Dead Poets Society (10 page)

The music stopped, and the sound of heavy breathing filled the room.
This sounds like an artificial respiration ward,
Knox thought to himself, wishing he too had a partner. He checked on the couple to his right.
I think he’s going to chew her lips off,
he thought. He turned to the couple on his left.

“Oh, Chris, you’re so beautiful,” he heard the boy’s voice say.

Oh my God, it’s Chris and Chet
! Knox thought, his heart beginning to throb. Chris Noel was sitting right next to him on the couch!

The music started up again, and the strains of the Drifters singing “This Magic Moment” filled the room. Knox’s head was spinning. Chris and Chet were going at it full force. Knox tried to look away but his eyes were riveted on Chris.

“Chris,” Chet groaned, “you’re so gorgeous.” Chet kissed Chris hard, and she leaned against Knox. In the moonlit room Knox stared at the outline of Chris’s face, the nape of her neck, the curves of her breasts. He quickly downed the rest of his drink and forced himself to look away.

Oh my God, help me,
he thought as Chris leaned more heavily on him. Knox’s face was contorted in agony as he felt himself struggle with temptation. He tried not to look but he knew he was losing his inner battle.

Suddenly, he turned toward Chris again. He melted as his emotions took over. “Carpe breastum,” he said to himself, closing his eyes. “Seize the breast!”

“Huh?” Knox heard Chris say to Chet.

“I didn’t say anything,” Chet said.

The pair continued to kiss while Knox felt his hand, drawn by a powerful magnetic force, reach out and lightly stroke the nape of Chris’s neck, then down toward her breast. He dropped his head back and closed his eyes while he slowly caressed Chris.

Thinking that Chet’s hands were on her, Chris responded eagerly and Knox started breathing heavily. “Oh, Chet, that feels fabulous,” Chris said in the dark.

“It does?” Chet sounded surprised. “What?”

“You know,” she said secretively.

Knox pulled his hand away. Chet looked up for a moment and then kissed Chris again. “Don’t stop, Chet,” Chris moaned.

“Stop what?”

“Chet …”

Knox put his hand back on Chris’s neck and started rubbing her, gently moving down toward her breast.

“Oh, oh,” Chris moaned.

Chet pulled hack, trying to figure out what Chris was talking about, but he gave up and started to kiss her again. Chris moaned with pleasure.

Knox leaned his head back on the sofa. His breathing was slow and deep. The sound of the music in the room grew louder. Unable to resist, he rubbed Chris’s chest, getting dangerously close to her breast. Chris was breathing hard now, too. Knox felt himself slip into ecstasy just as his glass fell out of his hand.

Suddenly, Chet’s hand grabbed Knox’s hand, and a lamp light rudely flicked on. Knox sat face to face with a furious Chet and Chris, who was totally confused.

“What are you doing?” Chet yelled.

“Knox?” Chris shielded her eyes from the sudden light.

“Chet! Chris!” Knox said, pretending to be surprised. “What are you doing here?”

“Why you …” Chet screamed. He smashed Knox in the face with his fist, grabbed him by the shirt and, throwing him to the floor, jumped on him. He began swinging at Knox’s face, which Knox tried desperately to protect. “You little jerk!” Chet shouted. Chris tried to pull him away.

“Chet, you don’t have to hurt him,” Chris said. Chet’s fist hit Knox over and over again.

“Chet, stop! He didn’t mean anything!” Chris cried. She pushed Chet off. Knox rolled over, holding his face. “That’s enough,” Chris yelled, banging on Chet’s chest, trying to get him away.

Chet stood over Knox, who lay limply holding his bloody nose and bruised face. “I’m sorry, Chris, I’m sorry,” Knox cried.

“You want some more, you little … Huh? Get the hell out of here!”

Chet moved at Knox again, but Chris and some of the others held him back. Several of the kids led Knox out of the room.

Staggering toward the kitchen, Knox turned and yelled, drunkenly, “Chris, I’m sorry!”

“Next time I see you, you’re dead!” Chet screamed.

