The Goths & Other Stories

Front matter

TH

I | "i iiif Jil

THE GOTHS RONA ONS

Contents

The Goths - 13 Hell Is Coming to Town - 67 Oxnard Plymouth - 111 Fish - 137 Chirp - 161 The Box - 189

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Dear reader: we don't know each other yet, but Pm glad you're here. Tbh I didn't think youd be reading this when I wrote it, so at first I wasn’t actually writing for you. I was writing for a small, safe, trusted circle, who strengthened me with kind words and thoughtful critique. Slowly the circle grew: friends, colleagues, students — until these stories finally reached you. So before we get into the book proper I wanted to say a few words of thanks to those who allowed you and me to connect today.

II

Two days later Sidimund arrived at Epidaurum, a city he knew well for having been an exchange student at Epidaurum College for a semester.

He appeared at the city gates in the late morning

alone

mounted on a gray horse

his long blond hair flowing

out of a gilded bronze helmet

in vertical rows

bronze panels engraved

with allegories of the seasons

over his ears and his nose

his pale gray eyes

peering between them

a gray fur cape

fastened on his right shoulder

by an eagle-shaped silver brooch

a gray fur tunic

tied around his waist

his hands poised on the bridle

motionless

in their gray woolen gloves.

Anyone in the Empire would have known him as a Gothic knight — still and superb in the winter morning. The sky was low the air was gray the horse seemed made of sky and hair the buckle hewn of rain the silver glistened stark and cool and winked a silent rimy gleam a bleaker winter glint than crimson garnet’s ruby sheen aflare in coruscating hew but metal hard and hoar a leaden light instilled oblique as if the knight had plundered it from jewels in the clouds and drifted down on frigid winds to rutilate his loot arrayed in gleaming winter gray insinuating thunder still in the winter morning.

The city guards totally freaked out and ran inside to get the governor.

The governor was like — oh shit this Goth is like seriously bad news, bad news, bad news!!! — quick quick a miracle solution someone do something quick: Bishop Irenaeus? Could he come up with some fancy bishop trick to drive the Goth away — like maybe some gory relic with like blood and toenails and stuff??? Or like a spontaneous mass prayer event type thing lol?

Sidimund waited patiently for the bumbling Greeks to finish scurrying around, and did not dismount.

A tunic tied atop his loins his loins astride atop his horse his horse askance across the gate its gait assured upon its foot he stood was there an inkling in his stance a hint of helmets in the air? of stride afoot? of screams afar? a crowd, a toot as in a shroud? a cloud? he stood alone for now his sword at rest the sky was gray the air still plain the horse was still the plain still bare he stood still in the winter morning.

Finally Irenaeus appeared and addressed him:

What brings you, Goth? — said the old man — Do you seek oats, do you seek socks, And why?

Will you steal goats and plums and frocks? Why?

Could you nab kids and kidnap cats To goad your stock and stick your stalks? To bear your pennant proud and shrill, Bet you will.

You're bare of fodder, keen to kill?

Youre after figs and digs and pigs?

Are you, Goth?

Do you seek swags and swigs and tricks?

And tracks and sticks and stacks and food?

Do you seek food?

You Goth,

so still

in the winter morning?

“Dear Mr. Bishop,” said Sidimund.

(omg Iso do not go by “Mr. Bishop” — thought Irenaeus — but hey the situation did not lend itself to being picky about protocol did it now)

“My name is Sidimund, son of Sidimir the Amaling, and I bear a request from my lord Theodoric, chieftain of the Ostrogothic people.”

“Do you come in peace?” asked Irenaeus.

“Well technically I haven't killed anyone yet? answered Sidimund.

He continued: “The request is as follows. My lord Theodoric will be arriving here in a few days, with forty thousand armed men and their families in tow. We are hungry and tired and would like to crash in your city. We don't want to have to kill everyone because that’s typically time-consuming and stressful. Therefore we kindly request that you all get the fuck out and leave the city completely empty for us. Preferably leaving your refrigerators full for when we arrive, but I don’t want to be indelicate about it if you feel strongly about taking your food with you.”

“But... What... Leave? All of us? What about the children, the elderly, the sick? How? Where will we go?” pleaded Irenaeus. “Mr. Bishop, I’m a Gothic knight, not a career counselor”

Irenaeus stood silent and stern, like a bishop on a chessboard put in check by an opposing knight. He continued:

“Can you give us time at least? When would you want us gone?”

