WITING FOR VERONICA

WAITING FOR VERONICA
C 1997 JoJo

In Brazil, there are two time parameters: English time and Brazilian time. Hora inglesa means arriving to any given appointment bang on the dot; hora brasileira means arriving fashionably late by not less than fifteen minutes and not more than thirty. It is customary to inquire of ones hostess which time she would prefer one to observe.

The bride was over an hour late. Even on the premise that she was operating on Brazilian time, it was unacceptably tardy. The wedding guests were beginning to mutter among themselves; the bridegroom had broken into a cold sweat and was in deep consultation with his Best Man. Sitting as I did in the choir stall, I had a ringside view of the entire congregation. It was patently obvious that people were beginning to wonder if she was going to turn up at all. The organist (my Mother) had run out of pieces to play and was onto her second rendition of “Jesu Joy of Man’s Desiring”.

The bride’s name was Veronica and she was going to marry a Swedish fellow named Bjorn. Veronica was a beautiful, natural redhead, one of the few redheads who didn’t have so much as a single freckle to mar her flawless skin. Her eyes were green and she had an equally perfect figure which was the envy of most of Niteroi’s females of the British persuasion, including myself.

She was a member of the Niteroi Ladies’ Field Hockey team, and following a game, we’d all repair to the locker rooms to shower and get out of our hockey clothes. While the rest of us did this surreptitiously behind strategically placed towels, not so Veronica. She’d prance around stark naked, obviously showing off her magnificent figure.

A purist would find one tiny imperfection in Veronica’s otherwise perfect self, consisting of a small scar running from the top of her upper lip to her nose, indicating the fact that she’d been born with a hair lip. But there weren’t many purists around, especially not men, whose eyes would be rivetted on Veronica’s many other stunning attributes.

And so we sat in that hot, uncomfortable church, waiting for Veronica. Finally there was a commotion at the back of the Church, and one of the ushers signalled Mother to start playing “Here Comes The Bride”. Everyone breathed a sigh of relief because sure enough, here came the bride. However, that relief was short-lived because as Veronica walked up the aisle on her father’s arm, she was sobbing uncontrollably. Brides are supposed to look radiant and glowing. Veronica looked miserable, her face blotched and swollen from what was obviously many hours of weeping. To say this was unsettling is an understatement.

My Father, the Vicar, stood in his vestments at the end of the aisle. All I could see of him was the back of his head, but it eloquently revealed how disturbed he felt because there was a single bead of perspiration trickling down his bald pate. At this point I should explain that Father never perspired, even in the
hottest of hot Niteroi weather he always looked fresh and cool. He loved the heat – the hotter the better. While others around him were collapsing with heat prostration, Father was merely comfortably warm. The only time he perspired was when he felt nervous and stressed, and I imagine the sight of this sobbing bride really rattled his cage.

I gazed at Bjorn to see how he was getting along – he looked completely puzzled, bewildered and anxious. He took Veronica’s hand as she arrived at his side, and this caused her to break into fresh sobs. Other than Veronica’s weeping, there was a stunned silence in the Church as everyone sat with bated breath, wondering how on earth Father was going to handle this situation. Was he going to ask Veronica why she was crying? Would he take her off into the vestry and find out if she’d prefer to call the whole thing off? Would he put a halt to the ceremony? No, Father did none of that. He decided to proceed with the wedding ceremony just as if nothing was amiss. In other words, he chickened out and ignored the whole sorry business.

“Dearly Beloved Brethren” he intoned in his basso profundo voice, and proceeded with the ceremony.

However, although outwardly calm, Father was extremely agitated inwardly and this manifested itself when he said to the assembled congregation “If any of you know of any just cause or impediment why these two persons here present may not now be JOYFULLY LOINED in Holy Matrimony…”

I was the only person who heard this slip of the tongue, and it struck me as hilariously funny. Being in full view of everyone there I valiantly tried to stop myself from laughing. The harder I tried to stop, the funnier it became. My Mother glared at me from where she sat at the organ. This just made things worse. I stuffed a handkerchief in my mouth and finally succeeded in gagging my laughter.

Dad carried on with the ceremony, getting to the marriage vows. “Veronica” he said solicitously “Please repeat after me. I Veronica …” Veronica carried on sobbing so Father repeated “I Veronica” and when she didn’t respond, the realization struck him that she wasn’t going to respond, and once again he decided to take the easy way out by carrying on as if she had. “Take Thee Bjorn”… Veronica said nothing “To be my lawfully wedded husband”… Veronica sobbed even louder. And so it went throughout all the vows. Veronica didn’t verbalize a single one of them. The ceremony drew to a close and the happy (?) couple made their way to the vestry to sign the marriage certificate. They then made their triumphant march down the aisle, Bjorn beaming, Veronica sobbing, climbed into the waiting limo and off they went to their wedding reception.

While no one can be certain why Veronica behaved in this un-bridelike manner on her wedding day, there subsequently were a few clues from which one can arrive at a conclusion. It turned out that Bjorn and Veronica had already been “joyfully loined” because she was, in fact, pregnant. Back in the nineteen fifties, this represented a terrible calamity which could only be “put right” by a speedy wedding. The family would ardently hope that Junior would be sufficiently late in arriving, (and, of course, downright puny), so as to enable them to perpetuate the fallacy that his was a premature birth.

In conclusion, it would not be unreasonable to assume that as far as Veronica was concerned, this was a shotgun wedding, especially in view of the fact that the marriage didn’t last and ended in divorce a few years later.

Being as I was the Vicar’s daughter, I was invited to every single wedding at which Father officiated. However, while the others have all faded into obscurity, this wedding stands out in my mind as one I will never forget. I don’t suppose Veronica will either.
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