Zorgamazoo (19 page)

 

BUGSY MCCROOK,
and the rest of his gang,
and Mrs. Krabone and Doctor LeFang,
they didn't stand gaping for even a flash.
Instead, they ran off in a blundering dash.

 

The Behemoth, meanwhile, that insatiable brute,
he chased them away in
tharumping
pursuit.
“Come back here,” he cried, “You sumptuous bums!
At least let me nibble your fingers and thumbs!”

But they didn't come back. They were brisk!
They were brusque!
They went scampering off in the darkening dusk,
weeping like babies and shaking like leaves,
wiping their snot on the ends of their sleeves.

 

As they ran, all you heard were their pitiful moans,
for the fear in their hearts had spread into their bones.
Their running was clumsy, with twitches and hops,
as they stumbled and bumbled in blundering flops,
wailing and whining and yelping and then:

They weren't ever heard from again.

Turning to Morty, Katrina said,
“
Hey!
You know something, Mort? You just saved the day!
That's pretty heroic. It's terribly brave.
What a very
adventurous
way to behave!”

 

“Aw, shucks,” Morty said. “Well, maybe you're right.
You could say I put up a pretty good fight!
Or maybe not
me
,” he said with a smirk.
“I suppose the Behemoth did most of the work.
Besides, if whatever you're saying is true,
any courage I showed—I learned it from you.”

 

Katrina was flattered, but she didn't agree.
“No, Morty,” she said, “it wasn't from me.
If we're speaking of courage, you got it all wrong.
You're just like your Pop. It was there all along.”

 

No words could make Morty feel better than those.
He was pleased, from his horns to the tips of his toes.
Katrina, however, felt sullen and low,
recalling, again, she had nowhere to go.

She looked up at Morty, and then looked away.
In her heart, she wanted to ask him to stay.

 

But instead she looked down, her chin on her chest.
It's over,
she thought.
It's the end of our quest.
She looked up again and thought, with a smile:
But maybe I'll visit him, once in a while.

 

“Now wait,” Morty said, “There's no need to be glum.
You ought to remember:
I'm always
your chum!”

Then he chuckled a bit. “I should really have known
you'd end up in a jam if I left you alone.
So listen, Katrina, come live underground,
under the streets, where us zorgles are found.”

 

Katrina was pleased. She nodded her head.
“I'd like that,” she whispered. It was all that she said.

“Well, great!” Morty beamed. “In that case, let's go!
Let me show you my home in the tunnels below!
I can see it already! You and me and my Pop!
That's the first place we'll go—to the Hospital Shop!
So we better get moving, it's already late,
because visiting hours are over at eight!”

Bortlebee Yorgle lay under the street. Or more to the point, he lay under a sheet, tucked in like a child, from his chin to his heels, in a bed that could travel on four little wheels.

 

So yes, he was cozy, but sick to his bones;
his words, when he spoke, were like pitiful groans.
His pallor was pale, he was barely alive.
His doctors were certain he wouldn't survive.

 

But when he saw Morty step into his room,
the pink of his cheeks came back into bloom.

 

“Pop!” Morty gushed, and ran to his side.
“This adventure we had was one heck of a ride!”
He started recounting the tale to his Pop,
who silently gestured for Morty to stop.

 

“I already know,” said his Pop, with a laugh.
“I heard the good news on my radiograph:
You bravely set off and when you were through,
you'd rescued the zorgles of Zorgamazoo!”

 

“Well, yes,” Morty said, “the zorgles and more!
There were all sorts of creatures from legend and lore.
There were
thousands
of others we rescued, as well,
all thanks to Katrina—Katrina Katrell.”

And so she came in. She stood by the wall.
All along, she'd been waiting, just out in the hall.
She came forward, approaching old Bortlebee's bed.
“It's an honor to finally meet you,” she said.

 

Bortlebee groaned. He shifted his weight.
He coughed and his throat seemed to rumble and grate;
his lungs made a noise like a wheeze or a whine.
“The honor,” he sputtered, “is entirely mine.”

 

Katrina was blushing. She looked at her feet,
and soon, she was nearly as red as a beet.
“Please, sir,” she said, “I hope you can see
that Morty's as much of a hero as me.

 

He saved me not once, but actually twice.
He's given me constant support and advice.
He's taught me that sometimes you'll land in a jam,
when you're hasty and brash…in the way that I am;
and I think that I've learned that life can be rough
if you're
overly
drawn to adventuring stuff.

 

But that's what I love: An adventurous quest!
In some ways, I know—I'm sort of obsessed.

Not Morty, mind you. He hates having ‘thrills.'
If he'd had a choice, he'd have run for the hills.
But that's not what he did. No, Mortimer
stayed
,
in spite of the fact he was clearly afraid.
In that way, I think, he's different from me.
In that way…he's braver than I'll ever be.
I guess what I mean is, I think you could say,
that
Morty's
the number-one hero today.”

 

Bortlebee smiled. “He's a hero. It's true.
It's something, you see, that I already knew.”
Wincing with pain, he looked up at his son.
“In my eyes,” he whispered, “he's second to none.”