“Tonight, by sundown?

Sidimund paused, then added: “Would you bring me a small child, like not too small but maybe six-seven years old?”

“Uhm, I suppose.”

“TIl wait here.”

The bishop waddled back into the city diagonally, staying on squares of his own color, and reappeared a few minutes later with a terrified young girl, cautiously followed by her anxious mother a dozen paces behind.

“Thank you, said Sidimund. “Would you bring her a little closer, to the right side of my horse please, about two arms’ length in front of me and one to the right. There, perfect. Now leave the girl there and please step back for a second. A little further back (diagonally of course and staying on squares of your own color). Yes, to that tree over there, please. Thanks.”

Sidimund unsheathed his sword and decapitated the little girl in one swift, silent motion, except for the swoosh of the blade skating through the air and the thud of her head falling into the grass. He added:

“Can you imagine how long it would take if we have to do this individually to every single person in the city? We can’t give everyone that much personal attention I’m afraid.”

Irenaeus quietly shat in his underwear and remained speechless. Sidimund moved his horse over to the grass where the girl’s head had landed, leaned over slightly, and speared it with the tip of his sword as if he were picking up a cherry tomato with a toothpick. He handed the head to Irenaeus, who grabbed it mechanically.

“Here, you can have it back, we have tons of these already,” said Sidimund while putting his sword away, leaving the girl's head in Irenaeus’s hands.

“Sundown,” he added. Then he turned around and rode away.

III

After a few days’ walk the Ostrogoths arrived at Epidaurum. The city was nearly completely deserted, as requested. Theodoric’s wife Charlene, looking to move the family into some prime real estate, scored an awesome five-bedroom two-bathroom duplex villa!!! with indoor pool!!! gourmet kitchen with marble counters!!! hi-gloss Soft-Close® cabinetry!!!

SubZero” stainless steel appliances!!! designer triclinium with wet bar!!! private roof deck!!! oversize peristyle with built-in tabulinum!!! family room with floor-to-ceiling Ravenna-style mosaics!!! thermostat-controlled hypocaust!!! and two-chariot garage (which was sorta overkill because they were on foot).

Theodoric walked in first, but on the second floor he found an old man named Marcellinus (perhaps the former owner of the property?) who had failed to evacuate. With one hand he grabbed Marcellinus by the neck and held him up against a shiny pink veined marble wall. With the other hand he grabbed his spatha sword by its graceful stone-studded hilt and pushed the blade into Marcellinus’ss upper abdomen, approximately halfway between his sternum and his bellybutton, creating a

longitudinal laceration in

the parietal peritoneum of his anterior abdominal wall

his hepatoduodenal ligament

the left lobe of his liver

and his superior mesenteric artery.

Marcellinus made a gurgly gagging sound, a bit of bright red blood pooled in his mouth and dribbled down his clothes. Some gas also came out of the opening in his belly.

Theodoric threw Marcellinus’s body out through an open window and looked for the master bedroom’s en-suite bathroom. Charlene walked in moments later.

“Theodoric, I know youre trying to be efficient but who's going to clean this up now? We got kids here, I’m trying to make this a wholesome and family-friendly environment.”

“Yeah sorry. I threw him out the window though. You can look up when trash pickup day is in this town, or call for special pickup if they don’t do bodies”

“Thanks. What’s probably going to happen is I’m going to have to clean it up myself”

Their young daughter Theodegotha walked in, holding a coarse flax-filled rag doll in the effigy of Saint Eudocia, complete with a miniature wooden cross. She pointed to the bloody mess on the chessboard-patterned marble floor and asked:

“Mommy what's that?”

“Irs the blood of some Greek guy your dad just eviscerated, and a tiny bit of his liver as well. Are you ready for your nap or do you want to help mommy clean up the corpse?”

“Clean up the corpse with mommy!”

“Good Gothic girl, always ready for action!”

IV

Theodoric welcomed me into his cluttered Midtown office, where he was kind enough to grant me an exclusive interview for this article. Amidst the jumbled decor of thousands of old books, gilded family portraits, antiques, and the purple velvet drapes framing the grand urban view out of his 28th-floor corner window, I asked the elder statesman to reminisce about the winter of 476 AD.

