Liturgical Mysteries 02 The Baritone Wore Chiffon

by Mark Schweizer

  "Is there a problem, Brother Harley Ray?"

  "Call me Harl."

  "Is there a problem, Harl?" I asked. Everyone had turned around in their seats to look.

  "Yep," said Harl. "It seems like, in all the ruckus, my snakes has ekscaped."

  •••

  The choir gathered for rehearsal in the loft, most of them still laughing.

  "What about the snakes?" asked Jeanie Smart, one of our new altos. "It's not that I'm scared of snakes. It's just that I don't want them to sneak up on me. Especially rattlesnakes."

  "Well I'm scared of snakes," said Rebecca Watts, near panic. "Was he kidding? I thought he was kidding! He let rattlesnakes out? I thought he was kidding!"

  "I don't think they're actually rattlesnakes," I said, trying to calm Rebecca down.

  "What kind are they?" asked Beverly, "And how many?"

  "There were two," I said. "Maybe three. Four, tops…Ok, five that got away. They're Eastern Hognose snakes. They're totally harmless, but they look very much like rattlesnakes. They were part of Harley Ray's presentation."

  "Hognose snakes are quite timid," said Fred May from the back row. "I used to keep them when I was a kid. They'll even play dead if they feel threatened."

  "If I see one, it had better be dead!" said Rebecca.

  "I'm sure they'll all be rounded up by tomorrow," I said, trying to still the restless waters. "The pest control folks are coming in. They're very thorough. Now let's look at the anthem for Sunday. Of course, a week from Sunday there will be something completely different."

  "We really like your detective story," said Georgia, changing the subject and pulling several chapters out of her folder. "It makes for good reading during the service. I'm taking mine home so Dewayne can read it."

  "Please don't encourage him," said Meg. "He'll just keep writing."

  "I hear you're giving a reading to an English class," said Fred.

  Meg's head dropped into her hands.

  "Why, yes I am. I'm hoping to inspire them."

  "Aren't we going to rehearse the clown anthems?" asked Jeanie, changing the subject again.

  "I don't think there are actually any clown anthems. At least I haven't been informed that there are."

  Jeanie smiled. I could see she knew something that she wasn't telling.

  "OK," I said. "Spill it."

  "Well, I heard," she began in her tell-all voice, "that Shea Maxwell is going to sing Send in the Clowns for communion. Only with different words."

  "Really," I said. "No one's given me any music for that."

  "Oh, you won't need it," said Beverly. "She's using an accompaniment CD."

  The entire choir laughed as my head hit the console of the organ with a loud thump.

  "Am I the only one who didn't know about this?"

  The entire choir nodded.

  "We found out at dinner," said Jeanie. "Shea was quite excited. She says that you never ask her to sing solos, but Princess…uh…Brenda was happy to include her in the program."

  "Ah well. Let's work on something suitably depressing then," I said. "Pull out the Mozart Ave Verum please."

  "Why do they use snakes anyway?" asked Rebecca as anthems ruffled in the folders.

  "Mark 16:18 — 'they will pick up snakes with their hands; and when they drink deadly poison, it will not hurt them at all...' Some denominations take it literally. At least some of the ones in the hills," I explained. I didn't really have this scripture memorized but Harley Ray and I had talked about it beforehand and decided that his real rattlers weren't a good idea. "Yep. They take it literally."

  "And do you take it literally?" asked Meg.

  "Absolutely. The Bible says 'they will take up snakes.' They. Not me."

  •••

  On Saturday morning, at precisely six o'clock, my phone started ringing. I picked it up only because I knew who was on the other end.

  "Hi, Nancy. Any luck? Can the cows sleep safely in St. Germaine once more?"

  "I heard that you skipped the conference in Atlanta," Nancy said. "And, yeah. We caught the tippers. We had dozed off, but the donkey woke us all up."

  "Anyone we know?"

  "They were kids from a fraternity at Appalachian State. A rush prank."

  "Did you haul them in?" I asked.

