Barbara Lefcowitz Poetry

THE MIND SPA: A Play in One Act

copyright c by Barbara F. Lefcowitz, 2009

TIME: Spring, 1999, late afternoon

CHARACTERS:

MARGARET, 77, noble appearance despite her age: white bun, pink scarf, blouse neatly tucked into a long skirt.

GINNY, 49, an aging hippie with messy dark hair, 1970’s style; wears a worn green t-shirt with marijuana plant logo and the words Haight Ashbury.  It hangs over her beige pants.

FLEURETTE, ageless.  She has a large square build. Her face is expressionless, as if starched, and she does not speak until the end.  Sometime she nods and says, “tsk, tsk.”

ISTVAN, ca. 58, a grade school teacher in a remote Hungarian village; participant in 1956 Revolution against the Soviets. He’s slim and has most of his hair, which makes him look younger.

He carries a small notebook with a red leather cover, in which he takes notes from time to time.

JOST, 45, Director of Kek Luba Spa, Psychotherapy Program, a large man with a round face. He wears a dark suit.  A bulging money pouch hangs from his neck. He stands at a lectern throughout the play.

SETTING:

Patio of small rustic Spa Hotel Kek Luba in a Hungarian town. A round table covered with a white cloth holds wine glasses, coasters, napkins. The patio backs up to the kitchen and dining room, whose doors are closed.  It is surrounded by flowers; has a couple of pastel umbrellas.  On a wall to the right hang three sentimental watercolors of “Old Budapest” and a framed piece of embroidery depicting a blue goose under a vivid green tree. MARGARET, GINNY, and ISTVAN are seated around the table waiting for the world famous Madame Fleurette to cure their ills.  She enters, accompanied by Jost

***

JOST

(He uncorks a bottle of wine; fills the three clients’ glasses)

Here, here!  Prosit! Le’chaim! Cheers! Let’s toast the Kek Luba Spa’s honored guest therapist, Madame Fleurette, who will cure you of whatever you came here with. She has            graciously provided us with these bottles of the finest Bull’s Blood, the wine of Hungary!  But because she never drinks while she works, she cannot share this glorious wine.

(ISTVAN, MARGARET, and GINNY clink wine glasses; Madame

Fleurette raises a bottle of Perrier from which where she sits at the head of the table, a small bag just behind her chair; Jost returns to his lectern)

JOST

Let’s begin with Ginny.  Why have you come to this clinic?

GINNY

Dr. Caligari, my present American shrink, says I have a borderline personality disorder.

JOST

Which means in plain English?

GINNY

Sometimes I imagine I’m a whore, sometimes a nun. Deep in my brain I have a bitchy red self, like angry fire, and a sweet-tempered white self, like a wafting summer cloud. But they can shift places when least expected, as if my unconscious was playing chess.

ISTVAN

Sounds crazy, like all you care about is your private self. Typically American.  I didn’t know the group would have such narcissistic nut cases.

(HE WRITES SOMETHING IN HIS NOTEBOOK, WHICH HE DOES AT INTERVALS THROUGHOUT)

MARGARET

(to Istvan) That’s rude. And so is writing in your notebook. (to Jost) Isn’t it against the rules to take notes?

JOST

If you read the list of rules, you’d know that taking notes            is discouraged though permissible if a client insists and does so sparingly.  But interruptions are absolutely against the rules. (Turning towards Ginny) Very interesting, Ginny. But you still haven’t said, Ginny, what made you decide to come here all the way from America.

GINNY

For 20 years I’ve been looking for a cure. Flower therapy, thalassotherapy, Rolfing, color therapy, wheatgrass therapy, deep regression therapy, you name it. Nothing worked. I’m so tired of these shifting selves. Can you help me, Madame Fleurette?

Fleurette?

JOST

Madame cannot answer any questions, but she has much experience working with both whores and nuns.

ISTVAN (laughing)

Now I’ve heard everything.  Whores-nuns-that’s a–

GINNY

You wouldn’t laugh if you had to spend even one day as myself—

JOST (interrupting)

No interruptions.

ISTVAN

Self, self, self. As if nobody else existed, as if the world had no history.

JOST

Enough. We must move on now. The clock is already            ticking. (Brief pause) Now what about you, Margaret? Why are you here?

MARGARET

It’s too hard to explain.

JOST

But you must do your best. Without knowing exactly what she            must cure, Madame Fleurette cannot implement her renowned curative skills. And hurry. Our time here is limited, 50 minutes at most. Because she must be at a spa in Romania early tomorrow.

MARGARET

I hate Romania!  (Pause) And I hate myself for hating Romania.  But I’ve hated that country for years, ever since            they shifted the borders soon after I was born in the beautiful Hungarian town of Ferfiak.  So my birthplace became part of Ro-MAIN-ia.

JOST

A sign of good mental health, as you Americans say, is living in the present, not the past.  Which, of course, has passed.

MARGARET

I want to feel once more the good Hungarian earth beneath my feet.  This town is the closest I can get to Ferfiak. Oh, it’s so confusing            sometimes. I know I can’t turn back the clock, I know hating a country I’ve never seen since I was a girl is not ‘cool,’ as my grandkids would say.  (pause)

Worst of all, Romania knows I can’t stop hating it. So it disguises itself as a crow.

ISTVAN (laughing)

A crow?  Why not a vulture?

MARGARET

Ever since mama and papa told me that story about the border I have felt a black crow flapping its wings inside my heart.  I dream about it all the time: always I’m alone is a field of trash when the crow starts pecking at my throat so I cannot scream. I’m here to get rid of that crow.  Forever.

JOST

Seems you want to be cured not of Romania but your hatred.  Your long time grudge. Madame will do her best.  And you, Istvan?

ISTVAN

I want to be cured of my guilt for letting down my country in Budapest, November, 1956.  The Revolution failed because I could not stop the Soviet            tanks from rushing towards us.  I was 15. Ever since I’ve had terrible nightmares where Stalin is chasing after me and the banks of the Danube are blood-red. Worst of all, I keep hearing the theme from Liszt’s Mephisto Waltz as if I had a gramophone inside my head.  I cannot bear to hear it anymore.

