The Bass Wore Scales (39 page)

“
What?
That’s in ten minutes! Why didn’t you tell me? “

“
Sorry. I must have forgot. Gotta go.”

“
You have some music in the truck, don’t you?” asked Meg.

“
Behind the seat,” I growled. “There’s a volume of Bach. That should go over
really
well.”

“
I’ll go get it,” said Meg. “You take a few deep breaths.”

“
Hey,” I said. “Wait a minute. I think there’s an old
Cokesbury Hymnal
under the seat that I was using to keep the springs from falling through. On the driver’s side.”

“
I’ll get it.”

* * *

The choir started arriving at 1:30 along with the rest of the congregation. “Congregation” was a loose description of the crowd gathering for the funeral service. There were some members of St. Barnabas, to be sure, but most of the four hundred or so mourners were NASCAR fans, drivers, or friends of the Jameson family. “Junior’s fans will come,” said Pete, when he declined to attend. “They’ll come like lambs to the mint sauce.”

It was my lucky day. The 1938
Cokesbury Worship Hymnal
had a wealth of old, familiar hymns, and I flipped my way through the book, improvising on one tune right after another. I looked over at Kimmy Jo and the family, all who were ushered in at about a quarter till two, and she nodded, smiled at me, and gave me a little wave of acknowledgement. At two o’clock, I wrapped up my extended prelude with
His Eye Is On The Sparrow
, closed the hymnal, and settled back for a few minutes.

Gaylen, clad in her best white vestment and chasuble, stood up at the lectern, raised both hands and proclaimed, “I am the Resurrection and the Life, says the Lord. Whoever has faith in me shall have life, even though he die. And everyone who has life, and has committed himself to me in faith, shall not die for ever.”

“
Wow!” whispered Bev. “Look at the way the sun is hitting her white hair. She looks like the angel of the Lord.”

Gaylen continued. “Happy from now on are those who die in the Lord! So it is, says the Spirit, for they rest from their labors.” She paused for a moment, then said, “The Lord be with you.”

“
And also with you,” answered the Episcopalians in the stands.

“
Let us pray,” said Gaylen. “O God, whose mercies cannot be numbered, accept our prayers on behalf of your servant Junior Jameson, and grant him an entrance into the land of light and joy…” She finished the collect and added the traditional ‘Amen.’

“
Amen,” echoed the crowd.

That was the cue for the
Kyrie
, and the banjo players were ready. They were already standing at the microphones, and the unseen sound-man cranked them up. When they started playing, the banjos could have been heard in three counties, and with two banjos on the program, it didn’t take much imagination to know what was coming next.

“
Plink-a-plink plink plink plink plink plink plink,” went the first banjo, playing the opening of the well-known tune from the movie
Deliverance.
Dueling Banjos
.

“
Ky-ri-e e-le-i-son,” sang the banjo player, in imitation of his instrument.

“
Plink-a-plink plink plink plink plink plink plink,” went the second banjo followed by a second “Ky-ri-e e-le-i-son.” The two banjo players traded licks a few more times, and then they were at it, hammer and tongs, playing more notes than seemed to be possible. “Lord, have mercy!” they interjected at appropriate moments. “Christ have mercy! Lord have mercy!”

The people in the stands were on their feet, clapping along and stamping to the beat. I looked over at the choir. They were trying to remain reverent and serious, but there were more than a few toes tapping. I looked again into the bleachers, and suddenly froze. I caught Meg’s eye and pointed across the pit to the top row. There was Moosey. And sitting next to him was a five hundred pound Muslim woman in a black burka.

* * *

Elaine Hixon stood up at the lectern, adjusted the microphone and began reading the 23
^rd
Psalm. I tried to watch her, but I couldn’t take my eyes off of Moosey and his date.

“
Hayden,” hissed Meg. “Pay attention. Elaine’s almost finished.We’re next!”

I snapped my attention back to the job at hand, opened my music, adjusted my microphone, and pulled a couple of pistons just as Elaine said, “And I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever.” The choir stood up, I poised my fingers on the keys and then began.

Praying is never wasted,

It’s a fine habit they say;

I was amazed at how loud my voice was, coming through those Marshall speakers. Luckily, it was a short solo, and I managed it without too much embarrassment. Then the choir came in.

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.

We sang the chorus through twice. The words had been printed in the program, and the second time through, the choir was joined by the entire congregation.

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.

The congregation was swaying back and forth, and singing at the top of their lungs. We finished, and the crowd burst into applause. I glanced back into the stands, looking for Moosey, and spotted him right away. He was standing with the others, and his burka-clad companion was sitting next to him, stuffing handfuls of Communion Fish under his veil and into his mouth.

