Part 31 (1/2)
'It means,' said Norval, 'that they didn't have any red ones.'
1 May. Very clearheaded with fewer and fewer fuzzy areas - a miracle? Is it possible that I never had AD? Noel, JJ a.s.sures me, is becoming a brilliant neuropharmacologist. Or is emile behind all this? Noel's last concoction, in any case, seems to have worked wonders. But it has side-effects, unbelievable side-effects! I felt like I was floating near the ceiling, looking down on my own body, like a soul freed of its earthly bonds! Or maybe I was near death and this was a dress rehearsal ...
11 May. Noel is in love with Samira, and I hardly needed Norval to plant that seed in my mind. Although I should probably stay out of it, I'm going to try to bring them together, if I can.
14 May. Hope I'm not being a drama queen or nag, but for the past couple of weeks I've been asking (pestering?) Noel about his health. He says he's just lost a bit of weight, but he doesn't look at all well to me. I've asked Norval to talk to him about it.
15 May. Strange coincidence. A few days ago we talked about trying to get on this quiz show (which Noel hates) and this afternoon JJ and I watched an episode of The Honeymooners, the one where Ralph goes on a TV show called The $99,000 Answer. He chooses the category Popular Songs. We were laughing like lunatics, but I have to admit I find it painful to watch when Ralph, who knows the category backwards, can't name the composer of 'Swanee River' in the very first question. I know it's silly but I'm getting so nervous about Norval's appearance. It's in two days! Fingers crossed.
Chapter 22.
The Arabian Nightmare (Noel's Diary III) May 17. The applause sign flashed and a handful of people obeyed it, including a frenetic JJ on one side and the fumbling ghostwriter on the other, who was trying to balance a clipboard and a Memorex CD-R on his lap at the same time. My mother and Samira were smiling at each other as they clapped; I was frozen with nervousness but understood every word, or almost.
”Welcome to CBC4's Tip of Your Tongue! Brought to you by ... Memorex! And now, please welcome your master of ceremonies, Jack Lafontaine!”
From the entrance of the studio, Jack Lafontaine came trotting down the aisle, high-fiving people who weren't high-fiving back, waving to a crowd that seemed unsure of who he was.
”Cut!” said the director, a fuzzy-haired boy with a pre-p.u.b.escent voice. ”We need more noise than that, people. When the applause sign flashes, please, everybody-”
”We can juice it later,” offered the soundman, sniffing badly from a cold, or line of cocaine.
”I don't want to juice it up later. We've been criticised for that-how are we going to sell this show to the States if it sounds like a home video? And for the audience shot, can we get that dog out of the aisle? Yes, that dog. How many dogs are there in the studio? What are we doing, 101 Dalmatians? Let's take it from the top, after the intro. Three, two, one ...”
Jack came running down the aisle again, with dyed black wind-resistant hair that seemed to have been glued on, and a tight tuxedo that made his movements slightly penguinish. He hopped up the stairs to the makes.h.i.+ft stage. The applause was only marginally louder.
”Thank you, ladies and gentlemen, for that warm welcome. Glad to have you aboard for Tip of Your Tongue! Let me just catch my breath. All right, tonight's theme is ... poetry! This is show number seventy-seven and so far no one has gone all the way to the top. Let's hope the double sevens will be lucky for someone tonight! So without further ado, let's meet a new group of contestants in search of ... fifty thousand dollars!”
APPLAUSE sign.
”Tonight's questions have been prepared by Dr. emile Vorta, the distinguished neurologist from the University of Quebec-and a poet in his own right!-who will also be acting as tonight's referee. Thank you, Dr. Vorta, it's an honour to have you here. All right contestants, are we ready to roll? It's time to put on your thinking caps-because here comes the quick-digit query. Using the b.u.t.tons in front of you, I want you to put the following poems in chronological order, according to year of publication: (1)In Memoriam-Lord Tennyson(2)Remember-Christina Rossetti(3)Much madness is divinest sense-Emily d.i.c.kinson(4)I Remember, I Remember-Thomas Hood(5)The Old Fools-Philip Larkin ”Time's up. The correct answer is 4, 2, 1, 3, 5. Let's see who got it right. Sylvie Viau and Ronald Sheldrake. Sylvie's time was 8.7 seconds and Ronald's ... 9.3! Good for you, Ronald, I mean Sylvie. Step up here, please! No, not you, Ronald.”