  "No," she said. "They were a bunch of scared freshmen. Dave and I got their names and sent them back to school with a warning. They won't be back. Connie Ray wanted to shoot them on the spot."

  "Maybe you should have let him shoot just one as a warning to the others."

  "Go back to sleep, boss. We'll see you Monday."

  •••

  I heard Meg plundering the kitchen cabinets as I stepped out of the shower, dried off and stepped onto my digital scale.

  "Oh no!" I yelled, loudly enough for Meg to hear.

  "What's wrong?"

  I came out in my robe and sat at the table.

  "Bad news," I said, glumly. "I got on the digital scale and the number came up six-six-six. This is a Very Highly Advanced Digital Scale. It can't be wrong."

  "You're lucky that it isn't a Very Highly Advanced Digital Talking Scale. Otherwise you'd have heard 'Congratulations! You have lost two pounds and you are the Antichrist.'"

  "Here," I said, ushering her toward the bathroom. "You try it."

  "Weighing in is a private thing between a woman and her scale. I'll thank you to close the door."

  The door opened a moment later and Meg stepped out with a smile on her face.

  "Your scale says that I'm three pounds lighter than last week and that I have a lovely disposition."

  "Only because it didn't say you had gained three pounds."

  "Scales have feelings, too," she said. "By the way, it also said to tell you that you are not really the Antichrist and it was just horsing around."

  "That's even worse."

  "Worse?"

  "Maybe I actually do weigh six hundred sixty-six pounds."

  •••

  Meg had breakfast on the table by the time I was dressed. Archimedes had perched himself on a cookbook and was eyeing a limp mouse that Meg had placed on his saucer. Baxter was outside worrying a squirrel that had taken refuge in the barn, his barks echoing across the field.

  "Well, it's Monday. How is the Clown Eucharist shaping up?" she asked, feigning indifference even though I could tell she was eager for some gossip.

  "I'll trade you information," I said. "I'll tell you about the clowns if you spill about the Feng Shui Altar Guild."

  "Fair enough," she said eagerly and put down her fork. "Here's the latest. Mr. Christopher has decided to move the altar to the center of the church – right where the nave crosses the transepts. The idea is to put pews on three sides and face the altar but to avoid offending the rooster."

  "How do we avoid offending the rooster?"

  "I'm so glad you asked. Each month has a different ruling animal. In March, that's the rabbit – but the rabbit is ruled by the animal sitting directly opposite. And that's the rooster. He sits in the west."

  "Of course he does," I agreed.

  "So we must avoid moving toward the west. Hence, the pews will be facing the other three directions."

  "And we change these every month?"

  "Yep. Next month the dragon is in his seat and we must avoid the dog. Also, we must place two statues of St. Francis on the front steps to attract the chi into the building."

  "Why St. Francis?"

  "They're the only ones that Mr. Christopher has for sale at his shop."

  "Ahhh."

  He says it will help the energy flow to the building. Also, he says that purple is no good for Lent. The color needs to be yellow or light green to promote healing and a feeling of calm."

  "That sounds very special. I'm calmer already."

  "Now how about those clowns?"

  "Well, I'm supposed to write the opening hymn."

  "WHAT!?"

  "I told Brenda I'd be happy to write the opening
hymn."

  "Doesn't she know about The Penguin of Bethlehem?"

  "Apparently not," I said with an innocent look on my face.

  "Have you written it yet?"

  "Not yet. I think I'll do it the night before and sneak an insert into all the bulletins on Saturday."

  "I'm beginning to think the scale was right after all."

  Chapter 9

  "There's a woman to see you, boss," called Dave.

  "Is she beautiful?" I called back, knowing that it would embarrass Dave to no end.

  "Um...I guess so."

  "Well, by all means, send her in," I called back.

  It took me a moment to place the face that was framed in the doorway.

  "Lindsey?" I stood and extended my hand that she took and held a few moments longer than was necessary, then surprised me by pulling me across my desk and giving me a lingering kiss on the lips.

  She smiled. "Hello, Hayden. How are you?"

