DEBS IN PRISON

This play is dedicated to my sister, Coleen Harty

NOTE: The words in the Eugene Debs speech in the play are taken from his June, 1918, Canton, Ohio speech that led to his eventual conviction and sentencing. The poem in the middle of the play is from Ben Jonson and the poem at the end is from Walt Whitman.

(Lights up on a jail in Canton, Ohio; it is October, 1918)

BERNETTE: I heard there were some new gals comin’ in tonight.

FRANCINE: Oh? I hadn’t heard anything.

BERNETTE: That’s what I heard. New gals. Bunch of pretty young things from what I heard.

FRANCINE: How would anyone know that? That they’re pretty.

BERNETTE: They’re gettin’ booked now. I got eyes and ears everywhere. Laundry. Library. Booking. Outside. Cigarette?

FRANCINE: No.

BERNETTE: I can give you a free one. Rolled them myself.

FRANCINE: I . . . don’t smoke.

BERNETTE: Honey, you smoke—you just don’t know it.

FRANCINE: I always get nervous for the new girls. Where did you get tobacco?

BERNETTE: I got my connections, like I said. Black Market Bernie, that’s what they call me.

FRANCINE: I didn’t know that. I’ve never heard anyone call you that. In ten years I’ve only heard Bernette.

BERNETTE: Black Market Bernette then. In ten years I think you’re the only one who’s called me by my real name. I don’t care.

FRANCINE: It’s illegal, isn’t it? Selling tobacco and things in prison.

BERNETTE: Honey, if you didn’t read the guidebook the people who live here are criminals.

FRANCINE: I don’t think like that. Criminal sounds so bad. I see them all—us all—as women who made choices for their own reasons, and those choices landed us here.

BERNETTE: You made a bad choice then, didn’t ya?

FRANCINE: You know that’s a subject I don’t like.

BERNETTE: Yeah, well, there’s a lot I don’t like about this joint. You’re such a sensitive gal for sittin’ ten years in the slammer. You need to enjoy life a little more. You need to be concerned more for yourself than for others. It’s the only way to survive.

FRANCINE: As you said, I’ve been here ten years. I think I’ve figured out how to survive.

BERNETTE: I’ve survived twenty, Francine. Twenty years in the hoosegow and twenty more days to go. Yes, you’ve survived, but who runs this place, you or me?

FRANCINE: If you get parole.

BERNETTE: What?

FRANCINE: Twenty more days to go—if you get parole.

BERNETTE: Oh, I’ll get it. I’ve been a model prisoner. And I have friends in all the right places. (Pause) Can’t wait to see the new girls.

FRANCINE: It makes me sad whenever anyone gets sent here. Pretty, ugly, young, old, it’s always sad. But I do wonder why a whole group of young girls would be brought in at once. It makes me sad. This is no place for young or pretty girls.

BERNETTE: This ain’t no place for nobody.

FRANCINE: I don’t know. There are a few who should probably be here.

(They stop as they hear a loud voice and then the sound of a cell door opening; Barb enters; there is a sound of the door closing; they all examine each other for a moment)

BERNETTE: Ain’t you a pretty young thing?

BARB: Well, I never . . . this is unacceptable. (She turns and starts yelling out of the cell) Get me out of here! You cannot leave me here! Do you know who I am!? You wait til my Daddy hears about this! You are going to be so sorry! Come back here! Don’t you dare walk away from me! Don’t you dare! Don’t dare. Grrhh. (She turns back toward the other two women) Well, what are you two staring at? Have you never seen a woman before?

FRANCINE (turning away): I’m sorry.

BERNETTE: She is, believe me.

BARB: You may go back to whatever you were doing. Don’t mind me.

BERNETTE: We were waiting for you, dear, just waiting for you.

FRANCINE: Hello, my name is Francine. This is Bernette.

BERNETTE: They call me Big Bernie.

BARB: How quaint.

BERNETTE: What are you in for?

BARB: A big surprise, apparently. What are you in for?

BERNETTE: Twenty years.

BARB: I meant the crime.

BERNETTE: Murder.

(Barb laughs)

FRANCINE: She’s serious.

BARB: You?

BERNETTE: My husband didn’t take the garbage out. It was the last straw.

BARB (laughing): That is funny indeed. You do not kill a man for failing to take the garbage out.

BERNETTE: You do when he was taking out every other piece of trash in town.

BARB: Oh.

BERNETTE: I told you it was the last straw.

BARB: Oh.

BERNETTE: Yes, oh. Lesson number one: don’t mess with Bernette. Bam-Bam Bernie, they call me, and I’ll bam-bam you from here to China.

FRANCINE: I’ve never once heard you called that.

BERNETTE: Some of them call me that.

BARB (crossing to Francine): And you? What are you in for? Is that what I’m supposed to ask? I don’t know the rules.

FRANCINE: I don’t like to talk about it.

BARB: I’m sure it’s not murder. You look like you couldn’t hurt a flea.

BERNETTE: Oh, if fleas could speak. She looks innocent enough, don’t she? But she’s got secrets; we all do. I know what her secret is.

FRANCINE: You don’t, and please don’t.

BERNETTE: Sometimes the brightest lights create the darkest shadows. That’s what my preacher says sometimes. I’m not sure what it means but I like it. I like the sound of it, the way it rolls off the tongue, and it feels like it’s true. Sometimes you have to trust what feels true.

BARB: Your preacher?

BERNETTE: We get ministry, right here in the prison.

BARB: Well, that’s a blessing, isn’t it? I’m hoping not to be here by Sunday.

BERNETTE: That’s tomorrow.

BARB: I know what day of the week it is. Please don’t treat me like a child.

FRANCINE: And you? Why are you here? You seem out of place.

BARB: Well, that’s because I am out of place. And out of sorts. I’m here because my best friend . . .

(The sound of the cell door opening interrupts her; Angie enters; the door closes)

ANGIE: Oh, thank goodness you’re safe.

BARB: Speaking of my best friend.

BERNETTE: Well, hello, and welcome to our humble abode.

