In a Play With No Dialogue, Messages Are Anything But Muted

William Shakespeare would have called it a dumb show, the part of a Renaissance play in which characters perform without speaking, their costumes, gestures and expressions wordlessly conveying the playwright's message.

Would the Bard have understood the message that the girls of the Cedar Hill cabins were trying to get across last week at Camp Moss Hollow? Somehow I think he would have.

It was just after lunch. The tables in the camp's rotunda had been cleared and rolled away. Chattering children arranged their folding chairs in rows, then fell silent when counselors raised their hands. The post-lunch entertainment was about to begin.

First came a step show from the younger boys of the alpine cabins. A dozen or so marched in, a tight caterpillar of pounding legs and angular arms.

Next it was time for Cedar Hill, the set of cabins for older girls. The song "Everything" by the band Lifehouse filled the room as counselor Leah Scales and a willowy 13-year-old camper swayed to the melody, moving with the broad, swooping gestures of modern dancers. They looked a little self-conscious at first, performing for a hundred people, but they relaxed. Leah held out an orange to the girl, who took it and then cast it aside. Next, Leah held out a bouquet of flowers. This, too, the girl took and discarded.

Lined up at the side, like vultures on a telephone wire, were five costumed girls. The first wore a shirt that read "Alcohol." She strode toward the 13-year-old, offering her a cup to drink from. The next wore a shirt that read "Hustler." She mimed selling drugs.

Ah, the crowd realized. These were temptations. We all wondered: What would come next?

Another girl sashayed out and struck a pose. Her shirt read "Model." She demonstrated how to purge by sticking her fingers down her throat. Then came "Smoker." She took a puff on a prop cigarette and handed it to the 13-year-old.

Last was a girl wearing green trash bags that had been cut and taped to make a billowing shroud. She had no sign announcing her character's name, but she didn't need one. She was hunched over, her face hidden in the folds of her cloak. She crept with the skulking menace of a prowling animal.

Death had arrived, as recognizable to the Moss Hollow campers as to pilgrims at a medieval passion play.

Death held out a knife and showed the girl how to slit her wrists. Do it, Death urged wordlessly. Do it.

The girl looked for the counselor.