Town In a Blueberrry Jam

by B. B. Haywood

  “Starting at the far end . . . Mrs. Jane Chapman, director of the Downeast Maine Summer Theater program. Next to her, Mr. Oliver LaForce, proprietor of the renowned Lightkeeper’s Inn, located right here in beautiful Cape Willington. Next, Ms. Sheila Watson, music director at Cape Willington High School. And, of course, Mr. Georg Wolfsburger, baker extraordinaire and owner of the world-famous Black Forest Bakery.” The applause was a bit louder for Herr Georg as Bertha added, “This is Herr Georg’s tenth year as a pageant judge!” The baker, wearing an elegant navy blue evening jacket and a crisply pressed striped shirt open at the collar, put on a strained smile and waved halfheartedly at the crowd.

  Bertha waited until the applause died out before she continued. “Finally, I am very pleased to introduce our fifth judge. He graciously stepped in at the last moment to fill a vacant slot, and we couldn’t be happier to have him with us. He’s the author of numerous books of poetry, including The Bell of Chaos, for which he won the Pulitzer Prize, as well as Tap Dancing on the Volcano, In the Steps of Kings, and his latest, A Drop of Peace, which, he tells me, is available in bookstores everywhere. Currently an adjunct professor at the University of Massachusetts at Amherst, he’s also taught at New England College in New Hampshire and at the University of Southern Maine. Ladies and gentlemen, fellow Capers, please give a warm Downeast Maine welcome to . . . Mr. Sebastian J. Quinn!”

  The crowd responded enthusiastically as Sebastian rose and bowed elegantly, first to Bertha, then to the audience. He was dressed resplendently in a white shirt, checkered vest, dark gray slacks, burgundy sports jacket, and yellow bow tie. He seemed to bask in the audience’s applause and twirled his upheld hand in small circles in the air, as a Roman emperor might have done before a particularly bloody gladiator battle at the Coliseum. He milked the moment for all it was worth before he finally took his seat, smoothing his beard as he settled himself.

  “And now,” Bertha continued, “on with the introductions of the contestants!”

  As she read the names of the six contestants, they emerged one by one from stage right, all wearing broad smiles and carefully chosen outfits.

  To rousing cheers, dark-haired Jennifer Croft came out first, wearing an iridescent pink knee-length taffeta dress with spaghetti straps. She crossed to the far end of the stage, taking up her predesignated spot with a smile and a wave.

  Emily Fitzsimmons was next, dressed in a black and white skirt-and-top ensemble that had been tailored to show off her youthful figure. She was followed by Mollie MacKay, in a calf-length denim skirt and butter yellow mid-sleeved top with a lace-up plunging neckline.

  Haley Pruitt came next, looking radiant in a trim-fitting, off-the-shoulder powder blue number that perfectly set off her honey-colored hair.

  “Amanda’s next,” Maggie whispered to Candy, clutching her arm tightly. “I don’t think I can stand it. I’m afraid to look”

  “Breathe, girl, breathe,” Candy urged.

  A moment later, Amanda walked out looking prettier than Candy had ever seen her. In a charming sleeveless pink and yellow flower-print dress complemented by pale pink pumps with thin ankle straps, Amanda Tremont strode onto the stage, smiling nervously as she gazed out at the assembled crowd and took her place beside the other contestants. Her long dark hair hung loose about her shoulders and had been brushed out so much that it shone in the spotlight. A single pink rose was tucked behind one ear.

  “She looks absolutely gorgeous,” Candy breathed.

  Maggie sniffed back tears and tightened her grip on Candy’s arm. “My little baby is growing up.”

  Candy patted her hand. “I hate to tell you this, dear, but I think she’s already all grown up.”

  “Oh my,” was all Maggie could say.

  “Our final contestant,” Bertha Grayfire continued dramatically, “is someone you all know, someone who has made quite a name for herself in our little community—”

  “Oh no,” groaned Maggie. “Here comes She-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.”

  “—Miss Sapphire Vine!”

  “Oops, I think they named her,” Candy whispered.

