Liturgical Mysteries 02 The Baritone Wore Chiffon

by Mark Schweizer

  "Listen Hayden," said Bev. "Before we get into all this depressing music and," she said smiling, "since we just had that simply stunning reenactment of the authentic last supper, may we please sing through The Weasel Cantata? There are several new choir members who haven't sung it."

  "I've never sung it," quipped Rebecca. "We were going to sing it last Christmas when I joined the choir, but we never did."

  "I haven't sung it either," added Jeanie. Several others nodded their heads.

  "Fine," I said, looking over the balcony rail and seeing Father Barna deep in conversation with Jelly and Princess Foo-Foo. "This may be just the right time to go through it."

  The choir members had The Weasel Cantata 2 stashed in the back of their folders along with several other repugnant pieces I had written over the years including a motet entitled Like As The Dog Returns From His Vomit (on Proverbs 26:11). The Weasel Cantata, however, had the distinction of being the only piece ever written on the dietary laws of Leviticus and takes advantage of the fact that the word "weasel" is only mentioned in the Bible one time. Leviticus 11:29 – "And these are unclean to you among the swarming things that swarm upon the earth: the weasel, the mouse, the great lizard according to its kind." The verses flow over a Baroque rendering of Pop Goes The Weasel while the choruses are sung to the Thanksgiving hymn We Gather Together. It is an altogether lovely and well-crafted work of surpassing beauty. Or so I've been told.

  I began the introduction, glancing toward the priestly convocation to make sure they were within earshot.

  How many times does the weasel appear

  In the Bible? just once – and it's perfectly clear,

  That Moses and weasels did not get along,

  And it's in his mem'ry we're singing this song.

  Of all of the animals sitting around

  In the Old Testament there may be found

  Only one reference to our sly friend

  From Genesis 1:1 straight through to the end.

  The choir sang with gusto as they finished the first verse and launched into the Thanksgiving hymn:

  The Weasel Cantata, it's not a sonata,

  You cannot eat weasel though it may taste fine,

  Or lizards or vermin, cause they commence to squirmin'

  Leviticus: eleven, verse twenty-nine.

  I snuck a peek down at the unholy trinity as we began the second verse. On this verse, the basses all had a little countermelody – Pop Goes The Weasel – sung in Latin. Father Barna, Jelly and the Princess were all looking up in disgust.

  You can eat all you want of a sheep, but no pork,

  And you cannot eat pelican, heron or stork,

  Or tortoise or eagles or bugs on the floor,

  And if you eat ravens, you'll cry "Nevermore!"

  But all of these rules will come down in a trice,

  When you develop a taste for fried mice.

  For nothing's as tasty, no matter the cost,

  As freshly baked mole-pie with iguana sauce!

  So if you love weasel, just give it a squeezel,

  And don't mind the greasel and it may taste fine,

  With lizards and vermin, and never mind the squirmin',

  Leviticus: eleven, verse twenty-nine.

  The choir finished with aplomb and cheered themselves as they finished. I looked over the balcony rail, but the church was empty.

  "OK," I said with a laugh. "Enough of this foolishness. Let's get to work."

  •••

  I went by the McCollough's trailer on Saturday morning. I had called Ardine on my way up the mountain and she was waiting for me on the makeshift porch. Moosey was behind her, trying to get by, but she had him pinned inside the door.

  "Will you quit it!" she admonished. "You can go out in a second."

  "I need to talk to you anyway, Moosey," I said as I went up the steps. "I have a job for you."

  "How 'bout a candy bar?" Moosey said as he squeezed past his mother and went to my jacket pocket. I raised my hands as he frisked me and found the Milky Way. Then, quicker than Ardine could say "don't spoil your dinner," he had it peeled and half stuffed into his mouth.

  "C'mon in," said Ardine, holding the door open. "I just can't teach that boy no manners."

  "It's OK. He'll learn them once we send him off to military school." I looked hard at Moosey, but he'd heard the threat before and wasn't fazed by it.

  "I wanna go, I tell ya! PLEASE send me to military school!"

