crutches punched down the stairs, swinging between them in his pink coat the director as clown, the happy huntsman as lunatic gymnast. Taking the steps two at a time and swinging his long booted legs as if to project himself over our heads, John descended, talking over his shoulder and not minding where he fiddled his supports.
"It took an hour for the damned ambulance to get there; meanwhile, I twitched and snaked around and screamed so loud that windows slammed a hundred yards off. Six shots didn't stop my yells. At the hospital, the Doc took one look, turned me over, and—crack! like a kick in the spine—the pain stopped, as did my screams. Then, by God, I began to laugh."
Turning from John, I plowed through the champagne mob. "Get me one of those," called John. "Make it two. Hello, Lisa, don't you look fine, just fine!" Lisa sneezed.
"My God, look at your nose, Lisa," John commiserated. "So damn red it looks as if you'd been up five nights boozing!"
Lisa held to her stomach with one hand, her nose with the other, and ran upstairs.
"Thanks a lot," said Ricki, halfway down.
"What'd I do?" John protested. "Where's she going?"
"To powder her nose, dimwit."
"Where's Mr. Hicks?" said John, escaping swiftly in leapfrog vaults.
"Hello, hello!" He stopped in midhop to wave at all the windows along the back of the dining room, where two dozen or so local noses imprinted the panes.
The villagers, mad, angry, or irritated housewives, hesitated, not knowing how to swallow John's happy salute.
A few waved back. The rest pulled off, not taken in by his apish Protestant amiability.
"Welcome, welcome!" John called, knowing they could not hear. "It's the Hollywood sinner here, born in sin, living in sin, and soon to die, writhing, in sin. Hello!"
Some must have read his lips, for no fewer than a half dozen indignant villagers leaped back as if he had leavened the air with brimstone.
"Drink this against the day." I arrived with the champagne.
"But will it cure at noon?" John drank.
"One hour at a time," I said. "Where's the reverend? Oh, there he is. Reverend!"
The reverend came from the hall, smelling of hounds and horses. "I have been out commiserating with them for partaking in this wicked enterprise," he said, and added quickly, "Oh, not the wedding, for sure. But the hunt. Everyone seems happy. But no one has invited the fox."
"We asked, but he pleaded business." John smiled. "Are we ready?"
The Reverend Mr. Hicks grabbed a champagne from a tray as it passed, gulped it, and said, "As we'll ever be."
The lords and ladies and liquor merchants gathered, simmering with the good drinks, hiccuping with the bad—a medley of pink coats, celebrating joy; and black, promising unfaithful husbands and mournful wives.
The Reverend Mr. Hicks positioned himself in front of the glare of Tom and the dabbed-at and snuffling nose of Lisa, who peered around as if blind.
"Shouldn't there be a Bible?" she wondered.
A Bible, the reverend almost cried out, as he searched his empty hands.
Tom scowled but said:
"Yes. While Unitarian, we are Protestants. A Bible!"
The reverend looked around for someone to fill his hands with such a useful tool, which Ricki did in great haste, wondering if it was proper.
Off balance in two ways, the weight of the thing being one, Unitarian practice another, the reverend clenched the book but did not open it, fearing that some lost chapter or verse might leap to disquiet his mind and capsize the ceremony. Placing the Bible like a brick on the lectern, an ignored cornerstone to his peroration, he lit out:
"Have you been living in sin?" he cried.
There was a still moment. I saw the muscles under Tom's pink riding coat flex and tear themselves in several directions; one to punch, one to pray.
I saw the clear crystal lid come down over one of Tom's blazing eyes, in profile, shutting out the dear minister.
Lisa's tongue wandered along her upper lip, seeking a response, and, finding none, slipped back to
"It took an hour for the damned ambulance to get there; meanwhile, I twitched and snaked around and screamed so loud that windows slammed a hundred yards off. Six shots didn't stop my yells. At the hospital, the Doc took one look, turned me over, and—crack! like a kick in the spine—the pain stopped, as did my screams. Then, by God, I began to laugh."
Turning from John, I plowed through the champagne mob. "Get me one of those," called John. "Make it two. Hello, Lisa, don't you look fine, just fine!" Lisa sneezed.
"My God, look at your nose, Lisa," John commiserated. "So damn red it looks as if you'd been up five nights boozing!"
Lisa held to her stomach with one hand, her nose with the other, and ran upstairs.
"Thanks a lot," said Ricki, halfway down.
"What'd I do?" John protested. "Where's she going?"
"To powder her nose, dimwit."
"Where's Mr. Hicks?" said John, escaping swiftly in leapfrog vaults.
"Hello, hello!" He stopped in midhop to wave at all the windows along the back of the dining room, where two dozen or so local noses imprinted the panes.
The villagers, mad, angry, or irritated housewives, hesitated, not knowing how to swallow John's happy salute.
A few waved back. The rest pulled off, not taken in by his apish Protestant amiability.
"Welcome, welcome!" John called, knowing they could not hear. "It's the Hollywood sinner here, born in sin, living in sin, and soon to die, writhing, in sin. Hello!"
Some must have read his lips, for no fewer than a half dozen indignant villagers leaped back as if he had leavened the air with brimstone.
"Drink this against the day." I arrived with the champagne.
"But will it cure at noon?" John drank.
"One hour at a time," I said. "Where's the reverend? Oh, there he is. Reverend!"
The reverend came from the hall, smelling of hounds and horses. "I have been out commiserating with them for partaking in this wicked enterprise," he said, and added quickly, "Oh, not the wedding, for sure. But the hunt. Everyone seems happy. But no one has invited the fox."
"We asked, but he pleaded business." John smiled. "Are we ready?"
The Reverend Mr. Hicks grabbed a champagne from a tray as it passed, gulped it, and said, "As we'll ever be."
The lords and ladies and liquor merchants gathered, simmering with the good drinks, hiccuping with the bad—a medley of pink coats, celebrating joy; and black, promising unfaithful husbands and mournful wives.
The Reverend Mr. Hicks positioned himself in front of the glare of Tom and the dabbed-at and snuffling nose of Lisa, who peered around as if blind.
"Shouldn't there be a Bible?" she wondered.
A Bible, the reverend almost cried out, as he searched his empty hands.
Tom scowled but said:
"Yes. While Unitarian, we are Protestants. A Bible!"
The reverend looked around for someone to fill his hands with such a useful tool, which Ricki did in great haste, wondering if it was proper.
Off balance in two ways, the weight of the thing being one, Unitarian practice another, the reverend clenched the book but did not open it, fearing that some lost chapter or verse might leap to disquiet his mind and capsize the ceremony. Placing the Bible like a brick on the lectern, an ignored cornerstone to his peroration, he lit out:
"Have you been living in sin?" he cried.
There was a still moment. I saw the muscles under Tom's pink riding coat flex and tear themselves in several directions; one to punch, one to pray.
I saw the clear crystal lid come down over one of Tom's blazing eyes, in profile, shutting out the dear minister.
Lisa's tongue wandered along her upper lip, seeking a response, and, finding none, slipped back to
Similar Books