JOST

Very difficult problems.  Guilt, a festering grudge, a double identity.  But Madame Fleurette is famous throughout the world

for helping people help themselves. No magic potions, no drugs, no machines. No crutches, no false cures, no escapes from reality. Please rise and say together: “With the help of God’s healing powers as incarnated in Madame Fleurette I will cure myself of my illness.”

ISTVAN

I hate slogans.  They remind me of the Fascists and Commies.

JOST

You’re wasting precious time.  Take the oath now.

MARGARET

OK, as long as it recognizes the power of God. My family never lost faith in the one and only Lord. Every night we read from the Bible. Both the Old            and New Testaments. Even after God allowed the border to be shifted. Papa believed God was angry with us for not sufficiently honoring the great Magyar nation.  Like Jehovah became furious at those ancient tribes who did not worship Him properly.  So he exiled us to Romania like the Hebrews were exiled to Egypt.

GINNY

I only believe in the Great Earth Goddess Gaia.

JOST

The clock is ticking. Tick-tock.  Take the oath.            Quickly.            We’ve already wasted precious time.

(THEY RISE AND RECITE THE OATH)

JOST

Now I want each of you to summarize your problem in a single word.

ISTVAN

GUILT!

MARGARET

HATRED!

GINNY

One word is not enough for me.  I need at least two.  Please, pretty please, Mr. Jost, can I use two?

JOST

If you must.  I’ll let you get away with two since the therapy has just begun.  But hurry.

GINNY

SPLIT SELVES!

ISTVAN

I know your type, Ginny.  The kind of dame who must always get her way because she thinks she’s so special.

MARGARET

Isn’t everyone special, as my dear Aunt Lotte used to say?            She made a genealogical            tree that shows how            our family goes back to Kaiser Rudolf von Habsburg in            the twelfth century.

GINNY

So what?

JOST (pacing around his lectern)

I order the three of you to stop bickering and focus on your cure.  The next step is to come up with your free associations with the word            will            now give each            of you.  Margaret, what do you associate with the word ROMANIA.

MARGARET

Let’s see. First I think of crows, then vampires, then gypsies, theft. stolen porcelain and jewels, filth, the blacks of Europe–

JOST

Ginny, your word is SLUT. What do you associate with that word?

GINNY

Red scarves, red petticoats, red lights, Amsterdam, marijuana, the 60’s, the Rolling Stones, flower-power, Haight-Ashbury, the            cops, tear gas–

JOST

That’s enough, thank you.

GINNY

Did I do all right, Mr.Jost?

JOST

I’m not giving grades or keeping score.  This is medical treatment not a game. Istvan?

ISTVAN

Of course it’s a game.  A zero-sum game: if you win I lose and

vice-versa.  I refuse to play such games.

JOST

If you obey our rules, you can only win.  If you don’t, you’ll stay sick and have to listen to the Mephisto Waltz the rest            of your life. It’s up to you. Your word is BUDAPEST.

ISTVAN

That’s easy.  Revolution, freedom. . . Soviet tanks. Blood. Guns. Death.

Margaret, your word is CASTLE.

MARGARET

Nobility. Tradition. Men in uniform, women in hooped skirts.

JOST

Thank you.  We’re making progress.

(FLEURETTE nods)

Now answer this question:  What is the earliest memory of something naughty you did as a child. Margaret?

MARGARET

The Romanian invasion of Hungary.  I remember mama and papa weeping about it as if it happened yesterday.

JOST

No.  That’s a deflection. Tell me something naughty you, Margaret, did when you were a child.

MARGARET

But I was a good little girl, always obeyed Mama when she told me to curtsy and come to the table and always listened to Papa even when he lectured us on politics.

JOST

Answer the question.  The clock is ticking.

MARGARET

Once in church I laughed so hard I peed in the pew. God, please excuse me.

(FLEURETTE NODS AGAIN, BUT SAYS NOTHING.)

GINNY

When I was five I peeked inside my parents’ bedroom and caught them having sex.

ISTVAN

I stole my brother’s soccer ball. That’s probably why I couldn’t even toss a Molotov cocktail when the tanks came.

JOST

Good job, all of you. You’re beginning to cross the border from sickness to health.

GINNY

I hate borders. If there were no borders I could just be one self. No conflicts.

ISTVAN

Self, self, self.  If there were no borders everything would be the same!

GINNY

Cool.  All colors would blend in one vast rainbow            above our glorious            earth. Red and white would become a vivid pink. Gold, magenta and turquoise would shine through; blend with each other in one grand chorus.

ISTVAN

Colors forced to blend completely make a muddy gray. Those dreadful Stalinist apartment            blocks along the Danube.            And it took 32 years before we were finally free.  32 wasted years of nightmares and the Mephisto Waltz.  32 years I can never get back.

JOST (pacing)

Hurry.  Please. Madame Fleurette is still waiting            to help you cure yourselves. Right Madame?

(Madame nods)

GINNY

Please, Madame, make them stop talking about borders. Why don’t you ever do anything?

ISTVAN

Madame, I’m sure you’ll agree when I say it’s impossible to ignore the one absolute and final border. The border between life and death.  Once you cross it you can never cross back. Right, Madame?

MARGARET

Not true. You’re forgetting about Jesus.

GINNY

Bull. There’s no such thing as resurrection. Only cycles. Phases. Seasons. Gaia, sometimes known as Demeter, understands that.            Think of her daughter Persephone, dead in the winter, reborn in the spring. That’s the best anyone can hope for.

ISTVAN (aside)

Sounds like she was manic-depressive.

MARGARET

God, what’s happened to the old values?  Why have you let them drift away so nothing’s left except jargon and video games?  That’s all my grandkids talk about.            (Pause) Oh, I’m getting dizzy. The crow is thumping like mad.

(She lowers her head to the table)

GINNY

(bending towards Margaret)

Please let me help you.  I always carry aromatic spirits with me.  They’re great for calming crows.

(She presses a small bottle to release a spray of smelling salts; Margaret sniffs, breathes a sigh of relief)

Ah, that’s good. And I feel good about helping you.  All my life I’ve            been            the one who needed help. One therapist after another until I lost all my pride.

