Part 31 (2/2)
(1)He is crazed with the spell of far Arabia,They have stolen his wits away.(2)Ah tell me not that memorySheds gladness o'er the past;What is recalled by faded flowersSave that they did not last?(3)Forgetfulness has made its country your redMouth, and the flowing of Lethe is in your kiss.(4)A dream before the ledger flitted,A dream before the brain;Ah, yet the toil is unremitted,The journeying is vain!The train the city never quitted,'Twas but a phantom train!5)The Clock! Sinister, demonic G.o.d that makes us tremble,With threatening finger tells us: ”Remember!”
In no apparent hurry, Norval scanned the audience with impervious calm. Was he looking at me? No, at Samira. ”One. Walter de la Mare. Two. Let.i.tia Elizabeth Landon. Three. Baudelaire. Four. May Kendall. Five. Baudelaire.”
Jack bit his lip, slowly nodded his head. ”Amazing. Absolutely freaking AMAZING! All five correct for five thousand dollars! Let's hear it for our resident genius, Norval Blaquiere-who may be going where no other contestant has gone before!”
APPLAUSE sign.
Following JJ's lead, Samira jumped to her feet, clapping wildly. Would she ever do that for me? I wondered, as I clapped along. Of course not. Why would she?
”All right, let's pause here to catch our breath. When we return, Norval will be going for ... ten thousand dollars!”
APPLAUSE sign.
”Back in the early seventies the image of Ella Fitzgerald's recorded voice shattering a wine gla.s.s was seen and remembered by millions. And the accompanying theme line, 'Is it live or is it Memorex?' was quickly adopted around the world. To continue this tradition of excellence, we are now introducing our Pocket Memory CD-R. At three inches, Pocket Memory goes where no recorder has ever gone before ...”
[image]
”All right, we've got Norval Blaquiere on the hot seat. Or should I say, cold seat? So far Norval has won ... five thousand dollars! Do you have any kids, my pal?”
”No.”
”For ten thousand dollars, another two-parter. First part: what does Liebestod signify? L-i-e-b-e-s-t-o-d. A German word, isn't that right, Dr. Vorta? Is it (a) death as a result of unhappy love; (b) mutual love in which both lovers prefer union in death to separation in life; (c) a utopian state in which marriage does not exist; (d) a poem by Dorothy Parker?”
”B. And D.”
”Right you are! But you're not out of the woods yet. Second part: in which of the following Elizabethan poems-”
”Hero and Leander. Christopher Marlowe.”
”Uh ... sure you don't want me to finish? No? Glad to hear it, my man, because you've just won ten thousand clams!”
APPLAUSE sign.
”I'm jazzed, and I know our audience is too! Are you jazzed, audience? Are you amped? I can't hear you! All right, we're now approaching the game's final stage. It's time to narrow your field. Which language is it going to be: (a) French, (b) German, (c) Spanish, (d) Italian or (e) Arabic?”
”E.”
”Really? Are you serious? Excellent stuff. Now, you know things are going to get trickier-no more multiple choice! Are you ready to rumble?”
”No, I'd like to use one of my lifelines at this point. I'd like my friend Noel Burun to trade places with me. Because my memory has suddenly gone blank.”
The studio went silent. ”But ... we don't have lifelines on this show,” Jack said, with a puzzled expression. ”What's that, Dr. Vorta? We can bend the rules? We put it to the audience? OK, what do you say, audience? It's in your hands. Should we go with the flow?”
APPLAUSE sign.
Jack s.h.i.+elded his eyes with his hand, surveyed the crowd, counted raised hands. ”No question about it-the audience has spoken. Is Noel Burun in the audience? OK, when we come back, we'll meet Norval's tag-team partner for the final round! We're what? We're out of time? All right, ladies and gentlemen, I'm afraid you'll have to tune in next week to see what happens on ... Tip of Your Tongue!”
APPLAUSE sign.
”Fifteen-minute break,” said the fuzzy-haired boy. ”Then we'll wrap this up.”
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The fuzzy-haired boy stood in front of me, smiling, waiting for an answer. He reeked of stale sweat and his voice had almost no colour, no inflection.
My mouth was dry, a sandbox. ”I can't do it,” I croaked, petrified at the thought of going on TV. ”I have ... problems. Stage fright.”
”Can't you try, Noel?” Samira asked. Her voice was velvety, haloed. ”For your mom? And me?”
I could feel my teeth grinding, my bottom lip being bitten, the side of my thumb being scratched till it bled. I looked at my mother, who smiled at me. She'd never forced me to do anything before, and wouldn't now. ”That's all right, Noel,” she said softly, rea.s.suringly. ”I understand ...”
A jolt, like an electrical surge, made the house lights flicker and I was suddenly backstage, in claustrophobic corridors, all of them colourless, all of them blind.
[image]
”Welcome to Tip of Your Tongue! Brought to you by Memorex and a brandnew co-sponsor ... Maxwell House coffee! One hundred per cent pure Arabica. Now in resealable canisters. Take it away, Dr. Volta.”
”Vorta.”
”Take it away, Dr. Vorta!”
”Maxwell House coffee, according to our researchers, was named after the Maxwell House Hotel in Nashville, Tennessee, where Joel Cheek's blend became the house coffee in 1892. Legend has it that on a visit to Nashville in 1907, President Teddy Roosevelt declared that Maxwell House coffee was 'good to the last drop.' One hundred years later, that familiar slogan remains the brand's promise to its customers. Good to the last drop!”
”Thank you, Dr. Volta. Let's hope our viewers could cut through that thick Swiss accent! All right, at the end of last week's show, Norval Blaquiere, a thirty-three-year-old bachelor from Montreal, earned a total of ten thousand dollars before narrowing his subject to ... Arabic literature! And then decided to pa.s.s the torch on to his best friend. So now it's time to meet Norval's torchbearer. How about a warm hand for Noel Burun!”
APPLAUSE sign.
”Welcome to the show, Noel. How do you feel about coming into pinchhit for your best buddy? A little nervous with all that money on the line? Noel?”
My insides were twisted, my bones molten. I cupped my hand to my ear, as if I couldn't hear.
”I asked how the old nerves were. Noel? Should we cut here, Pierre?”
”We'll edit. Keep it rolling ...”
”As you know, you can either try for the top prize of fifty thousand dollars, or with one wrong answer fall to zero-an Arabic word, isn't that right, Dr. Volta? Yes? What would you like to do, Noel?”
Inside my head, round and round as if caught in a sandstorm, feather-edged aubergine beads reeled with centripetal force. I closed my eyes, let my head sway gently to and fro, slowed my brain to the brink of vegetabledom.
”Noel? I said what would you like to do? Noel? Are you all right? Nerves getting to you?”
The voice was small, like the sound from someone else's walkman. ”No, I ... I'd like to continue please, Mr. Lafontaine.” My own voice had a quaver-I could hear it myself. ”Thank you.”
”Excellent stuff. All right, on the subject of Arabic literature, we are now ready for the first of three sealed questions. I've been a.s.sured by Dr. emile Volta, the world-famous neurologist, that he's concocted some real ballbusters ... s.h.i.+t.”
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