Vampire High Sophomore Year - By Douglas Rees Page 0,65

is a very special evening for all of us,” he said to the near-empty seats. “Something new is beginning here. One can feel it. And the voice of that thing is in the throats of these young poets. We can hear it calling to us. I, for one, intend to answer that call.”

And he changed into a wolf.

And he stood there, a wolf in a tuxedo.

“Xhat is better,” he announced, leaning his forelegs on the podium. His voice was thick now, and very deep. He couldn’t form words the same way with his long jaws, but it didn’t seem to matter. He had everyone’s attention now, even the Daughters’. Especially the Daughters’.

“Now I should like to recite from memory a fine Amerhican poem by Allen Ginsberg. Which some of you may recognize. I refer to his masterwork, Howl.”

Howl. I’d heard of it, but I’d never read it. Now I heard the whole thing, page after page of it, coming out of the jaws of a thick, gray wolf with fierce green eyes. Allen Ginsberg, whoever he was, couldn’t have asked for a better voice for his words, even if Mr. Shadwell couldn’t pronounce them all in the usual way.

A few people drifted in to see what the noise was. None of them left. There is nothing like a wolf reciting poetry to hold a crowd.

When Mr. Shadwell got to the end of the poem, and finished on a high, wailing note that sounded like it was aimed at the moon, nobody clapped. Nobody did anything.

Then Pestilence screamed, “Far out, old man!” and ran over and hugged him.

Gelnda jumped up and down. Basil IX thumped Mr. Shadwell on the back. So did Hieronymus Bosch. Famine, Death, and War clapped. So did everyone else. All five of them. But it didn’t matter how few there were. They were loving the moment.

And at the door, clapping and cheering, was my mom.

“Mom, what are you doing here?” I said when I got over to her.

“Having the best time I’ve had since we came to New Sodom,” she said. “Cody, we had no idea.”

“Where’s Dad?” I said.

“Down at the concert listening to Ms. Vukovitch,” Mom said.

“Mom, I’d really like you to go,” I said. “It could get dangerous tonight.”

“We’ll leave if you do,” Mom said.

“I can’t. I’m sort of in charge,” I said.

“Then stop trying to tell me what to do, Cody,” Mom said.

But now the Daughters were standing in a knot around Mr. Shadwell, and he was waving his hands around saying, “Xhe work of xhese young people, crude as it is at first glance, contains many of xhe elemental strengxhs of poetry. Exactly xhe elements I try to inculcate in my students. We have heard vivid, promising xhings here tonight. And we have heard xhem because one young man, a forhmer student of mine”—he nodded at me—“will not be intimidated or defeated. It has been said that poetry is an act of courage in a dark world. Well, an act of courage in a dark world is a poem. And we must all salute—”

Everyone was looking at me.

“Mr. Shadwell, do something else,” I shouted.

“Right,” Gelnda rasped. “Do something else.”

“It’s your turn,” Mr. Shadwell told her. “But if you like, we can alternate. I xhink I went on too long with Penobscot. Let’s do shorter xhings and see if we can maintain xhis energy level.”

“Everybody: one page or less,” Gelnda said. “Pestilence, you’re up.”

The poets started to bounce their lines back and forth in short bursts. And whatever one of the Daughters said, Mr. Shadwell had something from an epic to come back with. It might not have made any sense, but it didn’t matter. Wave-ravaged shore-stones and rants about global warming sounded right together. Something was happening that didn’t have anything to do with slamming or reciting. People were loving the play between the kids and the old gray wolf. They made so much noise applauding that more people came to see what was going on. The place was filling up.

“Gotta go, Mom,” I said. “By the way, Turk’s downstairs.”

“Where is she? Is she all right?” Mom said.

“As good as she ever is,” I said.

Mom put her hand to her face and breathed deeply. Her shoulders dropped, and when she took her hand away, her face was almost happy.

“I suppose we should have expected it,” she said. “That girl is never going to miss a chance to show off. But thank God she’s back.”

“She’s over by her paintings, if you want to spank