Choir Boy Read Free

Mr. Allen scowled, and Berry feared he’d stop playing and cancel church after all. But Mr. Allen just plowed through the wreckage. The choir held its breath as George hit a few notes in his lower range, then lifted back into bagpipe-land. Berry covered his face, then uncovered it just in time for the return to full chorus. George clapped his mouth as soon as his solo ended. In between reading the music and watching Mr. Allen, Berry stole glances at George, who blinked scarlet.
    As soon as the boys filed out of the cathedral and reached the side entrance out of sight of the congregation, Teddy grabbed George by the scruff of his cassock and slammed him into the wall. “What the fuck?” Teddy hissed. “What were you trying to do, motherfucker? Was that some kind of joke?” The rest of the choir stood in the side entrance of the cathedral singing verse three of the recessional hymn. Wilson gestured to Teddy to shut up. Teddy slapped George so hard he yelped in his goat voice. That only made Teddy slap him again. His cheeks looked extra rosy.
    The hymn ended. The choirboys waited for Mr. Allen to come and kill George. But Mr. Allen had to play some Scarlatti piece as the postlude, so the boys had time to stoke George’s terror.
    Wilson tugged Berry’s sleeve. “Cookies,” he muttered.
    Berry followed Wilson across the alley to the cathedral’s office building. The big auditorium just past the main door had plates of butter cookies on one table, with little cocktail napkins in lieu of plates. Urns of coffee and punch left wet rings on trays. The congregation already buzzed around the cookies, but Wilson and Berry grabbed a few with no trouble. After the first half cookie, Berry craved punch.
    He scooted to the urns, but a livery mountain blocked his path. Canon Moosehead squeezed Berry’s shoulder. “Whoa. Somebody is moving much too fast in an adult space, and creating commotion.”
    “I’m sorry.” Berry tried to shrink away. “I won’t come here again.”
    But the Canon didn’t let go of Berry. “You’d best not.” Still clenching Berry’s collarbone, he turned to face a group of men and women in crisp suits. “This is one of our choirboys. Benny, say hello to Mr. Finch and—” Berry squirmed while Canon Moosehead introduced him as “Benny” to thousands of people in suits. “It’s so important,” Canon Moosehead told the wool-and-cotton spiral, “to nurture the children and give them a role in our community here at St. Luke’s. I believe that children have so much to teach us. Tell me, Benny, what did you think of my sermon?”
    Berry wriggled and tried to ease the pain of the Canon’s nerve pinch. He wanted to say something brilliant about the duty of the church to the least among us, or quote a smack-down from scripture. Instead he mumbled that the sermon had been okay, he guessed, but that he didn’t really think financial statements belonged in church.
    The Canon laughed, which had the effect of shaking Berry. “That’s why we need the young among us. Here, Benny. Why don’t you help yourself to some punch and then run off to your choir friends?” Berry filled a Styrofoam cup and then dashed back to Wilson.
    “That was painful to watch,” Wilson said.
    “He wanted to toss me out a window,” Berry said. “Good thing he couldn’t get away with it.”
    “He’s seen choirboys come and go,” Wilson said. “He doesn’t need a window.”
    They walked down the main stairs of the cathedral office building, ringed with pictures of bishops. Back in the alleyway, they looked around but didn’t see the other choirboys. “I can’t believe about George,” Berry said.
    “It happened so fast,” Wilson said. “Usually they crack before they croak.”
    Teddy and some of the other choirboys clustered around the closed door to the choir room. Teddy had his ear against the thick wood panel. “Mr. Allen’s in there with George,” Teddy told Berry and Wilson. “Some flaying going on