Dead Poets Society (14 page)

“Knox,” Chris said. “I have to go home now. Chet might call.”

“It’s just for a little while,” Knox said, squeezing her hand. “You promised.”

“You’re so infuriating!” She half-smiled.

“Where’s Cameron?” Meeks asked.

Charlie took a sip of wine. “Who knows; who cares?”

Todd suddenly jumped up and pounded the walls with his fists. “Next time I see Neil’s father I’m gonna smash him. I don’t care what happens to me!”

“Don’t be stupid,” Pitts said.

Todd paced up and down the cave. Suddenly, Mr. Keating poked his head in, illuminated from behind by the moonlight.

“Mr. Keating!” the boys cried in surprise.

Charlie hid the bottle of wine and the glass. “I thought I’d find you here,” Keating said. “Now we mustn’t be glum. Neil wouldn’t want it that way.”

“Why don’t we have a meeting in his honor!” Charlie suggested. “Captain, will you lead it?” The other boys seconded the motion.

“Fellows, I don’t know …” Keating hesitated.

“Come on, Mr. Keating, please …” Meeks urged.

Keating looked around at the pleading faces. “Okay, but only a short one,” Keating relented. He thought for a moment, then began: “‘I went to the woods because I wanted to live deep and suck out all the marrow of life! To put to rout all that was not life. And not, when I came to die, discover that I had not lived.’” He paused. “From Mr. e.e. cummings:

“dive for dreams

or a slogan may topple you

(trees are their roots

and wind is wind)

trust your heart

if the seas catch fire

(and live by love

though the stars walk backward)

honour the past

but welcome the future

(and dance your death

away at this wedding)

never mind a world

with its villains or heroes

(for god likes girls

and tomorrow and the earth)”

Keating paused and looked around. “Now, who else wants to read?” No one spoke. “Come on boys, don’t be shy,” he urged.

“I have something,” Todd said.

“The thing you’ve been writing?” Charlie asked.

Todd nodded. “Yeah.”

The boys were really surprised that Todd had volunteered. He stepped forward and took some crumpled papers from his pocket, passing slips of paper to each of the others.

“Everybody read this between verses,” he said, holding up the slips of paper.

Todd opened his poem and read:

Todd nodded. Everyone read, “And still we sleep.” Todd continued:

He paused sadly, “‘And still we sleep.’” He folded up the poem. Everyone in the cave applauded.

“That was great!” Meeks cheered. Todd beamed, modestly taking in all the praise and the congratulatory slaps on the back. Keating smiled with great pride at his student’s enormous progress. He plucked a spherical icicle hanging from the roof of the cave and peered into it.

“I hold in my hand a crystal ball. In it I see great things for Todd Anderson,” he intoned. Todd faced Mr. Keating, then suddenly, powerfully, they hugged. When they drew apart, Keating turned to the others.

“And now,” Keating continued, “‘General William Booth Enters Into Heaven,’ by Vachel Lindsay. When I pause, you ask, ‘Are you washed in the blood of the Lamb?’”

Keating recited: “‘Booth led boldly with his big bass drum.... ’” The others answered, “‘Are you washed in the blood of the lamb?’” Keating headed out of the cave, followed by the boys and girls, reciting poetry all the way home.

As his friends paid him homage in the cave, Neil sat alone in his darkened room at home, gazing out the window. The passion had dried up and left his body. All feeling was drained from his face and limbs. He believed he was a brittle empty shell that would soon be crushed by the weight of the falling snow.

The moon was full. The stars were out in abundance. The night was clear and cold. The trees hung heavy with icicles as the boys, Ginny, and Chris followed Mr. Keating out into the night. The freeze had turned the barren forest into a world of sparkling diamonds. The group walked through the woods behind Keating as he recited: “‘The Saints smiled gravely and they said, “He’s come …” ’”

“‘Are you washed in the blood of the Lamb?’” they chorused.

“‘Walking lepers followed rank on rank, lurching bravos from the ditches dank, drabs from the alleyways and drug fiends pale,/Minds still passion ridden, soul-powers frail …’”

“‘Are you washed in the blood of the Lamb?’” they repeated.

As the Society marched through the still of the night, an ominous silence settled over the Perry home. Mr. and Mrs. Perry got into bed and turned off their bedroom light. They did not hear the door to another room open. Neil walked into the hall. He turned a corner and slipped quietly downstairs.

Moonlight illuminated Mr. Perry’s study. Neil walked to his father’s desk, opened the top drawer and reached way in the back. He pulled out a key and with it, he unlocked the bottom drawer of the desk. Neil sat in the leather desk chair and, reaching across the desk, he picked up the crown of flowers he’d worn as Puck and put it on his head.

The group stopped beside the waterfall, which had frozen. The icy sculpture seemed to defy the laws of gravity as the students looked at its remarkable form. The sky was incredibly clear. Moonlight bouncing off the snow cast a strange bluish glow on the group as Keating continued the poem:

“‘Are you washed in the blood of the Lamb?’” they recited again.

The moonlight and the mystical wonder of the frozen waterfall combined with the magical poetry to set the group dancing and playing in the snow. They worked themselves into a joyful, frantic revelry.

Knox and Chris drifted away from the group and embraced. They kissed, soft and warm, under the frozen moon.