  "Better and better. Come in and sit. Can I get you a cup of coffee?"

  "Sure. That'd be great," she said, settling into the only other chair in the office.

  "Dave," I called out.

  "Ours is sludge. I'll run down to the Slab," said Dave, poking his head into the office. "Do you want a Danish or something?"

  "Yeah. Get a few, will you?"

  "I'll be back in a bit."

  "I'm surprised to see you," I said as I sat down. "Did you come all the way from Raleigh to publish my book?"

  "Sadly, no," she said, laughing. "I had an opportunity to talk to a writer's workshop at Appalachian State, so I thought I'd drop by and see St. Germaine. And you, of course."

  "Well, what do you think?" I asked, ignoring her second initiative as best I could.

  "It's a lovely little village, isn't it?"

  "We like it," I said, returning her smile. "After we have our coffee, I'll give you the grand tour."

  "I'd like that very much. I don't have to be back to class until this afternoon. By the way, how did your investigation in York turn out? A happy conclusion?"

  "I haven't figured it out yet. There was a diamond stolen as well as the murder."

  "A diamond?"

  "Thirty-two carats."

  "Wow! Sounds like a girl's best friend. Did you find it?"

  "No. But I think I know where it is."

  "Really?"

  "Yep. My plan is to go back over, pick it up, and be the hero."

  "I would think that there'd be a lot of people looking for it."

  I nodded. "I suspect so. But, if it's where I think it is, they won't find it."

  "Well, good luck. I loved York, by the way."

  "It's a great city. I always like visiting."

  "When are you off?"

  "Early next week. And how long will you be in town?"

  "I'm in Boone until the weekend. I have to be back at work on Monday, but I thought I'd come and hear your service on Sunday morning."

  "Well, about that…"

  "Yes?"

  "It's not exactly our usual service. Our interim priest has scheduled something out of the ordinary."

  "That's all right. I'd like to hear you play."

  "It's a clown service," I blurted out.

  "A clown service?"

  "I'm afraid so."

  "Do you have to dress as a clown?"

  "Nope. But, everyone else does."

  "I grew up with clowns. It sounds like fun," Lindsey said as Dave came back in the front door, carrying three coffees and a bag of pastries.

  •••

  I spent a couple of delightful hours taking Lindsey around the town before she took her leave and headed back to Boone.

  "OK," said Meg later in the afternoon when she met me for a cup of tea. "Who is she and why are you showing her around town?"

  "Wow! Word travels fast in this burg."

  "Yes, it does. Now 'fess up."

  "That was my literary agent."

  "Uh huh."

  "Well," I admitted. "Not exactly my literary agent. But certainly, a literary agent."

  "Ah. The woman you met on the plane. What's she doing here?"

  "She's at some writing conference at ASU. She just came by to say hello."

  "Is she married?"

  "Nope."

  "I hate her."

  "You don't even know her," I said. "She's very nice."

  "No she's not," said Megan, sipping her tea. "She's after you."

  "Really?"

  "Watch your step, big boy."

  •••

  I usually gave Marilyn the information for the bulletin on Thursdays and this week was no different. I sauntered in around ten and met her at her desk.

  "How're things?" I asked. Marilyn looked a bit harried.

  "Just fine," she said through clenched teeth. "Just fine."

  I lowered my voice. "I think the selection committee is looking at resumés this evening. Hang in there."

  "Thanks," she said sarcastically. "The Lord's work is never easy."

  "Speaking of which, I have the music for Sunday."

  "I'm typing the bulletin up now." She pointed to some scrawled notes on her desk. "Of course, I'll have to redo it since I can't quite read Brenda's scribbling. And this is worse." She held up a note with the words From the Desk of the Reverend Emil Barna – God's Voice in Appalachia printed at the top. His scratches were no better than Brenda's and if anything, even more incoherent.

  "Mostly I've been going by old service bulletins and plugging their things in where I think they'll fit. They don't seem to notice."

  "I had no idea. Well, good luck."

  "You could help you know."

  "That's why I'm here," I said, magnanimously pulling a typed sheet out of my pocket.