ANGIE: Thank you. (Looking around, to no one in particular) I cannot believe I am in a prison. Or a jail, whatever it is.

BERNETTE: Jail.

ANGIE: I know what it’s like to be incarcerated now. I understand that oppression. (To Bernette and Francine) Know that I am in solidarity with you, sisters. I deplore the miserable conditions in which we have found ourselves. We can rise up together and fight it, break the shackles that bind us . . .

BARB: Oh, shut up!

BERNETTE (to Barb): Ain’t you the feisty one? (Looking at Angie) And you, you are as pretty as my sources told me, but I agree with your friend here. The mouth is prettier when the lips aren’t flapping.

ANGIE: What?

BARB: Hasn’t your mouth gotten us into enough trouble for one night? Here I am, in the middle of my debutante ball, a night I have waited for my entire life, mind you, and the next thing I know I’m in handcuffs and heading here. Handcuffs! These wrists were made for golden bracelets. These fingers were made for diamond rings, not for fingerprinting. This face was made for magazine covers, or maybe the New York stage, not for police photographs. Thank God I had my hair done today, before that photo was taken. I have never been so humiliated, Angie, never. And for what? Because my best friend can’t keep her mouth shut. Because of politics. Politics, politics, politics! I hate politics! I’m here because my best girlfriend has to spout off traitorous rhetoric every chance she gets, including in the middle of the social highlight event of the autumn season.

ANGIE: The truth is not treason. I don’t understand why you are so angry.

BARB: I’m angry because you might have just ruined my entire life. You certainly ruined the one dream night I’ve been waiting for since I was a little girl. And I can never get that back. This was not the debut I dreamed of for so many years.

(She starts to cry very hard)

FRANCINE (comforting her): It’s okay.

BARB: No, it’s not.

BERNETTE: Oh, waa-waa. The poor little rich girl had a taste of reality spilled on her party dress. I feel so bad for you.

BARB: Shut up, you murderous old wench.

ANGIE: Barb, that’s a terrible thing to say.

BARB: I wouldn’t say it if it weren’t true.

ANGIE: You are?

BARB: Murderous old wench.

ANGIE: Is that true?

BERNETTE: Yes.

ANGIE: You’re a murderess?

BERNETTE: I’m a wench.

BARB: And a murderess.

BERNETTE: But I’m not the only one.

ANGIE: I’ve never met a murderess. I’d like to talk with you about the socio-economic circumstances that contributed to your crime.

BERNETTE: It’s not that big a deal. It was my husband. He had it coming.

ANGIE: I’m doing a paper. It’s on . . .

(The cell door opens again and Emily enters)

EMILY (to Angie): Ooh, is your mother ever mad. I thought she was going to kill your father.

ANGIE: Don’t even make a joke like that right now.

BERNETTE: Might not be a joke.

EMILY: Joke?

ANGIE: About Mother killing Father.

BERNETTE: Women kill men all the time.

BARB: And men kill women. And each other.

EMILY: It’s no joke. She’s angry.

ANGIE: She should be upset with me. I’m the one who got the three of us into this mess.

EMILY: Three?

ANGIE: Yes, you and Barb, and Angie makes three.

EMILY: You didn’t hear?

ANGIE: Hear what?

EMILY: There were more arrests after we were taken away.

ANGIE: So it wasn’t just the three of us? Who else?

EMILY: Your mother.

ANGIE & BARB: What!?

BERNETTE: So she did kill him.

EMILY: And Miss Logan.

BERNETTE: She killed two people?

EMILY: No, Miss Logan was also arrested.

ANGIE: No. Tell me that’s not true.

FRANCINE: Who is she?

ANGIE: She’s an apologist for the rich.

BARB: She’s an etiquette specialist.

ANGIE: That’s what I mean.

BERNETTE: Not Monica Logan?

EMILY: Yes.

BARB: You know her? I would never have guessed.

BERNETTE: I haven’t seen her in years. She never comes a-callin’.

(The sound of the cell door is heard again; Adelma and Monica enter; the door closes)

ADELMA (to Angie): If you think prison is punishment you just wait ‘til I get my hands on you, young woman.

FRANCINE: No violence, please.

BERNETTE: Ain’t you the soft inside of a cream-filled donut? (To Adelma) You won’t touch her because I run this joint and I say you won’t.

ADELMA: I am her mother.

MONICA: Do mine eyes deceive me?

BERNETTE: Monica.

MONICA: Would that I could gouge them out to spare the vision.

BERNETTE: It’s good to see you too, Monica.

MONICA: Forgive my manners, but your tortured soul should be in isolation, pondering the heaviness of your sins, not running this “joint”, as you say.

BERNETTE: Life turns in strange circles, Monica. This one’s a square.

EMILY: What did she just . . . what?

ANGIE: We have so much to learn about them, Emily.

MONICA: I see education failed you just like everything else in your life, Bernette.

ADELMA: You know this woman?

MONICA: I know that she is—forgive my directness—a monster. I would as soon spend an eternity in Hell as a day in her presence.

ADELMA: That’s not very polite.

MONICA: Emily Post has never written rules on how to interact with a brother’s killer, Adelma. I am at a loss as to how to behave.

BERNETTE: Why don’t we set up a table and have a tea party, Monica, and then you’ll feel at home and know how to act. Is this too real for you?

ANGIE: Comrades, we can work this out.

ADELMA, BERNETTE & BARB: Shut up!

MONICA: When in disagreement it is best to talk directly and with politeness to the concerned party. One should never ask them to be quiet. A true discussion is about listening and reaching an understanding.

BERNETTE: You best keep those words in mind while you’re here, honey.

MONICA: Terms of endearment are earned, Bernette, and you still have dues to pay.

ADELMA: I am not concerned with this. I am concerned with my daughter, Angie. Angie, what has gotten into you? What did you think you were doing at that debutante’s ball?

ANGIE: Mother, all my life I was prepared for that debutante’s ball as if it would be the culminating event of my childhood. And you know what? It wasn’t.