  "Well, you can't go. Not until you learn some manners," said Ardine, taking the opposite tact. Then she shook her head with a smile. These threats weren't exactly working out as she'd hoped.

  I stepped into the living room. The McCollough trailer wasn't fancy, but it was always neat as a pin. Carrying a book, Bud came out of his room at the commotion and stood in the hallway.

  "Hello, sir," he said, closing the book with his thumb inside to mark the place. Bud was a voracious reader and the single biggest patron of the St. Germaine library. To suppliment his habit, I brought him a book every week that he dutifully returned once he was finished reading it. He was also St. Germain's foremost authority on fine wines.

  "Hey Mom," Bud said. "Pauli said to tell you that she was down at Lisa's doing a project. She'll be home before dinner."

  "Thank you, Bud."

  "Listen Bud," I said. "Anything new on the wine front I should know about?"

  "The next time you're in Asheville, go to the Wine Market on Biltmore Avenue and get some Beringer Gamay Nouvea. It's based on the same Gamay grape as Beaulolais Nouveau but fruitier and simpler. I think you and Miss Farthing will really like it."

  "Thanks," I said, writing the information in my notepad. "Oh, by the way, here's an interesting read." I pulled a worn copy of the first of the Horatio Hornblower novels by C.F. Forrester out of my coat pocket.

  "Wow!" he said, his eyes lighting up. "I've been wanting to read these, but our library doesn't have them. I was going to try inter-library loan, but I haven't gotten around to it yet."

  "Well, I have them all, so don't bother trying to hunt them down."

  "That's great!" he said, turning and walking down the hall before throwing a "Thanks!" back over his shoulder.

  "OK, Moosey," I said, turning my attention to the real reason I came by. "Here's the thing. We need someone to lead the donkey down the aisle on Sunday morning."

  "What donkey?" asked Ardine.

  "The donkey for Palm Sunday. Geez, Mom," said Moosey with the disgust evident in his voice that only a six-year old can muster. "Don't you know about anything about religion?"

  Ardine looked at me questioningly.

  "I'm afraid he's right. The priest is riding a donkey into church on Palm Sunday morning."

  "But why?" asked Ardine, finally voicing the question we'd all been asking ourselves.

  "It's hard to say exactly," I said, raising an eyebrow in Moosey's direction. "I'll tell you later. Anyway, we need someone who is good with animals to lead the donkey in. It wouldn't do for Jeremiah to get scared."

  "I can do it!" said Moosey. "Sure I can! I've already been over to Connie Ray's about a hundred times to play with him."

  "I know you have."

  "I told you to leave Connie Ray's animals alone," said Ardine sternly.

  "Aw, Mom. He says I can come over and help him any time."

  "It's true," I said, sticking up for Moosey. "That's what Connie Ray told me, too. Anytime he wants. And Connie Ray said that Moosey's mighty good with that donkey."

  We both looked at Ardine and waited hopefully for her answer.

  "All right then," she said, shaking her head. "But don't you two cause any trouble at that church."

  Moosey and I looked at each other, then back to Ardine, shook our heads at the same time and answered in unison. "No ma'am. We won't."

  •••

  "You'll need to bring something for Jeremiah to munch on," I said to Moosey as he and I walked down the steps to my car. "Sometimes donkeys like a little
treat. Carrots would be good."

  Moosey nodded.

  Chapter 15

  I leaned back in my chair and contemplated my next move. The clowns were a problem. Rocki was a problem. Lilith was a problem. The bishop was always a problem. I had more problems than a Viagra salesman at a Castrati Convention.

  The door slammed open and there was another problem. A big problem. It was Race. Race Rankle.

  "What are you trying to do?"

  "Calm down, Race," I said. "Take off your coat and have a drink."

  "Listen, Bub! I don't have time for this, so I'll cut to the bottom line. You help me out and when this merger goes through General Convention, I'll cut you in for two percent."

  "What about the clowns?" I asked.

  "What clowns? I don't know nothing about no clowns. I've got this leper colony deal workin'."