ISTVAN

Nonsense. You’re full of pride. The Jews call it chutzpah, the Greeks call it hubris. Pride to avoid guilt. At least I admit my guilt for letting the Russian tanks end our revolution.

GINNY

Excuse me, Istvan.. But wallowing in guilt can be another form of pride.

MARGARET

Yes.  Almost as bad as playing god.  Like you tried to do back in Budapest, 1956.

JOST

Please, my esteemed guests. Stick to your own problems.

GINNY

Margaret’s right . . . Hey, that’s awesome. I never thought            I could agree with her.

JOST

The clock is ticking. 4 minutes and 30 seconds.  We must move on.

Think now about how you let your inner self punish you like a wicked parent.

GINNY

In plain English, Mr. Jost, you’re talking about inhibitions. What in the olden days, Freud would call the tyranny of the superego.

ISTVAN

Yes. Europe has long gotten over Freud.  Only in America do            a few fanatics take him seriously.  Surely you knew that when you            first opened this clinic?

JOST  (raising his voice)

That’s my business. YOU are the patients, the ones seeking cures.  Not me.

MARGARET

So you think your own sickness is a privilege?  And you have nerve to take our money.

GINNY

Here, here.

JOST

Attacking me will do no good.  It’s just a deflection from your own issues.

ISTVAN

Issues.  What a stupid word.  We’re not magazines, we’re human beings searching to cure our illnesses.            As much as possible. Are you            so pure that your own issues have no effect on us?

GINNY

You’re a fraud.  Worse than my flower-therapist.            His treatments only made me sneeze.

MARGARET

A fake.  A false messiah.

ISTVAN

I want my money back.

JOST

The spa gives no refunds.

ISTVAN

No refunds?

JOST

No. Refunds. Ever.

ISTVAN

I’m going to report you to the Institute of Health Management.  And the Hungarian Tourist Board. You said your clinic’s treatment never failed.            What bullshit!  I suspected from the beginning

you were a money-grubbing phony.  Maybe Madame, too, but at least she kept her mouth shut. (He stands and heads to the door)

MARGARET

Oh my God!  That’s not only rude but sacrilegious.

GINNY

Please don’t go and leave us here with JOST! How will we ever be cured?

(HE STORMS OUT, ACCIDENTALLY KNOCKING OVER FLEURETTE’S PERRIER BOTTLE, WHICH ROLLS T0 A STOP UNDER THE            TABLE)

FLEURETTE

Tsk, tsk.

(JOST STANDS STILL AS IF MADE OF WAX, then says to FLEURETTE)

I’m sorry. Sometimes clients get carried away. Don’t worry.            I’ll get you new water from the kitchen.

(FLEURETTE shakes her head. She turns her chair so she’s facing away from the others, and fetches another bottle of Perrier            from her backpack)

GINNY

I’m shaking all over.. I need my Xanax. Shit, I left it in            my room.  With my Prozac and my Luvox and my Trazodone. I wish I could be brave            as Istvan. (pause)            Now we’re alone, Margaret.

MARGARET

No pills.  Remember?  We’ll manage.  We still have Madame Fleurette.

GINNY

Why don’t you ever say anything, Madame?

MARGARET

Something that will free me from the crow?

GINNY

Hey, look. Istvan forgot his notebook! (She opens it random, begins to read)

GINNY, A FRUSTRATED ACTRESS. DON’T TRUST HER.. . MARGARET, AN OLD UGLY BORE.

MARGARET

How dare he write that?  We should tear up the pages.  Burn            them.  I’ve never been so insulted in my life.

GINNY (continuing to read)

JOST: A CLOSET FASCIST . . .FLEURETTE: DEFINITELY NO LITTLE FLOWER. A FAKE?  A WITCH IN SHRINK’S CLOTHING?

JOST

Give me that notebook.  At once.  (He grabs it from Ginny, begins to ramble in Hungarian before shifting back            to English) A disaster..            Nothing like this has ever happened before. Madame, Do you think we can we continue under the circumstances?

(FLEURETTE NODS)

JOST

Only three minutes left. Madame agrees we have

more work to do.

MARGARET

Kosurum, Madame. Hungarian for thank you. See, I haven’t forgotten my native tongue. Isn’t Madame a dear?  Even though she’s going to abandon us and go to–

JOST

Enough of that crap.  Tell me, ladies, your vision of a perfect day after you are cured.

GINNY

There’s no such thing as a perfect day and I’ll never be completely cured. Maybe I’ll wear pink. No more red or white. And I’ll start a charitable home for prostitutes. Where thy can acquire the skills for a better, healthier career.  Of course, I’ll say goodbye to Dr. Caligari. Good enough?

JOST

That’s for you to decide. Remember the oath: that with the help of  Madame’s silence, you will cure yourselves.

GINNY

You never said anything about her silence. Even Dr. Caligari said

“uh-huh” sometimes.

JOST

Then go back to him. Better, though, if you can convince Caligari

to send some of his patients to this spa. He can come, too, for our special training program.            Margaret?

MARGARET

What does the word “cure” really mean?

JOST

That’s up to you.

MARGARET

The word reminds me of a ham.  Or sausage.

JOST

Answer my question.

MARGARET

If you insist.  At least I would stop dreaming about the crow.

That would be cure enough. And I would travel, maybe even to Romania. Do you think Madame would let            me go there with her tomorrow?

JOST

You’ll have to ask her. Maybe you’ll see her outside. But we’re nearly out of time.  In less than two minutes, we must leave this patio for the next group of guests.

MARGARET

Oh dear.  What’s that noise?  I hope the crow isn’t acting            up again.

(ISTVAN RUSHES BACK IN, SHOUTING AND POUNDING HIS FIST ON THE TABLE)

ISTVAN

I left my notebook here.  Where the hell is it? I must have it. (HE SWEEPS HIS HANDS ACROSS THE TABLE, BRUSHING THE WINE GLASSES TO THE FLOOR.) Who took it? HE FORCES GINNY’S HANDS OPEN, PATS MARGARET’S BLOUSE, EXTENDS HIS FISTS TOWARDS JOST)

JOST (cowering)

Stop.  Before I report you to the police.  I’m sure you don            ‘t want to spend time in jail again.  Like after the            Revolution failed.