ADELMA: Your father and I spent thousands of dollars to make this the happiest night of your life. And it could have been.

ANGIE: No, it couldn’t.

ADELMA: I still look back fondly on my debut. Those years were the best years of my life, Angie, the best years of my life.

EMILY (to Barb): If those were the best years of her life she hasn’t lived much since, has she?

ANGIE: Not the years married to Father? Not your wedding? My birth? Raising me? What does that say about you, Mother?

ADELMA: Of course those were important.

ANGIE: Do you know what the most significant moment of my life has been so far, Mother?

ADELMA: I figured it would be the ball.

ANGIE: No, you don’t, because you never bothered asking what was going on in my life. You gave me money, presents, filled me in on the rules, even hired an etiquette specialist so that I would know how to behave in society.

BERNETTE: I see that worked well.

ANGIE: Do you know what that moment was?

ADELMA: It must have been your first crush.

ANGIE: No, it was the moment Barb and I stumbled across a rally—the same one where we first met Emily—and I heard the words of Eugene Debs for the first time in my life. Do you even know who Eugene Debs is?

FRANCINE: He’s a Socialist, candidate for President, union man.

(The lights shift into the rally; all of them become spectators, looking just off stage as a recorded voice speaks)

1^ST RALLYGOER: He’s a Socialist.

2^ND RALLYGOER: . . . candidate for President.

3^RD RALLYGOER: Union man.

DEBS: They have come to realize, as many of us have, that it is extremely dangerous to exercise the constitutional right of free speech in a country fighting to make democracy safe in the world.

(Debs’ speech continues under the women when they speak, but the specific words can’t be made out)

ANGIE: What is he talking about?

BARB: Sounds like he’s referring to Russia to me.

ANGIE: No, that’s not what I mean. Not the specifics, but the meaning . . . wait . . . listen.

DEBS: I would rather a thousand times be a free soul in jail than to be a sycophant and coward in the streets.

(Crowd applauds)

BARB: Sick what?

ANGIE: I don’t know. It’s not a word I know. Shh.

EMILY: Sycophant. It’s like a yes-man.

DEBS: If it had not been for the men and women who, in the past, have had the moral courage to go to jail, we would still be in the jungles.

BARB: We shouldn’t be listening to this.

ANGIE: Maybe not, but there’s something that’s drawing me. I think he’s speaking the truth, Barb, I feel it.

BARB: The truth is that traitors are everywhere in this country. They want the government to topple. They support our enemies. They want to see established families like yours and mine fall.

(Crowd applauds)

ANGIE: I don’t know.

BARB: Well I, for one, don’t want to lose everything. My father and his father and his father before them earned our place in society. I’m sure you don’t want to lose what you have either. Our wealth is ours. If others want wealth they should work hard, too.

ANGIE: You’ve never worked a day in your life.

DEBS: These are not palatable truths to them . . .

BARB: Neither have you.

DEBS: . . . They do not like to hear them . . .

ANGIE: I’m a student.

DEBS: . . . And what is more they don’t want you to hear them . . .

BARB: I am, too, you know.

ANGIE (hushing Barb): Quiet.

EMILY: Yes, please, I’m trying to listen.

DEBS: . . . And that is why they brand us as undesirable citizens . . .

BARB: I am proud of who I am.

DEBS: . . . disloyalists and traitors.

(1stRallygoer yells out)

ANGIE: By the way, I’m Angie, and this is Barb. Hi.

EMILY: Emily.

BARB (to Angie): I don’t know that she is in our class, Angie.

ANGIE: She’s in a class at school. I recognized her.

BARB: Just the same. Look, there are police. Something bad is going to happen. I can feel it. And we don’t want to be here when it does. What would your father and mother say if we were found here listening to this unpatriotic fool? They would never let you leave the house again. They’d keep you from the debutante’s ball. They would. And how would you like that?

ANGIE: Barb, we’re only listening to a speech.

BARB: Your whole life you’ve looked forward to that.

ANGIE: We’ve done nothing wrong. And neither has he. He can’t be arrested for speaking.

BARB: You’re more naïve than I thought.

EMILY: You are, aren’t you? It’s illegal to speak out against the war.

ANGIE: What do you mean?

BARB: Of course he can be arrested. For inciting a riot. For treason.

ANGIE: There’s no riot. There’s no treason.

EMILY: For speaking.

BARB: Let’s go, dear. Before it’s too late.

DEBS: Socialism is a growing idea; an expanding philosophy. It is spreading over the entire face of the earth: It is as vain to resist it as it would be to arrest the sunrise on the morrow.

(Crowd applauds)

BARB: Dear God, forgive us. He’s a Socialist.

DEBS: The little that I am, the little that I am hoping to be, I owe to the Socialist movement. It has given me my ideas and ideals; my principles and convictions, and I would not exchange one of them for all of Rockefeller’s bloodstained dollars. (Crowd applauds) It has taught me how to serve—a lesson to me of priceless value. It has enabled me to hold high communion with you, and made it possible for me to take my place side by side with you in the great struggle for a better day . . .

1^ST RALLYGOER (yelling): Yeah!

DEBS: . . . to feel life truly worthwhile; to be class-conscious, and to realize that, regardless of nationality, race, creed, color or sex, every man, every woman who toils, who renders useful service, every member of the working class without an exception, is my comrade, my brother and sister—and that to serve them and their cause is the highest duty of my life.

(Crowd applauds)

ANGIE: He is a Socialist.

BARB: Yes, yes. I’ve been trying . . .

EMILY: You didn’t know that?

ANGIE: But his words . . .

EMILY: . . . Are so true.

BARB: . . . Are poison. Don’t listen.

(Crowd applauds)

DEBS: That is war in a nutshell.

BARB: Let’s go.

ANGIE: Okay. Let’s go.

(They start to exit, but the next words stop Angie again as she’s trying to leave)

DEBS: The master class has always declared the wars; the subject class has always fought the battles. The master class has had all to gain and nothing to lose, while the subject class has had nothing to gain and all to lose—especially their lives.