The Dead Poets Society was still convened, unaware that one of its pledges was in deep trouble.

In the cave the fire burned brightly, casting eerie shadows on the walls. Gloria sat with her arm around Charlie, staring at him in adoration. The bottle of whiskey passed between Tina and the others.

“Hey guys, why don’t you show Tina the Dead Poets garden?” Charlie said, nodding toward the cave entrance.

“Garden?” Meeks said, sounding surprised.

“What garden?” Pitts echoed.

Charlie silently motioned with his eyes for Pitts and the others to get lost. Neil caught on and elbowed Pitts, who got the hint.

“Oh, right. That garden. Come on, guys,” he said.

“This is so strange!” Tina said, sounding confused. “You guys even have a garden?”

Everyone had left the cave except Meeks, who stood around looking baffled. “What are you guys talking about?” Meeks asked. Charlie stared at him with daggers in his eyes. “Charles, uh, Nuwanda, we don’t have a garden,” Meeks said.

Neil came back in and pulled Meeks out. “Come on, you idiot!” Neil laughed.

Charlie waited for them to go. He looked at Gloria and smiled. “God, for a smart guy, he’s so stupid!”

Gloria stared into Charlie’s eyes. Charlie smiled. “I think he’s sweet,” she said.

“I think you’re sweet,” Charlie sighed, closing his eyes and leaning in slowly to kiss her. Just as his lips brushed hers, Gloria stood up.

“You know what really excites me about you?” she asked.

Blinking, Charlie looked up. “What?”

“Every guy that I meet wants me for one thing.... You’re not like that.”

“I’m not?”

“No!” she smiled. “Anybody else would have been all over me by now. Make me up some more poetry,” she said.

“But …” Charlie stammered.

“Please! It’s so wonderful to be appreciated for … you know … what you have inside.” Charlie groaned and put his hand over his face. Gloria turned and looked at him. “Nuwanda? Please …?”

“All right! I’m thinking!” He paused for a moment, then recited:

“Let me not to the marriage of true minds

Admit impediments. Love is not love

Which alters when it alteration finds,

Or bends with the remover to remove.”

Gloria moaned with satisfaction. “Don’t stop!” Charlie continued to recite as Gloria’s moans grew louder.

“This is better than
sex
any day,” Gloria cried. “This is ROMANCE!”

Charlie’s eyes rolled in frustration, but he continued to recite poems well into the night.

The next day, the entire student body was summoned to the Welton Academy Chapel. A buzz droned among the boys as they moved into their seats, passing copies of school newspapers among themselves.

Knox Overstreet sat down trying to hide his bruised and swollen face. Neil, Todd, Pitts, Meeks, Cameron, and especially Charlie wore faces drawn with exhaustion. Pitts stifled a yawn as he handed Charlie a briefcase.

“All set,” Pitts whispered. Charlie nodded.

Dean Nolan entered the chapel as the students quickly put away all the newspapers and stood. Nolan took long strides to the podium and motioned for the boys to sit down. He cleared his throat loudly.

“In this week’s issue of WELTON HONORS there appeared an unauthorized and profane article about the need for girls at Welton. Rather than spend my valuable time ferreting out the guilty parties—and let me assure you I will find them—I am asking any and all students who know anything about this article to make themselves known here and now. Whoever the guilty persons are, this is your only chance to avoid expulsion from this school.”

Nolan stood silently, waiting for a response. Suddenly, the sound of a telephone ringing broke the heavy silence. Charlie briskly lifted the briefcase into his lap and opened it. Inside was the ringing telephone. The students whispered in hushed astonishment. No one had ever done something this outrageous at Welton! Undaunted, Charlie answered the phone.

“Welton Academy, hello?” he said for all to hear. “Yes, he is, just a moment. Mr. Nolan, it’s for you,” Charlie said with mock seriousness.

The dean’s face turned beet-red. “What?” Nolan screeched.

Charlie held the receiver out to Nolan. “It’s God. He said we should have girls at Welton,” Charlie said into the phone as a blast of laughter from the students filled the old stone chapel.