ISTVAN

That was a long time ago.  I did my best. It was not my fault.

Give me my notebook!  Now! I know you have it

JOST (walking towards FLEURETTE)

What shall I do Madame?  Please help me.

(FLEURETTE REMAINS SILENT, WITH A SLIGHT HINT OF A SMILE. JOST RETRIEVES THE NOTEBOOK, GIVES IT TO ISTVAN)

ISTVAN

Ah, my precious notebook. Made in Paris.  With its red leather cover lined with gold borders. Holy shit, borders again. (Turns to Margaret and Ginny)

I guess I should have stuck to Hungarian instead of practicing my written English.  My apologies. (Carefully removes a few pages)

Here. I’ve ripped out any references in English to any of you.

MARGARET

But the good Lord only knows what you wrote in Hungarian.            I wish I remembered more of my noble native tongue, but in America Mama and Papa insisted I learn English.                                                            ”

JOST

Off the point, both of you.  (to Istvan)  We were talking about what one            might do once cured. Answer and we’ll forget about the notebook. If you promise not to write anything in it the rest of the session.

ISTVAN

And what if I do?  Will you report me to the KGB? They still have power in this country, in case you don’t know.

JOST

I think you don’t want to be cured.

ISTVAN

Because there’s no such thing as a cure when it comes to the human mind.  A bit of improvement maybe.  So instead of the Mephisto Waltz I might hear a gypsy violin playing some sad old song like my grandfather used to play.  That I could tolerate.  In fact, learning to tolerate one’s foibles and failures is the closestanyone can come to a cure.

JOST (to Madame in an exasperated voice)

Again I apologize.  I’ve never heard such defiance in all my years of running this clinic.  What should I do, Madame?

(MADAME FLEURETTE REMAINS SILENT)

ISTVAN

Just to make you happy, Mr. Jost, I’ll answer your question. On a perfect day I’d take off for America. See for myself what it’s all about. Secretly learn to play the banjo for a rock band. And try to understand hip-hop.

GINNY

Why secretly?

ISTVAN

Because most of my life I’ve been controlled by secrets.

Like the Commies’ secret codes.  And after 1989, the capitalists made up their own codes. Like shrinks do: Borderline Personality Disorder 322.68. Hypomania 589.28. As if human pains can be separated like            stripes.

JOST

(clapping his hands between each number) 10.9.8

GINNY

Makes sense to me.  Like my red self will blend with my white self. I feel it already.

(From outside there comes from a radio the melody of an old gypsy song)

ISTVAN

Hear that?  Just like my grandfather.  He learned it from an itinerant Romanian musician.  It became very popular.

MARGARET

Yes.  I remember that song from when I was a child in Hungary.

So beautiful. (pause)  Look, everyone, my crow is gone. It’s already above the trees.

GINNY

Coo-well.  Really cool.

JOST

6./5/.4.

MARGARET

I feel like dancing.  For the first time in years.

GINNY

Then do it!

MARGARET

I’m afraid I’ll make a mistake. Mama always said I was a

klutz.

ISTVAN

So what? Learn to put up with it. Like I can now tolerate my cowardice back in 1956.

GINNY

And I can learn to combine my whorish and spiritual fantasies. Whoopee!

JOST

3./2./1.

(A shrill sound from an alarm clock he keeps in his pocket) Time’s up.  Madame Fleurette must leave now and get ready for Romania.

(Fleurette smiles, says goodbye—her first spoken words–and exits)

GINNY

Hey, I get it!  Madame was a -god–no, a goddess–a divinity.

I can’t wait to tell Dr. Caligari.            Even though I said I would stop seeing him.

ISTVAN

Forget about Dr. Caligari. You worshipped him as if he were the god of gods.  He might even agree, if for a moment he could stop playing god. Like all the rest of the shrinks.  Except, of course, for Madame Fleurette.

JOST

You must all leave at once!  That’s an order. You have already exceeded your time limit.  I will have to insist each of you pay a surcharge.

GINNY, MARGARET, and ISTVAN together

That’s crazy!!   Madame Fleurette, where are you? Please come back, Madame!

JOST

Madame is gone. The surcharge will appear on your            final bill.                                                                        (Exits)

ISTVAN

I have no intention of paying it. Nor should either of you.

MARGARET

But I’m so afraid the crow will return if I don’t obey. And now that Madame is gone I have no one to worship.

ISTVAN

Nonsense. There’s no need to worship anyone.  The            mind itself will be sufficient.            I think Madame would agree with you.  As long as you let her believe in her own godliness.

GINNY

If you’re right I guess it means she hasn’t cured herself yet.

(All three laugh)

I’m going to buy a bottle of the best Bull’s Blood. For my red

dreams. And Hungarian chardonnay for my white dreams. Also a bottle of their best merlot for me.

MARGARET

And I’m going to look for a Bible, if they sell such a thing here. And study Romanian for when I visit the town of my birth.

ISTVAN

I’m going to turn my journal into a book that exposes the Kek Luba Spa. Especially Mr. Jost. In Hungarian and English, so Americans will also know the truth.

(Istvan folds the previously ripped off pages back into his notebook. Ginny gives Margaret and Istvan a high-5, Margaret attempts a few dance steps in place.  Everyone exits.)

***

THE END

“                                                            “

REQUIEM FOR FREUD’S SISTERS
copyright  ⊄ by Barbara F. Lefcowitz

In Memory of
Regina Deborah Freud Graf  (Rosa) 1860-1942
Maria Freud Moritz (Mitzi) 1861-1942
Esther Adolfine Freud (Dolfi) 1862-1943
Paulina Regina Freud Winternitz  (Pauli) 1864-1942

CHARACTERS
ROSA, oldest of Freud’s sisters
DOLFI, second to youngest of the sisters
HILDE SCHUSSNIG, 45, Freud family’s former maid, an “Aryan”
TWO GESTAPO OFFICERS
SIGMUND FREUD (O.S.)

SETTING A nearly dark cramped flat in Leopoldstadt, Vienna’s lower middle class Jewish district.

