. Companionship. Loyalty. Admit to nothing. I don't have to hold up a sign. To stage my protest. I have my own production quotas to meet. Do not dwell on demise. Live my life. Escaping. Help others escape. Even just momentarily. They can not invade me.

Love & Sex

You want to see me. Cower. Blood. Sweat. And fears. But, I come to you. No bended knee. Miss. Trials. Tribulations. Accusations. Remembrance of more than I care to offer. Prime of my...

That are not mine. It can wait. It's only physical. Need. It will come in time. Don't push. The envelope. Hold your horses. Refrain. From the unspeakable.

We would hold hands when we went for walks in the park. If someone should stop us, she'd say she was my mother -- the difference in our age was so great. But, no one asked questions. "Such affections were expected in the fairer sex."

In the Camps

They thought it would combat male homosexuality, improve the work of prisoners -- more weapons.

With the promise of better food, private rooms, more comfortable conditions, and release after six months.

"Their commercial importance is extravagantly out of proportion to the weakness of their numbers."

Eight men. In two hours. Every day. There was this one. He was a handsome young man. I'm sure he was. By the time I met him -- not so much. But, such charm. You don't get that from nowhere. "Please, call me --" Odd sort of courtship. I was part of his treatment. Re-education. Or eradication. He never touched me. Not once. Maybe when the SS were looking through the peephole. But that's it. Pink triangle. A kinsman of sorts. It was a relief to just talk. Not for nothing, I would have sworn up and down for him. But, one day, he was gone.

Post-War

A-troc-i-ties. I had difficulty saying that word when I first came over -- four syllables. Atrocities. Special words for unspeakable deeds -- impossible choices. It loses its impact upon repeating. Age groups. There are different values on different places, stages, ages. Because your worth will change to them and just as soon to yourself. Once your utility has gone. Your perceived utility -- of a woman, girl -- not man lover -- no baby machine -- no use. We covet age, utility. Much has changed over time but not quite enough.

But this is all in my mind. Stories. So many stories that are not mine. Because there are so few tellers.

Production History

Vessels was commissioned by the Ivy Theatre for The Los Angeles Museum of the Holocaust in conjunction with the United States Holocaust Memorial Museum exhibit "The Nazi Persecution of Homosexuals 1933-1945." The play was subsequently performed at the Renberg Theatre in Hollywood and as part of the Native Aliens Theatre Festival in New York.

This work is fully protected by copyright. No alterations, deletions or substitutions may be made in the work without the prior written consent of the playwright. No part of this work may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopy, recording, videotape, film, or any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the playwright. It may not be performed either by professionals or amateurs without payment of royalty. All rights, including but not limited to the professional, motion picture, radio, television, videotape, foreign language, tabloid, recitation, lecturing, publication and reading are reserved.

Lodestar Quarterly

Kim Yaged

Characters, Time, Place, Setting