  Maggie snorted as Sapphire pranced onto the stage wearing a cowgirl costume, complete with rhinestones, long leather fringes, red boots, a cowgirl hat, and a holster with a wooden gun.

  Candy almost burst out laughing. “That’s not Sapphire Vine. It’s Annie Oakley!”

  “Looks like Lord Voldemort to me,” Maggie muttered.

  “You’ve been reading too many Harry Potter books.”

  “I know. I’ve got a Hogwarts headache right now. Wish I were a wizard so I could make her disappear. She doesn’t belong here.”

  The crowd, though, appeared to love Sapphire and her costume, as did the judges, who applauded approvingly.

  With that, the competition began.

  “By tradition,” Bertha explained, “we’ll begin with a contest designed to test each girl’s knowledge of our world-famous wild blueberries. During this portion of the competition, which will account for thirty percent of each contestant’s final score, judges will not only be listening carefully to each contestant’s answer but also will be watching to see how the contestant acts under pressure, handles her stage presence, and thinks on her feet.”

  And so the questioning began. In an order predetermined by draw, the contestants were asked about the nutritional value of blueberries, how the berries were grown and picked, about their history and popularity, and even about cooking with blueberries. Candy was surprised to find she knew many of the answers, which she mouthed to herself, as if she were standing on stage—or watching Jeopardy! At one point she felt Maggie nudge her side. “You know, you should be up there,” her friend said with a grin.

  Candy almost blushed. “Not for all the tea in Boston Harbor.”

  Amanda handled herself well, to Maggie’s delight, but so did most of the other girls. Haley Pruitt obviously had been studying up on blueberries. But the surprise of the evening was Sapphire Vine, who not only answered each question properly but also did so in a way that clearly distinguished her from the other contestants.

  “Ooh, I hate that woman,” Maggie seethed as Sapphire answered one question concerning acid rain’s affect on blueberries in a particularly canny way.

  “She’s overdoing it,” Candy whispered. “Don’t worry—the judges notice things like that.”

  “They do?”

  “Sure, I think so.”

  Maggie looked mildly relieved. “You’re a good friend.”

  Then came the talent portion of the show. “Rather than appearing in alphabetical order, as they were introduced,” Bertha announced, “our contestants have drawn numbers to determine the order in which they will perform. This portion of the pageant will account for thirty percent of each contestant’s final score. First up is”—she paused as she glanced down at her index cards—“Amanda Tremont!”

  Maggie’s hands flew to her mouth. “I think I’m going to faint.”

  “Hang in there,” said Candy, patting her friend on the back.

  “She’s been practicing this for weeks. I just hope . . .”

  Her words faded as piped-in music blared from speakers at the front of the auditorium. Amanda appeared onstage wearing a workout outfit—snug-fitting white polyester-and-spandex pants with navy stripes down the sides and a matching cotton tank top. She launched into an athletic routine that included moves she had learned as a cheer-leader, gymnast, and dancer. She bounced and tumbled about, did handstands and splits, and even worked a few hip-hop moves into the three-minute routine. An appreciative ovation rewarded her as she finished.

  The music struck up again, a different tune this time, for Mollie MacKay, who sang a heartfelt if slightly off-key version of “Memories” from the musical Cats. Jennifer Croft came next, playing an acoustic guitar and singing a familiar old tune by Simon and Garfunkel. Emily Fitzsimmons followed, twirling batons.

  Then came Haley Pruitt. She walked down off the stage to a piano at the left
side of the main floor, opposite the judges’ table, and sat gracefully on the bench. Turning toward the audience, she said in a soft, lilting voice, “I’d like to perform for you now the Prelude in C Sharp, opus three, number two, by Sergey Rachmaninoff.”

  “Sergey who?” Maggie whispered hoarsely.

  “Rachmaninoff.”

  “So she’s playing a rock song?”

  “It’s a classical piece, silly. Shut up and listen.”