I was expecting a short sermon from Gaylen Weatherall, but she remained in her seat. Instead, rising from a chair beside the stage and making his way up the steps toward the lectern, was a short, round man with one of the finest comb-overs ever seen in North America. His one sprig of hair was probably two feet long, although we couldn’t tell for sure. It began just behind his left ear, swooped forward toward his brow, turned right, and circled his head once—then twice—before being sprayed tight to the top of his pate. As a professional statement of faith, it was breathtaking. The crowd hushed in awe of this magnificent comb-over, but this was just one of his many gifts. This was Dr. McTavish—Brother Hog, to those who knew him—and he was the featured evangelist of
Brother Hogmanay McTavish’s Gospel Tent Revival
. He’d been to St. Germaine before.

“
Brothers and Sisters,” he started. “When Kimmy Jo asked me to preach at Junior’s funeral, I was at first reticent.”

“
Hallelujah!” came a voice from the stands. “He was
reticent!
”

“
I asked Kimmy Jo how long I’d have to preach to y’all,” said Brother Hog. “She told me, ‘Take as much time as you need. It’s more important for these folks to come to Jesus than for us to get over to Boone for fried chicken!’”

“
Fried chicken!” yelled a voice. “Hallelujah!”

“
But I’m going to keep it short. Whenever I’m asked how long I’m going to preach, I say that my sermon’s going to be like a woman’s skirt—long enough to cover the essentials, but short enough to keep you interested.”

This brought a huge laugh from the crowd. I looked over at Moosey. He and his companion seemed to be doing fine.

“
My text today is from the Second Book of Kings. Listen here to God’s Word.” He opened his well-worn Bible.

“
As they were walking along and talking together, suddenly a chariot of fire and horses of fire appeared and separated the two of them, and Elijah went up to heaven in a whirlwind. Elisha saw this and cried out, ‘My father! My father! The chariots and horsemen of Israel!’ And Elisha saw him no more. Then he took hold of his own clothes and tore them apart.”

Meg glanced at me with a questioning look. I shrugged. It wasn’t one of the traditional funeral scriptures.

“
Now, ya’ll see that Junior is like Elijah. He was taken to heaven in a fiery chariot.”

“
Amen,” said several voices from the stands.

“
And Kimmy Jo is like Elisha, even though she’s not a man, and women shouldn’t be prophesyin’ no how. But when she heard that Junior was taken up in a fiery chariot, she took hold of her dress and tore it right down the middle.” Brother Hog grabbed hold of his lapels and mimicked the terrible scene. “Like this!” The crowd gasped.

“
Tore it!” called a voice. “Tore it down the middle!”

“
Luckily,” said Brother Hog, “Sheila DeMoss was right there to offer her a cover-up or Kimmy Jo would have been standing there in her all-togethers—an
abomination
to the Lord!”

“
An abomination!” came several shouts. “Amen!”

“
Now, it is appropriate that Junior Jameson is the first person buried in the No-Smoking section of this fine cemetery. We all know that Junior is up there today…” Brother Hog held his Bible skyward. “…Driving his racecar past the Pearly Gates and zooming up and down those streets of gold—praising Jesus and laughing at Satan as he drives by—even though his earthly body is sitting behind the wheel of that racecar right there.” Brother Hog pointed to Junior.

“
Hey,” whispered Meg. “Wormy has a No-Smoking section.”

“
I heard. I’m signing up.”

“
We know,” continued the preacher, “that Kimmy Jo will, one day, go to join Junior in the eternal Winner’s Circle.” His voice got soft, and he moved in close to the microphone. “But what about you,
friend
?” Brother Hog snaked a finger out over the pulpit, pointing accusingly at every unsaved soul in the congregation.

“
Will you join Junior and Kimmy Jo, or will you be cast into the fiery pit-stop where there shall be weeping and gnashing of teeth?”

“
Amen!” came the cries from the crowd. “Not there! Not the fiery pit-stop!”

Brother Hog continued. “Let us close our eyes for a moment and think on this. And while every eye is closed and every head bowed, if you haven’t given your heart to Jesus, now is the time. While the organ plays two verses of
Softly and Tenderly
,
Jesus Is Calling
, y’all raise your hand if you’ve made a decision for the Lord. And if you raise your hand, you’ll have to seek me out after the burial and I’ll pray with you. We’re not having any of y’all coming down and falling into this grave and meeting Jesus before you need to. Let us pray.”

My mouth had dropped open at the words “while the organ plays” and I grabbed for the hymnal, hoping that
Softly and Tenderly
was in there somewhere. I needn’t have worried. As Brother Hog prayed, I turned on the organ, threw the tremolo stop, and two verses later, let out a sigh of relief.

* * *

“
That was a close one,” said Meg. “Any more surprises?”

“
I don’t think so,” I said, but I was wrong.

* * *