ANGIE: I do believe this war is no good. I’ve believed it since the beginning.

(Crowd applauds)

BARB: Don’t.

ANGIE: I don’t believe it’s what Jesus would have wanted.

EMILY: Jesus was a man of peace.

(Crowd applauds)

BARB: It’s time to go.

DEBS: And here let me emphasize the fact—and it cannot be repeated too often—that the working class who fight all the battles, the working class who make the supreme sacrifices, the working class who freely shed their blood and furnish the corpses, have never yet had a voice in either declaring war or making peace. (Crowd applauds) And war comes in spite of the people. When Wall Street says war the press says war and the pulpit promptly follows with its Amen. In every age the pulpit has been on the side of the rulers and not on the side of the people.

BARB: It’s time.

DEBS: And now for all of us to do our duty!

(Crowd applauds)

BARB: Let’s go. The police are coming.

DEBS: The clarion call is ringing in our ears and we cannot falter without being convicted of treason to ourselves and to our great cause. Do not worry over the charge of treason to your masters, but be concerned about the treason that involves yourselves. Be true to yourself and you cannot be a traitor to any good cause on earth.

(The lights shift back to the prison)

ANGIE: It was the most amazing speech and afterwards I saw him and he said to me, “My heart is attuned to yours,” and then he was arrested.

BERNETTE: That’s not surprising.

EMILY: For speaking.

BARB: Oh, here we go again. Freedom of speech, freedom of the press. What about freedom to live in freedom?

EMILY: I’m sorry, but what freedom is it if you aren’t free to use it? He was arrested for speaking. Only.

ADELMA: Speaking about overthrowing the government.

ANGIE: No, about peace, and how war and peace are decided by the elite even though the poor are the ones who fight.

MONICA: Ladies.

ADELMA: Honey, your father served and so did his father.

MONICA: Ladies, please.

ANGIE: As officers, not as the poor men on the front lines facing most of the bullets and shelling.

MONICA: La—

FRANCINE: What do you have against the military?

MONICA: —dies.

ANGIE: Not the military, but unjust wars that do nothing but make some men wealthier.

MONICA: Ladies, shut up!

(Everyone stops and stares at Monica)

BERNETTE: Weren’t you the one that said never to tell people to shut up? You could use a course in etiquette.

MONICA: Dear me, forgive me, please, all of you. It is simply that politics is not polite conversation. This is what caused the police to be called to the ball tonight. A lady does not talk about religion or politics.

ANGIE: Etiquette is a way to control me. It’s a way to separate the classes. Politics determines laws that affect me. How dare you say I can’t talk about that which concerns me?

MONICA: Etiquette is a way to conduct relations and a set of rules that keep a civilized society from utterly breaking down. It is what I teach. If I did not believe that I don’t know what I would do with myself. Please, let’s let it go.

FRANCINE: If I might add a thought.

MONICA: Please.

BERNETTE: “If” might be a very large word in this case.

FRANCINE: I believe I heard that you all were arrested tonight for speaking out against the war. While that man may have been a dangerous Socialist you are innocent socialites. I think the laws do affect you.

EMILY: I think I like you.

BERNETTE: So you were all arrested for treason? What am I missing here?

BARB: You’re missing a brain, for one thing.

BERNETTE: I’d watch myself if I were you. Or you might find yourself at the wrong end of a fist. Bernie Basher, they call me.

FRANCINE: That’s not . . . I’ve never . . .

BARB: The story is this. We were about to start the grand march down an incredible winding staircase at the same ballroom where my mother made her debut several decades ago, each of us with a young gentleman in military best at our arms. Dress blues, my favorite. When they call Angie’s name she appears at the top of the stairs and she is no longer wearing the beautiful white dress her mother had made for her . . .

ADELMA: You wouldn’t believe how gorgeous it was . . .

BARB: . . . and her escort is no longer wearing his uniform.

ADELMA: . . . made by hand, with more love than thread.

BARB: Like a Cinderella with the clock struck midnight, her glass slipper shattered and her beautiful finery now in rags. They are both wearing informal clothes and Angie starts chanting, “No more war! No more war!”

BARB & EMILY: No more war!

(Barb turns and glares at Emily)

FRANCINE: Nervy.

BARB: At a debutante’s ball, not a political rally. Society is no place for protest. I would have been next—I waited breathless at the top of the stairs, my moment to shine about to begin—but because of the commotion I never got to make my grand entrance. My white dress is in a police locker, a dress a girl wears but once in her life. Which reminds me . . . (She reaches into her prison blouse and pulls out a strand of pearls and puts them around her neck) . . . a girl should not be without her pearls on the night of her debut.

BERNETTE: Like swine before pearls.

BARB: Oh, be quiet, you old hag.

BERNETTE: I could you get you a ton of cigarettes for that necklace.

MONICA: To make a long story short some of the more conservative girls disagreed with the sentiment. A fight so terrible, a noise so horrible, did ensue. And upon that ballroom battlefield blood-stained bodices, emotions strewn about the grounds, white gloves stained crimson. Nay, it was not just speech, but the actions incited by that speech that were the cause of our undoing.

EMILY: Is she for real?

ANGIE: I took classes from her—yes.

ADELMA: She’s very good, but I do think she reads too much.

BARB: I don’t recall blood. Was there blood on white gloves? I think I must have fainted. I simply cannot stand the sight of blood. If I find blood on my white dress I will sue, and that’s no idle threat.

EMILY: You tried to strangle Angie. You don’t remember?

BARB: No.

EMILY: Maybe you will be sued.

BERNETTE: Socialites can kill as easy as wolves.

BARB: Wolves hunt in packs.

BERNETTE: I know, dear, I know. I’m not as stupid as you think I am.

ADELMA: And she’s pulling your leg, Barb. You did not try to strangle anyone.

BERNETTE: I didn’t think she had it in her.

BARB: Maybe not, but I could have.

(A loud and long bell is heard; it startles the new women)

ADELMA: Dear God, save us!

ANGIE: What was that?!?

