The Wally Lamb Fiction Collection: The Hour I First Believed, I Know This Much is True, We Are Water, and Wishin' and Hopin'

by Lamb, Wally

  After the little kids got to leave dress rehearsal, the eighth grade orchestra, seventh grade choir, sixth grade chorus, and fourth grade glee club all got to practice their musical numbers with Mrs. Button, the music teacher. (Mrs. Button and Madame were our school’s only lay teachers, which all that means is they’re not nuns.) The music sounded okay, except the eighth grade orchestra kinda stunk a little, especially the screechy violins. Anyways, us tableaux kids had to just hang around and wait while all the musicians rehearsed, and it was so boring. Then? When the sixth grade chorus was practicing that “We Three Kings” song, Lonny and me started singing the funny version:

  We three kings of Orient are

  Tried to smoke a rubber cigar…

  We had to shut up, though, because Sister Fabian gave us a dirty look and said something about being sacrilegious. And right after that? Pauline Papelbon walked by Lonny and Franz and me, eating Fritos in her Mary costume with her stomach kinda stickin’ out, and Franz went to Lonny that, since Lonny was Joseph and Pauline was Mary, he sure must be glad that the baby was God’s son, not his, because Pauline was probably the last girl Lonny would wanna do you-know-what with.

  “You better watch it,” I warned Franz. “That’s real sacrilegious.” But Franz ignored me and started making pig snorts in Pauline’s direction, which Lonny kinda laughed at a little, but then he stopped. I didn’t laugh at all because it was pretty mean. Plus, Pauline never really bothered anybody. And if her mother had to go to the state hospital last year, which everyone knew about, that wasn’t her fault. To tell you the truth, I was a little bit glad she got picked to be Mary, on account of Pauline hardly ever got picked for anything, and the only other girl I ever seen sit with her in the lunch room was her seventh grade sister, Claudette, who, come to think of it, was kind of a chowhound, too. But anyways, like I said, I didn’t think dress rehearsal was all that fair, because even though we had to wait around for all the musicians to get done, after they finished, they got to leave instead of hanging around waiting for us.

  This was the way Madame said it was gonna go. For each tableau (except the last one), there would be two songs: one before the curtain opened and one after it did. “So for the Annunciation, par exemple, the seventh graders will sing ‘Angels We Have Heard on High.’ Then the curtain will open to reveal the Angel Gabriel telling the Virgin the news that she is with child. And as that scene is revealed to the audience, the orchestra plays and the soloist sings the ‘Ave Maria.’ Vous comprenez?” We all said yeah. This kid Happy Rocketto? Who was on my last year’s Little League team? His sister’s the soloist, and she has this kind of opera voice. When Zhenya heard her during rehearsal, she said, “Wow-ee, I luff opera. That geuhl sing bootyful, ya Fillix?” and I said yeah, but what I was really thinking was yuck, get me some earplugs.

  After the Annunciation would come the shepherds’ scene, Madame said, then Rosalie’s play, and then the Magi scene. (Which meant Rosalie had to change real fast from her narrator gown into her king costume and get all of her narrator eyeshadow and lipstick off.) “After the Kindergarteners’ song and ‘Away in a Manger,’ we shall have the big finale with the Christ child and all who have come to adore Him,” Madame said. Which was the tableau I was in—me and our whole class except for the Kubiak brothers who were stagehands, and so they got to just set up and take down things like the hay bales and plywood animals and not have to wear a costume and go out on stage and act paralyzed and practically not even breathe until the curtain closed. The Kubiaks were also in charge of keeping the lambs quiet until the last tableau—the real lambs, not the plywood ones. Oh, and Mr. Dombrowski, our janitor, he was kinda like a stagehand, too, I guess, because he was in charge of working the rope that was gonna raise and lower the star of Bethlehem. It was pretty cool, that pulley thing, and some of us boys wanted to try raising and lowering it, but Madame said no, not even the Kubiak twins could do it, even though it was their own brother who made it. Only Mr. Dombrowski could.

  Near the end of dress rehearsal, I got yelled at by Madame Frechette. I deserved it, kind of. In the middle of rehearsing kids, Madame had taken off her beret and left it on a chair backstage. And me and Oscar Landry and Monte Montoya started playing frisbee with it, and she caught us. She yelled at all three of us, but mostly at me because when she asked whose idea it was, Oscar and Monte both pointed at me. We all said we were sorry and Madame nodded, stuck her beret back on, and didn’t give us detention.

