Dead Poets Society (6 page)

Yet we are the movers and shakers

Of the world, forever, it seems.

With wonderful deathless ditties

We build up with world’s great cities,

And out of a fabulous story

We fashion an empire’s glory:

One man with a dream, at pleasure

Shall go forth and conquer a crown;

And three with a new song’s measure

Can trample an empire down.

We in the ages lying,

In the buried past of the earth,

Built Nineveh with our sighing,

And Babel itself with our mirth.”

“Amen,” several boys uttered.

“Sshh!” hissed the others. Cameron continued:

“And o’erthrew them with prophesying

To the old of the new world’s worth;

For each age is a dream that is dying,

Or one that is coming to birth.”

Cameron stopped dramatically. “That was by Arthur O’Shaughnessy, 1844–81.”

The boys sat quietly. Meeks took the book and leafed through the pages. “Hey, this is great,” he said, and started reading seriously:

“Out of the night that covers me,

Black as the Pit from pole to pole

I thank whatever gods may be

For my unconquerable soul!”

“That was W. E. Henley, 1849–1903.”

“Come on, Meeks,” Pitts scoffed. “You?”

“What?” Meeks said, his look all surprise and innocence.

Knox flipped through the book next and suddenly moaned out loud, reading as though to a vision of Chris in the cave. “‘How do I love thee? Let me count the ways. I love thee to the depth …’”

Charlie grabbed the book. “Cool it already, Knox,” he growled.

The boys laughed. Neil took the book and read to himself for a minute. The boys huddled around the fire that by now was growing dimmer.

“Sshh,” Neil said, reading deliberately,

“From ‘Ulysses,’ by Tennyson,” he concluded. The boys grew silent, touched by Neil’s impassioned reading and Tennyson’s statement of purpose.

Pitts took the book. He started to pound out a congo rhythm as he read the poem:

As Pitts continued to read, the boys were entranced by the compelling rhythm of the poem. They danced and clowned to the beat, jumping and whooping around. Their gestures grew steadily wilder and more ridiculous and they began to make jungle noises, beating their legs and heads. Pitts continued reading as Charlie led the group, dancing and howling, out of the cave and into the night.

They danced wildly in the forest, swaying with the tall trees and the howling wind.

The fire in the cave went out and the forest turned pitch black. The boys stopped dancing, and, as soon as they did, they started to shiver, partly from the cold and partly from the exhilaration they felt from having let their imaginations run free.

“We’d better get going,” Charlie said. “Before you know it, we’ll have to be in class.”

They snaked through the woods to a clearing that led back to the Welton campus. “Back to reality,” Pitts said as they stood facing the campus.

“Or something,” Neil sighed. They ran quietly to their dorm, slipped out the twig that held the rear door open, and tiptoed to their rooms.

The next day several of the night revelers yawned as they sat in Mr. Keating’s class. Keating, however, paced vigorously back and forth in front of the room.

“A man is not very tired, he is exhausted. Don’t use very sad, use …” He snapped his fingers and pointed to a boy.

“Morose?”

“Good!” Keating said with a smile. “Language was invented for one reason, boys—” He snapped his fingers again and pointed to Neil.

“To communicate?”

“No,” Keating said. “To woo women. And, in that endeavor, laziness will not do. It also won’t do in your essays.”

The class laughed. Keating closed his book, then walked to the front of the room and raised a map that had covered the blackboard. On the board was a quotation. Keating read it aloud to the class:

“Creeds and schools in abeyance, I permit to speak at every hazard, Nature without check with original energy …”

“Uncle Walt again,” he said. “Ah, but the difficulty of ignoring those creeds and schools, conditioned as we are by our parents, our traditions, by the modern age. How do we, like Walt, permit our own true natures to speak? How do we strip ourselves of prejudices, habits, influences? The answer, my dear lads, is that we must constantly endeavor to find a new point of view.” The boys listened intently. Then suddenly Keating leaped up on his desk. “Why do I stand here?” he asked.

“To feel taller?” Charlie suggested.

“I stand on my desk to remind myself that we must constantly force ourselves to look at things differently. The world looks different from up here. If you don’t believe it, stand up here and try it. All of you. Take turns.”

Keating jumped off. All of the boys, except for Todd Anderson, walked to the front of the room, and, a few at a time, took turns standing on Keating’s desk. Keating strolled up and down the aisles expectantly as he watched them.

“If you’re sure about something,” he said as they slowly returned to their seats, “force yourself to think about it another way, even if you know it’s wrong or silly. When you read, don’t consider only what the author thinks, but take time to consider what
you
think.

“You must strive to find your own voice, boys, and the longer you wait to begin, the less likely you are to find it at all. Thoreau said, ‘Most men lead lives of quiet desperation.’ Why be resigned to that? Risk walking new ground. Now …” Keating walked to the door as all eyes followed him intently. He looked at the class, then flashed the room lights on and off over and over again, crying out a noise that sounded like crashing thunder. “In addition to your essays,” he said after this boisterous demonstration, “I want each of you to write a poem—something of your own—to be delivered aloud in class. See you Monday.”