  As Haley took a moment to breathe deeply and compose herself, a buzz of whispers arose from the audience. Many of them seemed as confused as Maggie by Haley’s introduction, but once she played the first few commanding chords of the piece—dumm, da, dumm, da, dummmm—recognition dawned on many of the faces in the audience.

  As Haley moved through the piece, Maggie leaned over. “Hey, I’ve heard this before,” she whispered. “I think that Sergey guy wrote it for a Chevy car commercial.”

  Candy gave her a quieting glance. “Shh.”

  The hall hushed as Haley moved into the intricate fingerings that made up the middle portion of the piece, the notes sounding sharp and clear, played with a practiced hand. The audience sat mesmerized, transfixed by Haley’s skill and the grandeur and beauty of her performance. As she neared the end, echoing the majestic opening chords, the audience held its collective breath, hands poised to applause, anticipating the ending.

  Not being familiar with the piece, some clapped prematurely at awkward silent places, but Haley ignored those, playing the piece as it was meant to be played, until the final quiet notes.

  When she rested her fingers upon the keys, bowed her head forward, and finally rose with a slight smile, the hall erupted in applause.

  “Lovely, just lovely,” Bertha said into the microphone. “My, we have such a talented group of contestants here tonight! I don’t envy the judges their job one bit. It will be a very difficult task to select a winner from these remarkable girls, I can tell you that. Now, for our final performance of the evening . . . the moment you’ve all been waiting for . . . Miss Sapphire Vine.”

  As the lights went down and the hall quieted, Candy whispered, “Do you think she’ll do a striptease?”

  “That’s about the only talent she has, honey. Unless she plans to drag a typewriter onstage and write a newspaper column right before our very eyes.”

  “Now that would be exciting.”

  “About as exciting as painting toenails.”

  “Hey, careful. That’s the highlight of my week.”

  “Mine too.”

  “Shh. Here she comes.”

  A pause. Then, “Oh . . . my . . . God. She looks like . . . a giant blueberry?”

  A wave of gasps, chuckles, and whispered conversations swept through the audience as Sapphire Vine appeared on stage wearing one of the most outlandish outfits Candy had ever seen. It looked as though it could have been a Halloween costume, except it was worn by a woman in her midthirties instead of a six-year-old child. It was blue—lots and lots of blue—and bulged widely in the middle, approximating the look of a giant blueberry. She wore shimmering blue tights on her arms and legs, and had woven blueberry stems into her hair, many of them bearing clumps of the small blue fruit.

  Oblivious to the crowd’s reaction, Sapphire stepped up to the microphone as the spotlight centered on her. She nodded at the judges and then addressed the audience.

  “I would like to begin by telling you,” she said, “what an honor it is for me to be here on this stage tonight. I know my decision to appear in this pageant with these other wonderful girls has been controversial and that many of you believe I shouldn’t be here at all. But there is one reason I’m here: I love this community, I love the people who live here, and I love this country. But most of all, I love the blueberry.”

  “That’s about four reasons,” Maggie hissed.

  “Shh!”

  “So tonight,” Sapphire continued, “I would like to perform an original poem that I’ve written expressly for this momentous occasion. It’s called ‘Ode to Blueberries.’” She lowered her head and took a deep breath to center herself, standing still and silent until the brief applause and scattered whispers died down. Then, raising her right arm and curling it inward in a dramatic pose, she began to recite in a loud, clear tone:

  The blueness of a blueberry, a beautiful fruit

  That hangs from a stem throughout the times of

  warmth,

  A wonderful love.

  And we cherish this fruit, lying on a hill, in the grass,

  Eating the delicious berries,

  Tasting the sweetness in our mouths,

  Devouring all of the berry at once,

  Enjoying it so that it lasts forever.

  Then, eating yet another again,

  And still more, so that you seem to spend all eternity

  Resting lazily in the succulence of a blueberry.

  Loved are these summer fruits,

  And, indeed, they are the season’s best.

  She paused, her gaze sweeping over the audience before alighting on the judges. When she continued, her voice took on a deeper, darker tone:

  But too soon the love for the berries is betrayed.