  At the end of dress rehearsal, Madame reminded us that the Christmas program started promptly at 2:00 P.M. the next afternoon, but that everyone should get dropped off no later than 1:00 P.M. so we could get into our costumes and wait on the stair landing until our tableau came up and it was time for us to tiptoe down the back stairs, get into our places on stage, and freeze. Then she had us all sit on the stage floor, and she started walking back and forth in front of us with her hands on her hips, and giving us a speech. “You must remember, mes élèves, that as the singers and players will be celebrating la nativité with their music, you are the ones who will embody the Christmas story!” When she said the word “embody,” she closed her eyes and put her hands up in the air. We all kind of looked at each other funny and waited, cause it looked like she was in a trance or something.

  After Madame opened her eyes again, she said, “Should your nose itch while the curtain remains open, you must resist the urge to scratch it. Should you wish to gaze out upon the audience to see if you can spot your family, you must forbid yourself to do so.” She adjusted her beret, took one hand off of one hip, and left the other one on her other hip. “Any questions?”

  Susan Ekizian raised her hand. “What if we hafta sneeze?”

  “Then you must suppress it, mademoiselle.”

  “How?” someone else asked.

  Madame shrugged. “However you are able. Perhaps by digging your fingernails into your leg or forcing yourself to think about something else—something sad, perhaps, or something joyous. And if, in your nervousness, the urge to laugh comes over you, then you must bite your lip hard, drawing a drop or two of blood if you have to, but you must not, under any circumstances, break the illusion that you are a living, three-dimensional painting as breathtaking and beautiful as any in the Louvre.” Madame had told us a million times about the time she visited the Louvre. (Which is in Paris, France. See, England owns Canada, but if you live in Québec, you like France better.)

  When we finally got out of dress rehearsal, both Simone and Frances were waiting for me in our station wagon. It was strange to see Frances and not Simone behind the wheel. Fran had gotten her learner’s permit the week before, but Ma and Pop were too busy to give her driving lessons, so Simone was doing it. I got in the backseat without saying anything. And I kept not saying anything, too, on the way home until finally Simone looked back at me and said, “How come you’re so quiet today, Felix?”

  “I’m just tired,” I said.

  “Yeah, standing still on a stage is really exhausting, huh?” Frances said. And I went “Shut up,” and Fran said why didn’t I shut up, and Simone told her to stop bickering and concentrate on the road.

  The real reason I was being so quiet was because I was worried. What if, just as the curtain opened and they started singing “The Little Drummer Boy,” I got diarrhea like Ma at the Bake-Off? I wasn’t going to tell my sisters that, though, because Frances would probably lose control of the car from laughing so hard and get us into a crack-up. In my opinion, I didn’t think Simone should be teaching Frances how to drive because Simone wasn’t that hot a driver herself. Whenever she had to parallel park, she either ended up on the curb or else three feet away from it.

  Most Saturday nights I got to stay up and watch Gunsmoke, but that night Ma made me go to bed at 9:30 because the next day was gonna be such a big day for me. Here’s who was coming to the tableaux to see me: Ma, Simone, Frances, and my Nonna Napolitano, if her corns weren’t bothering her too bad. Pop said he was gonna try to come, but
he couldn’t make any promises. On account of, with everyone traveling for the holiday, the bus station was gonna be real, real busy and so the manager, Mr. Popinchalk, told Pop he wanted him to keep the lunch counter open all day and not close early like we usually did on Sundays. And Chino was still getting over the flu, so he was “iffy,” Pop said. If Chino couldn’t work, then Pop definitely wouldn’t be able to come. “But I’ll do my best to get there, kiddo,” he promised me.

  At first, I couldn’t get to sleep because I was too excited. Then I started worrying again about sneezing, or having to laugh, or getting the runs. Then, finally, I started getting tired. I closed my eyes and was just about falling asleep when my stupid imagination made me see it again: Joseph Cotten’s chopped-off head bouncing bumpity bump bump bump down those stairs….