  "Great, but that's not what I meant," she said bitterly, the usual enthusiasm missing from her voice. She sighed and took the paper from my hand. "Do you have the hymn written yet?"

  "Not yet."

  Her exasperation was evident. "Hayden, this is Thursday. I have to get the bulletin finished by this afternoon."

  "Don't worry. I'm working on it. Just list the title and I'll put the words on an insert and get it in before Sunday."

  "You promise?"

  "Absolutely."

  She looked at the paper. "Crown Him You Many Clowns?"

  "Clever, eh?"

  "And what's this processional? Entry of the Gladiators by…" She squinted her eyes and adjusted her glasses. "By Julius Fucik."

  "That's the guy."

  "Is this for real?"

  "I assure you it is. When you're typing it up, don't leave any vowels out of his last name," I said.

  She shook her head, still looking at the paper. "No, I won't. In fact, I may put in a few extra."

  •••

  I didn't see Lindsey on Sunday morning. She called on Friday afternoon with her regrets and said she had to return to Durham a couple of days early. I must admit that I felt a sense of relief in the knowledge that Lindsey, at least, wouldn't be judging my musical ability by what was about to take place.

  All the clowns were gathered in the sanctuary an hour before the service to go through their routines. Jelly Barna was dressed in a yellow outfit with a huge red fright wig and a great red nose. Her husband, the priest, was more of a tragic clown – an Emmett Kelly figure with a sad face painted on. The other clowns were variously arrayed and carrying parasols, rubber bats, giant flowers and several other clownish implements. Jelly Barna was leading the miming clowns in the story of the creation. Others were practicing riding their tricycles up and down the aisle. I knew they were parishioners of St. Barnabas, but I couldn't tell who was who because of the makeup.

  The Clown-In-Charge, a professional clown known as Peppermint, was a friend of Father Barna and had performed several of these clown services before. There would be a processional, followed by a reading from the Book of Clowns–the creation story–that would be mimed by various participants using beach balls. The sermon was ne
xt, followed by communion. Sometime during the service, we would all find our inner clown and leave the service in joy to love and serve the Lord.

  Peppermint, I found out, in addition to keeping everything running smoothly, was in charge of making balloon animals and handing them out to the children in the congregation during Father Barna's sermon on Noah's ark. All the children, as well as the clowns, were going to be instructed to come to the front steps, gather around the priest, listen to the sermon and laugh in innocent delight as Peppermint created his balloon magic.

  "Where's our hymn?" asked a female clown who looked like something straight out of a Stephen King novel. I recognized the voice if not the face. Princess Foo-Foo was a little tense.

  "I'm getting ready to go run it off. Don't worry. I'll have it ready. You know, you look a little scary."

  "I don't know how to put clown makeup on for heaven's sake. I did the best I could."

  "I'd stay in the back, if I were you," I said.

  •••

  The prelude, which the bulletin had listed as The Clown Imperial March was straight from the Coronation of George VI. The choir, although not singing anything specific, had gathered in the choir loft to watch the festivities while Father Barna, in his purple and orange garb, stood at the front of the church and announced the call to worship.

  "Let us praise the Lord with laughter."

  The congregation responded: "With laughter and with a joyful heart."

  At those fateful words I launched into the processional: Entry of the Gladiators (also known as the Circus March) that has been heard at the beginning of every Ringling Brother's extravaganza since the Big-Top made its appearance at the turn of the twentieth century. The fifteen or so clowns poured in from the back of the church, some riding their tricycles, some dancing, and some handing out plastic flowers to the rather stunned parishioners; stunned because, although everyone knew this was coming, the sight of fifteen clowns entering the church to a circus march proved to be somewhat unnerving.

  One of my choir members, a child psychologist by profession, has since informed me that the fear of clowns ranks near the top of the phobia list for young children. I, myself, didn't actually hear the panicked screams very clearly because I was pretty involved in playing the processional, but Meg told me later that there were quite a few parents heading for the front doors clutching their terrorized youngsters.