Page 46

Artie looked at the class. “And there you are. A perfect story about judging people before we know what they’re going through.”

“That’s not what you were saying about the man taking fat guys’ measurements.” This from a boy in the back. “That guy hadn’t suffered anything.”

“How do you know? I suspect he had suffered plenty in his life, which is why he was so kind to, as you put it, the fat guys. Maybe he’d been fat. Maybe his brother had been fat and made fun of for years. We don’t know.” Artie stood up. “The point of these stories is—”

“To be fucking nice,” said Tamera, swishing her long red hair and turning in her seat to scowl at the boy who had wondered what the story was about.

“Exactly,” Artie said, and after that he felt the class relax.

“Do you ever swear, Damn-dam?” Willoughby asked.

“Do I ever swear?” Artie stood up and put his hands on his hips. “Is that your business?” A few of the kids laughed.

“Well, you just let Tamera swear.”

“Do I ever swear?” Artie repeated. He looked down at the toes of his black sneakers. Then he raised his pants just slightly, still looking down. “Do I wear white socks?” He looked up. “Is the Pope Catholic?”

And now the kids were talking to one another, loosely, saying things like, “Of course he swears.” “He just said ‘Is the Pope Catholic?’ ” “But what does that mean, ‘Is the Pope Catholic?’ ” “It means…”

The bell rang and Artie said, laughing, “Now get out of here. All of you. Have a wonderful break. I’ll see you in a couple of weeks. Now go, go.” He made a shooing motion with both his hands.

But then he called out, “Danny,” indicating with his head that the kid should stay. So when the room was empty Danny stood there looking uncomfortable. “I’ve heard that you are brilliant in Shakespeare,” Artie said.

Danny shrugged.

“ ‘Othello’s occupation is gone,’ ” Artie said, “was received by your teacher with true delight.”

Danny’s face quickened. “It just seemed obvious to me,” he said. “He loved her. He thinks she cheated on him. So now his occupation is gone.”

Artie put one hand to his chin and watched as Danny kept talking.

“It’s a fucking amazing play—he kills her and then—oh,” and Danny shook his head. “Well, it’s just so sad.”

After a moment Artie said, “I did not know that about you and Shakespeare. I did not know.”

“That guy knew everything,” Danny said. “He knew fucking everything about people.”

“Talk to me about that,” Artie said.

And Danny talked. He sat down and Artie sat down, and Danny talked about the plays of Shakespeare, he spoke about how smart the guy was, and he talked about how there were so many theories on who he really was. “But who cares?” Danny looked at Artie. “I mean, who fucking cares who wrote those plays, because they’re just so good, Christ, just Hamlet alone, if he had only written that one play—he’s a complete genius!”

Artie watched the boy talk. When Danny finally stopped, Artie said to him, “Danny, listen to me carefully. What are your grades? You’re getting a B-plus in here this semester, but you could easily have gotten an A, you just didn’t give it your all. What’s the story with your other classes?”

Danny said, “A’s and B’s.”

“When I asked what the class wanted to do with their futures, you didn’t answer.”

“Yeah.” Danny sort of laughed. “I mean, I’m this jock. I’m not going to say I think about Shakespeare all the time.”

Artie sat forward in his chair. “You get yourself a scholarship to a good college and you can do that, Danny. Get your grades up as high as possible, this year and next year, and you will get a scholarship, and then—”

“And then what?”

“Teach it. Get other people as excited about Shakespeare as you are.”

“Me teach Shakespeare?”

“Yes.”