With that he walked out of the room. The class sat mute and baffled by their eccentric teacher. After a moment, Keating popped his head back in, grinning impishly. “And don’t think I don’t know this assignment scares you to death, Mr. Anderson, you mole.” Keating held out his hand and pretended to send lightning bolts at Todd. The class laughed nervously, somewhat embarrassed for Todd, who forced out a hint of a smile.

School ended early on Friday, and the boys left Keating’s class, happy to have an afternoon off.

“Let’s go up to the bell tower and work on that crystal radio antenna,” Pitts said to Meeks as they walked across campus. “Radio Free America!”

“Sure,” Meeks said. They walked past crowds waiting eagerly for the mailboxes to be filled. A group of boys played lacrosse on the green, and in the distance, Mr. Nolan called out orders to the Welton crew team practicing at the lake.

Knox dropped his books into the basket of his bicycle and cruised around the campus. He approached the Welton gates, checked over his shoulder to make sure he had not been seen, and pedaled furiously out the gates, over the country-side, and into Welton village.

Breathing deeply, he looked around for signs of anyone from Welton Academy as he pedaled over to Ridgeway High School. He stopped at a fence, watching as students boarded three parked buses. Uniformed members of the marching band, practicing their drum rolls and scales, hopped on the first bus. Well-padded football players pushed and shoved their way onto the second bus. Boarding the third bus was a bunch of giggling and singing cheerleaders, including Chris Noel.

Knox stood at the fence watching her. He saw her rush up to Chet, who was carrying his football gear, and kiss him on the lips. Chet pulled her to him, and she giggled, then ran and climbed into the cheerleaders’ bus.

Knox got on his bike and slowly pedaled back to Welton. Ever since the dinner at the Danburrys’, he’d fantasized about seeing Chris Noel again. But not like this—not in a passionate embrace with Chet Danburry. Knox wondered, could he really come up with the words to make Chris swoon over him?

Later that afternoon, Todd sat on his bed, one elbow leaning on a pad of paper. He started to write something, scratched it out, ripped off the page, and threw it in the trash. He covered his face in frustration just as Neil came flying through the door.

Neil dropped his books on his desk, his face flushed with excitement. “I’ve found it!” he cried.

“Found what?” Todd asked.

“What I want to do! Right now. What’s really inside of me.” He handed Todd a piece of paper.

“A
Midsummer Night’s Dream,
” Todd read. “What is it?”

“A play, dummy.”

“I know that,” Todd visibly winced. “What’s it got to do with you?”

“They’re putting it on at Henley Hall. See: ‘Open Tryouts.’”

“So?” Todd said.

“So I’m gonna act!” Neil shouted, jumping onto his bed. “Ever since I can remember I’ve wanted to try it. Last summer I even tried to go to summer stock auditions, but of course my father wouldn’t let me.”

“And now he will?” Todd asked, raising his eyebrow.

“Hell, no, but that’s not the point. The point is that for the first time in my whole life I know what I want, and for the first time I’m gonna do it whether my father wants me to or not! Carpe diem, Todd!”

Neil picked up the play and read a couple of lines. He beamed, clenching his fist in the air with joy.

“Neil, how are you gonna be in a play if your father won’t let you?” Todd pressed.

“First I gotta get the part; then I’ll worry about that.”

“Won’t he kill you if you don’t let him know you’re auditioning?”

“As far as I’m concerned,” Neil said, “he won’t have to know about any of it.”

“Come on, you know that’s impossible,” Todd said.

“Bull! Nothing’s impossible,” Neil said with a grin.

“Why don’t you ask him first? Maybe he’ll say yes,” Todd suggested.

“That’s a laugh,” Neil snickered. “If I don’t ask, at least I won’t be disobeying him.”

“But if he said no before, then …” Todd began.

“Whose side are you on, anyway? I haven’t even gotten the part yet. Can’t I even enjoy the idea for a little while?”

“Sorry,” Todd said, turning back to his work. Neil sat on his bed and started to read the play.

“By the way, there’s a meeting this afternoon,” Neil said. “You coming?”

“I guess,” Todd said as he grimaced.

Neil put down the play and looked over at his roommate. “None of what Mr. Keating has to say means anything to you, does it?” he asked, incredulous.

“What is that supposed to mean?” Todd was defensive.

“Being in the club means being stirred up by things. You look about as stirred up as a cesspool.”

“You want me out? Is that what you’re saying?” Todd said angrily.

“No,” Neil said softly. “I want you in. But it means you gotta do something. Not just
say
you’re in.”

Todd turned angrily. “Listen, Neil, I appreciate your interest in me but I’m not like you,” he insisted. “When you say things, people pay attention. People follow you. I’m not like that!”

“Why not? Don’t you think you could be?” Neil pressed.

“No!” Todd shouted. “Oh, I don’t know. I’ll probably never know. The point is, there’s nothing you can do about it, so butt out, all right? I can take care of myself just fine, all right?”