 

Bortlebee beckoned, with a quavering hand.
“Now, both of you listen. You must understand:
Soon I'll be gone. I'll cash in my chips.
My very last breath will pass over my lips.

 

And son, after that, you'll be all alone.
You'll be just like Katrina: You'll be on your own.
Adventures
, however, turn strangers to kin,

and kin stick together, in thickness and thin.
So I want you to promise, I want you to
vow
,
you'll look after each other. You're like family now.”

 

Katrina leaned forward. She nodded her head.
“We know what you mean. And we promise,” she said.

 

“Pop?” Morty asked. “Hey, Pop, you okay?”
But his Pop didn't move, in the bed where he lay.

 

Had it happened?
thought Morty.
Had it finally come?
Just to think it made Morty feel utterly numb.

 

But then Bortlebee smiled—just the tiniest grin,
a smile that belied a great glowing within.
“I'm proud of you, son,” he happily sighed.
And then Bortlebee Yorgle…he quietly died.

Don't worry, my reader.
No need to be sad.
A death isn't always entirely bad.
Among zorgles, for instance, a life that is long,
is a life best remembered with dancing and song.

 

Any Zorgledom funeral bubbles with fun—
when the life-before-death was a jovial one;
and since Bortlebee died so delightfully old,
his interment was hardly unhappy or cold.
Instead, it was bursting with music and mirth,
celebrating his
life
, from the day of his birth!

His casket was spangled in ribbons and flags
and streamers emblazoned with ziggles and zags.
They flapped as his coffin was carried away,
up to Zorgamazoo, on the following day.

 

The guests in attendance had gathered around
a great swelling of earth: the burial mound.
And oh, what a crowd! One thousand, or more,
and not only zorgles, but creatures galore!
When they heard it was Bortlebee Yorgle who died,
they came from all corners, from far and from wide!

 

The yetis arrived with the dragons and elves;
and the ogres, of course, who came by themselves.
There were flubbery creatures from various lochs
and phoenixes, flaming in flurrying flocks.

 

Winnie, as well—she came with her clans,
from the cliffs that encompassed the windigo lands.
There was even the magical Gillygaloo,
and, of course, every zorgle from Zorgamazoo!

 

Every creature he'd met, every singular beast,
they all had arrived, for the funeral-feast!

Although Morty was saddened and stricken with grief,
his feelings of sorrow were thankfully brief.
When he saw all the people his father had known,
he realized at once that he wasn't alone.
They were all the same creatures—he'd met them as well,
in the course of his quest with Katrina Katrell!

 

These here were his friends—they had come by the ton!
They'd been passed, so it seemed, from father to son.

 

So wiping a tear from the edge of his eye,
Morty rose from his seat. He straightened his tie.
He then began singing the eulogy song,
with everyone dancing, and singing along…

 

 

 

Later, when the evening had come to a close,
the guests all departed for rest and repose.
Having paid their respects, they gently withdrew
to the huts and cabins of Zorgamazoo.

 

In one little cottage, just out of the way,
made of thatches of bramble and timber and clay,
and built in a tree that was ample and wide,
a trio of friends were relaxing inside.

 

In one chair, a zorgle, curled up in his coat,
a weatherworn necktie adorning his throat.
The second, a creature all hairy with curls
that were pale like the shimmer of elegant pearls.
The third of the trio, the oddest of all,
wasn't hairy or scary, and not very tall;
just a regular girl, no less and no more,
but the sort of a girl whom you couldn't ignore,
a girl you would think was imagining things,
like pirates and gadgets and creatures and kings!

 

They each had a cushion, a comfortable seat.
They were having some cocoa and something to eat.
They were curled by the fire, with blankets as well:
Winnie and Morty…and Katrina Katrell.

So now, as
we come to
the end of
my text, I'll
tell you a
little of what
happened
next.

Winnie returned to her family clans,
to the bats, and the balls, and the roar of the fans.
After all, her first love, as I'm sure you recall,
is that wonderful game they call Zorgally Ball.

 

She went back to the fields where she usually played,
to stadiums dappled with sun and with shade,
to the places where often she walloped and swung,
in the bush-leagues—with Cyril Zipzorgle DeYoung.

 

Morty, meanwhile, he also went back;
he returned to his job as a newspaper hack.
Rejoining the crew at the
Rumor Review
,
he typed up the saga of Zorgamazoo.

 

Each week, a new chapter would go to the press,
and the story became a resounding success!
People who read it were rather amazed
(in addition, the telling was critically praised).

 

And no matter who read it, from toddler and tyke
to queasy old geezers and wheezers alike—
any reader at all, in spite of their years,
had Enchantium Gas coming out of their ears!
For with all zorgle stories, for better or worse,
the whole of the telling was written in verse.

 

Some called it madness. Others called it sublime,
for he penned the whole story
completely in rhyme!
And the tale, my good reader, you must understand
is the same one you're holding, right now, in your hand.

And what of Katrina,
That
story, perhaps the worl on
adventures
galore;
she went roaming all over, had so many more!

On all of them, Morty was there at her side
(it seemed he was always along for the ride),
on travels and treks that would always amaze;
the two would be friends for the rest of their days…

 

Days that were spent in a world of surprise,
a world in which phoenixes lit up the skies,