“Question three,” said the Reverend Roberts. “What council-I repeat, what council-adopted Sunday as the Sabbath day?”
“Tumdrum District Council?” said Israel.
“Sssh!” said George, throwing her head back slightly and laughing.
“But you have to put your bins out on the Monday,” said Israel.
“The Council of Laodicea?” said Mr. Devine.
“Are you sure, Granda?”
“Let’s try it,” said Mr. Devine.
“Let’s live dangerously,” said Israel.
“Yes,” said George. “Let’s.”
Gloria had been a thrill seeker: she was that kind of a person. She had to push herself to the limit and beyond. She’d done sponsored parachute jumps and marathons. Husky sledding. Team-building weekend city breaks in Europe, arriving back on Monday mornings and going straight into work. And there were other things also…Israel stirred again uncomfortably on his seat.
“Question four,” said the Reverend Roberts. “What is the shortest chapter in the Bible?”
“I don’t know,” said Israel. He turned to George. She was definitely wearing makeup. “The shortest chapter in the Bible? What do you think?”
“I have absolutely no idea,” said George with a slight pout. Israel thought, Was that a pout? She was definitely doing something with her lips. Like Dorothy Lamour.
“It’s a psalm,” said old Mr. Devine.
“Are you sure?” said Israel.
“Ach, ye’re an aggryvatin’ boy,” muttered Mr. Devine. “Of course I’m sure!”
“Yes,” said Israel, placatingly. “I’m sure you’re right. A psalm,” said Israel. “I was just going to say that myself.”
“Aye,” said Mr. Devine. “Which psalm?”
“There are a lot of psalms,” said Israel.
“Psalm 117,” said old Mr. Devine.
“That’s so funny! That’s just what I was going to say!” said Israel.
George looked at him and smiled.
She definitely smiled. At something he said. He couldn’t recall another occasion when she’d smiled at something he said. Maybe it was the beard.
“Question six,” said the Reverend Roberts. “What is the longest-I repeat, the longest-chapter in the Bible?”
“It’s a psalm” said old Mr. Devine.
“We’ve moved on, actually,” said Israel.
“It’s a psalm,” said old Mr. Devine.
“No,” said Israel. “We’re on the longest chapter in the Bible. Long-est.”
“It’s a psalm,” said old Mr. Devine.
“Everything is a psalm!” said Israel. “Psalm, psalm, psalm. It can’t possibly be a psalm.”
“Why not?” said Mr. Devine.
“Because we just put that for the shortest chapter.”
“Things vary in length,” said George.
“So I’ve been told,” said Israel unthinkingly.
“Are you being suggestive, Armstrong?” she said.
“No, no. No,” said Israel.
“Good,” said George.
Israel had never quite mastered the art of double entendre.
“Now. Maths,” said the Reverend Roberts.
“Oh no!” said Israel.
“Porches at the pool of Bethesda multiplied by the shekels of silver plundered by Achan, divided by the number of sons of Haman.”
“What?” said Israel.
“Let me repeat that for the hard of hearing, and those of you who didn’t go to Sunday school,” said the Reverend Roberts, who kindly repeated the sum.
“A billion?” said Israel.
“Ach,” said Mr. Devine, scribbling down figures.
“Zero?”
After more questions of a scriptural and mathematical nature-the number of daughters of the priest of Midian, the height of Nebuchadnezzar’s image, the weight of a talent, the length of a cubit-the Reverend Roberts announced a short break, when fish and chips were to be served, and there was to be a collection for a Romanian orphanage, and a rickety-wheel raffle for packets of Seeds of Samson and Sweet Shalom Smoothies, and Jacob’s Ladder energy drinks, and Linda Wei came boldly striding across to Israel’s table. Israel was on pint five. He was in great form. He was really enjoying himself.
“Linda!” said Israel. “Good evening! Or should I say perhaps Bon soir!”
Linda’s hand instinctively flew up and protectively patted her beret. Her face was set.
“Ça va?” said Israel.
“Mr. Armstrong,” said Linda.
“What is the weight of a talent?” said Israel.
“The weight of some our talents will be greater than others,” said Linda.
“Ah, very good,” said Israel. “I see what you’re doing there! Very funny. Seriously, you don’t know the length of a cubit, though, do you, even Mr. Devine here was struggling with that one.”
“No.”
“Oh well, not to worry. Who’s on your team tonight?” said Israel.
“You haven’t forgotten your appraisal meeting on Monday morning?” said Linda.
“Sorry?”
“Your six-monthly appraisal is scheduled for Monday morning. You haven’t forgotten about it?”
“Yes, I had actually.” He laughed, and then, realizing that Linda was not laughing with him, he added, “No. No. Of course I hadn’t forgotten. Only joking.”
Linda continued not to smile.
“No. Sorry. I mean, yes.”
“You have or you haven’t forgotten?”
“I definitely haven’t forgotten it, Linda.”
“Good. We have a lot to discuss.”
“As always!” said Israel.
“Probably more than always,” said Linda. “Given recent events.”
“Recent events?”
Linda leaned over to Israel. “Your unexplained absence. Leaflets promoting political parties. Maurice Morris.”
“Maurice Morris?”
“His daughter?”
“Sorry, Linda, I have-”
“Lending the Unshelved to the under-sixteens?”
“Sorry, I have-”
“I’ll see you Monday morning,” said Linda.
“Right,” said Israel. “Yeah, yeah.”
“First thing.”
“Oui. Oui. D’accord,” said Israel.
“Please do not speak French to me,” said Linda.
“That’s not what the girls usually say to me!” said Israel.
“Mr. Armstrong!”
“Sorry,” said Israel. “Just the…beret. I…”
“We are ready to resume, brothers and sisters,” announced the Reverend Roberts. “If you could take up your pencils, please.”
A hundred Tumdrum Presbyterians laid down their chips and took up their pencils.
“And we’ll start with a difficult one,” said the Reverend Roberts. “Just to get you in the mood. There are seven things that the Lord hates, brothers and sisters, seven that are detestable to him. Can you list them?”
“George W. Bush!” yelled Israel.
“Sssh!” said George, old Mr. Devine, and a dozen others.
“Sorry,” said Israel. “U2?” he said more quietly.
George punched him. But not in the usual punching him way she had. This was more of an affectionate, rabbit punch kind of a punch.
“Haughty eyes,” said old Mr. Devine.
“What?” said Israel.
“A lying tongue.”
“Are you making this up?” said Israel. “How do you know all this sort of stuff?”
“Hands that shed innocent blood.”
“Quite right.”
“A heart that devises wicked schemes.”
“George W. Bush. See, I said.”
“Feet that are quick to rush into evil.”
“There. There!” said Israel. “I’m right.”
“How many have we got?” said old Mr. Devine.
“Hold on.” George counted them up. “Five.”
“We need two more,” said Israel.
“Oh, well done. That’s the only question you’ve answered correctly all evening,” said George.
“A false witness who pours out lies,” said Mr. Devine. “And a man who stirs up dissension among brothers.”
“Bingo!” shouted Israel. “Housey housey!”
“Thank you,” said the Reverend Roberts.