Choir Boy (19 page)

The choke-hold went away. Berry felt power coming back to him. He couldn’t keep the good news to himself, it just poured out. “Don’t worry! My voice is unbreakable. I’ve been taking pills, hormones and stuff. I’ll sound this way forever. ”

“You what? You—” Mr. Allen’s eyes swelled and he leaned against his piano, like a crutch guy whose bus had jerked forward. For a moment, he looked lost in his own house. “Are you joking . . . no, I can’t believe . . . Berry, what have you done?”

Mr. Allen stared at Berry, then jolted back to the moment. All the others had their robes on and had lined up in the hall. “We’ll talk after,” he said.

Berry had no time to worry about Mr. Allen’s weird spell. Fear also left him. His mind felt as empty as it did during Toad’s chem lectures, but with a difference. He felt calm and focused. He could hear his own voice in his head and tune it to perfect. He could blend with everyone. Berry had noticed more and more boys “leaning” on him lately, following whatever notes he sang. Occasionally he led them all off a cliff. But mostly Berry got it right.

The procession seemed to pause in the hallway leading to the cathedral’s side entrance for a million breaths. Wilson and Berry traded nods.

Mr. Allen played and the choir advanced. After that, time sped from legato to super-allegro. Singing without breaks for prayers or sermons gave Berry a rush. Berry never once took his eyes off Mr. Allen, even though he made the token page turns on his music. His mind and voice knew where to go.

A piece by Gabriel Faure opened the concert like a shameful velvet purse. It wasn’t even about God as far as Berry knew. They’d walked through the words one day, some passionate French poem about yearning and joyful attenuation. Its gooey sweetness had stuck to Berry’s fingers in rehearsal, but now it felt brilliant, like kissing Lisa topless and touching each other’s breasts, only this was in front of everybody.

Then the Faure morphed into religious music after all, “In Paradiso” from Faure’s Requiem, the haunting song about Heaven. From French into Latin, and all of a sudden Berry glided to the stone rafters, and the forbidden desire of the previous piece became the reward for all good Christian soldiers. Berry felt the cleverness of Mr. Allen’s plan, to meld the world and the Kingdom so you couldn’t flee one for the other. It was all sensuality, pulling the pleasure reflex whether the music was about hapless panging or righteous death.

Now Berry not only heard his own breathing, he could hear everyone in the cathedral breathe. The crowd had none of religion’s fidgetiness. As “In Paradiso” gave way to Darke’s “Peace I Leave With You,” the mood went fully Goddish. But Berry had a sudden flash of knowledge. Maybe the way he felt right now wasn’t about marching in formation, wearing fancy robes, and looking pure.

By the time “Dixit Dominus” and Berry’s solo came, he’d almost forgotten about it. For a moment, Berry’s mind was so blank he felt paralyzed, and then his mouth opened. The solo came seamlessly out of the music that came before, and Berry didn’t have to think except to breathe. Then the solo was over and Berry fell back into the group. Berry noticed George giving him a look of pain, resentment or admiration. George’s eyes half closed as if he’d just been napping, but his mouth gaped of course. His eyes slowly moved back to Mr. Allen.

After that, the concert moved really quickly, even through the tough Britten piece. After the choir filed out of its usual place into the wings, the audience kept cheering for a few minutes. Berry realized it felt strange to have the congregation applaud. Finally Mr. Allen led them back out front for an encore, Palestrina’s “Sicut Cervus,” which the choir did with the kind of gentleness that comes from power under control. The Palestrina piece starts quiet and never leaves its meditation behind. It’s way harder to pull off than the more brilliant colors of Faure. Some of the younger boys, who still didn’t know how not to blare, sang in a whisper or not at all. After the high-energy concert, it was almost plainsong.

By the time the crowd stopped applauding the second time, the choir was back in the rehearsal room and half unrobed. Berry suddenly remembered about his unfinished conversation with Mr. Allen. It terrified him. “We’ve got to record this group,” said Wilson, “before it’s too late.” Everybody was thinking the same thing. It scared them to know they’d brushed awesomeness for the first time, maybe the only time, in their lives. By luck or somebody’s will, they were part of something way better than themselves.

George approached Berry as he buttoned his blazer. “Man,” George said. “You kicked ass.” He held out a hand and Berry shook it.

“Thanks,” Berry said. He wanted to apologize or something. George looked a foot taller than Berry. Wisps of mustache and goatee had settled around his mouth. George looked happy. Maybe he couldn’t even remember who he’d been. He was still part of the choir, as a mediocre bass instead of a supertreble.