SYNOPSIS
The founder of psychoanalysis, Dr.Sigmund Freud managed to escape to London
from Nazi-occupied and violently anti-Semitic Vienna in 1938, but left his four elderly sisters in Vienna from where they were eventually transported by cattle car to the Treblinka concentration camp and died in its gas chambers. This sad fact is not widely known—at best it’s a footnote in biographies of Freud—but it’s full of implications about Freud himself, his attitude towards women, as well as such universal themes as rivalry, anger, and denial.
I focus on two of the sisters (Rosa and Dolfi)  for the sake of dramaturgical economy. The action takes place in a shabby Vienna flat the evening before the Gestapo arrives to haul off the sisters prior to their transport. Because many such transports have already taken place, the sisters are aware they might be next, but react in different ways. Rosa embodies a bitter awareness of reality while Dolfi takes refuge in a dreamlike passivity.
The events are real though I’ve reshaped history in some small ways—e.g. introducing the character of Hilde, the Freuds’ former maid, and some details of life in the Jewish ghettos of Vienna before and during World War Two. The script makes ironic  use of populat music of the time, like Strauss waltzes,  and at one point includes a flashback to Freud giving a lecture in London while his sisters await the Gestapo in Vienna.  I do not supply any false hopes to make the material less dark; rather I aim to engage the audience emotionally.

REQUIEM FOR FREUD’S SISTERS

(As the lights dim, two elderly women, thin white-haired ROSA, who wears her hair in a bun, and plump gray-blonde DOLFI, sit in shabby upholstered chairs.  Between them is a sideboard with a large framed photo of Freud that faces the audience, a small crystal vase, and sterno cans.  The left wall, which leads to their sleeping alcove, has a bookcase with boxes of papers; a menorah sits on the top shelf.  Against the right wall a small table holds a ceramic lamp, the sole source of illumination aside from the sterno cans. On that wall there hangs a sentimental landscape of mountains and a lake; a faded oriental rug covers most of the floor.
The one window, behind the sideboard, is covered with a thick maroon velvet drape, but through a gap the audience can see a Nazi flag extended from a storefront.   The door to the outside is on the right.  An old valise lies nearby. It is late evening. )
***************
ROSA
(Dressed in shapeless peasant frock. French jeweled sandals
barely fit over her swollen ankles. She is shuffling through papers between packing the valise along with Dolfi)

Hilde, where are you?  Damn your blonde Nazi face.

DOLFI
(Wears a similar frock, but with a softer neckline, small scarf of yellowed
lace.  Barefoot. She rubs a rag over two old shoes; places them in the valise along with the rag)

I’m sure she’ll be here soon. She was so devoted to our brother.  How could she let us down?

ROSA
Damn our famous brother too!   The . Great.  Dr.  Sigmund.  Freud.  Didn’t give a shit about us when that French whore bribed the Gestapo for his visas.

DOLFI
But she was a Princess.

ROSA
Stop believing in fairy tales.
(Shakes a finger at DOLFI, as if admonishing a child, sighs)
Ach, Hurry up, Hilde. You said you’d come for us by 8.  ‘Have the money ready. And everything packed. They’re getting closer.’  As if we didn’t know that!  As if every Jew is Leopoldstadt didn’t know that.
(She opens the valise, adds a couple of worn paintbrushes.)
DOLFI
If only Sigmund was alive.  I know he’d rescue us.
ROSA
(She retrieves a kitchen match from her pocket, rubs it against a sandal, but it does
not ignite.  Walks to the valise and opens it, putting in the sandal and its mate as well as
the menorah)

The dead can’t rescue anyone. Soon we’ll be dead, too. When will you get it through your skull that when he left for London, he knew he was leaving us here to die. What a joke he died first!  Shit, I wish we had some cigarettes.

DOLFI
I can’t believe he would do a thing like that.   How could he possibly know how bad the situation would get for Jews after he left?  If anything happened, he was sure his name would protect us.
Hey, be careful with those matches.

ROSA
(sarcastic laugh)
Of course he knew!  About the Nazis, about Austria’s pact with Germany. Why do you think he was so anxious to leave Vienna?
DOLFI
He was sick.  And thought he could get better medical care in London.

ROSA
Who were we compared with his cancer?  Useless old women.  O he was so ashamed of
us.  How could His Holiness, the God of Berggasse 19, of Western Civilization, the world—more brilliant than Newton, Copernicus, Einstein, and Darwin put together—
How could such a God have such plain sisters?
(She rises, letting some papers drop to the floor, and speaks with fake British accent)
So sorry.  These are my servants.  Kindly ignore them, my dear British friends.  They’re only women.
(Retrieves and tosses some papers towards photo of Freud. They fly helter-skelter, land
on the rug.)
DOLFI
Bite your tongue!  Never say bad things about the dead. Never. Watch out, you’ll break that crystal vase.
ROSA
So what?   It’s not worth a pfennig. They took all the good stuff to London.
DOLFI
Why are you so angry at him?  He did his best.
ROSA
I’m an  artiste, that’s why.  And artists have deeper feelings.  We can see the truth more than ordinary people.
(She makes a dismissive gesture towards the vase, sits again)
Such an ugly little vase.  My own paintings are gone because of  him, no room here.
We had to sell them for a few pfennigs.  To think that I got accepted by the Vienna Academy of Arts. (Laughs) The same school that rejected Adolph Hitler!   Now there’s only that one landscape left.  Surely it won’t fit in that little valise.
(Points towards murky landscape on the wall)
I should have gone to Paris with all the other great painters.  But he wouldn’t let me.
DOLFI
I’m so happy to be ordinary.  God prefers people like me.  We don’t curse Him like you do.
ROSA
God is dead, as the great Nietzsche said.  That doesn’t mean we can’t curse him. Same as we can curse our dead brother. (pause) Where the hell is that fucking Hilde?
DOLFI
Be patient.  She’ll come soon.  You’re always in such a rush.

