A Passion for Gothic: Stories

By Andrew Jantz

A collection of short stories by Andrew Jantz that illuminate the lives of ordinary people struggling with difficulties and crisis in their lives. Issues of faith and love, tragedy and despair are brought forth with clarity and compassion. The stories are plainspoken, and the characters are portrayed with immediacy as they face choices and circumstances—good and bad—which give shape to their lives. These stories will strike a chord with anyone who wonders what the private lives of others look like when the curtains are drawn back. Above all, this book is a testament to the human spirit.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Jan 14, 2019
• ISBN: 9781546275510

Andrew Jantz

Andrew Jantz has published a novel and three collections of poetry. His work has appeared in Sail Magazine, the Christian Science Monitor, and the Wallace Stevens Journal, among others, and has won the prize for Best Translation from the New England Poetry Club. He has also served as a journalist in the U.S. Navy Reserve. He resides in suburban Boston.

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© 2018 Andrew Jantz. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse  01/11/2019

ISBN: 978-1-5462-7552-7 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-5462-7551-0 (e)

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models,

and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Scripture quotations marked NRSV are taken from the New Revised Standard Version of the Bible, Copyright © 1989, by the Division of Christian Education of the National Council of the Churches of Christ in the United States of America. Used by permission. All rights reserved. Website

Contents

The Birthday Party

Falling

A Passion for Gothic

Abraham and Isaac

Red’s

The Gravestone

Acorns

Race

The Underground Man

A Question of God

Lizzie Borden and the Witches

Tom Moore’s Poems

With love to John and Tom,

The miracles in my life

The Birthday Party

N athan’s eighth birthday party was memorable – indeed, he never forgot it. But it was not a happy memory. Certainly, the beginning of the day had been happy, with his mother hugging him and treating the birthday boy like a little prince. But that part of the day Nathan doesn’t remember very well. It’s what happened later that he remembered so clearly.

Nathan and his mother, who had recently lost father and husband by suicide, had moved into an apartment on the second floor of a two-story house a few months later. There were a number of kids in the neighborhood, and though Nathan had been shy about making new friends, and in fact had come home crying on more than one occasion, having been picked on by some of the kids, Nathan thought that in recent weeks he was beginning to fit in. A few of the kids had become friendly, and he felt that he was becoming just another kid in the neighborhood, instead of the new kid, the stranger, on the block.

So, a few weeks before his birthday, his mother decided to have a birthday party for him and invite the kids from the neighborhood. She bought a pack of festive birthday cards, and helped him write them out, with Nathan supplying the names. The next morning they walked through the neighborhood and put the invitations in the mailboxes where the boys lived.

As the day drew close, Nathan became more and more excited, partly because of the thrill of opening presents, and partly because of the party itself. His mother was excited too, and she was having fun planning activities, such as pin-the-tail on the donkey, bobbing for apples, and ideas for a piñata they would make together.

The piñata became a pet project for both of them, and they worked on it for a couple of days. His mother made a special paste, and with cardboard and newspaper they fashioned a big donkey. She’d bought bags of candy and a bunch of little toys – Silly Putty, green army men, packs of baseball cards; all kinds of things – and they stuffed them into the donkey, along with quarters and even a few dollar bills. Then they painted it with thick colors. It looked great, and Matthew could hardly wait to take a whack at it. There were things in there he really wanted.

Finally the big day arrived. It was a Saturday. Nathan was now eight, and feeling more like the Little Man his mother often called him. He couldn’t wait till the party, which was at one o’clock. He was dying to open presents, and to see who would finally crack open the piñata, followed by the mad rush to gather up the goodies that would shower down. The apartment was filled with the smell of the cake his mother had baked, and though she wouldn’t let him see it when she was finishing it, he knew it would be chocolate, with chocolate frosting, because that was his favorite. He especially liked the creamy frosting.

His mother had put up all sorts of decorations — crepe ribbons, balloons, and a special birthday tablecloth with matching paper napkins. At one point that morning she came over to him, cupped his face in her hands, kissed him, and said This is the exact time of day, Sweetheart, that you were born. 11:35. Now you are officially eight years old. Then she kissed him and drew him close, and hugged him. He hugged her back and said, I love you too, Mom.

At noon, an hour before the party, everything was ready. The next hour was one of the longest in Nathan’s short life. He just couldn’t wait. The clock on the kitchen wall seemed to have slowed down, almost to a stop. He watched the second hand move, then stop, move, then stop. It was unbearable. His mother grinned at him every time he came in to look at the clock.

