The Bass Wore Scales (36 page)

The bag made its way across the section, each alto reaching into the bag of Communion Fish and coming up with a handful.

“
Isn’t this sort of sacrilegious,” mumbled Tiff, her mouth full of crumbs. “I mean, isn’t this the body of the Lord?”

“
Not until it’s blessed,” I said. “Till then, it’s just crackers. Cajun-spicy fish crackers. Let me try one of those.”

“
Hey, these are great,” exclaimed Marjorie when the bag had made its way to the tenor section. “I vote we use these all the time.”

“
I agree,” said Mark Wells. “Delicious!”

“
Is there a rule that communion bread has to taste bad?” asked Fred. “And be stale to boot?”

“
I don’t think so,” I said. “There’s no rule.”

“
I think the vestry should vote on these,” said Elaine. “They’re very tasty, and look—they have a little cross on the side. How
cute
!”

“
Do they come in other flavors?” asked Georgia.

“
I’m afraid so,” I said. “I’m afraid so.”

“
What’s this thing?” asked Meg, looking askance at the Xeroxed music she’d picked up off the organ.

“
It’s the anthem for tomorrow afternoon,” I said. “That’s the announcement I have to make. As you know, Junior Jameson died on Sunday in a car accident. He won the race, but then crashed into the wall. Anyway, we’ve been asked to sing at the funeral. It’s going to be televised.”

“
That’s
great!
” said Mark. “We’ll be on national television. The St. Barnabas choir will be famous!”

“
What are we going to sing?” asked Georgia. “How about something from the Brahm’s Requiem?
How Lovely Is Thy Dwelling Place
?”

“
Nope.”

“
How about that thing they sang at Princess Di’s funeral?” said Rebecca. “The ‘flights of angels sing thee to thy rest’ song. It’s really pretty.”

“
Song for Athene,
” I said. “No, not that one.”

“
What about
Never Weather-Beaten Sail,
” said Phil. “That’s the one I’d want at
my
funeral.”

“
I’ll make a note. But alas, Kimmy Jo Jameson has sent over the piece we’ll be singing. She wrote it
specially
.”

“
Not this?” said Meg in horror, her eyes scanning the page.

“
Oh, yes,” I said. “And if I have to do it, you all have to do it with me. Would you pass them out, please?”

Meg took the stack of music off the organ and passed it down the rows of choir chairs. There were a few snickers as people started reading through, but the snickers broke into full-fledged guffaws even before everyone had their hands on the anthem.

“
She can’t do this,” said Meg. “Isn’t it under copyright?”

“
I was hoping so. That would have certainly been an easy way out for us. But, no. The song was written in 1922, so it’s in the public domain. She can do whatever she wants with it.”

“
Do we have to sing it with a straight face?” asked Phil Camp.

“
Yes, we do. That’s why we’re practicing it tonight,” I said. “Now, we need a soloist. Who wants to be on national TV singing a solo?”

There were no hands.

“
C’mon,” I said. “This could be someone’s big break. How about you, Tiff?”

Tiff shook her head in terror.

“
Okay. We all know the chorus. We can do the verse in unison. How many of you know how it goes?”

No hands.

“
You’re lying,” I snarled.

“
Why don’t you sing it, Hayden,” said Bev. “From the console. We’ll get you a mic.”

“
Yes, yes!” came the enthusiastic cheers from the choir. “Exactly! Perfect! That’ll be great!”

I slumped forward, my head hitting the keys of the top manual with a thump. My goose was cooked, and I knew it.

“
Fine,” I said. “I’ll do it.”

I turned on the organ, punched a couple pistons and started crooning in my best Frank Sinatra imitation.

Praying is never wasted,

It’s a fine habit they say;

All the glory I’ve tasted,

Just seems to fade away.

I believe that God answers our prayers,

So standing with Jesus, I’ll say:

The choir was howling with laughter. I ended on the dominant chord, growled at the choir and they took off singing. The tune, familiar to everyone in North Carolina, had been arranged in four parts with an oom-pah accompaniment. It wasn’t difficult and wouldn’t take much rehearsal—maybe just enough to work the giggles out.

Nothing could be finer, laid to rest in Carolina

in the morning,

It’ll be like Eden, with my Jesus, when I meet him

in the morning.

Where the morning glories,

Wrap around my grave,

Whispering the story,

I know I’ve done been saved!

Strolling with my Savior, where there is no bad behavior

in the morning,

Angels all will kiss me and my loved ones ne’er will miss me

at the dawning,

If I knew my life was done, and had time to pray,

I’d close my eyes and here’s what I’d say:

Nothing could be finer, laid to rest in Carolina

in the morning.

