Garden of Evil by Graham Masterton Page B

spectacles held together by a Band-Aid on the bridge of his nose, and a maroon T-shirt that looked as if it had been attacked by a swarm of ravenous moths.
    â€˜You do?’ said Jim. ‘That’s pretty amazing. What’s your name, son?’
    â€˜Kyle Baxter the Third, sir.’
    â€˜All right then, Kyle Baxter the Third, what’s the answer?’
    â€˜Zythum is a type of malted beer, sir, that used to be brewed in ancient Egypt.’
    Jim was completely taken aback. ‘How the
hell
do you know that, if you don’t my asking?’
    Kyle Baxter blushed, and glanced quickly around him in obvious discomfort. ‘I read dictionaries, sir,’ he said, his voice dropping to a mumble. ‘I read dictionaries and I learn all the words.’
    â€˜You read dictionaries and you learn all the words? You certainly don’t have to be embarrassed about that, Kyle. Well done. That’s great.
Unusual,
I admit – but highly commendable.’
    â€˜Yes, sir. I really like words.’
    Jim waited, and then said, ‘
But
? There has to be a “but”, Kyle, or else you wouldn’t be here in Special Class Two.’
    Kyle blushed even redder, and began to tug at his T-shirt. ‘I
know
the words, sir. I know all of the words. It’s just that I find it hard to put them in the right order. Especially when I’m trying to write them down.’
    â€˜Hey, man!’ called out a Hispanic boy sitting at the end of the third bench, ‘I find it hard to put them in the
wrong
order, and I don’t even know them to begin with, like what you do!’
    Everybody laughed, and Jim said, ‘Don’t you worry, Kyle. By the end of this year, you’ll be writing like Herman Melville.’
    â€˜Herman who?’ asked a pretty African-American girl sitting right at the front, with her hair crowded with colored beads. ‘Is he that cookery guy on TV?’
    Jim smiled and shook his head. ‘Herman Melville was an author who wrote a classic novel called
Moby Dick
.’
    â€˜What’s that about?’ sang out one of the boys. ‘
Moby Dick
? Sounds like an STD to me. Gotta go to the clinic, man, I got this real moby dick.’
    Jim suddenly realized that Simon Silence hadn’t yet appeared. He walked slowly down the right-hand side of the art studio toward the window, to see if he was still outside, under the eucalyptus trees.
    As he walked, he told his class, abstractedly, ‘To be honest – I didn’t actually
expect
you to know what “zythum” is. In fact, even
I
didn’t know that it was some kind of beer. All I
did
know was that it’s the very last word in the dictionary.’
    He reached the window and looked out. There was nobody there, apart from one of the groundskeepers, on a ride-on mower.
    â€˜The last word,’ he repeated, turning around and walking back toward his desk. ‘That’s why you’re here in Special Class Two – so that
you
can have the last word. You won’t only be learning how to spell words, and how to arrange them into sentences that really sing. You’ll be learning how to use words in such a way that nobody will ever be able to put you down again for the way you speak or the things you write.
    â€˜You won’t have to win arguments by yelling louder than anybody else, or threatening to beat up on them. You’ll win them because you’ll know how to express yourself clearly, and dramatically, and well. Gene Kelly sang
I Got Rhythm
. I’m going to give
you
“zythum” – all of you. I’m going to give you the last word.’
    â€˜Gene Kelly?’ frowned the African-American girl in the front row. ‘Who’s she?’
    As Jim reached his desk, the studio door opened, and Simon Silence made an entrance.
    â€˜Ah, Simon,’ said Jim. ‘Glad you could join us.’
    But Simon Silence stood in the doorway with his arms spread