FRANCINE: It’s curfew time.

BERNETTE: Time for some shut-eye. This block hasn’t been full for a while, so Francine and I each have our own cells. Who gets to sleep with me? Angie?

ANGIE: I . . . uh . . .

BERNETTE: Come dear, you can study the lower classes. It’ll be fun.

ADELMA: I’d like to sleep with my daughter.

ANGIE: Mother . . . I . . .

FRANCINE: Angie, come with me.

(She takes Angie’s hand and leads her off to the up left corner; there is the sound of a cell door closing and a light shift in the corner)

BARB: I want my own cell. There are four cells here and I would like my own.

BERNETTE: If anyone gets their own it’ll be me. My cell is my castle.

EMILY: Barb?

BARB: I guess.

(They cross down right; again there is the sound of a cell door closing and light shift)

MONICA: That leaves you and I Adelma.

ADELMA: It does indeed.

(They enter a cell down left; there is the sound of a cell door closing and a light shift)

BERNETTE (as she crosses up right): Good night, my pretty ones. Don’t let the bed bugs bite. Or the rats.

BARB: Rats?

BERNETTE: Or each other.

(She has crossed; the cell door closes and the light shifts; during the following each of the cells is lit enough to see all of them, but they are four separate playing areas; the cell where conversation is happening has more light than the others, so the lights will shift as the scenes shift; most of the lines are delivered to the cellmates, though some are directed to the whole group)

BARB: There’s a toilet in my room!

BERNETTE: Do you have toilet paper?

BARB: Yes, there is.

BERNETTE: Be thankful then.

BARB: I can’t sleep with a toilet in my room.

BERNETTE: First, it’s not a room. Second, get used to it.

BARB: Could I sleep on the far side?

EMILY: Sure.

BARB: I hope you don’t mind—I’m not the happiest with you two right now—so I’d just like to go to sleep.

EMILY: Do what you need to do, Barb.

BARB: Like you and Angie.

EMILY: What does that mean?

BARB: It’s the way you two act. You do what you think is right, you push your agenda all the time, without any thought for the consequences or how you might be affecting the people around you.

EMILY: That may be true of Angie, but I do think about consequences. Always. I wanted to destroy the ball tonight. Debutante balls, cotillions, whatever you want to call them, they have no place in our modern society.

BARB: It may not mean anything to you, but it did to me. That’s what I mean. You don’t care that my dream was destroyed. You only care about your causes, the things that are important to you. That was a moment I was waiting years for . . . and now it’s no longer a long-held dream . . . it’s a nightmare realized.

EMILY: Maybe some day you’ll realize how silly . . .

BARB: Maybe some day you’ll realize you were wrong. Maybe you’ll change your political point of view. But my dream’s already destroyed. In the meantime you and Angie are going around destroying people’s lives. And what if you are wrong? About anything? About even one little thing?

EMILY: I hardly think this destroyed your life.

BARB: You hardly think.

EMILY: I didn’t know it meant that much to you. Honestly, Barb. It seemed like a good way to get a message across.

BARB: You . . . (A sudden realization) . . . it was your idea, wasn’t it?

EMILY (innocently): Whatever do you mean?

BARB: You talked her into this. You let her destroy her own ball while you looked on.

EMILY: Like I said, I really don’t think that kind of ball has a place in a society of equals. Those kinds of things need to be destroyed.

BARB: You bitch!

(There is a moment of silence)

ADELMA: Barb, the whole place heard that.

MONICA: That is inappropriate language from a young woman.

BARB (to all): Excuse me for that. (Quietly, to Emily) But you are. A bitch.

EMILY: I’m sorry, Barb, I truly am, but I wouldn’t change what we did. I’m sorry it hurt you, but I’m even sorrier you don’t understand why.

BARB: I’m going to sleep. Maybe I can dream again. Leave me alone.

EMILY: You’re a good person, Barb. I can see it. If you can free yourself from your upbringing you will have so much to offer the world.

BARB: Do you really believe that I’m a good person?

EMILY: I do.

BARB: Now I can sleep in peace. The girl who knows everything has blessed me. Good night.

EMILY: Good night.

BARB (quietly): Bitch.

(Lights shift to Francine and Angie)

ANGIE: How have you been able to survive here?

FRANCINE: I live day to day. It’s all you can do.

ANGIE: So why are you here?

FRANCINE: It is my punishment and my cross to bear.

ANGIE: There are very few people who should be in jail. Prison is a tool of oppression. It’s a way for the master class to control others.

FRANCINE: It is what it is. Most of the women here are not political prisoners. In fact, it may be that none of them are except you five. And it seems that there may not even be five, only a couple of you.

ANGIE: I believe you’re right. Emily is a true Socialist. I’m here for speaking out against the war.

FRANCINE: You’re not a true Socialist, then?

ANGIE: I am what I am.

FRANCINE: And the others?

ANGIE: They are what they are. They were dragged along with us.

FRANCINE: Meaning?

ANGIE: Meaning that unlike Emily and I they aren’t here as a matter of conscience. Miss Logan is a prisoner only of conventions.

FRANCINE: She is.

ANGIE: Barb is a prisoner of societal expectations.

FRANCINE: I think she is

ANGIE: My mother is a prisoner of her past.

FRANCINE: In some ways, we all are. What are you a prisoner of?

ANGIE: The government.

FRANCINE: Besides that.

(Pause)

ANGIE: What’s it like, to live here? I can’t imagine.

FRANCINE: Give it time and you’ll know.

ANGIE: I don’t think we’re going to stay here as long as you or Bernette.

FRANCINE: Oh? Granted, murder sentences are longer, but political prisoners can be much more dangerous to society. You may be here much longer than you would like to think.

ANGIE: My father is a lawyer. Barb’s father is the mayor.

FRANCINE: Oh, I see.

ANGIE: I’m not saying it’s right. That’s just the way it is.

FRANCINE: My father was a miner. He disowned me.

ANGIE: My father may disown me when he finds out what happened. But I don’t think he will.