At about ten before one, crazy with anticipation and not knowing what else to do, Nathan went into the parlor and stood at the window, staring down at the front walkway in case anyone was early. Every couple of minutes he’d go back to the kitchen and look at the clock, which seemed to be moving even slower, just to torture him. Then, back to the window.

Eventually, one o’clock came and went. Five past, ten past, twenty past, and still no one had shown up. Nathan was a bit confused as he stood at the window looking up and down the street. He went into the kitchen and noticed something different about his mother’s expression. She was still smiling at him, but her eyes didn’t look right, they didn’t match her smile. When are they coming? he asked.

They’re probably just running a little bit late, Honey. They’ll be here soon.

He went back to the window. At last, at 1:30, he saw one of the kids, Robbie, coming up the street on his bike. He rode right by without looking and disappeared down the street and around the corner. Nathan felt something really unpleasant, and his eyes blurred with tears.

He went into the kitchen, where his mother was now sitting at the table, smoking a cigarette. Mom, I just saw Robbie ride by on his bike. But we invited him to the party. I know it. Did we put the right time on the invitations?

His mother pulled him over, hugged him, and burst into tears. I love you, Baby, she said. You’re the best boy any mother could have. Better than any of those other kids.

Nathan would always remember that moment, for he realized at that moment that no one was coming to his birthday party, that his mother was heart-broken, that he was broken-hearted, and that he would have to hide it from her and be strong for her, because he was now indeed the little man of the house. In fact, he was the only man.

He went back into the parlor, but didn’t look out the window. He looked around at all the decorations. His mom had made it all look so nice and festive, and now it just looked sad. He looked at the piñata, standing in the corner. He felt the tears coming again. He walked down the hall to his bedroom and quietly closed the door.

Falling

A s the ship building contracts dried up, the yard began laying off workers by the thousands. Then, as the last ship was completed, the axe fell on me as well. We were all thrown out of our jobs. A lot of us didn’t handle it too well. Like me, for example.

That last day of work, the whistle blew for the final time, and many of us streamed out of the gates and flooded the numerous bars all around. I went to Rudders. The place was mobbed and everyone was getting blasted. A TV news crew stopped in to get some human-interest footage, and we all cheered later when we saw ourselves for about two seconds on the six o’clock news. They talked about the effects the layoffs would have. That’s about the last thing I can remember about that night, seeing ourselves on the news. The next thing I remember after that is waking up on the bathroom floor at home when Barb opened the door into me. There was puke all over.

When I finally got out of bed the next day it was already mid-afternoon. Barb was at work. I went out for a walk and ran into a couple of guys from the yard. We joked about how weird it felt to be bumming around on a weekday. Davie Roy kidded that it was just a holiday and that we’d all have to get up for work on Monday. We all agreed. It didn’t seem real, being out of a job. I’d never been out of a job before.

That’s probably what got me into trouble. Not really believing I was out of a job. Surely they’d re-open at least part of the yard at some point. I’d been a burner there for fourteen years – ever since I’d got out of high school. I mean, things went alright for a little while, considering that Barb was working. I had my severance benefits as well. We were doing okay. Not great, but okay. Every morning the first thing I’d do is read the employment sections in the local papers. Lots of days I’d go down to the placement center they’d set up. But there was never anything out there. Nothing but hack jobs and hi-tech jobs – and hi-tech doesn’t hire burners. So I kept floating along waiting for something to open up. I guess I knew that the yard was closed for good, but it was like I didn’t really believe it. Even when they were talking in the news about commercial zoning and condominiums and all that, it didn’t really sink in. It was only when they started dismantling the cranes that it really hit me. That’s when everything changed.

What happened is, I started hanging out at the bars every day. Mostly Rudders, or the Quarterdeck Lounge over on Monument Street. At first I was going out at night, or maybe after dinner. But then it got so that I hated being around when Barb got home from work, because we’d always end up fighting. One time she came home and I was lying on the couch watching TV. I could tell she was in a bad mood, so I didn’t say anything to her. She went into the kitchen and a minute later she comes out and just blows up. I mean screaming and throwing things and everything. It was like she’d lost her mind. So like I said, pretty soon I started going out earlier so I wouldn’t have to put up with any grief from her. I’d go out maybe three, four o’clock and stay out the rest of the night drinking and shooting pool. I always came home blasted off my ass. Sometimes Barb would still be up when I got in. Then we’d either fight or ignore each other. Usually, though, she’d be asleep when I got in and I’d just slip into bed.

That’s when it would get to me sometimes, what was happening to us. I’d