“Oh these were rough times. Savage times,” he confessed to me, puffing on his pipe. “The Balkans were a backwater in the fifth century, there was no food, no infrastructure. We had thousands of people in tow, they were hungry, they were tired. The priority was to feed them.”

I asked: “Were you expecting help from Byzantium?”

“Not really. I mean, it was complicated,” he said. “We were all culturally fascinated with Byzantium of course. As Goths, we had all grown up watching Byzantine television. There were only three channels, it was primitive. Byzantine television wasnt even electrical, it was entirely mechanical. People today can’t even imagine what these mechanical Tvs were like. They basically ran on olive oil. This is probably long before you were born, were talking 1500 years ago.”

“Indeed, Pm 43,’ I nodded.

“So we grew up watching these Greek shows about people dressed in lavish outfits and having all these intrigues in marble palaces. And of course we were all secretly a bit jealous. Offcially we were proud to be Goths, there was this whole public exaltation of Gothic culture, propping up warriors on shields, running sacred objects through fields for good harvest, etc. But I think in private a lot of us harbored a kind of Byzantine envy?

I asked: “Did that make you disappointed with the Empire once you got to know it better?”

“Yes and no. I think we were always aware of the dark side of it, this sort of Greek shiftiness. We envied the Empire’s material wealth but on some level I'd say even the average Goth on the street had a bit of disdain for Byzantine dishonesty. Honor was a big thing in Gothic society. And perhaps it wasn't always such a priority for the Greeks.”

“And so to get back to the winter of 476?”

“The main thing is, we were hungry. We didn’t trust the Byzantines but we needed them. We knew they considered us Barbarians, they made it clear at every opportunity. If I had just followed my pride, I would have just burned all their cities to the ground and killed everyone there.”

“Well you sort of did exactly that, didn’t you?”

“No, I think that’s an exaggeration. We did that to a few cities, but the other ones we just ransacked for food and didnt really kill anyone — unless they got in the way. Fundamentally we're not murderous people, but we were just hungry. If you're in charge of feeding thousands of hungry armed warriors and you have to play games with some two-faced Greek envoy, it’s a fine line. Of course youd rather cut him in half or impale him. But you can't afford to get chased down by imperial legions. You also can't give in too much and lose your Gothic honor, or your own hungry men will kill you and go on a rampage.”

“Would you say that you're anxious not to be remembered the same way as the Huns and the Vandals?” I asked.

“I think you've read my mind. Maybe all we wanted was a bit of dignity and material security.”

“But wouldn't you say there was a cultural element of violence among the Ostrogoths?” I asked, hoping not to offend Theodoric with that question. To wit, I pointed at the collection of skulls arrayed in one corner of his office, and asked further: “I see you've kept the skulls of your enemies on display all these years. There's something almost Aztec about that fetishization of your adversaries’ corpse, isn’t there?”

“Well I don't know about Aztec, I wouldn't push the comparison too far. We never had human sacrifices obviously. But yes, we are a warrior people, I think Pm comfortable with you printing that.”

“Ts there one skull you're still particularly proud of?” I asked.

“Hah, Theodoric chuckled and his eyes lit up as if fd brought up a comical memory. “Yes actually. That third one on the left is Odoacer. Pm still chuckling because I killed him with my bare hands at dinner — you know the story. I bent him backwards and sort of broke him in half. So you could say alright, nothing unusual about that part, but the thing is, he didn’t go ‘snap or ‘crunch as you would expect. He was kinda squishy. His body kinda went like ‘squish’ It’s hard to explain...” said Theodoric, his hands gesturing as if wringing a sponge.

“What about Boethius? I asked.

His expression changed and became pained: “I was hoping you wouldn't bring him up — but I guess I expected you would. Yes. Its an unfortunate story. I still have his books.” He got up from his desk and reached for a dusty volume. “TIl read you some if you dont mind,” he said, then declaimed in a clear smooth voice:

O stelliferi conditor orbis,

“Beautiful. Now would you translate it for our readers who aren't as comfortable with Latin?” I asked, bearing in mind that many of you these days prefer to read classical texts in translation, little scoundrels!

“Sure” said Theodoric, “I guess the Greek would go something like this:

“Right... I meant... into English? I thought our readers might...,’ I prodded gently.