Mr. Allen entered and waved for quiet. “You guys were amazing. If we can sound this good for the microphones, we’ll be made. I’m going to try and get some mikes in the cathedral in the next couple of weeks—whether or not we get the label on board. Berry, I need to talk to you in private.”

Everyone cheered. Berry asked Mr. Allen if he could get some cookies before they talked. Mr. Allen said yes.

Berry walked with Wilson across the alley to the office building. “We just got to defluke tonight and get it on tape,” Wilson said.

“Toad, that’s my science teacher, says anything that happened once didn’t happen. Only things that repeat under the same circumstances actually happened as scientific events,” said Berry. “I told her that if a giant asteroid crashed into the Earth once, it would still have happened.” Now that his two-day silence had ended, Berry couldn’t stop talking.

Upstairs from the Twelve Step room, the big reception hall had tables covered with cookies and punch and milk and things that seriously fuck your vocal chords if you plan on singing. The boys covered napkins with cookies so high that doughy fragments fell everywhere. Even Berry shut up so he could fill his mouth with sugary butter balls. He’d forgotten to eat dinner.

Sugar and relief made the boys more hyper than usual. They ran around the hall and up and down the stairs and onto the stage at one end of the hall, twenty crazed kids in blazers and ties and gray worsted pants. The floor made bat sonar noises as their rubber soles skidded. Randy shrieked about Nimrod the Mighty Hunter and gave one of the younger boys a Holy Noogie. One of the boys found a teeny elevator that led down to the kitchen across from the Twelve Step room and the other boys put Jackie into it and sent him up and down in it. The adults, meanwhile, gulped wine and high-fived Mr. Allen. Jamal, one of the youngest boys, ran gangly-limbs-first into Canon Moosehead.

The Canon looked down into Jamal’s face. His eyes bulged and his mouth opened and closed, as if he struggled to say something or hold something back. He lifted a hand.

“Sorry,” said Jamal. He smiled hopefully, eyes wide and nose wrinkling.

Canon Moosehead took a deep breath. He looked over at Dr. Tamarind, loading up on bread and cheese. Then he smiled. “No problem,” he said. “Just watch where you’re going.” Jamal nodded and sped off.

Canon Moosehead wandered over to Dean Jackson and muttered to him. The Dean nodded but looked worried. Berry tried to move as close to them as he could. “I agree we need to make changes. For one thing, I’m changing the locks on that vestry and keeping it locked. And nobody gets at the communion wine, especially after the incident with that homeless gentleman. But let’s not go overboard,” said the Dean. The Canon said some more inaudible stuff. “Look, what happened with those pills, if true, was reprehensible and horrible. But that has nothing to do with the Hungry Souls or the choir, and I’m sure the parish council and the diocese will . . . Look, let’s talk about this later.”

The Dean walked off. Berry felt someone touch his arm. “You’re the superstar of the night,” Lisa said. “Everybody loves you. Now would be the perfect time to tell everyone your secret.”

“Leave that to me,” Berry said. “What did you put in that note?”

“I just said, ‘Viagra in Canon’s coffee and diet Slice. Check under shelf in vestry for pill bottle. Yours in Christ, etc.’ Except I didn’t sign it.”

“Canon Moosehead is totally ballistic. They’re probably going to kick out all the homeless people and kill the soup kitchen. And the choir’s going to be shredded.”

“Berry, I’m sorry. But I couldn’t let the guy keep suffering.” “Who are you talking about?” Maura wore a crushed velvet jacket with puffy ruffled sleeves and a long straight skirt. A bunch of men, from the choir and the audience, stared as she glided over to Berry and Lisa.

“Canon Moosehead,” Berry said. “He got dosed with Viagra.”

He was about to explain the whole story, but Maura squealed “Oh my!” and ran to the Canon, who stood in the corner, studying the floor.

“No!” Berry threw a cookie at Maura’s head, hoping against hope to stop her. The butter cookie missed, flew across the room, and struck Jackie in the forehead as he climbed out of the food elevator. Jackie fell on the floor and cried. Berry felt his insides wring. He ran over to Maura, who had just tapped the Canon on the shoulder with a conversational smile.

Lisa took Berry’s hand. “You can’t do anything,” she said. “Go over there and you’ll just get sucked in.”

“I gotta stop her,” Berry said. “She’s insane.”

