Mood Indigo by Boris Vian

shadowy vaulted tunnel smelling of religion. The truck thundered along the track like lightning, and echoing music skidded along behind them. At the end of the tunnel the truck pushed through a pair of doors, turned sharply, and Saint Roland o’ the Kirk appeared in a green spotlight. He stuck out his tongue at them, and Alyssum clung tightly to Colin. Spiders’ webs swept across their cheeks, and fragments of prayers sprang into their minds. The second vision showed the Virgin and the third was Godhimself, who had a black eye and looked horribly grim and grumpy. Colin managed to remember a whole prayer and quickly whispered the words to Alyssum …
    The truck came out under the dome with a deafening crash and stopped dead. Colin got out, let Alyssum go to her seat and then waited for Chloe who emerged soon after them.
    They looked at the inside of the church. An enormous crowd of people was there. Everybody they knew had come. They were all listening to the music and making the most of the splendour and fun.
    The Husher and Adam Browbeadle, leapfrogging about in their best robes, appeared heralding Father Phigga who had the Hamarishi Pibosh on his arm. Everybody stood up, and the Hamarishi Pibosh sat down in a big velvet chair. The noise of the other chairs scraping on the floor tiles was very harmonious.
    The music came to a sudden stop. Father Phigga knelt down before the altar, banged his head three times on the carpet, and the Unisexton Bedull went down to lead Colin and Chloe to their places while the Husher was arranging the Twenty-Four-Sheet Music Boys on each side of the altar. By now a profound silence had filled the church and everybody was holding their breath.
    Great rays of light were shining everywhere, trying to pick out anything golden so that they could burst out again into every direction. The wide yellow and purple painted stripes made the nave of the church look like the abdomen of an enormous sleeping wasp – seen from the inside.
    Very high up the Minstrels began to hum a distant chorus. The clouds came in to listen. They smelt of coriander and mountain grass. It was warm in the church andthe audience felt as if it were wrapped in an atmosphere of gracious cotton-wool.
    Kneeling before the altar on a pair of inflated prayer-cushions covered in white velvet, Colin and Chloe, hand in hand, were waiting. Father Phigga was quickly flicking through a big book in front of them because he couldn’t remember the recipe. From time to time he would throw a glance at Chloe because he was very taken by her dress. At last he stopped turning the pages, lifted his head, made a sign to the conductor with his hand, and the orchestra attacked the overture.
    Father Phigga took a deep breath and began to sing, supported by a backing of eleven baffled trumpets playing in unison. The Hamarishi Pibosh was quietly dozing, his hand on his cross-bucolic. He knew that they would wake him up when it was his turn to sing.
    The overture and prelude were written on old classic blues themes. For the anthem, Colin had asked them to play an arrangement by Duke Ellington of a popular old song, ‘Chloe’.
    Over the rail, beyond Colin, you could see Jesus on his big black cross. He seemed pleased that he had been invited and was watching everything with keen interest. Colin was holding Chloe’s hand and smiled shyly up at Jesus. He began to feel a little tired. The service had cost him quite a lot – five thousand doublezoons – but he was happy because it had all turned out so well.
    There were flowers all round the altar. And he was very fond of the music they were playing at that moment. He looked at Father Phigga and let him see that he had recognized the tune. Then he let his eyes close gently, leaned forward very slightly, and said ‘I will’.
    Chloe said ‘I will’ too, and Father Phigga shook both their hands with great vigour. The orchestra struck up again louder than ever, and