“Hehe, right, of course. See, this is the kind of generational difference that makes me realize what a fuddy-duddy I’ve become. I'm a man of my time, what can I say. Back in my day, ‘translating’ meant between Greek and Latin—unless it was clear from the context someone meant Gothic. But we grew up knowing that nobody ever wanted to hear Gothic — well, unless they were a Goth. So I didn’t even consider that. But anyway, yes, in English, it means roughly:

up nuns playing a look at a corny tootsie frat rings up way a flan mass condos stale as looney manors...”

“Thank you, it’s beautiful. Theodoric, thanks again on behalf of our entire editorial staff for granting us this interview and sharing these precious memories with us.”

“My pleasure”

Charlene walked out onto the porch of her new house along Theodosius Avenue, Epidaurum’s main thoroughfare, and ran into Sidimund, who was coming to visit his boss.

“Hey Sidimund, how is it going?”

“Good morning Charlene, look at that swank house!”

“I know, we totally scored, everyone loves it?

“T bet. And awesome location, too.”

“Actually, yeah, how does it feel to be back in Epidaurum? This probably all looks totally familiar to you. You went to college here, didn’t you?”

“Only a semester. I was an exchange student. But yes, Pm on familiar ground.”

“How was it studying here actually? Good experience?”

“In some respects, yes. It's all about finding your niche. I mostly hung out with the other exchange students, we were like the Epidaurum foreign student gang.”

“Oh yeah?”

“The local Greeks were pretty arrogant and racist, to be honest. A lot of ‘Barbarian this, Barbarian that? So I mostly had these two really good friends, a Jewish student named Isaac and this guy Thabudius who was from Numidia.”

“Oh wow, like, from Africa?”

“Yes. He was amazing, he had the most extravagant sense of fashion. He sometimes wore this sort of weird dark green silk pallium with an embroidered edge that was like, bright orange. Always with the most unusual motifs. And this awesome silver brooch. And he had this ridiculous collection of silver bracelets, some of them were just huge. And always with really strange stuff carved on them, like snakes, birds, whatever.”

“Ooh that sounds really attractive! Bracelets! Let’s totally go to Numidia right now and shop for bracelets!”

“Oh I know. He was incredibly handsome, too.”

“Were you guys ever, like, together?”

“Well, kind of. We hooked up a few times. He had really dark skin and a tattoo of an eagle on his lower back, it was unbelievably hot. We used to joke that I was the palest person on campus and he was the darkest. Once we were naked and tangled in bed we probably looked like a chessboard. And I’m sure he thought hooking up with a pale Goth was pretty hot, too, come to think of it”

“Wow?

“But anyway, I have no idea where he is now. I hope for him he didn't go back to Africa. I don’t want to speak negatively of the Vandals because they're our blood relatives, but... you know, the way they rule Africa. I mean, they're going to make a bad name for themselves.”

“Well, yeah... what can I say... We read the same news...”

“Anyway. I think that was the reason his dad sent him abroad for college, he didn’t think Africa was a good place for his son to stick around. And maybe Rome was too expensive. So maybe that’s how he ended up at Epidaurum? I don’t know. We didn't think about those things, we were college students.”

“What about Isaac, was he from Judea?”

“No I think he was from Alexandria, or some place around there. We were roommates actually. Straight guy but really nice, smart, intellectually curious. We used to talk until late at night, he heard all the details of my stories with Thabudius... And I heard all his stories. The Jews are really interesting people actually. They have this whole literary tradition with a bunch of sagas, kinda like ours. But theirs are all set in the desert and are all about people being too hot and trying to find someplace colder, so everything works backwards.”

“Hahaha omg that sounds amazing.”

“Yeah it’s cool stuff. Isaac was a really sophisticated guy. His dad wanted him to come back to Alexandria and go into banking, but he literally had zero interest in that. He was into Gnosticism, Montanism, and all that philosophy. He used to read Tertullian nonstop and tell me about Tertullian over breakfast, lunch, and dinner. It was kinda neat. I was never so much into theology but, you know, hearing it from such a smart and passionate person, you get into it. He said his family had no interest at all in Christian theology— or even Jewish theology. He actually audited a class on Gnosticism at Epidaurum and asked the professor not to have that appear on his transcript. He was like — dude if my dad finds out he’s paying for me to studying this heretical Christian stuff he’s literally going to kill me.