Mr. and Mrs. Perry were fast asleep when the quick, short sound broke the night’s silence. “What was that?” Mr. Perry sat up.

“What?” his wife asked, half-asleep.

“That sound? Didn’t you hear it?”

“What sound?”

Mr. Perry climbed out of bed and walked into the hallway. He walked up and down the hall, finally entering Neil’s room. He ran out and down the stairs as Mrs. Perry followed, trying to get her robe on over her flailing arms.

Mr. Perry walked into the study and turned on the light. He looked around. Everything seemed normal, but just as he turned to leave, he spotted the glistening black object lying on the carpet—his revolver. Panicked, he moved around the desk until he saw the pale white hand. He gasped.

Neil lay on the floor, bathed in his own blood. Mr. Perry knelt down and embraced his son while his wife let out an anguished scream.

“No!” Mr. Perry cried. “No!”

Mr. Keating and the boys took the girls home and returned to Welton in the early-morning hours.

“I’m wiped, drained,” Todd said as he headed to his room. “I’m going to sleep until noon.”

But early the next morning, Charlie, Knox, and Meeks walked into Todd’s room. The boys’ faces were ashen. They looked down at Todd, who snored peacefully.

“Todd, Todd,” Charlie called softly.

Todd opened his eyes and sat up, looking exhausted. After a few moments, his eyes adjusted to the light. He closed them and lay back down. Then, feeling for his clock, he picked it up and squinted.

“It’s only eight. I gotta sleep,” he said, pulling the covers over his head. He sat up suddenly, his eyes wide open. His friends were still standing there, silent, and he sensed that something was wrong.

“Todd, Neil’s dead. He shot himself,” Charlie said.

Todd felt his head spin. “Oh, my God! Oh, Neil!” he wailed as he jumped from his bed and ran down the hall, screaming, to the bathroom. He sat on his knees in the stall and vomited until he thought his guts would come out. His friends waited helplessly outside.

Todd came out of the stall, wiping his mouth. Tears streamed down his face. He walked back and forth in the bathroom. “Someone has to know it was his father! Neil wouldn’t kill himself! He loved living!” he cried.

“You don’t seriously think his father …” Knox said.

“Not with the gun!” Todd shouted. “Damn it, even if the bastard didn’t pull the trigger, he …” Todd’s sobs drowned his words until, finally, he controlled himself. “Even if Mr. Perry didn’t shoot him,” Todd said calmly, “he killed him. They have to know that!” He ran across the room, screaming painfully, “Neil! Neil!” Falling against the wall, he started sobbing again, and the boys left him alone, sitting on the floor, to cry out his grief.

Not knowing that the boys even knew, Mr. Keating sat at his desk in his empty classroom, struggling to control his emotion. He stood and walked slowly to Neil’s desk. He picked up a book, his own battered and worn poetry anthology, and, as he opened it, his eyes focused on his own writing: “Dead Poets.” He slumped heavily into Neil’s chair, unable to hold back a cry of anguish and grief.

The following morning was cold and somber, a bleak winter’s day with bitter gusts of wind that whipped around the procession led by the haunting lament of the school bagpiper.

Neil was buried in the town of Welton. The Dead Poets carried his coffin on their shoulders. His mother, veiled in black, watched the procession with his father, both of them stunned by their grief. Mr. Nolan, Mr. Keating, and other teachers and students watched solemnly as Neil was laid to rest.

After the burial, the entire school assembled in the Welton chapel. The teachers, including Mr. Keating, stood along the walls. The assembly sang a hymn before the chaplain spoke.

“Almighty God, grant us the grace to entrust Neil Perry into the arms of thy never-failing mercy. Bless Neil and keep him. Cause the light of your countenance to shine upon him and be gracious unto him. Lift up your eyes upon him and grant him peace, now, and forevermore. Amen.”

“Amen.”

Mr. Nolan followed the chaplain at the podium.

“Gentlemen, the death of Neil Perry is a tragedy. He was a fine student, one of Welton’s best, and he will be missed. We have contacted each of your parents to explain the situation. Naturally, all are quite concerned. At the request of Neil’s family, I intend to conduct a thorough inquiry into this matter. Your complete cooperation is expected,” Nolan said.

The assembly was dismissed, and the boys filed silently out of the chapel. Charlie, Todd, Knox, Pitts, Meeks, and Cameron walked out together, then went their separate ways.

Later, all but Cameron and Meeks reassembled in the junk-filled trunk room in the basement of their dorm. There was a knock at the door. Meeks entered.

“I can’t find him,” Meeks shook his head.

“You told him about this meeting?” Charlie asked.

“Twice,” Meeks said.

“That’s it. Great!” Charlie threw up his hands. He went to the window and looked out across the lawn toward the administration building. He turned and faced his friends. “That’s it, guys, we’re all fried.”

“What do you mean?” Pitts asked.

“Cameron’s a fink! He’s in Nolan’s office right now, finking!”

“About what?”. Pitts asked.

“The club, Pitts. Think about it.” Pitts and the others looked bewildered. “They need a scapegoat,” Charlie said. “Schools go under because of things like this.”

The boys sat in the trunk room and stared at each other. Soon they heard the sound of a door opening down the hall. Knox went to the door and looked out to see Cameron entering the hallway. Knox stepped out and motioned for Cameron to hurry up.