Fiction and poetry

A pastiche is a literary work that imitates the style of another. Thus, we have many Sherlock Holmes stories written by latter-day admirers of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle’s great detective. I enjoy trying my hand at various existing styles, as you’ll see in the stories and poems below.

The Quandary

       They were not foolish children. Matt and Julie were sophisticated adults, educated and mature, who had lived a lot and could talk about what they had seen. Eight years they had lived together, and last month got engaged. The only thing not mature was their embarrassment -- the silent blush, the abashed sidelong glance -- when telling their friends that ceremony and promise meant something to them. In these times and in their circle, ceremony and vows were a sign of indecorum, since promises were only the calcified forebodings of the fearful and the small of soul.

            Having defiantly placed the bud of the future in their garden, they experienced unexpected effects. Now when Julie went to work, she saw the secretaries through the eyes of a married woman. They seemed different than before, connected to the great chain of being in a way she had never noticed. Since she could also identify with the traviatas of history, this new link was a secret puzzlement. But this mildly curious buzz presaged a quandary. It made her think of children.

They had tried to put this matter to rest. Julie had never wanted children, and Matt had never quite given them up. He was from a large, happy family. In his home, people supported each other's dreams, and knew what the others liked and what they wanted for their birthdays. You could walk in the door and see one kid doing homework at the dining table, another practicing the piano, a third making a project out of construction paper and colored sparkles. They went on vacations together that were still talked about at family reunions. Matt wanted that again -- the home, the surrounding of seasons and built-in friends... only this time he would get to play the father. He would be wise, since to a five-year-old anyone who can find his way home from the store is wise. He would be forbearing, since he would love them so much that any little pecca­dillo would dwindle to a speck, instantly dissolved in a big bear hug and a laugh. He would be the permanent Santa, who could change their universe by bringing home a longed-for toy. He would be the one who came in through the door to be met by small hurtling bodies that shrieked "Daddy!", the one who would drop his briefcase and play horsey on the floor.

            Matt set his dream aside, though, for Julie. She came from a pinched household of cool correctness, of no overt cruelty, but no love, either. She grew up pale and quiet, not knowing how to fly. She still didn't quite understand how Matt had been drawn to her. Years of fear and withdrawal melted in his presence, and she would love him till she died for bringing her into the sun. A child would spoil it all. Matt would always be at work, and tired when he got home, and worried about paying the bills. Time would disappear in a blizzard of errands, decisions, and disputes. The thousand pinpricks she'd heard about from friends made her shudder   -- squabbles over money, and what school district to choose, and whose turn it was to take the kids to the dentist. These would erode the sacred space the two of them had built. Worse yet, she knew she'd love and adore the baby, she would contribute to the thousand pinpricks by taking the baby's side and scolding Matt for not wrapping it warmly enough against the cold, she'd lose herself in the hearth and then he would drift away and be the distant, resentful wage-earner and she would forget the magic bedroom moments and not care because she'd be fretting over the nanny   -- oh, wait, the nanny meant Julie would still be working and he wouldn't be the only resentful wage-earner, they both would, at the mercy of immature neighborhood teenage babysitters when the nanny went back to Germany.

            These horrible pictures ran like dismal subtitles behind her eyes, just as the warm picnics and baseball pictures ran for him. But they loved each other, so they kept the thoughts to themselves, and pretended the years weren't going by and there was no such thing as a Decision to be made.

            The engagement changed it all. Because they dared to want more -- the ritual, the promise -- they were reminded of wanting. And he wanted children. He was a perfect gentleman, never saying it aloud. But in restaurants she could see his eyes following the toddlers at the next table. He struck up conversations with children in grocery lines, and once when he'd had to wait for her at the gynecologist's office she came out to find him telling a story to the energetic preschooler of an exhausted pregnant patient.

            A woman who loves, cares about her partner's dream. This was the man who kissed away her fears, who rubbed her back (and her front), who made the universe home.  How could she deny him his fondest desire? Lying in bed with him on Christmas Eve, she knew he was wishing that in the next room there were a giddy four-year-old hugging himself ecstatically and waiting for dawn.