FRANCINE: No, I doubt that he will.

ANGIE: I can’t imagine a father disowning his own daughter. Who would do that? Why?

FRANCINE: I’d rather not talk about that. Let’s talk about something more interesting. Tell me about Debs.

ANGIE (excitedly): Oh, he’s a man of incredible ideas. You see, our government has convinced us that people like him are bad, that they mean to overthrow the government and throw everything out of whack. But that’s not true. He wants to change the world, that’s true. But there’s a difference. It’s not about power or controlling other people. He wants to distribute power and wealth. He wants to eliminate poverty and war. How can that be wrong?

FRANCINE: I don’t know. How could that be wrong?

ANGIE (getting more excited): He believes in women, in minorities, the power of women and minorities to reach their full potential as human beings. He believes that working people are the ones who keep this society going and that they should have a better share of it. Is that such a terrible or dangerous thing?

FRANCINE: It doesn’t seem like it.

ANGIE (more excited still): He got thrown into jail for speaking out against the war, for saying that the whole war was just to put more money into the pockets of the wealthy. But he was right about it! Poor people are getting injured and dying while rich people are getting richer off of their broken bodies. The rich don’t fight in the trenches. They don’t ever . . .

ADELMA: Angie, keep it down! You’re getting a little loud.

MONICA: I fear that you are. The entire prison can hear you, reverberations of thunderous orations echoing through the halls.

ADELMA: Not to mention tedious.

BARB: The whole town can hear.

ADELMA: For God’s sake let’s have no more talk of Socialists.

BERNETTE: If you’re talking for God’s sake, Jesus was a Socialist. Bet you didn’t think of that, did ya? His followers took his words to heart and gave up their belongings to follow his teachings. Until you do the same I don’t want to hear any more about it. Got it, little girl?

ANGIE: I have the right to say what I want to say.

BERNETTE: And I have the right to slam you into the wall in the morning.

FRANCINE: So much for good behavior.

BERNETTE: I need my sleep. They call me Bulldog Bernie when I don’t get no sleep and you don’t wanna see Bulldog Bernie in the morning.

FRANCINE (to Angie): They call her Bernette. Just Bernette.

ADELMA: Please, could we all try to get some sleep?

(They all quiet down and the lights shift to Adelma & Monica)

MONICA: How long do you expect we shall stay imprisoned?

ADELMA: I don’t know. I suppose when we are bailed out. Those other two women are prisoners who were found guilty of unspeakable crimes. We have no convictions yet.

MONICA: Whilst here I would like to teach a course.

ADELMA: A course?

MONICA: Of course.

ADELMA: Whatever do you mean?

MONICA: The girls still have much to learn. If they were in finishing school they’d be at the beginning. (She snorts in laughter). I am often accused of having no sense of humor, but I must admit I found that funny.

ADELMA: What?

MONICA: You see, they’d be at the beginning of finishing school. (She snorts again) You see, it’s a play on words.

ADELMA: I don’t understand.

MONICA: Finishing. Beginning. (Adelma fakes a laugh) At any rate the girls have some work to do yet, but the other prisoners know nothing of the rules of etiquette. They are empty cartons of ignorance waiting to be filled with the products of social expectations.

ADELMA: Obviously they don’t understand the rules. I would not say it’s courteous to kill one’s husband.

MONICA: No, it is definitely not. (Beat) When the prisoners here are ultimately released I believe that knowing social rules may help them adapt into society better.

ADELMA: You would do that for them?

MONICA: I mean all the prisoners, not just the two in this block.

ADELMA: But just think of those two. The one killed her own husband. The other, who knows what crime . . .

MONICA: You are so right. I cannot . . . I cannot face . . . perhaps it’s just the girls’ education that should continue.

(Lights shift back to Francine & Angie)

ANGIE: Don’t you ever get lonely? Do you have a husband?

FRANCINE: No, I don’t.

ANGIE: Get lonely or have a husband?

FRANCINE: Have a husband. I’m a spinster.

ANGIE: You say that like being single is a bad thing, like women can’t be whole persons without men in their lives.

FRANCINE: I’m not interested in men.

ANGIE: Oh, that’s unusual. (Silence) Oh, that is unusual.

(She gets up and crosses to the corner and sits on the floor)

FRANCINE: I’m not . . . I have a special someone . . . I’m not interested . . .

ANGIE: Oh, that’s fine. I just wanted to feel the cold floor beneath me, so that I can better remember the harsh conditions here.

FRANCINE: I see. I hope your experience is short enough that your memory isn’t long.

ANGIE: Me, too. (Pause) I really don’t care, you know. I think that’s part of a woman’s freedom, too. Freedom isn’t just about getting the vote. It’s about being who you are to your fullest potential.

FRANCINE: I know, dear, and thanks for your understanding.

BERNETTE: Stay away, you monster, stay away!!!

FRANCINE: Bernette has regular nightmares.

(Lights shift to Bernette’s cell; she is in her bed screaming)

BERNETTE: Oh, my God! Oh, my God, no! It can’t be! You didn’t . . . (Quieter) oh, my God, you didn’t. You bastard.

(Lights shift to Barb and Emily)

EMILY: Now that’s a real nightmare.

BARB: I know. I have these bad dreams where soldiers come to our house and set it on fire. Everything is lost. It’s because we have too much.

EMILY: You do.

BARB: I know, Emily, really I do, but it is simply the way it is. I can’t help that I was born into it and you weren’t.

EMILY: We really are more alike than different, you know. We all just want to live and have a few things we can call our own and not have to worry about losing them. We all have dreams and we have those.

BARB: Nightmares?

EMILY: Yes, I have them all the time. Maybe not nightmares, but terrible remembrances. I guess they’re more dreams, recollections of dust from my past. But I think they are more horrible than nightmares because they’re real. There’s one in particular that haunts me regularly. My daddy, drunk. He was always drunk later in his life. Mother drunk, too. She was only often drunk. In it they are verbally abusing each other. That’s what they did in real life. And she was vicious. She would hone in on the things he was most insecure about and stab him with those words. She would keep it up until he hit her. And every time that happened about ten minutes later she’d let out a hushed “I hate you” and then he’d hit her again to shut her up. Then they’d fall asleep in their chairs, only to wake up and not remember how much they really hated each other.