“Hahaha I love it.”

“Tonce taught him how to use a sword. He said it was the most terrifyingly exciting thing hed ever done. He used to joke — if my family knew that I’m hanging out with a Goth whos teaching me to wield a sword, they would just... And then hed complete the sentence with something absurd and hilarious they would do: jump into the Nile, shred their shirts in mourning, hold a vigil for him, send a dozen slaves to bring him home...”

“That’s amazing. Did you guys speak Greek together?”

“Yes. Actually his Greek was much better than mine when I got there. I mean, he was basically a native speaker, growing up in Alexandria and all”

“And with Thabudius as well?”

“Yes, also. Thabudius obviously preferred Latin, but spoke really good Greek. He had the most incredible Numidian accent in Greek. In Latin as well actually. I can’t even describe it. Like something from the back of his throat, like a gentle roar. He taught us a lot of funny Latin words from his country. Apparently there are all these crazy Latin expressions that are only used in Numidia. Some of them are just hilarious.”

“Oh yeah? Like what?”

“So like, let me think... Like ‘to charge your phone’ youd say ‘mobile inferre right? I mean that’s like standard. Thats what's printed on the bilingual label on the charger, etc., right?”

“Right. So what do they say in Numidia?”

“So according to Thabudius, people in Numidia say ‘gestamen fovere’ instead.”

“Oh wow. So ‘gestamen like it’s the thing you carry with you, and fovere yes, like it needs to be warmed up and nursed and taken care of. That’s really cute actually.”

“I know, so adorable. Or like the stuff he cooked with. All manner of crazy ingredients with crazy names youd never heard of. Hed be like Tm making galbaneum with galenga with zenzur with zizuinnim’ and Td be like ‘you are so making this up, there's no way those are Latin words’ and hed be like ‘dude it’s in Apuleius, look it up. It’s in the Asclepius? And of course Apuleius came up, like, ten times a day, because he’s pretty much their Numidian national hero. Thabudius would tease me and say: ‘Oh well, I guess my job here is to educate the barbarian Goths about Roman classics. Let me see, are there are any wild Goths with long blond hair who need to be educated around here?’ And at that point Td be so irritated and aroused wed end up having wild sex and making a hot black-and-white skin chessboard.”

“Tt sounds like you guys were very close.”

“Yeah, well. I dort know. Maybe. It’s complicated. He did introduce me to a lot of cool Latin music. He knew all the Latin bands. Do you know this song De reditu suo by Rutilius Namatianus?

“Oh yeah! Rutilius! Omg I haven't thought about Rutilius in a long time! I actually do remember the lyrics of that song:

“Yes exactly!”

“Oh I was totally into Rutilius, too. This is long before Theodoric and I had kids. We used to go out and sing this stuff all night. Well ox, that’s another story... But yes I totally remember it.

Sidimund and Charlene sang on together:

At this point Theodoric appeared on the porch. He grinned and briefly joined them in an improvised trio:

All three of them laughed. Sidimund bowed to Theodoric:

“Good morning my lord.”

“Good morning Sidimund. Are we having a little Rutilius disco moment?”

“Looks like it? said Sidimund with a shy smile.

“Tm glad. I think we all really needed a little pause and something cheerful to think about. We've all earned it. Now we also do have some work to do”

“Yes my lord. What can I do?”

“Sidimund, since you know the city, I'd like you to be in charge of grain distribution. Recruit as many people as you need, do a tally of the granaries, divide up what we have, and make sure everybody has enough to eat tonight.”

“Yes my lord, it will be done as you command.” Sidimund bowed again, and left.

“Speaking of food,” said Theodoric to Charlene, “did you take a look at the fridge and the pantry in this house? Did they leave any food?”

“I did. There's a lot of lard, there’s a bunch of large clay tupperware with boiled lamb, boiled pork, and boiled goose...”

“Eeeww why do the Greeks have to boil everything?”

“I know... There’s also a bunch of cans of murri sauce and garum sauce.”

“Omg that stuff is so gross. The Greeks just eat the weirdest things. I can't believe they call us Barbarians...”