            Maybe he could have his dream, in a way. Since there are already people needing love, she asked, why not give it to them? So they did. It helped for a while. He enjoyed teaching the boy scouts how to read maps, and setting up car washes at the junior high school to raise money for the marching band. They became the favorite babysitters for their friends' children, and kept a stash of toys in their closet, to loan or give away. But the more he tasted it, the more she ached for him. He pretended fear and amazement for the costumed tykes who rang the bell on Hallowe’en, and then he smiled and closed the door.         

            Matt made the sacrifice willingly. He knew about her horror of quarrels when sides are taken and people freeze in sullen camps of spite.  He sensed her relief when they came home from a large gathering and had the house to themselves, where she could sit in the bay window looking at the stars, with a pen and paper at her side. He loved to see her laugh, brushing the hair from her eyes and telling their friends about the poems she had finished and the book she was writing. He could feel her melt when she slipped into his arms at night, and her fond gaze when they were alone. How could you not yearn to please the one who joyed at your very existence, whose eyes lit up when you came into the room, who cried in your arms and smiled a crystal cathedral of radiance when you comforted her griefs?

            They never quarreled. They fought fair and made up with delicious ramping passion. They shared responsibility for birth control, and marched for reproductive rights, since they agreed all babies should be wanted, and no mother should be forced.

            As the time for the wedding approached, friends began to ask, "Does this mean you're going to start a family?" "When are you going to have kids?" Matt's mother was wistful. Julie's co-workers slyly teased, and made it an occasion to practice their own fantasies. (Her sister knew better than to ask). Julie was kind and diplomatic, but he could see her flinch each time the question was posed. How tactless they were! He felt resentful and protective, and parried the question himself as often as he could.

            It was to be a quiet wedding, with only close family and friends. Julie detested display, and said, "Rehearsals and show business are only for people who aren't sure they want to be married." Under the gibe, he read her message that she didn't have to play princess for a day. She just wanted him, forever, no matter what.

            No matter what. He began to think. The child issue had never really been put to rest. They were 32, facing years of wrestling with birth control and renewed questions from friends. What better wedding gift could he give than to prove that he had relinquished, once and for all, the dream that nagged at her peace? And it would be easier for him, too. From the far side of decision, once fatherhood was out of his reach, he could embrace the life they had made, pour all his energy into it, love the neighbors' kids without that little twinge of regret. A knife of certainty would put an end to this costly dream.

            He went to the clinic where they had marched, and made certain arrangements. On the appointed day, his best friend accompanied him, brought him home, and silently, according to instructions, left. After settling in to rest, Matt was calm. Maybe now the strange mood that had possessed her in recent weeks would lift, and she would hear his news with delighted relief. Leaning back against the pile of pillows, he painted the moment in many colors, savoring extravagant variations that dissolved the ache in his body. Suddenly, with a start, he realized she was late. Where could she be? Just then the car pulled in, and he heard the door open, and her footsteps coming up the steps.

            Julie entered and put down her parcels. Seeing the bandages and medicines, she gave a gasp of fright. "Why, what is it?" she cried, and ran to him. She picked up a pill bottle and read the label. "For pain?" she said. "What happened? Are you all right?"

            "I'm not supposed to go to work for four days," he said evenly. "But then I can start walking, and in two weeks we can do it again." She stared at the brochure on the nightstand as if it were written in a foreign language. "Aftercare for vasectomy patients."

            There was a silence. No delighted relief. She stared at the paper and at his face. Finally, she said, "Oh, Matt, I didn't know how to tell you. Two weeks ago .... I found out... I wasn't just being late this time. The sponge must have failed. I thought and thought. I couldn't bear to tell you. It's your own baby, too, you know." She took a breath. "Honey, if you want this child, then so do I."

            No, they weren't foolish children. Each treasured the other's dream, and laid their own down for it. They are the magi.

<< Previous    [1]  2  3    Next >>