“
Hahahahahahaha!” screamed the choir.

“
We’ve got to sing this?”

“
On national television?”

“
Oh…my…GOD!”

“
I can’t do it!”

“
Oh, you’ll
do
it, all right” I said. “You’ll do it with a straight face and a tear in your eye! The funeral’s at two o’clock. We have to be there by 1:30. Wear your robes and don’t be late!”

Chapter 22

Nancy met me at the McCollough trailer at 7:30 in the morning. Her Harley growled to a stop on the dirt driveway just as I was knocking on the door for Moosey. The door opened, and Ardine greeted me.

“
I’m just on my way to work,” she said. “Moosey’s coming. He wouldn’t tell me what this is all about. You sure he’s okay?”

“
He’s fine,” I said. “Don’t worry.”

Ardine smiled a tight smile and went down the steps to her old car. I waved as she drove off, heard the slam of a screen door, and looked down to see Moosey right beside me, happily munching on a Milky Way bar. He had a brown paper grocery bag in his other hand. The top was rolled shut.

“
Y’all ready?” he asked. “I’ve got some food for Kokomo.”

Nancy pulled her bike up on the stand, took off her helmet and put it on the seat.

“
I guess we’re walking,” she said.

“
Yep,” I answered. “Moosey says it’s about a mile.”

“
Let’s get going then. Before the hunters are up and about.”

“
They’re already out,” I said. “I saw three or four pick-ups beside the road on the way into town. They’re looking up closer to Gwen’s clinic, though.”

“
C’mon,” said Moosey impatiently. “Let’s go. I hope Kokomo’s all right. I haven’t seen him for a couple days.”

* * *

We walked into the woods behind Moosey’s home, following a path cut years ago by a logging truck. The summer morning sun shone through the overhanging branches, dappling the forest floor with splashes of light that danced as the light breeze played in the trees. The path turned up the mountain, climbing at a steep angle, and Nancy and I were breathing hard in a few moments despite our high level of donut conditioning.

“
How far did you say?” huffed Nancy.

“
Almost...there,” I puffed back.

“
You’re lying.”

I
was
lying, but after about twenty minutes, we came to a sharp bend in the path, and Moosey announced that we had arrived.

“
We’re here!”

“
We’re where?” asked Nancy. “Where’s here?”

“
The bus is back over there,” said Moosey, with a grin. He pointed into a huge thicket of mountain laurel. “Nobody knows it’s in these woods anymore.”

“
How’d they get it up here?” asked Nancy.

“
They probably drove it up, back in 1952,” I said. “Way back when this was a road. I would have never found it.”

“
C’mon,” said Moosey. “I wanna see if Kokomo is okay.”

* * *

We picked our way through a hundred feet of thick laurel and finally saw the outline of a pale green school-bus. The tires had rotted to shreds, the hood was up and most of the windows were broken. Some of the panes had been replaced by pieces of old plywood. On the side of the bus was painted “Homewood Four-Square Church” in faded white letters. The door was standing open. Moosey ran up the steps in a flash.

“
Kokomo!” we head him call from inside the bus. “Kokomo!” He stuck his head back out of the door. “The food’s almost gone, but Kokomo’s not here.” He sounded very worried.

“
Come out here and call him,” I said. “Maybe he just went out for a stroll.”

“
Humph,” said Nancy. “Yeah, that’s it. A stroll.”

“
Kokomo!” Moosey called from the steps of the bus. “Kokomo! Come here! I’ve got some food for you!”

Without warning, there was a tremendous crash right behind us, as the gorilla burst through the thicket. Nancy and I both jumped, adrenaline sending our hearts into overdrive. This time, however, our pants remained dry. At least, mine did. I couldn’t speak for Nancy.

“
Jiminy Christmas!” I said through clenched teeth, hoping I hadn’t screamed it. “I wish he wouldn’t do that!”

“
There he is!” Moosey sang out. “Kokomo! Come over here.”

The gorilla grunted and lumbered toward Moosey on all fours. He sat down in front of the boy and began to run his fingers through Moosey’s hair.

“
I think he’s looking for bugs,” said Moosey. “But Mama says I don’t have ‘em anymore. Not since the school nurse sent home that shampoo.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a Milky Way candy bar. Kokomo snatched it out of his hand, delicately peeled away the paper, and nibbled on it like an old lady eating a watercress sandwich at a tea party.