  When Ma finally let me get up and have warm milk and Saltines, the 11:00 o’clock news was already on. So, really, I coulda watched Gunsmoke because I was awake all that time anyway. And it was way after midnight when I finally went into Ma and Pop’s bedroom, and woke up Ma, and whispered, “I’m still not sleeping.” And Pop moaned and went, “Oh, brother. Here we go again.” But he was the one who said I could go get my sleeping bag and then come back and camp out on the floor at the foot of their bed.

  And after I did that, I fell asleep in about two seconds.

  ST. ALOYSIUS GONZAGA

  PAROCHIAL SCHOOL

  Christmas Program

  Sunday December 20, 1964

  WELCOMING REMARKS:

  Mother M. Filomina, Principal

  OPENING BENEDICTION:

  Monsignor Angus P. Muldoon, Pastor

  PLEDGE OF ALLEGIANCE:

  Kevin Wojcik, Grade 8 Class President

  MASTER OF CEREMONIES:

  Rev. Gerald “Jerry” Hanrahan, Pastoral Vicar

  I.

  “Angels We Have Heard on High”

  Grade 7 Choir

  Tableau # I: The Annunciation

  Students of Grade 5

  “Ave Maria” Grade 8 Orchestra

  w/ Margaret Rocketto, soloist

  II.

  “While Shepherds Watched Their Flocks”

  Grade 6 Chorus

  Tableau # 2: Shepherds in Their Fields

  Students of Grade 5

  “It Came Upon a Midnight Clear”

  Grade 6 Chorus

  III.

  A DRAMATIC INTERLUDE:

  “JESUS IS THE REASON FOR THE SEASON”

  Saint Aloysius Gonzaga: Ernest Overturf

  (Grade 5)

  Saint Martin de Porres: Marion Pemberton

  (Grade 5)

  Saint Teresa Lisieux: Geraldine Balchunas

  (Grade 5)

  Written, narrated, & produced by Rosalie Elaine Twerski (Grade 5)

  IV.

  “It Came Upon a Midnight Clear”

  Grade 7 Choir

  Tableau # 3: The Wise Men’s Journey

  Students of Grade 5

  “We Three Kings of Orient Are”

  Grade 8 Orchestra w. Grade 6 Chorus

  V.

  “Rockin’ Around the Christmas Tree”

  Grades I and 2 w/ Father “Jerry”

  VI.

  “Away in a Manger” Grade 4 Glee Club

  Tableau # 4: The Nativity

  Students of Grade 5

  “The Little Drummer Boy”

  Grade 7 Choir

  “Joy to the World” Grade 7 Choir &

  Grade 6 Chorus

  Closing Remarks:

  Father “Jerry”

  “God Bless America”

  Entire Company & Audience

  Families are invited back to their sons’ and daughters’ classrooms for refreshments after the program. Parents who bring desserts are reminded to take home their trays before they leave the building as food attracts insects. Thanks to everyone!

  A Happy and HOLY Christmas to All!

  THIS PROGRAM COURTESY OF TWERSKI IMPRESSIONS, 176 HOLLYHOCK HILL, THREE RIVERS, CONNECTICUT. AT TWERSKI IMPRESSIONS, WE’RE ON THE HILL BUT ON THE LEVEL. STOP IN & SEE US, NEIGHBORS, FOR ALL YOUR PRINTING NEEDS!!!

  Pauline Papelbon’s mother was too sick to make those cupcakes, and so Pauline, instead, brought in a whole big bag of Hostess Sno Balls for her refreshment. And I guess if she’d have brought them up to our classroom like Madame had told us to, instead of keeping them with her on the stair landing, maybe things would have turned out different. Or maybe they wouldn’t have. Who knows?

  The first thing that went wrong—not too wrong, just kind of—was that Monsignor Muldoon might have been a little bit drunk. When he walked past us on the stair landing on his way to give his benediction, instead of smelling like Butter Rum Life Savers, he smelled a little like Mush Moriarty. Monsignor slipped a little on the stairs when he started down there for his opening benediction, but then he caught himself. And when he went out on the stage? Frances said he was kinda teeter-tottering a little and holding on to the microphone stand to steady himself. (The rest of us tableaux kids all had to wait up on the stair landing and couldn’t see anything; we could only hear things.) Ma said maybe Monsignor was just having a little trouble with his balance, and that “that’s the way false rumors get started, young lady.” But when I mentioned that I’d smelled him and he kind of smelled like Mush, Ma said, “Well, whether he was or wasn’t tipsy, it’s certainly none of our business.”