BARB: I’m so sorry. That sounds so bad.

EMILY: I wasn’t looking for sympathy, Barb. I just wanted to share. You shared yours. Really, we—all of us—are not that different.

(Long pause)

BARB: No, we’re not.

(Lights dim to almost out; then the sound of cell doors opening is heard; the women all start stepping out of their cells; food trays are slid into the cells)

BERNETTE (as she takes hers and starts to eat): Good morning, ladies. I trust you enjoyed your first night at the hotel. Breakfast is served.

ADELMA: I don’t think I slept a wink. I take it you had a bad nightmare.

BERNETTE: Did I say anything?! Did you hear anything?!

FRANCINE: Don’t worry, Bernette.

MONICA: Girls, it’s time for some furtherance of your education.

EMILY: No.

ANGIE: I agree. With Emily.

ADELMA: Angie, you will listen to Miss Logan and follow the lesson or I may suggest to your father that you do not deserve bail.

ANGIE: Mother, it’s institutional elitism. I can’t do it anymore.

ADELMA: You will. You are my daughter.

ANGIE: Can we eat first?

BARB: And wake up first?

ADELMA: That is up to Miss Logan’s timetable. And Angie, I must insist that you share my cell tonight. I want you with me if we’re here another night.

ANGIE: Okay.

ADELMA: I absolutely will not . . . okay?

ANGIE: Yes, okay, if Monica doesn’t mind sleeping with Francine.

FRANCINE & MONICA: No!

MONICA: I . . . would like . . .

FRANCINE: It just . . . I wouldn’t . . .

MONICA: . . . to share a cell with Barb. I’d like to room with Barb to help her with some language lessons, given what I heard last night.

EMILY: Okay, then I’ll go with Francine, if that’s all right with Francine.

FRANCINE & MONICA: Yes.

FRANCINE: That would be fine.

MONICA: That would be good.

EMILY: Then it’s settled. We all get new cellmates tonight.

MONICA: Now, prepare yourselves for a lesson.

BERNETTE: I guess I’ll be alone again then.

MONICA: We could all use it, I think.

BERNETTE: I guess nobody wants to be around me at all.

MONICA: Everyone has so much to learn.

BERNETTE: Hello.

BARB: You can take lessons with us, Bernette.

BERNETTE: I meant tonight again . . .

BARB: What’s the lesson today, Miss Logan?

MONICA: I thought, partly because of your outburst during the night, that a refresher course on proper language might be appropriate. Improper language can betray a person like a mistress left in one’s bed. She is there for all to see, or in this case hear, and she speaks not only for you, but of you. Let us talk some about language.

BERNETTE: Speak to me only with thine eyes.

(Monica glares at her)

BARB: Shakespeare?

MONICA: Ben Jonson, and it should read “drink to me,” not “speak”.

BERNETTE: Oh, I could use me a drink. Need something to down these horrible eggs with.

MONICA: Drink to me, only, with thine eyes,

And I will pledge with mine;

Or leave a kiss but in the cup,

And I’ll not look for wine.

FRANCINE: The thirst that from the soul doth rise,

Doth ask a drink divine;

But might I of Jove’s nectar sup,

I would not change for thine.

ADELMA: That is simply beautiful. It’s almost lovely as a tree.

BERNETTE: I think I see.

MONICA: If only modern times were so elegant.

BERNETTE: Or the past could simply be an elephant.

ADELMA: Who was that?

BERNETTE: Me, I made it up.

ADELMA: I meant the poet.

BERNETTE: I said it was me. Don’t you listen?

MONICA: Ben Jonson.

EMILY: Another one imprisoned for sedition.

MONICA: Really? What did he do?

EMILY: He wrote and acted in satires that poked fun at the government. He was jailed several times for it. But he could never resist.

MONICA: Apparently he could. (She snorts in laughter) Let’s get to work, girls. We have much to do.

BARB: Didn’t you say I was going to get a lesson in my cell tonight?

MONICA: That will be a private lesson about vulgar language. Today’s lesson will be about proper usage in society.

BERNETTE: Prison society, or society at large?

BARB: I should not have to take two.

MONICA: Proper society. And from what I heard last night you could use even more.

BERNETTE: What did you hear? What did I say?

FRANCINE: I think she was talking to the young woman.

BERNETTE: I need to know how to act in society. My release date is nineteen days away now.

FRANCINE: If parole is approved.

BERNETTE: It will be. I know it. Why do you always put doubt in my mind? I’ve been a model prisoner.

ANGIE: When do you find out, sister?

BERNETTE: I had my hearing already. Any day now the judgment on my release will be passed down. Pray for me.

MONICA: I don’t believe I can. Sometimes forgiveness is a dish best not served.

BERNETTE: Not very Christian of you, Monica.

MONICA: Neither is murder. It’s one of the commandments.

BERNETTE: Jesus preached forgiveness.

MONICA: That’s not the lesson that is planned for today.

BERNETTE: It should be. It’s Sunday.

MONICA: Yes, now where do I begin?

ANGIE: In the beginning.

BARB: Aren’t you the clever one this morning?

ANGIE: You’re speaking to me. I’m surprised.

BARB: I am your best friend.

MONICA: Ladies.

BARB: Aren’t I?

ANGIE: If you were my best friend you’d try to understand.

MONICA: Ladies . . .

BARB: If you were my best friend you would try to understand.

MONICA: Ladies, I am not going to raise my voice again. Let us calm down and talk about conversation.

ADELMA: Francine, aren’t you going to join us?

FRANCINE: I’d rather read at the moment. I believe there’s no better way to learn what is proper in the realm of words than in the realm of literature.

MONICA: She brings up a good point. A learned woman, a woman of social graces and conversational skills, will also be a well-read woman. She must know Jonson and Shakespeare, Donne and Marlow.