ROSA
It’s getting late.  The bastards are getting closer and closer. And we’re almost out of food and money.
DOLFI
We can always get something from IZZY SHAPIRO.   He’ll surely give us credit.
ROSA
(Laughs)
IZZY SHAPIRO.  The last so-called kosher butcher.  With hair curling from his ears. Who can’t even speak good German, babbles in Yiddish, that lower class language of Jews from the East. Who sells pigs’ feet to the last Jews of Leopoldstadt.
(Mocking tone)
‘Just pay me with your gold. And your diamonds.’   Jew or not Jew, he’s no fucking different from Hilde and the rest of them.
(pause)
Oh why didn’t I go to Paris?  Despite Siggie.  I even took lessons in French from Madame
Kleinfeld.  Until she disappeared one night.  I would have loved the bridges, the grand architecture,  Le Place d’Etoile.   Why oh why didn’t I go?
DOLFI
So why didn’t you?  You were always the daring one.  I was happy to stay with him and help.  When he and his wife lived on Berggasse I used to keep that vase filled with flowers.
(Removes a book from bookcase, slips it in the valise)
ROSA
Why are you doing that?  We’re almost out of room.
DOLFI
Because it’s by him.
ROSA
(laughs)
Bet you never read a word he wrote.  (pause)  Yes, you were always very good to him. Almost like a servant.  I’m sorry for you, I really am.  Sorry he abandoned you like
he did to me and his old aunt.  She’s dead now from typhus.  (pause) You certainly had away with flowers.

DOLFI
‘He loved mums. Once yellow water spilled onto his couch. As if someone had peed there, but Hilde cleaned it up right away.  So loyal.  And now she’ll take care of us.

ROSA
(Picks up some of the papers, begins to tear them into small pieces.  They land on
rug.  She pulls out another match but doesn’t try to light it; instead she puts it in
her mouth, chews on the wooden end, removes it as if it were a cigarette)
Maybe he was the one who peed.  Like he did in New York, according to Jung.  Sorry.
Want a match?  It’s almost as good as a cigarette.

DOLFI
No thank you.  Ach, I wish I could have gone to America.   All those wonderful high buildings, castles in the sky.

ROSA
(Laughs, removes a letter from its envelope)
He would have dragged you back here.   Because HE hated America.
Listen to this from his visit in 1909:
(Starts to read from letter. DOLFI looks away)
‘America is a mistake. A gigantic mistake but a mistake nonetheless. ‘
(Laughs again, crumples letter)
JUNG said America gave SIGMUND diarrhea. And he made him faint.  Poor, poor Siggie.
DOLFI
I bet New York has beautiful flowers.
ROSA
Time is running out and all you can talk about is flowers?
DOLFI
(Shades her eyes with her hands, speaks in a dreamy voice)
Mums the size of moons.

ROSA
Mums. Death flowers. Death masks.  Everywhere around him death.  Herr Dr. Tod  Dr. Sigismund Death.  That whole office reeked from death. Like his breath—all those stinking cigars.  Even Hilde couldn’t keep their ashes from falling all over the place.
(Fake cough)
DOLFI
(Rises to face ROSA directly)
Can’t you ever say anything good about him? Did you even say thank you for your art lessons ?   Let alone the money he left us?  All you did was curse.
ROSA
Barely enough for us to eat.  Now all that’s left goes to Hilde, that blonde Nazi peasant.  Now it’s all up to her, our last chance to escape. (pause)  Ach, now I’ll never see Paris.
DOLFI
Why escape?  Vienna is our home.
ROSA
It was his home too.   Until he escaped.
(Puts another match between her teeth, removes it, pretends to be shaking its “ashes”)
Oh, poor, poor Siggie.  His dogs were more important than us. Who else would do tricks for him, lick his hands.  Like his beautiful women patients.
DOLFI
Stop that.  What’s past is past.  You look pale. Want a cup of tea?
ROSA
(Doesn’t respond, rises to remove another box of papers from bookcase)
And we sit here in Leopoldstadt eating turnips and pigs’ feet. On a street full of Jews from Poland and Russia. who can’t even speak German.  Loud Yiddish voices.   He’s lucky he’s dead.  At least the Nazis didn’t pull out his beard.  Servants took care of his least wish.
And we sit here waiting for a knock on the door.
(She begins to pace around the room)
***
(The figure of SIGMUND FREUD appears in shadows on left corner of the stage. Lights dim to half.  Spotlight on Freud.  He stands at a podium, smoking a cigar, reads from
“Civilization   & Its Discontents.”   The sisters are frozen in space and time, so not to distract from Freud.
FREUD
Men are not gentle, friendly creatures wishing for love, who simply defend themselves if they are attacked, but a powerful measure of desire for aggression has to be reckoned as part of their instinctual endowment.
Their neighbor is to them not only a possible helper or sexual object, but also a temptation to gratify their aggressiveness on him, to exploit his capacity for work without recompense, to use him sexually without his consent, to seize his possessions, to
humiliate him, to cause him pain, to torture and to kill him.
(He looks around, points as if to audience)
You ask, sir, if I mean that men are savage beasts to whom the thought of sparing their own kind is alien?
Yes.  When their basic instincts are allowed to break through the boundaries of their ego and superego.
(The lights dim slowly on Freud.  He vanishes into the blackness. Voices fade.  Lights dim up in the living room.  Dolfi is speaking)

DOLFI
(Picking up the previous conversation)
What do you mean?  It’s not a sewer, Vienna is a beautiful city.  St. Stefan’s Cathedral, the Belvedere, Schonbrunn Castle.  Cafes on the Ringstrasse  with the best china and silver.  Better than they had on Berggasse .
(Covers her eyes, dreamy voice)
Ach, those chestnut trees in back of the house.  All those statues in his office.  Everyday I would dust them.   Better than Hilde.  And the trains with velvet seats we took in the summer to Baden-Baden when Papa let us come with him.
ROSA:
(seated again)
Now they’re all death trains.
DOLFI
(Places other shoe with its mate in front of bookcase)
God knows where you get such crazy ideas. How about a biscuit?   There’s a bit of sausage left.

