Thelma Rudd is dressed as a Holstein. Her costume is a kind of padded white snowsuit spotted with black felt patches. Where in Town did she get a snowsuit? On her head is a hood with cow ears attached to the sides, one black ear and one white, but the part of the costume that draws the audience’s laughter is at groin level: the udder. The four teats look to be made of pink party balloons.
She stands at the edge of the stage, twitching her tail, which is a kind of marionette because it is attached to a string that rises into the rafters.
At the back of the stage, in the semidarkness, stand four trees. I presume they are made of wiring and papier-mâché and their leaves of green construction paper or felt. A single boy steps out from behind each trunk. The four boys stand a few yards behind Thelma with their arms behind their backs. They are big boys—tall and muscular—and look older than thirteen, though of course they are not.
“Moooo! Moooo!” one of them cries out. Then another joins in, then another, till they are all mooing. Louder and louder. “Moooo! Moooo! Moooo!”
Thelma smiles sweetly. Nervous giggles erupt from the audience.
Beside me, Esther whispers, “I can’t watch this.”
The white boys close in on Thelma. They surround her. They carry thin branches, which they use to poke her back, buttocks, and udder.
“It’s supper and I’m sure hungry for a burger,” says one boy.
“This cow has enough meat on her to feed an army,” says another.
“I bet she gives chocolate milk,” says the third.
“String her up!” says the fourth.
Three of the boys keep prodding Thelma as the fourth boy mimes throwing something skyward. Down from the rafters comes a rope with a noose tied to its end.
One boy says, “She’s so fat she’ll break the damn branch.”
The noose slowly descends to the stage as the lights dim. By the time the noose reaches Thelma, only a spotlight is left, trained on her face.
“For once in my short little life, I wasn’t fat enough,” Thelma says, slipping the noose around her neck. “The branch held.”
Then the lights go out completely. We hear footsteps as the actors move offstage.
Beside me, Esther whispers, “Is it over? Can I open my eyes?”
But it is not over. A voice onstage starts singing. It is Thelma. She is still there.
The song she chose is one of your favorites, Mother and Father. It is a Billie Holiday song about bulging eyes, twisted mouths, and blood on leaves. It is a song about hanging from a poplar tree.