  I'd never had an interest in a leper colony, but I wasn't above taking one. I opened the bottle of Scotch on my desk and poured a couple of fingers into two glasses. Then I took Lilith's fingers out of the glasses and dropped in a couple of cubes. "That Lilith," I thought. "Always leaving trinkets around."

  "I'll take fifteen percent of the total," I said, grinning like it was Tuesday and I was the Pope.

  "Four percent of the net," came Rankle's reply as he settled into the chair and picked up his glass.

  "Twelve percent of the gross," I said, reaching for my drink as well.

  "Six and a half--off the top."

  "Nine and a quarter--under the table."

  "Seven even--down and dirty."

  Done," I said.

  "Done," said Race, smiling. He lifted his glass to his lips and threw the hooch back like a bad prom date to seal the deal. Then he coughed once and stared at me, his mouth a gaping black hole, opening and closing, like a bass in a fish tank or a bass who forgot the words of the opening hymn, before falling out of the chair. He was dead. As dead as Connie Chung's career. And this was going to be the biggest frame-up since the Energizer Bunny was charged with battery.

  •••

  Palm Sunday morning dawned bright and cool with blue skies. It was fine weather for a donkey ride, and I intended to arrive at the church in plenty of time to make sure everyone knew what they were doing. I had spoken to Meg on the phone the night before, and she informed me that according to the FOOSCHWAG, the monkey was no longer in his house. Now the pig was in charge, and we mustn't offend the snake.

  "Everything is turned around again, but I think there's enough room for the donkey. The chi will be flowing North-Northwest, so try to stay out of the way."

  "I'll do my best," I said. "Is the pig really in charge?"

  "More than ever! And don't forget. Whatever you do, please avoid offending the snake."

  "If I see any more snakes, I won't offend them. Did they get the fountain fixed?"

  "Oh, yes. It trickles very nicely now. But I suspect there will be even more trips to the bathroom during the service."

  "I expect there will be."

  "The pig's earth-sign is water, by the way. And the snake's is fire. It's a very dangerous combination. That's what Mr. Christopher says."

  "I'll be careful. See you tomorrow morning."

  •••

  I would have made it to church with ninety minutes or so to spare – plenty of time to get everyone lined up and in order. I would have, that is, if I hadn't come upon an accident on the highway into town. A car had missed a curve, driven off the road into a ditch and hit a small tree. The driver wasn't hurt, but, being a police officer, I had to write up the accident and give the driver a ride into town where he could call a tow truck. By the time I arrived at St. Barnabas, I had about five minutes to spare before the service started.

  "Hayden!" called Princess Foo-Foo as she ran up to meet me. "Thank God you made it! All the children have their palm branches and have lined up behind the donkey. Is that right?'

  "It's exactly right, Brenda. Crucifer, verger, acolytes, thurifer, choir, donkey, the Barnacles, then the children."

  "I think we're all set then," she said smiling in relief.

  "How's Moosey doing?"

  "He's doing great. That donkey just loves him and follows him everywhere." Foo-Foo pointed to the front of the pack. I could see a tail whipping back and forth.

  "Moosey," I called, making my way to the top of the procession. "How's Jeremiah?"

  "Great! I gave him some food just like you said."

  "What's that in your hand?"

  "What I been feeding him. It's called 'sparagus. He loves it."

  I looked on in horror as Jeremiah ate the last spear. "Where did you get asparagus?"

  "In the church kitchen. I left my carrots at home. This was left over in the fridge from that dinner."

  "Did you feed him anything else?" I asked, dread now evident in my voice. I was reasonably certain that I had seen the only other leftovers from the Edible Last Supper.

  "About four of them chili enchiladas."

  •••

  In retrospect, I think we all felt the sorriest for the Barnacles since they were directly behind the donkey carrying Father Barna's train. A donkey's digestive system is not set up for asparagus and chili enchiladas, no matter how he may enjoy eating them.

  The procession began with the handbells ringing, the organ playing and the choral refrain of "Lift up your heads, ye mighty gates; behold the King of glory waits" echoing through the sanctuary. True to Meg's description, the altar was now set up in the north to take advantage of the pig's energy. This was, to some degree, more like our usual setup, and at least not as totally foreign as when the monkey was in his house. I much preferred the pig.

