Well, since he couldn’t match our linguistic abilities, Clint tested me by tossing out a comment about the Congress of Berlin. AT least, he’d meant to be directing the comment at me; so I said, “Well, I’m not real sure; Doug, what do you think?”
At which Doug rambled on for fifteen minutes about Bismarck, Kaiser Wilhelm I, Metternich, the Tsar, and the Ottoman Empire. On the latter subject, Doug said, “C’mon, I’m the only guy at the table with African ancestors - and the Ottoman’s were an African power.” To which I responded, “Yeah, but it was also a European power - Constantinople’s in Europe, not Africa. And it was also an Asian power - so maybe we should ask Jeff.”
“Of Jacob,” he replied, “he actually live din Palestine - after the Ottomans had already left, however.” Of course, they didn’t really know our brothers well enough to follow this last bit of drivel; but they were suitably impressed by Doug’s apparent knowledge of European (and African and Asian) history.
Our food began arriving about that time, a course at a time. They were watching to see whether we’d have any clue how to use the fancy utensils. We did, and at that point, Clint finally asked, “Look, Doug - I watched the video of your . . Witnessing, as you call it. Were you really sleeping in a box on the street last Sunday night?”
Doug just shrugged and replied, “Sure - I’d been living on the street for about six months. But don’t even think about throwing me into foster care. Bob’s dad is adopting me - and he’d worth a billion dollars, which is safely beyond their reach in Australia - and he’ll wipe the floor with any social worker who comes anywhere near me!”
That was pretty bold, for a kid who’s going to court next week on murder charges - I knew he was absolutely right, of course - and they were quite surprised at his coming back at them so fiercely and so quickly.
So they asked about our revival meeting. Doug replied by saying one of our goals was to get kids out of t he public schools, so they wouldn’t be taught “the lie of evolution.” That led to a question, didn’t we know that all scientists believe in it. And Doug replied that wasn’t exactly true, and spat scientific terms for ten minutes - which they couldn’t really refute, or comprehend, since none of them was a science geek.
While all this was going on, dinner had been arriving a course at a time.
By now desert - the fifth (or was it the sixth) - course, was there. WE finished it on a somewhat more mundane level. Then we walked across the square to the music school. It was closed, of course, but Prof. J. had a key, and let us in, and led us to a recital hall.
It held about a thousand people, and was the largest in the building, and was where the orchestra performed. Prof. J. Had thought to overwhelm us with its size (c’mon, we had three thousand at tonight’s service). But it had a sixteen foot Boesendoerfer piano, which he figured would drown us out.
They didn’t offer to give us a microphone - which was not completely odd, since they trained the music students to perform that way - any student planning to sing at the Met had to know how to belt it out, unassisted.
But we weren’t college music students - neither of us had ever had a voice lesson - so he figured we’d flub it, and look silly. Well, gays have an odd sense of humor.
Anyhow, he said, “OK, Chris, you guys are supposed to be ‘errand boys.’ How about singing something?”
I shrugged and asked, “Sure - what do you wanna hear?”
They’d looked at some of our stuff on line, and said, “OK, let’s hear the Handel piece.” Of course, I’d sung several - but I knew he meant The Trumpet Shall Sound, which is the piece he’d stumbled onto at our web site.
So I said, “Sure - but get me a trumpet.” He wasn’t sure how I planned to use it, but went ant got one. I handed it to Doug. Prof. J. Offered me a score and a music stand, but I shook my head and said, “I know how it goes.”
They hadn’t turned on the footlights, only the overhead lights on the stage - so I walked over to where I knew the light switches were, and turned them on, then walked to the front and center of the e stage.
I wasn’t just showing off (much). They’d set me up so I’d sound weak, and flounder, and founder. The way the hall was constructed, you had to stand on certain parts of the stage, and be facing the right direction, for y our voice to resonate properly, and fill the hall, if singing without a mike.
I knew where it was, of course, so simply walked over toward the front and center of the stage, faced the audience that wasn’t there, and nodded toward Prof. J., who’d seated himself at the piano. Doug, in the meantime, had taken the trumpet and stepped over beside the piano, where the solo trumpeter, violinist, etc., would ordinarily stand.
So, just for the heck of it, I “channeled” Caruso’s voice. Anyhow, he struck a D-major chord, and I was off on the recitative. I still hadn’t managed to sing it without Caruso’s Italian accent, at that point, and he knew I’d been speaking flawless (well, colloquial) English, so realized I shouldn’t have an accent - and he recognized Caruso’s voice - the other two didn’t.
But he kept playing, and I got through the recitative. Then he began the aria - and I admired his ability to play it easily and flawlessly. When Doug began executing the trumpet part just as flawlessly, Prof. J’s eyes widened, but he didn’t miss a beat in the accompaniment.
I sailed effortlessly through the difficult runs; my only problem was to keep from laughing at their consternation. While we had several videos of my singing it, on our website, they’d assumed it was a trick of some sort. Now that I was standing there in their recital hall, with Prof. J. pounding out the accompaniment, they could not doubt the evidence of their own senses.
When we got to the end of the part that’s usually sung, Prof. J. Looked at me inquisitively, and I motioned to him to play the next part (i.e., “For this corruptible must put on incorruption,” etc.) He did, and I sang it. I’d never actually sung that part before, but I was sure t hat I could, and it turned out not to be a problem. Then, as he was beginning the first section again, Doug simply walked over and handed me the trumpet.
I took it, we swapped places, and performed the rest of it with him singing and me playing the trumpet. We’ve don’t it before for the guys, but it’s the first time we’d sung it that way for anybody else.