  The summer grasses in which you once ate

  To your heart’s content are frosted over in cold hate.

  The one you have loved hits you hard,

  And, all at once, it is gone from you.

  And you are alone.

  Her gaze turned skyward, and anger crept into her voice as the next words came out hurried, sharp, and accusatory, her tone rising in volume and intensity:

  It is then when I feel a deep hatred for this time,

  The sweetness gone away.

  All that is left is bitterness.

  The love and kindness are gone,

  Replaced with agony and anger,

  Something you regret but cannot erase.

  A love, lost.

  The blueberries, gone.

  Speaking the final words almost in a whisper, Sapphire Vine closed her eyes, let her arms fall limp at her sides, and dropped her chin to her chest.

  For a moment the audience sat in stunned silence, uncertain of how to react, uncertain if she had finished. But when several long seconds had passed, and Sapphire still stood unmoving with eyes closed and hands clenched, the audience sensed that she was indeed done.

  Someone near the front clapped tentatively. Others followed hesitantly, politely.

  It was far from the ovation Haley Pruitt had received, or even Mollie McKay, for that matter. But when she heard the applause, Sapphire opened her eyes and lifted her head. Her face was radiant.

  “Did you like it? I wrote it myself!” she bubbled, hopping up and down like a two-year-old.

  Most of the judges sat with their heads bowed to the table before them, scribbling on their judging forms. None was able to meet her gaze. Sapphire apparently took this as a good sign, for she waved frenetically toward the audience, blew a few kisses toward the judges, and bounced off the stage.

  Maggie shook her head in disbelief. “Did I just see what I just saw, or did I black out and have some sort of dreadful dream?”

  “That was no dream. It was a disaster.”

  “What could the poor girl have been thinking?”

  “That was the worst thing I’ve ever seen in my life. It was like watching a train wreck happen right in front of your eyes.”

  Both of them burst out in high-pitched giggles but quickly slapped their hands over their mouths as a few audience members shot questioning looks their way.

  “Oops! We’d better be good,” Maggie whispered, “or they’ll throw us out of here.” Both struggled to contain their giggling, but it seemed like a lost cause.

  After a brief interlude, the contestants gathered onstage for the final portion of the pageant. They all wore formal dresses and stood nervously with clenched hands as they faced the judges.

  “Now comes our final event of the evening: the Q and A. Eac
h contestant will be asked a question chosen at random,” Bertha Grayfire explained. “Contestants will be judged on their speaking skills, ability to think on their feet, and stage presence. This portion of the pageant will account for forty percent of each contestant’s final score. Let us begin.”

  A pretty young girl wearing yellow chiffon walked onto the stage carrying a basket. From it, Bertha withdrew a length of paper, upon which was written the first question. She turned to the contestants. “Jennifer, you’re first. Here is your question.” And she read, “If there is one feature you could change about yourself, what would it be, and why?”

  Jennifer Croft thought a moment, lips pressed tightly together. “I wouldn’t change a thing about myself,” she began tentatively, “because I’m happy with who I am. Many people feel they need to change something about themselves to be happy, but I believe it’s best to just accept yourself as you are. Each one of us is unique, and each one of us has a special place in this world. It’s best for us to accept that rather than dwell on what’s good or bad about ourselves. If we can accept who we are, that is the first step on the road to personal happiness.”

  Jennifer smiled and let out a breath of relief as she finished, and the audience applauded politely.

  “Very nice,” Bertha said. “Emily, you’re next. Here’s your question: If you could invite any person or persons, living or dead, to have dinner with you, whom would you choose, and why?”

  As she announced that Helen of Troy, Abraham Lincoln, and Justin Timberlake were her preferred dinner guests, and explained why, the audience smiled appreciatively.

  Amanda Tremont, looking nervous, fielded the next question, “What is your definition of success?” and seemed to answer it well, using her mother as an example, which caused tears to well up in Maggie’s eyes.

  Sapphire Vine was asked, “What do you believe is the greatest crisis facing our world today, and how would you fix it?” Her answers: intolerance, and loving each other more.