  Then the eighth grade president, that Kevin kid, got stage fright while he was leading the Pledge of Allegiance. He must have, I figured, because he was sorta laughing in the middle of saying it, and there’s nothing really funny about the Pledge of Allegiance, except when Zhenya says it: I plidge leejinks to flig h’uv United Stets h’uv H’Ametekka. Ma said later that she didn’t think anyone even noticed the class president was laughing, and Frances said, “Oh, yes they did!”

  During the first tableau, Happy Rocketto’s sister’s voice cracked a little during “Ave Maria.” Twice. And Frances and Simone both said later on that Franz Duzio looked like he was picking his nose a little in the middle of his scene. “And eating it!” Frances added. Simone said no he wasn’t, but Fran said yes he was, she’d swear on a stack of Bibles.

  Simone said she thought Pauline Papelbon did good—that she didn’t hardly move her arms at all, even though she had to hold them up in the air in this position like Oh, my gosh! Really? because Gabriel is telling her she’s gonna get pregnant with God’s baby. Then Frances said, after Simone said that Pauline did a good job, “Yeah, but how come she was wearing a costume that made her look like Scheherazade?” (Which was the same lady I thought her costume made her look like—the one from 1001 Arabian Nights.) And when Fran said that, Ma said, “Frances Ann Funicello, do you have to criticize everyone and everything?” And Frances went, no, she didn’t have to, she just wanted to. So Ma went, “I suppose if you were in charge, everything would be perfect. Right?” and Fran went, “Yeah, probably.”

  The shepherds’ tableau went pretty okay, I guess, except in the middle of the sixth graders singing “It Came Upon a Midnight Clear,” we all heard this noise like bang. And before that, I heard this guy from the audience yell, “Yoo hoo, Evgeniya! Ooo-wee! Nice job, leetle geuhl!” and I was pretty sure who that was. At least he didn’t get up on stage and give her one of those little kicks in her rear end the way he did when he walked her to school. After all the shepherds came back upstairs, Arthur told me what that bang was: one of the plywood sheeps that Mr. Overturf had made fell over. I said, “Did someone bump into it or something?” and Arthur got all red and mad and he said, “Well, I didn’t! What are you accusing me for?” So I thought that maybe he did.

  Rosalie’s play? At the beginning, you could hear people in the audience oohing and ahhing when she walked out on stage in her fancy gown and crown and up on the stair landing, Franz started singing, There she is, Miss America, and everyone laughed a little, even some of the girls. At dress rehearsal, Ernie Overturf had complained to me tha
t whenever Turdski made them practice their parts, she was always acting bossy and yelling at them to speak louder. And boy, when him and Marion and Geraldine came on, they sure were loud. It sounded like they were all yelling at each other!

  Geraldine messed up one of her Saint Teresa lines. Instead of saying, “If you subtract 1873 from 1897, you get 24, which was very young for me to die,” she said, “If you subtract 1897 from 1873.” And when she said, “You get 24,” some wiseguy high school kid yelled out from the audience, “No you don’t. You get negative 24. That’s really young!” And you could hear some people laughing and other people not laughing.

  Then when Geraldine said to Marion, “Why are you so sad, Saint Martin de Porres? Is it because prejudiced people are so mean to colored people?” instead of Marion saying what Rosalie had written for him to say, he said, “They are, are they? Well, wait’ll the NAACP hears about this!” And then you could hear everyone out there laughing, not just some people. Everyone, that is, except Rosalie. Frances and Simone both said she looked like she was gonna bop Marion one. I guess the rest of the play went okay. At least I didn’t hear about anything else that went wrong. Oh, yeah—wait a minute. Yes, I did. Some kid threw a bottle cap at Rosalie and it hit her on the forehead. Sister Godberta saw who it was: this kid Lenny Thomas who graduated from St. Aloysius the year before. He got kicked out—escorted by Sister Lucinda on one side and Sister Agnes on the other, and behind them, this bald guy who passes the basket at Mass and looks like Uncle Fester on The Addams Family.