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,
a world of more wonder than ever before,
where pixies were back in the cracks in the floor,
where serpents and mermaids were back in the seas,
and ogres went loping though forests and trees.
A world where mysterious creatures were found,
in tunnels meandering under the ground!
Or on mountains above us! Or deep in the grass!
A world all awhirl with
That’s it, my good reader.
My story is done.
And my, what a strange and mysterious one!
But that was the story I wanted to tell:
The story of me and Katrina Katrell.
And so, my good reader,
or perhaps my good friend,
we have come to the finish,
the curtain,
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
A novel in rhyme is a risky experiment. To some, it’s OUTRIGHT MADNESS. So I wish to thank my family and friends for their unremitting faith in my lunacy. In particular, I wish express gratitude to the following people for their kind and thoughtful assistance with the various aspects of the book: Linda Svenson, Keith Maillard, Meryn Cadell, and most of all, Alison Acheson, at the University of British Columbia; Jessica Rothenberg, Ben Schrank and the enthusiastic team at Razorbill Books; Jackie Kaiser and the wonderful people at Westwood Creative Artists; Laura Dodwell-Groves, Christy Goerzen, Maryn Brown, Adam Higgs and everyone else from 2005’s CRWR-503; Victor Rivas for his enchanting artwork; Natalie Sousa, Christian Fuenfhausen, Benjamin Wood, Nick Wood and the members of “the THC” (Terry Dove, Carla Gillis, Sarah Leavitt, Susan Olding and Joe Wiebe); and the talented engineers at Ignition Recording Studios in London.
Finally, my eternal gratitude to Hana, without whom, this book would not exist; your love and support is unwavering and miraculous.
Zorgamazoo Page 13
