Seventy-Six Trombones

I was at the funeral of a venerable member of the community.

We had known each other since childhood and they thought we were friends, but in truth I couldn’t stand the old sod.

We would very much like you to be a pall-bearer, they said.

Would you be a pall-bearer for us? they asked.

I said it would be a great honour.

It was going swimmingly until, as we passed the mourners all lined up holding flowers and handkerchiefs, crying and sobbing, I got a fit of giggles.

I think they noticed. Some of them at least. But it didn’t matter because just then I had a sudden urge, and began to play an imaginary trombone. With my arms as the trombone I blew air through my lips and made a sound like a trombone. Seventy-six trombones was the tune I played, and I danced and played in the air, and tromboned out the tune with my lips.

The other pall-bearers were fantastic. They managed to compensate for my not holding the coffin, and though it was a bit of a scramble, they didn’t drop it. They even managed to pop the lid back on before too many people noticed.

The mourners were shocked. Some said it was frightful. But I don’t think I’ve ever played it better.