ROSA
No, thank you.   I’m not hungry. Jews are scrubbing the streets.  The acid makes their hands fall off.
DOLFI
I don’t want to hear such things.
ROSA
Yesterday I looked out and saw a crowd pulling away the crutches of this old Jewish man. And laughing when he fell into the gutter.
DOLFI
I never look out the window any more.   It’s nice enough inside here with your beautiful painting to look at.  You were such a good artist. Anyway, what’s all that crazy stuff got to do with us?  We had a famous brother.
ROSA
Yes, the late great healer.   All he cared about were men’s pricks.
(She tosses some of the torn paper in the air; they fall like bits of dirty snow)
Scheisse!  This place is filthy.  Scheisse, Scheisse !
(Knock on door. DOLFI opens it and HILDE SCHUSSNIG enters.  She’s a shapely     woman, about 45, wears a stylish black suit and a feathered red hat on her light blonde hair; carries a small basket and a large handbag.   She and DOLFI
kiss each other on alternate cheeks, European style.  Rosa does not move from
her chair.)
HILDE
(Placing basket on small table)
Look. I bring you  apples. Herr BLEICH would kill me if he knew I bought fruit for Jews from his store.  But you were such a good family to work for.  I hated to leave.  But I had to. Or else I would catch the Jew sickness and die.

DOLFI
How sweet of you.
ROSA
(Rises and picks up basket of apples,, speaks in sarcastic voice)
Thank  you for risking your life with Herr BLEICH.
HILDE
(Walking around and looking at things; rubs her fingers alone the painting’s frame)
Now I risk my life to save you. Another major roundup of Jews has started.—But there’s still time for me to help you escape.  I hope you have packed your valise.
ROSA
(Approaches Hilde)
Really?  You keep us waiting for hours.  How can we trust you?
HILDE
(Backs away from ROSA)
Would I lie? FRANZ and I will take care of you. You’ll eat roast goose on our farm, pork schnitzel from our own pigs.   And walk with the Steinbergs in the beautiful Vienna Woods.
ROSA
The Steinbergs.  Nobody’s heard from them since they disappeared one night
HILDE
They’re very well on the farm.  But they must keep it a secret, like the other people we rescued.  We’re one happy family.  Now give me the money, please, the 10,000 marks. .
Then let’s go.  I see you have already packed your valise..
ROSA
You asked for only 5000 last week.

HILDE
(with a slight smile)
Things have gotten more dangerous since then.  My contacts now demand more.
10,000.  That’s a real bargain.  Others have paid me 20, even 30,000 to risk helping them escape.
ROSA
We don’t have 10,000.  Will you accept 7000?
HILDE
Absolutely not.   Leave it to a Jew to try to bargain.    10,000.  Aren’t your lives worth 10,000 marks?  Go look for the rest. I’m sure it’s hidden somewhere in this filthy flat.
(turns towards DOLFI, who’s sitting with her eyes closed)
Find the money, Dolfi.   Surely you know.  You were his favorite.  And mine, too.
You would have made a good Austrian hausfrau if you’d gotten married.  Even though you’re a Jewess.
(She takes DOLFI by the arm)
We can search for it together.  But we must hurry.  Before I help you escape you must give me the rest of the money.  I know you have it. Your famous brother left you at least 80,000 marks when he left.  I know everything about you. Find it!
(Still holding DOLFI’S arm, HILDE pulls her to the bookcase and insists she empty it.  Her open handbag hangs from her other arm; books and boxes of Freud’s papers fall onto the rug)

ROSA
(to HILDE)
We don’t have it.  Our brother left us that money four years ago.  We had to eat, pay the rent.
(HILDE and DOLFI continue to empty the bookcase; more books and papers fall onto the rug.  DOLFI bends, tries to pick some up with her free arm but HILDE pushes her back up
and she is forced to continue emptying the bookcase)
HILDE
Hurry.  Time is running out.
ROSA
(Turns towards HILDE)
All right.  I promise I will get you the rest of the money.  From the bank, soon as I can get there.  I’m sure I can find the extra 5000 there.
HILDE
(Laughing)
What bank? There’s no more Jewish banks.   You think I’m an idiot?  I must go now, the streets are getting more dangerous every minute.  Much more dangerous.   Fires, soldiers, guards with guns and whips.  I must get to your neighbor Mrs. Weiss. She’s  willing to pay 50,000. . .
ROSA
Just a few more seconds.
(She walks towards the packed valise, which is on the floor near the door, opens it and retrieves a large stuffed sock, shakes it so bits of broken glass fall to the floor. DOLFI is still scanning the books as if looking for something by Freud.  HILDE is  moving slowly towards the door.  ROSA stops her and extends the sock towards her)
ROSA
Our mother’s diamonds.  Inside this sock..   They’re worth thousands.  At least 50 or 60,000.
Here.  Take them in addition to the 7000 marks. And now let’s go.

HILDE
(laughing and pushing away the sock)
You think I’m an idiot  who can’t tell diamonds from glass?
(laughs even louder)
In case you don’t know, I took your Mama’s diamonds a long time ago.  From Berggasse.  To keep them safe when they left for London.
(She leaves after slipping the small crystal vase in her handbag, kicks the valise across the room, slams the door)
ROSA
HILDE was our last chance, that bitch.
(She stands, still holds the sock)
DOLFI
Calm down for God’s sake. Let me look again.  There must be more money lying around.
ROSA
No. I’m absolutely sure.  Get it into your head that we barely have 1000. Scarcely enough for us to eat.  Far from enough to pay Hilde the 10,000 she wants. The bitch is gone.  Now we’re on our own. Wonder who else she bribed, that nasty two-timing Nazi bitch.  Oh, sorry.  I know you don’t like words like that.
DOLFI
I’ve heard  from Izzy Shapiro that the Germans are promising their trains will take Jews to the country until the war is over.  Maybe  even the Black Forest where everything is magic.  Like in that movie about a wizard.
(Sings a few words Where Happy Little Bluebirds Fly. ..)

