Free The Bass Wore Scales by Mark Schweizer

know that,” said Ruby. “I just don’t know what they mean.”
    “ I got the first two,” said Elaine. “Andante and pew something.”
    “ Piú lento,” I said. “It means very slowly.”
    “ Yeah, I’ve heard of that one. But what was the third one?”
    “ Scherzo. That’s what makes the whole thing funny,” I said defensively. “A scherzo is a musical joke.”
    “ Oh,” said Meg. “So when you wrap it up with ‘if anyone thought this was a musical joke and one bit funny,’ that’s part of the joke, because scherzo means musical joke.”
    “ Yeah,” I said, as the three women nodded in understanding. “Although when you take it apart like that, it’s not quite so good.”
    “ No, no,” said Ruby. “It has several components that I really like. For example, giant meat-metronome is really clever. And I presume that Beethoven’s 3 rd piano concerto actually does have a dark and ominous beginning.”
    “ Yes,” I said. “Yes it does.”
    “ All the better,” said Meg. “But these are all details that we, as readers or better yet, judges, wouldn’t know if we weren’t musicians.”
    “ So you guys think that the musical references are too obscure?” I asked.
    The three women nodded.
    “ Or are you convinced that this entry is so good that none of you stand a chance and you’re trying to put me off my game?”
    The three women nodded.
    And, just in time, the pizza arrived.

    * * *

    We walked out of the Bear and Brew, and the town square had been transformed. Pete, our stalwart mayor and never one to miss an opportunity, had told me yesterday about his plans. In the hour or so we spent eating pizza and discussing my shortcomings as an author, the news trucks had arrived, and the talent had begun to set up in Sterling Park across from St. Barnabas. Dave and Nancy had cordoned off Main Street on the west side of the square, and Junior Jameson’s car was sitting on a trailer right in front of the church steps. Pete was directing a couple of city employees who were putting some red, white and blue bunting across the front of the church. Billy Hixon had the entire crew of Hixon Lawn Care out putting finishing touches on the park, and when he saw me, he shouted and waved me over. That is, I thought he might have shouted. His mouth moved, but I heard no sound above the din of a lawnmower, several weed-eaters and two leaf blowers.
    “ We’re almost finished,” Billy yelled as I walked up. “I wanted everything to look good.”
    “ You guys just mowed this three days ago,” I hollered back.
    “ WHAT?”
    “ YOU GUYS JUST MOWED THIS…”
    The roar suddenly came to a halt as all the machines finished in astonishing synchronization.
    “ They all finish at the same time?” I bellowed.
    “ You don’t have to yell,” said Billy. “They’re finished. And all at the same time.”
    “ Oh yeah.”
    “ Anyway, it looks good,” said Billy, surveying the grounds as his crew loaded the bags of clippings and tools into the two pickup trucks displaying his logo. “We’re going to be on national news.”
    “ Is the bishop going to be here?”
    “ Yep,” said Billy. “He said he’d be here by two o’clock. I don’t think I can get him to wear his cope and mitre even though I told him it’d make for better press.”
    “ Just the purple shirt then?”
    “ I think so. And his big ol’ cross. But what’s the point of being the bishop if you won’t wear the outfit?” Billy complained. “I think this is something we should find out before we elect them.”
    “ I agree,” said Pete, walking up to us. “It’d look a lot better on TV and in the paper if he was in full ecclesiastic regalia.”
    “ You can still probably get a couple of acolytes out here in their robes with a couple of candles,” I suggested.
    “ Already done,” said Billy. “And Benny Dawkins is bringing the incense pot.” He looked up toward the front of the church. “If we can get a couple of folks up on the