DEMISE: An American Tragedy
A story of the 1990s by John M. Del Vecchio, to be released by Warriors Publishing Group September 2020.
The following scene takes place very early in the school year. New teacher, Marcia Radkowski, is attempting to dramatically engage her English class.
“’…Endemic to human nature is the carnivorous, lecherous self, which must be balanced against our need for meaning. Recognizing both the flesh and the soul, the need of one, the quest of the other…’ We’re going to be talking about this all year in relationship to all the works that we read.”
Unbeknownst to Miss Radkowski her classroom holds innocent, and not-so-innocent, victims and assailants.
“‘But, O, how bitter a thing it is to look into happiness through another man’s eyes!’” Miss Radkowski paused her reading of Shakespeare’s As You Like It. Katie Fitzpatrick, Kim Sanchez, half a dozen other students, sat rapt. Another half-dozen listened politely. Peter Badoglio and Miro Sarrazin stared, captivated, smitten. A few fidgeted. Jason Panuzio’s eyes were cast to the windows. The rain had passed, the sky had cleared to white cotton puffs tumbling on azure silk, but the view of the practice field showed muddy patches before both goals and at the center circle.
“‘But so much the more shall I tomorrow be at the height of heart-heaviness, by how much shall I think my brother happy in having what he wishes for.’” Marcia Radkowski smiled. She stood in the classroom, her long arms wrapped about her, low, one hand on her waist, the other to the opposite elbow. Her shoulders were forward, her head back. She spoke quietly, almost in a whisper. Jason brought his eyes back to her. She was barely five years older than most of her students, only three years older than the one senior taking the course to make up needed credits. “Does it speak to you…Jason?”
He had not understood the words, had barely heard her at all. He had been concentrating on her shoulders and neck, thinking she had a great neck, wonderful shoulders and collarbones and…
“Jason?”
“Huh?”
“Jason.”
“Yeah.”
“There’s so much remorse.” As Miss Radkowski spoke, she drew first one hand across in a graceful arc, then the other—the gesture of an actress, a dancer, or an English teacher. “He’s so pitiful.” Her face fell to frown. “He’s so in love with Rosalind.” Her arms crossed. She brought them gently to her chest; her delicate fingers touched her collarbones, accentuated her neck. Peter sighed a bit too loudly. Miro stifled a laugh. Marcia spun; her broomstick skirt twirled, hugged her slender frame, then unwound, swished.
“Ah, that’s Rosalind’s speech, isn’t it?”
“No-ooh, Jason. It’s Orlando’s. Or perhaps it’s Jason’s. Read the rest of Orlando’s part.”
“Out loud?!”
“Yes. Aloud. And, umm, Kim, you read Rosalind’s. Jason, start with Orlando’s last sentence.”
Jason blushed, looked down, stared at the page. From next to him Martina Watts sneered, murmured, “Next page. Line forty-eight.”
“Thanks,” he whispered. Then, stilted: “Ah…‘By so much the more…shall I tomorrow be, ah…at the height of heart-heaviness…” Marcia moved toward him, her hands circling before her, scooping, attempting to draw him out; then cupping up, motioning for him to stand. As he finished the line, her hands rose in a flourish, lifting Kim Sanchez from her seat.
“‘Why, then, tomorrow I cannot serve your turn for Rosalind?’”
Marcia Radkowski returned to Jason. Her hazel eyes dazzled; her deeply tanned skin fairly glowed; her light brown hair, short and flyaway, accentuated her vivaciousness. This was her second year teaching freshman, and now junior, English. In this class alone, Peter Badoglio, Miro Sarrazin, and Jeff Kurjiaka had crushes on her; Miro and Jeff often faking swoons at soccer practice, calling her The Dream Goddess, Miss Starry Eyes, or Sweet Lips Radko. Even Jason held his breath when she spun or bowed or came to class in one of her sleeveless cotton knit sweaters. Had it not been for Kim Sanchez—in Jason’s mind equally beautiful: darker eyes, longer, straighter, darker hair; shorter; bustier—he too would have sat all period in rictal agog infatuation. But he could not do that in front of Kim. Nor could he stare at Kim before Miss Radkowski.
“Ah…‘I can live no longer by thinking,’” Jason read flatly.
Without coaxing Kim answered, “‘I will weary you then no longer with idle talking—’”
Amanda Esposito broke in. “Miss Radkowski, isn’t it kind of ridiculous that Orlando doesn’t recognize her? I mean, really! Like at Halloween, just because somebody’s in costume doesn’t mean you don’t know who they are.”
Marcia settled back. Jason and Kim remained standing, their books before them, their eyes furtively finding the other’s. “Do you think disguises are possible?” The teacher raised the question to the entire class.
“That’s not the point,” Martina Watts injected. She was irritated by the disruption. “Shakespeare say that the way it was. Accept it, girl, and let’s get on.”
“Martina,” Miss Radkowski said gently, “it is a valid question. I’m surprised no one raised it earlier. We’re almost at the end of the play.”
“This is the part—” Kim paused, cocked her head slightly “—where Rosalind talks with…here, ‘conversed with a magician, most profound in his art and yet not damnable.’ I think she learned the art of disguise.”
“I think she a bitch,” Martina blurted. She did not look up but spoke as if addressing her desktop. “One connivin bitch. Why can’t she be up front wit im? I don’t understand why people can’t be straight wit each other.”
“Hmm.” Marcia nodded. “Can anyone defend Rosalind’s actions?”
“Like back in Ack Three,” Martina spoke out. “Where she talkin to the farm slut. ‘He’s fallen in love with your foulness…’ She think she so-ooh good.”
“It all turns out,” Katie Fitzpatrick said. “I think she was just protecting herself.”
“Um-hmm.” Marcia nodded again.
No one else offered an opinion. Switching to a businesslike walk, Marcia retreated to her desk. “We have only a few minutes left. Thad, Jeff, sit back. Kim, Jason, you may sit. On the way out I want each of you to pick up a copy of Call of the Wild. Read it this week or this weekend.”
“We read that in sixth grade,” Jeff called out.
“I promise you, then, it will be more meaningful this time,” Marcia countered. “There’s a sheet with it. ‘Endemic to human nature is the carnivorous, lecherous self—’” her words were now quick, louder than during the heart of class discussion, an attempt to hold her students through the period’s last minute “‘—which must be balanced against our need for meaning.’ You’ll find this on the bottom of the page. ‘Recognizing both the flesh and the soul, the need of the one, the quest of the other…’ We’re going to be talking about this all year in relationship to all the works we read.”