  The crucifer came in followed by Wenceslas, resplendent in his velvet tam and cloak, goose-stepping along behind the cross. Behind Wenceslas were the acolytes and then Benny Dawkins, our champion thurifer, who was swinging the smoking incense pot and going through his bag of tricks quite nicely. He presented the "Three-Leaf Clover," the "Over the Falls," and his special "Rock the Baby," before finally finishing up with his trademark swing that had earned him the Bronze Medal at the International Thurifer Invitational in London – the "Doubly-Inverted Reverse Swan."

  The choir was next, singing the refrain when it came around, and deferring to the soloists, Bev and Bob, for the remainder of the piece.

  Moosey and the donkey were behind the choir. Moosey was leading Jeremiah by a rope tied to his halter while Father Barna sat on the beast of burden's back and waved to the congregation like the Rose Bowl Queen on New Year's Day. Father Barna's attendants – the Barnacles – were following him, directly behind Jeremiah, carrying the train of the priest's cope. Walking behind the donkey were about thirty children and a few parents. They all had palm branches in their hands and were waving then frenetically – occasionally sticking a palm into the eye of an unwary parishioner foolish enough to have claimed an aisle seat on Palm Sunday. All told, it was quite a scene they made as they paraded into the church from the front steps.

  The donkey made it about half way down the aisle before the first explosion happened. I call it an explosion because the phrase "a little donkey gas" would not begin to describe the breathtaking volume of the sound followed by the unfathomable odor that arose to the choir loft like a stench from the depths of hell.

  "Oh my God!" muttered Beverly, quickly pulling her choir robe up around her mouth and nose. To his everlasting credit, Bob, who had just started singing, gagged only once before choking out the rest of his solo. The choir didn't do as well, spinning around to see what had transpired, their eyes wide with disbelief. Several of them made it to the choir loft, Megan included, before the next refrain came around. It didn't help. None of them could utter a sound.

  The second explosion sent all the children running for cover, palm fronds thrown to the wind. The Barnacles didn't know what to do. They were directly in harm's way but were holding Father Barna's cope and didn't dare let go. Finally, Randy, the younger of the two, covered his
mouth and ran from the building. Lester wasn't far behind.

  With a huge "HEE-HAW" from Jeremiah – a cry of anguish if ever a donkey has uttered one – another explosion occurred, this one more powerful than the two that had come before. I stopped playing. The chili enchiladas and asparagus were proving to be a deadly combination. With another bray, Jeremiah sat down in the middle of the aisle and refused to move. The congregation had begun to move toward the exits, first as unobtrusively as possible, but then, as the smell overcame them, in a headlong dash. Wenceslas and Moosey had disappeared into the sacristy with the acolytes in tow. Father Barna had slid down Jeremiah's back and was trying to pull the ends of his cope from underneath the donkey's hindquarters. It was no use. He was trapped.

  The choir was silent as we all viewed the next event with reverent awe.

  Jeremiah gave a low groan. Then with a series of very fast "HAW-HAW-HAW-HAWs" he lept to his feet. Father Barna, his cope coming free, fell backward directly behind the donkey. We all watched in wonder, our robes protecting our noses, as Jeremiah's tail came up and he gave one last anguished bray.

  "HEEEE-HAAAW!"

  It was then that Father Emil Barna, "God's Voice in Appalachia," received again the sacrament of baptism, this time by immersion.

  "Oh dear Lord God, blessed be your Holy Name," Georgia muttered with a smile.

  "Who's going to clean that up?" asked Jeanie.

  "We'll have to call a cleaning service," Meg said. "Unbelievable! I didn't know a donkey could do that. It's like that time the hose came loose on Jeffrey Hine's truck when he was vacuuming out those portable toilets."

  "It was the enchiladas," I explained through the cassock covering my mouth. "That, plus the asparagus."

  I looked back down at the carnage. Jeremiah, feeling much better, was heading toward the front door. Father Barna was rolling on the floor, calling for help.

  "I think that the Palm Sunday service has ended," I said. "Go in peace to love and serve the Lord."