ROSA
(Sitting down and holding her hands to her head)
You make me sick. Get it into your thick head: nobody comes back after the Gestapo drags them off.  Nobody!  Never! Like the STEINBERGS.  All of them.   Even the old mother.  And the BAUMGARTNERS and Dr. RUBINSTEIN’S family.  Never, never, never!  Soon there won’t be a Jew left in Vienna.
DOLFI
I’m sure they are very happy in the country.  God is taking care of them. Until the Spirit of  SIGMUND sends a carriage to take us to London.   Beautiful London. In a picture I once saw its big bridge.
ROSA
I cannot understand how you can believe that bullshit!
(She begins to bang her fists on the wall)
God.  Gott. Gott in Himmel! Fuck KARL LUEGER, that Anti-Semite!  Fuck DOLLFUSS.  HITLER. SIGGIE. GOD. All the same. Fuck them all.
(Laughs)
Where was God when my Hermann was killed in the war? Where was he when my MAUSI took veronal ?   God.  Where is He now?  He never liked the Jews even though we made him up in the first place.
DOLFI
Maybe He didn’t like how we made him up.
ROSA
So little our brother left us.
DOLFI
Sigmund meant the best for us.  How could he know prices would go up?  And how the situation for Jews would get so much worse? You can’t blame him.  Especially now that he’s dead.
ROSA
The dead cast long shadows.  He said so himself .
DOLFI
I’m not as smart as you.  He never gave me any lessons.
ROSA
Any minute they’ll be here.  And you want to babble about lessons!
(Hands the sock to DOLFI, who shakes it slightly)
Stop. There’ll be glass all over the place.  Not that I’m going to stay here like a goat just waiting to be sacrificed.    I’m going out to find someplace to hide, maybe a sewer.  If I hadn’t stupidly trusted Hilde I would have done so yesterday.
DOLFI
(Flings sock back into the still open valise)
Do what you want.   I’m not going.  I’m staying here.  God will take care of me.  Like He took care of Isaac in the Bible.

ROSA
What God?  You’re out of your mind.   Enjoy the ride to the country and give my regards to the STEINBERGS and the BAUMGARTNERS.
(She turns her head, looks around the flat)
Wait. I got a better idea.
(She reaches into valise and removes the French sandals, rubs a kitchen
match    from her pocket against one of them, but it does not ignite.)
DOLFI
Get rid of those matches.  You’ll set the place on fire!
ROSA
Good. That’s what it deserves.  Like old people.  Especially old women left behind to die.  Get ready to jump out the window before the flat burns down.  They’ll think the Nazis pushed you.
(Footsteps on offstage stairs, gradually getting louder, followed by banging
right-hand offstage door, then a loud crash as officers  break down door.
DOLFI retreats into the  O.S. alcove just in time.
FIRST OFFICER shoves ROSA down onto the sofa)

FIRST OFFICER
Well, if it isn’t ROSA FREUD. Sister of the famous doctor!
Where did you get those beautiful Jew eyes?  Where?

ROSA
(defiant voice)
From my Aryan parents.  And my Aryan grandparents and their parents—
SECOND OFFICER
Jews are the best.  They know how to make money. ROTHSCHILD, the richest man in Austria.  And they’re smart.  Doctors, lawyers, professors.
FIRST OFFICER
Too smart for their own good.  Sieg heil!
(Extends his hand in Nazi salute,   SECOND OFFICER does the same, laughs.
He looks around the flat, taking menorah from open valise
and throwing against a wall where it lands under ROSA’s painting.)
FIRST OFFICER
(pointing pistol)
Where is your sister?

SECOND OFFICER
(Reading from a sheet of paper he takes from a pocket, along with a stamp)
REGINA DEBORAH FREUD GRAF, KNOWN AS ROSA.  (He stamps out her name)
ADOLFINE FREUD,  KNOWN AS DOLFI.
(Looks at ROSA)
Where is she?   Tell us .  At once!
ROSA
(she begins to scream)
I don’t know.  Ask HILDE SCHUSSNIG.  I’m sure she can tell you more.
SECOND OFFICER
Where’s DOLFI?  I bet you’re hiding her.  Tell us!
ROSA
I will not.  Absolutely not.
(SECOND OFFICER pulls ROSA up. FIRST OFFICER points his pistol at her and fires a shot, which barely misses her.  The bullet bounces off left wall, near entrance to the sleeping alcove. DOLFI emerges, crouching, from the alcove)
DOLFI
(Offering some coins to SECOND OFFICER)
Here.  For you.
SECOND OFFICER
(Frowns and says “Jew money” but stuffs the coins in a pocket)
You won’t need any money now. The trains are free. Everything free.
DOLFI
What trains?  I want to stay here.   I’ll make you strudel.  The best in Vienna.
(Officers laugh , pin her down on sofa)

ROSA
(still standing, snarling at DOLFI)
Stop toadying, for God’s sake.
DOLFI
Let go of me!
(She tries to kick one of the officers in the groin; he twists her foot until she cries out with pain)
Take ROSA!
She’s much smarter than me.    I’ll wait here for God to rescue me.  Take ROSA!  She’s an artist!  She’ll paint your portraits –
ROSA
(to DOLFI)
You bitch.  You little bitch of a sister.
(Officers haul out both sisters. As they do so, exiting right, they whistle
“The Blue Danube,” slightly off-key.)
(Silence, then an excerpt of Mozart’s Requiem. Set darkens.  FREUD appears in shadows
on left corner of stage.  Lights dim up. He walks back and forth, repeating “ to use him sexually without his consent, to seize his possessions, to humiliate him, to cause him pain, to torture and to kill him.”  Vanishes into the darkness.
THE END
NOTES BELOW WILL BE ADAPTED TO PROGRAM NOTES, N0T SPOKEN
That night ROSA and DOLFI, joined later by their sisters MITZI and PAULI, who were turned in by Hilde, entered the darkness that will lead to their deaths in the gas chambers of Treblinka, along with millions of other people there and in the other camps.
The name Freud was no help though a commandant recognized it and pretended to release ROSA so she could return to Vienna on the next train. In the meanwhile, she could refresh herself for the journey in the nice clean shower.  .  . She tried to jump over an electrified metal fence, dies immediately.
DOLFI lived the longest, probably because she was younger and strong enough to be assigned to forced labor, but died of malnutrition in 1943.
Their brother SIGMUND, after escaping to London in 1938, continued to write and practice psychoanalysis until his death from cancer of the jaw in September 1939, a few weeks before the Nazi invasion of Poland.  A merciful death: he knew the prospects for European Jews were deteriorating, but he never knew the worst.
Did he ever think about his sisters? Nobody knows. Like the sisters themselves the question is moot.
***