FRANCINE: Gertrude Stein and Virginia Woolf.

MONICA: Yes, the ancients and the moderns.

FRANCINE: Men and women.

MONICA: Who is teaching this course?

FRANCINE: I learned a few things in my day from a good teacher.

MONICA: I am delighted to hear that. Perhaps some day you and your teacher will be reunited.

FRANCINE: Methinks she doth elevate her status beyond my reach. (Beat) I haven’t seen her in ten years, though we were as close as close could be when I arrived here.

MONICA: I am so sorry. Really I am.

EMILY: I’d like to add Thoreau to your list, another thinker jailed for protesting a war.

BARB: Who’s Thoreau?

EMILY: One of the transcendentalists. He refused to pay taxes that would go to support a war that he did not believe should be fought.

BARB: I want to read romance, not thinkers. What’s wrong with a little romance?

FRANCINE: I’d like to know the answer to that, too.

EMILY: And how about Rousseau? And Marx.

BERNETTE: Jesus was killed for his beliefs.

ADELMA: Of course, Marx. I want to hear no more of Marx or of Socialism. I believe you have corrupted my daughter.

ANGIE: It was Eugene Debs’ words I heard first, Mother. Emily just happens to believe the same things I do.

EMILY: And it’s not corruption, it’s enlightenment.

ADELMA: One man’s enlightenment is another man’s corruption. One man’s salvation is another man’s doom.

BERNETTE: Let’s talk about the Bible.

MONICA: Ladies, we are here to talk about language.

ADELMA: I believe we are.

ANGIE: You are here to control our language, to prevent us from talking about certain things. You are a tool of the oppressive master class.

ADELMA: I hope that is not a reference to me, young lady. How dare you imply that because I have wealth I am in some way evil? Angie, you know better than that. I am your mother.

MONICA: Ladies, please listen. We cannot talk about conversation if no one will listen. That is the essence of good conversation. Please pay attention. I am here to teach you the ways of the society into which you were born. If you do not want the pearls of wisdom I have collected I can put them back into the jewelry box of social graces until you are ready to take them out and wear them.

BERNETTE: I may be wrong here, but I think all of you are just a little tense because you’re all still sitting in jail. Not a place that society gals are used to, I’m thinking.

FRANCINE: I think Bernette may be right. The tension is understandable.

BARB: The tension is unbearable.

ADELMA: My husband will have us out of here soon. Minutes, I’m sure.

BERNETTE: No, he won’t. It’s the weekend. There won’t be a bail hearing until tomorrow at the earliest. I’m afraid you’re here for at least one more night.

ADELMA: That’s a lie.

BERNETTE: I’m afraid it’s not. There was no debutante ball last night and there won’t be any debutante bail today.

MONICA: Dear me, I fear I may faint. I fear I may swoon into unconsciousness. Without even the comfort of a fainting couch. And after I collapse I pray to God I wake up a free woman in a warm house.

ADELMA: It can’t be true, Monica.

FRANCINE: It is. There are no hearings on a Sunday.

ADELMA: I cannot tolerate this place another day. I will most certainly be a bundle of nerves before it’s through.

BERNETTE: Not so sure I can tolerate another day either.

FRANCINE: I don’t mean to make you feel worse, but your case may be called on Monday, possibly not until Tuesday.

MONICA: Ladies, I’d like to continue our lesson.

EMILY: I am not taking this lesson.

ANGIE: I agree.

ADELMA: I can’t think about it now, Monica. And it does seem there’s a lack of focus on all fronts today. Really, I don’t need it, the girls obviously don’t want it, and Francine wants to read. Maybe now is not the right time.

FRANCINE: Bernette might like a lesson.

BERNETTE: Not if I’m the only one.

MONICA: Fine, then. Fine.

BERNETTE: That leaves a spot open then.

ADELMA: What do you mean?

MONICA: I am an unhappy woman.

BERNETTE: Maybe I’ll give a lesson.

MONICA: The world is changing and there’s nothing I can do to stop it. Woe is upon me.

BERNETTE: The preacher didn’t show today. I want to talk about Jesus.

MONICA: Class distinctions are disappearing.

BERNETTE: You see, Jesus, he’s like a sandwich to me.

MONICA: The uneducated are taking over everything.

BERNETTE: There are many layers to him, many layers upon layers of meaning. First, there is the bread.

EMILY: The body which is broken.

MONICA: The upper crust is faltering.

ANGIE: And soul.

BERNETTE: And then there is butter or some kind of spread.

EMILY: Representing the greasy palms of the ministers.

BERNETTE: And meat. There’s much meat to Jesus.

MONICA: There is no substance any more, nothing has meaning.

BERNETTE: Another layer of bread, sandwiching the meat of Jesus in the middle.

MONICA: I am losing my sense of purpose.

BERNETTE: Maybe some ketchup.

EMILY: The blood of Christ.

BERNETTE: No, that’s the wine. Lettuce.

MONICA: Pray . . .

BERNETTE: Mayo.

MONICA: . . . what are you talking about?

BERNETTE: I am talking about the Word.

MONICA: I wanted to talk about words and no one would allow me!

BERNETTE: I am talking about Christ revealing himself in each piece of meat and bread and ketchup and spread that is offered to you that you in turn could offer up to him.

MONICA: This is insane! You are insane!

BARB: She is a murderess.

MONICA: That doesn’t make her insane. Being insane makes her insane.

BERNETTE: Jesus forgives Monica.

MONICA: For what? What do you know? (To Francine) What did you tell her?

FRANCINE: I told her nothing. I think she meant that Jesus forgave her.

BARB: And maybe she’s hoping you, too.

FRANCINE: It might be a way for you to find grace.

MONICA: I am one of the most graceful women . . .

FRANCINE: That’s not the grace intended.

MONICA: I do not need grace! I do not need salv . . .

ADELMA: Monica, what is . . .

MONICA: Leave me alone! All of you. If this be grace then grace be damned. Can’t you see I am living in a place that I do not like?