The Canon’s face filled with blood like a well-fed mosquito. His eyes engorged. Maura held her palms a half foot or so apart. “She’s actually comparing Viagra experiences in church,” Lisa said. “When did she ever use it?”

“With clients,” Berry said. The Canon’s mouth opened and a strangled cry came. Maura stopped laughing and frowned. She shrugged and said something philosophical. The Canon barked something angry. His hands scrunched into fists. “Oh my God,” Berry said. “He’s going to hit her.” “Ministers don’t hit,” Lisa said.

Maura shrieked, whether with laughter or horror Berry couldn’t tell. Maura put her hand on the Canon’s shoulder, and he brushed it off. By now, the interaction of the gaudy bitch and Canon Boner had a crowd. Berry noticed Dr. Tamarind hovering, watching his two best clients. In the confusion, Berry got close enough to hear what Maura and Canon Moosehead were saying.

“For the last time, I did not use that substance recreationally! It was given to me against my wishes!”

“Oh, I know how that goes,” Maura said. “Demanding wife. Long dry spell. Tired hubby gets a boost he never saw coming. Huh? Where’s the wife? I have some suggestions for her about other ways to rouse the rooster.”

“I’ve been divorced for five years.”

“And she still makes you take that stuff? Fire your attorney, your divorce settlement sucks butt. No offense.”

The Canon raised fists and clubbed his own ears. Dr. Tamarind had told Berry he had a rule against socializing with patients or seeing them outside of sessions. Berry wondered if it would apply if one patient was murdering another.

Maura talked about special massage techniques she knew. Canon Moosehead gripped her shoulder so hard she yelped. She looked up at him, suddenly terrified. He let go and stepped back. ‘Tm sorry,” Canon Moosehead said. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“That’s okay,” Maura said.

“It’s been a disturbing time. Do you know who did this?” “Just heard someone talking about it,” Maura said.

“I’ve been to Hell,” the Canon said. “Hell is where the flesh rules the spirit instead of the other way around.” “Come with me,” Maura said. “I think you need someone to talk to. Really, I promise I won’t laugh any more.” Maura took Canon Moosehead’s arm and led him out of the room. They disappeared around the corner and Berry heard them walk down the big stairs to the exit. “Where are they going?” Berry asked nobody.

“Berry.” Mr. Allen tapped Berry’s shoulder then folded his arms. “We still need to have our talk.” He looked way smaller than ever before. No rehearsal or service, however grinding, had ever crushed Mr. Allen so hard. Several boys stared at the two of them. “Let’s go.”

Berry and Mr. Allen went back into the cathedral and sat on his big organ bench looking out at the deserted pews. “I just wish you’d told me sooner—before I started planning a big recording date. I don’t think you can be in the choir now,” Mr. Allen said. His voice echoed.

“No, wait,” Berry said. “I’m not changing. I mean, I am. But I’m doing this to not change.”

“I thought I knew what was going on with you. Why couldn’t you confide in me, Berry? Or whatever I’m supposed to call you now. Are you going to be wearing dresses? Is there a timetable?”

“Please listen,” Berry said. “I just wanted to keep my voice from going like George’s. So I took the female hormones and other stuff to put my voice on ice.”

“You can join the girls’ choir if I clear it with the Dean,” Mr. Allen said.

“I don’t want to join the girls’ choir,” Berry said. “I’ve been meaning to tell you for a while. I didn’t know how to explain. When George’s voice changed, I got scared. If I’m not this ...” He gestured around the cathedral. “. . . I’m nothing.” He explained about the kitchen knife and the clinic. “But now I’ve changed a lot and I don’t know what’s going on,” Berry said.

“Have you talked to a doctor about this?” Mr. Allen said. “Nah, just the people at the clinic. They think I’m older.” Mr. Allen breathed the wrong way, too quick and from the shoulders. “So you’re taking all these pills. And you don’t know what they all do, except you’ve developed breasts and your voice hasn’t changed. So far.”

Berry nodded.

“Who knows what you’re really doing to your body taking all this stuff at your age?”

“Everything seems okay,” Berry said. “They check on me at the clinic.”

“So some of the pills are to stop your testosterone from working. And some of them are to give you female features,” Mr. Allen said. Berry felt weird talking about this stuff in the empty cathedral. The big statue of the crucified Jesus stared down at them, its eyes asking, “Is it nothing to you?”

“I guess so,” Berry said. This was an idea he hadn’t thought of before. “I could just take the anti-testosterone pills but not the estrogen and stuff, huh? Is that what you think I should do?”