The dean did not hesitate to react to the stunt. Before he knew it, Charlie found himself standing in the middle of Nolan’s office as the dean paced furiously. “Wipe that smirk off your face,” Nolan hissed. “Who else was involved in this?”

“No one, sir,” Charlie said. “It was just me. I do the proofing for the paper, so I inserted my article instead of Rob Crane’s.”

“Mr. Dalton,” Nolan said, “if you think you’re the first one to try to get thrown out of this school, think again. Others have had similar notions and they have failed just as surely as you will fail. Assume the position.”

Charlie obeyed, and Nolan pulled out a huge, old paddle. The paddle had holes drilled in it to speed its progress. Nolan took off his jacket and moved behind Charlie.

“Count aloud, Mr. Dalton,” Nolan instructed as he slammed the paddle into Charlie’s buttocks.

“One.” Nolan swung the paddle again, this time putting more power into it. Charlie winced. “Two.”

Nolan delivered, and Charlie counted. By the fourth lick, Charlie’s voice was barely audible and his face was contorted with pain.

Mrs. Nolan, the dean’s wife and secretary, sat in the outer office trying not to listen as the punishment proceeded. In the adjacent honor room, three students, including Cameron, worked at easels, sketching the moose heads on the wall. They heard the paddle hitting Charlie and were filled with fear and awe. Cameron couldn’t draw the moose.

By the seventh lick, tears flowed freely down Charlie’s cheeks. “Count!” Nolan shouted.

By the ninth and tenth licks, Charlie choked on the words. Nolan stopped after the tenth lick and walked around to face the boy. “Do you still insist that this was your idea and your idea alone?” he asked.

Charlie choked back the pain. “Yes … sir.”

“What is this ‘Dead Poets Society?’ I want names,” Nolan shouted.

Feeling faint, Charlie hoarsely replied, “It’s only me, Mr. Nolan. I swear. I made it up.”

“If I find that there are others, Mr. Dalton, they will be expelled, and you will remain enrolled. Do you understand? Now stand up.”

Charlie obeyed. His face was blood-red as he fought back tears of pain and humiliation.

“Welton can forgive, Mr. Dalton, provided you have the courage to admit your mistakes. You will make your apology to the entire school.”

Charlie stumbled out of Nolan’s office and headed slowly back to the junior dorm. The boys were milling around in their rooms, walking in and out of the hallway, waiting for their friend to return. When they saw Charlie coming, they all dashed into their rooms and pretended to be studying.

Charlie walked down the hallway, moving slowly, trying not to show his pain. As he neared his room, Neil, Todd, Knox, Pitts, and Meeks approached him.

“What happened?” Neil asked. “Are you all right? Were you kicked out?”

“No,” Charlie said, not looking at anyone.

“What happened?” Neil asked again.

“I’m supposed to turn everybody in, apologize to the school, and all will be forgiven,” Charlie said. He opened the door and walked into his room.

“What are you going to do?” Neil asked. “Charlie?”

“Damn it, Neil, the name is Nuwanda,” Charlie said, as he gave the boys a loaded look and slammed his door shut.

The boys looked at each other. Smiles of admiration broke out in the group. Charlie had not been broken.

Later that afternoon, Nolan walked into one of the Welton classroom buildings and headed down the corridor to Mr. Keating’s room. He stopped at the door, knocked, and entered the classroom. Mr. Keating and Mr. McAllister were talking when he walked in.

“Mr. Keating, may I have a word with you?” Nolan said, interrupting the two teachers.

“Excuse me,” McAllister said as he scurried out of the room.

Nolan paused and looked around. “This was my first classroom, John, did you know that?” Nolan said, as he walked slowly around the room. “My first desk,” he said nostalgically.

“I didn’t know you taught,” Keating replied.

“English. Way before your time. It was hard giving it up, I’ll tell you.” He paused, then looked straight at Keating. “I’m hearing rumors, John, of some unorthodox teaching methods in your classroom. I’m not saying they have anything to do with the Dalton boy’s outburst, but I don’t think I have to warn you that boys his age are very impressionable.”