Doug hadn’t attempted “channeling” anyone else before, but used Mario Lanza - which he’s heard me do - and Prof. J. And I both recognized the change.
Anyhow, after we’d finished, Prof. J. Was astounded, and a little scared, the other two less so, since they hadn’t recognized either Caruso’s or Mario Lanza’s voices, and hadn’t ever attempted to sing the Handel piece, and so didn’t really appreciate how difficult it is for a complete amateur.
Prof. J. got up from the piano, walked over to where we were, and asked, “OK, guys - I recognize Caruso and Mario Lanza when I hear them. How’d you do it? What’s going on?”
I shrugged and said, “I wasn’t trying to show off. I just think he sings it better than me (No kidding?) Like I told Al and Clint, God’s given us special gifts.” I paused, then added, “Want to hear what Bach’s organ style really sounded like?”
He didn’t reply, so I walked over to the pipe organ at the back of the stage, and turned it on. I said, “Of course, he never had an organ with this many ranks of pipes, and the acoustics in here aren’t really like those of a baroque church - but it’s a reasonably close approximation.”
He still said nothing, so I sat down and began the D-minor fugue. After a couple of minutes, he finally walked over, put his hand on my shoulder, and said, “OK, Chris, we believe you.”
I reluctantly quit playing without finishing the piece - I was enjoying playing the organ, since our “new” pipe organ at the church hasn’t gotten installed yet.
So the three of them called both of us over and said, “OK, guys - you’ve made your point.” He didn’t say, “And frightened us pretty bad,” but he might have, since we had and, being clairvoyant, both of us knew it.
He conti
nued, “We’ll go ahead and take you guys home. We’ve gotten our money’s worth. We just wanted to see if you were for real.”
Maybe I should have been intimidated, and said, “Sure.” But I wasn’t inclined to, and instead, I shook my head and said, “Oh, no you don’t. Since I’m clairvoyant, I know if you’re lying. You rented us because you wanted a kid to beat up on.”
Then I eased up, relaxed, and grinned, “And, look, guys, don’t you get it, already? We’re both subs, bottoms, masochists. The main reason we set the thing up, wasn’t because we really needed the money - Dad - the guy who’d adopting Doug - is worth more than a billion dollars. The real reason we did it’s because the whole bunch of us like getting beat up on.”
Well, they were scared to his us; but they were even more scared to cross us - and at that point they just wanted to get rid of us before we struck one of them dead. So we went to Prof. J.
S office - they’d been planning to paddle us for flubbing up the song, and then take us back to Clint’s place for the “real” action.
So they bent Doug over the desk, and each one of them gave him three pops - and that’s exactly what they were - fairly light swats, nothing like what Bob gives us. Then, very hesitantly, they grabbed me, bent me over the desk, and each one gave me three pops - so we’d gotten eighteen pops in all - nothing like the way Bob whacks us, even when he’s just playing - and they’d paid two thousand dollars for the privilege - more than a hundred dollars a pop. I thought of having Bob send their money back, then decided against it. The only important thing is to get a chance to witness to them, especially since they’re all three gay, and therefore are very manifestly on the road to hell. And if we returned their money, they’d take it as an insult, and we’d lose that chance.
So I settled for offering to get Bob to refund their money, knowing that they’d refuse. When they did, I said, “Look, guys, when you think it over and think better of it, we’ll give you another day’s work for what you’ve already paid - with full spanking privileges, just like this time.” To find out how it eventually turned out, read on!
All three went along to see that we got home safely - they were that scared of Doug and me. I called dad on my cell, and told him we were doming home early, so he’d turn the porch light on and be watching for us. When we got there, Clint actually walked us to the door and made sure we got inside safely. They were really wound up.
We were both pretty upset, because all the other guys were fulfilling their contracts, ant it looked like we’d chickened out - or like we thought we were better than the other guys. We even thought of asking Dad to beat us, but decided not to.
All the other guys, including the “big guys”, had gotten rented, so we were all alone in the big bedroom. So I decided to share with Doug a little more about what’s coming our way.
It was nearly midnight - but we’d expected to be up late getting whacked - and were still psyched up about it. So Doug and I doubled up” in his bed (just for a change - before, we’d slept in mine). After I’d hugged him and said, “I’m so proud to be your brother, and he’d said it to me, I said, “Look, big brother, I want you to do me a favor at the prayer meeting tomorrow night; there’s going to be a crippled kid there in a wheel chair - he’s an American Indian, and he’s coming all the way from South Dakota to ask us to heal him
“You’ve got to heal him, Doug - I can’t = God’s only giving you the power, I know you’re gonna be all upset because your hearing’s coming up - but when Jesus was on the way to Jerusalem to be crucified, He stopped long enough to heal somebody.”
Doug thought for a moment, and then said, “Yeah, He did, didn’t He? The guys’ name was Bartemaus, and he was blind. You want me to sing Ira Sankey’s song when I do it? ‘Hark, what meaneth this solemn cry, Jesus of Nazareth passeth by?’”
So I shot back, “No, I thought we’d sing On the Jericho Road.” And when I said that, Doug actually belted out the second verse, the one that talks about Bartemaus - so I sang the repeats.
And then he said, “Well, I sure ain’t Him (and he had the Ebonics perfect), and I’m hoping CPS doesn’t execute me in front of a million people, like they did Him - but I’ll do it, if God gives me the power to. I don’t want Sammy Little Squirrel to have to go through life crippled.”
Chapter 510 - “Who’s fixing to shoot you?”