Norval, his finger still resting on one of the b.u.t.tons, looked stunned. JJ slumped in his chair. Samira and my mother exchanged glum looks. I was distracted by the odd colour form, but understood the question when I saw the screen, saw the numbers. Should I say something? I turned and whispered into Samira's ear.
”Are you sure?” she said. She then whispered into JJ's ear; he leaned over to look at me and I nodded.
”Congratulations, Sylvie-”
”Hold on!” a voice came from the audience. JJ's. ”There's been a mistake!”
”Cut!” said the fuzzy-haired boy.
Dr. Vorta, in an agitated state, lifted his beard from a reference book. ”Yes, I fear there has been an error. The 1 and 2 should be reversed.”
”You sure, Doc?” said the fuzzy-haired boy. ”Positive? OK, Pierre, can you change the graphic? Jack, we'll start again at 'The correct order is ...' Ready? 3-2-1 ...”
”And the correct order is 4, 1, 2, 3, 5. Let's see who had the right answer ... Two people again. I mean two people. And the one with the fastest time is ... Norval Blaquiere! Norval, come on up here please!”
This time the ovation was thunderous, mostly because JJ was rabid, out of control. With his patented smirk Norval walked casually onto the stage, and sat down with his arms folded across his chest.
”Well done, sir. So how does it feel, Norval, to be in the hot seat?”
”It's cold plastic, Jack.”
”Good one! I see we've got a livewire tonight! A lit disturber! All right. So, my friend, it says here you're a writer and a teacher. Where do you teach?”
”I see no reason to embarra.s.s the school, Jack-I'm about to be sacked for unethical conduct.”
”Shall we get started? You know the rules-you'll be asked a series of questions of increasing difficulty. Let me remind you: you may stop at any point and take the money and run. Otherwise, if you answer incorrectly, you will leave with zero. Take a deep breath. Ready?”
Norval rolled his eyes.
”Let's play ... Tip of Your Tongue! These sealed envelopes I'm holding in my hand are secured each week in a bank vault at the Laurentian Bank headquarters until just before show time. Which reminds me-check out their new mortgage rates! Shall we get started? First question, for a hundred dollars: What is an abecadarius? Is it (a) an acrostic, the initial letters of whose successive lines form the alphabet; (b) a verse arranged in such a way as to spell names or phrases; (c) a notebook which lists the rudiments of a subject; or (d) a lover's diary in which conquests are listed alphabetically?”
”A.”
”Just won a hundred bucks! A two-parter coming up. Which type of poem is the following, and what is the metre? Check it out on the monitor ...”
A lesbian bride and her groomAsked a gay man up to their room.They spent the whole nightIn a h.e.l.l of a fightOver who should do what, and to whom.
”Is this (a) a sonnet; (b) a villanelle, (c) a-”
”Limerick.”
”Uh ... right you are. Second part. Is the meter (a) iambic; (b) ionic; (c) trochaic; or (d) anapaestic?”
”Anapaestic.”
”Ultimate, untakebackable answer? You sure? Glad to hear it, because you've just won five hundred bucks! Let's give it up for Norval Blaquiere!” APPLAUSE sign.
”So, Norval, it says on your resume that you've worked as a film actor ...”
”That was a fabrication I used to get on the show.”
Jack burst out laughing. ”Don't tell anyone, but that's how I got on the show too! OK, third hurdle for a thousand dollars. Have I got the right question? Here we go. Another two-parter. A certain lover of Lord Byron's, who in a fit of jealousy bit through her gla.s.s at dinner when she saw the poet leaning towards another woman, later sent him a lock of her hair, asking for his in return. For one thousand dollars, who was this lover and what was the poet's response?”
”Caroline Lamb. Byron sent her another woman's hair-the Countess of Oxford's pubic hair.”
Jack paused before looking up from his card. ”Could someone get me a fire extinguisher? Because Norval's brain is on fire! All right baby! Three in a row! Are you loving this, audience?”
APPLAUSE sign.
”Have you thought about what you'll do with your money, Norval?”
”Yes Jack, I have. It'll go towards providing a university education for my twelve foster children in Africa.”
”All right baby! Maybe we'll see one of them on the show one day! OK, it's time for the five-question lightning round. You must get at least three of five correct to move on. Are you ready? You've got twenty seconds to tell me the author of these lines on the monitor.”