“Yeah seriously, that stuff is, like, weapons-grade. Like if you ever need to attack the Gepids and you want to get into chemical warfare, that garum stuff will do”

“Right, thank you Charlene, excellent idea, ll remember that...”

“And then there's a few actually usable things like some koptoplakous cake, and a few cheeses like a whole anthotyros and about three quarters of a cephalotyrion””

“Meh?

“Yep. And a bunch of reflux medicine and stuff like that. The guy clearly had really bad reflux and abdominal gas problems.”

“Oh yeah haha that’s true, remember how all this gas kinda went ‘puff’ out of his stomach when I cut him open? I thought that was pretty funny.”

“Well if you eat this rotten fish sauce every day with boiled mutton and all that random Greek stuff, I dont see how that’s going to be a surprise when youre bloated like a bagpipe...”

“Well I guess that’s what we'll eat for now. Still beats walking all day through the snow and getting blisters I guess.”

“I don’t know, barely?

“Yeah well. Alright, let me get to work then. Love you.”

VI

Snow had fallen early on the Rhodope mountains that year and the passes were rough and icy.

Theodegotha asked: “Mommy, can I ride on the horse a little bit?”

“Why?” said Charlene.

“Because I’m tired of walking and I’m cold and my feet hurt.”

“But a good Gothic girl walks at least twenty miles a day in the snow, sweetie.”

“I know but my feet hurt?

“Alright, mommy will put you on top of the barley?

Charlene lifted the little girl, while still walking, and hoisted her up on top of a sack of barley jouncing up and down on the mares sinewy rump.

“ox you hold on tight and get some rest up there,” said Charlene.

“My feet also hurt and I'm also cold and tired? confessed Charlene to Theodoric.

“And so do mine,’ Theodoric answered.

“And everyone else’s, I bet? said Charlene.

“I want to camp at lower altitude, maybe we'll walk down another three hours and find a good spot without snow. I don't want too many people freezing to death overnight”

“How do you feel about slavery?” said Charlene after a long pause.

“Slavery? Why slavery? How is this coming up now?”

“Tm just working on my paper, as much as I can while we move around. And I was just thinking — would we ever want slaves?”

Theodoric thought for a while, the snow crunching under his boots. A hawk flew by silently, far above them in the stark winter sky.

“I don’t know,’ he said finally. “Tm not against it. The concept sounds great. But how do you feed them?”

They walked on. A twig crackled underfoot.

“You can't have slaves if you don’t have enough grain to feed everyone. It’s just more mouths to feed, he continued. “Maybe one day if we settle somewhere rich and bountiful? I don't know. It could also be really impractical.”

Theodegotha took off her left shoe. Her little foot was sore. There was a bit of blood where her sock covered a raw blister on her heel. She held her Saint Eudocia doll tighter and frowned.

“Theodegotha, put your shoe back on,” said Charlene.

“But it hurts.”

“I know it hurts but it’s cold and you can't be barefoot in this weather, so put your shoe back on until were camping somewhere and we make a fire.”

“oK mommy,’ said the little girl, reluctantly putting her bloody wool sock and then her dirty shoe back on.

They walked on, down from the pass into the valley. The trail gradually got wider and the snow slushier. The landscape lost its desolation and gained nothing in return.

The hard ice turned pulpy

the white turned sallow

the crisp crunch of each step devolved into a crunchy splosh

the stark became indecisive

the bleak became wan

the harsh became bleary

the grand became residual

the light gray became colorless

a goat bleated, far above them on an escarpment, and limped ungracefully out of sight after shitting on a patch of dead grass.

The path turned rockier and wetter. The mare hesitated and slipped a few times, sending jolts into the sack of barley and little Theodegotha’s spine. Charlene’s ankles twisted and turned inside her woolen boots, pulling and tugging all the way up her legs.

Her knees hurt

a hundred horses hesitated

and slipped

one by one

as each tromped out of the white snow

into the sloshy slush

a thousand more ankles twisted

and hurt

each one in turn

in a caravan of sprains.

“So, I guess, who would our slaves be?” asked Theodoric. “Well. I dont know. Our enemies? People we capture in battle?” said Charlene.

Theodoric kept walking. He forded a brook, trudging across its marshy embankment. Water got into his boots. The cold bit him like a snake. He said nothing. Water got into Charlene’s boots. The cold soothed her blisters for an instant.