Read Online Dead Poets Society by N. H. Kleinbaum - Free Book Online
Authors: N. H. Kleinbaum
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will never cover any of us.”
“Go on!” Keating said.
“Kick at it, beat at it, it will never be enough...”
“Don’t stop!” Keating cried.
“From the moment we enter crying,” Todd shouted, struggling, but forcing the words out, “to the moment we leave dying, it will cover just your head as you wail and cry and scream!”
Todd stood still for a long time. Keating walked to his side. “There is magic, Mr. Anderson. Don’t you forget this.”
Neil started applauding. Others joined in. Todd took a deep breath and for the first time he smiled with an air of confidence.
“Thank you, sir,” he said, sitting down.
After class, Neil shook Todd’s hand. “I knew you could do it,” he smiled. “Great job. See you at the cave this afternoon.”
“Thanks, Neil,” Todd said, still smiling. “I’ll see you.”
Later that afternoon, Neil carried a battered lampshade through the woods toward the cave.
“Sorry I’m late,” he puffed as he hurried in. The other pledges of the Dead Poets Society sat on the floor around Charlie, who was sitting cross-legged and silent before them, his eyes closed. In one hand he held an old saxophone.
“Look at this,” Neil said.
“What is it?” Meeks asked.
“Duh-uh, it’s a lampshade, Meeks,” Pitts said.
Neil took off the lampshade, pulled out the cord and revealed a small painted statue. “It’s the god of the cave,” Neil smiled broadly.
“Duh-uh, Pitts,” Meeks shot back.
Neil placed the statue, which had a stake sticking out of its head, in the ground. He placed a candle in the stake and lit it. The candle illuminated a red-and-blue drummer boy, his face worn from exposure, but noble. Todd, who was obviously relieved from his success of the day, playfully put the lampshade on his own head.
Charlie cleared his throat loudly. The boys turned toward him and settled in. “Gentlemen,” he said, “’Poetrusic’ by Charles Dalton.”
Charles blew a stream of random and blaring notes on the saxophone, then suddenly stopped. Trance-like, he began to speak: ‘“Laughing, crying, tumbling, mumbling, gotta do more. Gotta be more...“
He played a few more notes on the saxophone, then, speaking faster than before, continued, “‘Chaos screaming, chaos dreaming, crying, flying, gotta be more! Gotta be more!’”
The cave was silent. Then Charlie picked up the instrument and played a simple but breathtaking melody. The skeptical looks on the boys’ faces disappeared as Charlie continued playing, lost in the music, and ending with a long and haunting note.
The boys sat silent, letting the beautiful sound wash over them. Neil spoke first.
“Charlie, that was great. Where did you learn to play like that?”
“My parents made me take clarinet, but I hated it,” Charlie said, coming back down to earth. “The sax is more sonorous,” he said in a mock British accent.
Suddenly Knox stood up, backed away from the group, and wailed out his torment. “God, I can’t take it anymore! If I don’t have Chris, I’ll kill myself!”
“Knox, you gotta calm down,” Charlie said.
“No, I’ve been calm all my life! If I don’t do something, it’s gonna kill me!”
“Where are you going?” Neil called as Knox headed out of the cave.
“I’m calling her,” Knox said, running into the woods.
The society meeting ended abruptly and the boys followed Knox back to the campus. Knox might not die of passivity, but there was a good chance he’d die of embarrassment if he called Chris, and the society pledges felt obliged to stand by their fellow poet.
“I’ve got to do this,” Knox said as he picked up the dorm phone. The boys surrounded him protectively as he boldly dialed her telephone number.
“Hello?” Knox heard Chris’s voice on the other end of the phone. He panicked and hung up.
“She’s gonna hate me! The Danburrys will hate me. My parents will kill me!” He looked around at the others trying to read their faces. No one said a
“Go on!” Keating said.
“Kick at it, beat at it, it will never be enough...”
“Don’t stop!” Keating cried.
“From the moment we enter crying,” Todd shouted, struggling, but forcing the words out, “to the moment we leave dying, it will cover just your head as you wail and cry and scream!”
Todd stood still for a long time. Keating walked to his side. “There is magic, Mr. Anderson. Don’t you forget this.”
Neil started applauding. Others joined in. Todd took a deep breath and for the first time he smiled with an air of confidence.
“Thank you, sir,” he said, sitting down.
After class, Neil shook Todd’s hand. “I knew you could do it,” he smiled. “Great job. See you at the cave this afternoon.”
“Thanks, Neil,” Todd said, still smiling. “I’ll see you.”
Later that afternoon, Neil carried a battered lampshade through the woods toward the cave.
“Sorry I’m late,” he puffed as he hurried in. The other pledges of the Dead Poets Society sat on the floor around Charlie, who was sitting cross-legged and silent before them, his eyes closed. In one hand he held an old saxophone.
“Look at this,” Neil said.
“What is it?” Meeks asked.
“Duh-uh, it’s a lampshade, Meeks,” Pitts said.
Neil took off the lampshade, pulled out the cord and revealed a small painted statue. “It’s the god of the cave,” Neil smiled broadly.
“Duh-uh, Pitts,” Meeks shot back.
Neil placed the statue, which had a stake sticking out of its head, in the ground. He placed a candle in the stake and lit it. The candle illuminated a red-and-blue drummer boy, his face worn from exposure, but noble. Todd, who was obviously relieved from his success of the day, playfully put the lampshade on his own head.
Charlie cleared his throat loudly. The boys turned toward him and settled in. “Gentlemen,” he said, “’Poetrusic’ by Charles Dalton.”
Charles blew a stream of random and blaring notes on the saxophone, then suddenly stopped. Trance-like, he began to speak: ‘“Laughing, crying, tumbling, mumbling, gotta do more. Gotta be more...“
He played a few more notes on the saxophone, then, speaking faster than before, continued, “‘Chaos screaming, chaos dreaming, crying, flying, gotta be more! Gotta be more!’”
The cave was silent. Then Charlie picked up the instrument and played a simple but breathtaking melody. The skeptical looks on the boys’ faces disappeared as Charlie continued playing, lost in the music, and ending with a long and haunting note.
The boys sat silent, letting the beautiful sound wash over them. Neil spoke first.
“Charlie, that was great. Where did you learn to play like that?”
“My parents made me take clarinet, but I hated it,” Charlie said, coming back down to earth. “The sax is more sonorous,” he said in a mock British accent.
Suddenly Knox stood up, backed away from the group, and wailed out his torment. “God, I can’t take it anymore! If I don’t have Chris, I’ll kill myself!”
“Knox, you gotta calm down,” Charlie said.
“No, I’ve been calm all my life! If I don’t do something, it’s gonna kill me!”
“Where are you going?” Neil called as Knox headed out of the cave.
“I’m calling her,” Knox said, running into the woods.
The society meeting ended abruptly and the boys followed Knox back to the campus. Knox might not die of passivity, but there was a good chance he’d die of embarrassment if he called Chris, and the society pledges felt obliged to stand by their fellow poet.
“I’ve got to do this,” Knox said as he picked up the dorm phone. The boys surrounded him protectively as he boldly dialed her telephone number.
“Hello?” Knox heard Chris’s voice on the other end of the phone. He panicked and hung up.
“She’s gonna hate me! The Danburrys will hate me. My parents will kill me!” He looked around at the others trying to read their faces. No one said a
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