Kaddish
Chapter 4
by
Rocky-Cat



Disclaimer: Logan, Professor X, the Beast, and any other X-men are Marvel characters and they retain all rights. I am simply borrowing them for a while. I do not stand to make any money from this story. All non-Marvel characters are my own creation.

Archive: At will, with proper attribution.

Author's note: I began this story while dealing with a painful personal loss. Within days of finishing I experienced another family loss. This is dedicated to someone whose presence will never have the chance to grace our world and another whose presence was a blessing to all who knew him. Perhaps the circle is complete.

A short glossary of terms found in this piece of fiction can be found at the end of the chapter.




Spring turned into summer and then autumn as life settled into a comfortable routine for Logan, or Chaim as he was now called. He'd taken to the new name as soon as he'd heard it. Rabbi Gershon, Karsilevka's most learned man and spiritual leader, had suggested it a few months previously after it became clear that Logan had integrated himself almost seamlessly into the shtetl's daily life. Lovek was just too foreign a name here and perhaps he would like a name in the language he now spoke almost as fluently as the villagers, Yiddish. Rabbi Gershon explained that the taking of a new name was frequently done to cheat the Angel of Death and gain a new lease on life. 'Chaim' means 'life' and Logan felt that indeed he had found a new life here.

He'd found a home and a job with Srul the dairyman. Srul had recently been widowed and was taking the loss of his wife very poorly. Having Logan to help with the business meant that work got done and deliveries were made on time, something that hadn't happened for a while. The entire village felt themselves in Logan's debt.

Srul was a good man suffering deep pain, something that Logan could understand all too well. Time would eventually heal his wounds and he just hoped it wouldn't be too late for Srul's only child, a daughter named Chava. Chava was nineteen and should have been married and in her own home by now, but wouldn't even hear of offers of marriage until she was sure her father could manage on his own. With Logan's coming that prospect seemed more likely now.

Logan fell easily into the cadence of life in the village. He found satisfaction in the long hours and hard work and if sleeping in Srul's barn wasn't always the most comfortable thing there was always the occasional Sabbath or holiday meal with Heskel and Dvashe to look forward to. The couple had become his mentors in a way, helping ease his transition into this strange new lifestyle. Through them he learned the rhythms of Jewish time - prayers thrice daily, six days of work followed by Sabbath on the seventh day, various seasonal festivals, and many other rituals that had once seemed impossibly strange to him. In turn, Heskel asked only that Logan regale him with stories of his travels and life beyond the Pale. The childless Dvashe, in particular, seemed to take special delight in mothering her Chaim, making sure he ate enough, got enough sleep, and wasn't working too hard. At first chafing under her unexpected concern for him, Logan eventually acquired an amused tolerance for her fussing and even came to look forward to it.

And so it was with long-suffering patience that he listened when once again she took up her favorite subject of late - Chava's marriage plans. Logan had just finished carrying water for her to do her laundry - enough for all the Czar's court's laundry, he was sure - when she began.

"Chaim'ke," she said. "I hear that nice Dov Ber has been around to visit Chava again. So, do you think she's serious this time?"

Logan listened with only one ear as Dvashe chattered on about Dov Ber's finer points - his keen sense of business, his admirable intelligence, and his family's history of good health and longevity. His thoughts, though, had taken a different turn at the mention of Chava's name. Thoroughly unbidden, a picture formed itself in his mind. Chava - her long, black hair flowing down her back, her dark eyes sparkling with intelligence and laughter. Chava - who always had a kind word and a ready hand for anyone in need. Chava - who had accepted him effortlessly into the fabric of her life and business, sitting beside him in the evenings listening to Logan's accounts of the day's trade and the condition of the milk cows, keeping the business records while suggesting improvements or remedies, always knowing when he needed to hear a friendly voice and when to leave him to his solitude. Chava - who was simply a part of his daily life and whom he realized, with appalling suddenness, that he loved.

The thought of her marrying another man, working beside him, sharing secret smiles and casual intimacies, and building a family and home - perhaps even moving away - ripped through him painfully. Suddenly, with a blazing intensity, he hated Dov Ber the Paragon and any other man who had ever thought to make Chava his own.

Just as quickly, though, he understood the hopelessness of his situation. He had nothing at all to offer Chava. His livelihood was as a result of the kindness of her father. He could offer her no hope of betterment. He had no background, no family. He was simply a drifter from another world - another universe - who had arrived from nowhere on their doorstep one day and taken a place in their world. He was a nothing. And worst of all, in the eyes of Chava, Srul, and all the other villagers, Logan wasn't Jewish. In the world of Karsilevka and in Chava's strong, unswerving belief in her faith marrying a non-Jew wasn't even conceivable. There was no hope for Logan.

Dvashe stood watching her Chaim and, with the eyes of experience, understood the thoughts that ran through his head. She almost laughed at the rapidity with which his expressions reflected his feelings. The comically stunned look as he realized his love, the ferocious, even frightening, anger as he grappled with possessiveness, and bleak despair as he apprehended the desperation of his situation.

Through the despondency that was settling on him like a pall Logan realized the Dvashe's stream of chatter had ended some time ago and she was standing and watching him expectantly.

"So, nu, Chaim, what are you going to do about it? Are you just going to stand in the yard holding a wash tub, waiting for herring to fall from the sky?"

Her unexpected non-sequiter broke through Logan's self-absorption. "What am I going to do?" he rasped. "What can I do? Nothing!" He looked up at the sky and sniffed the air around him, sensing nothing but clear weather. "There's still some good traveling weather left before winter. I'll leave in the morning."

His black expression would have cowed most people but Dvashe had observed enough of his moods to know that he wouldn't take his anger out on her. She planted herself in front of him, hands on ample hips, and challenged him loudly.

"You'll do no such thing Mr. Chaim-I've-been-to-Japan-and-know-the-Emperor. There's an answer for every problem and you're going to stay right here and solve this one. I'm not going to let you break her heart, too. Not after everything that poor child has been through."

"Break her heart?" Logan's ears perked. "What do you know, Mama'le?"

"I know enough to know that for months she's been staring after you like one of your calves while you've been too busy with cows and barns to even take notice! No more, Chaim. Do something about it."

"Do what, Dvashe? Nothing's changed. I still have nothing to offer her and I'm still not Jewish." Knowing that Chava returned his love didn't improve Logan's mood. If anything, his world seemed blacker, knowing that now he would carry the weight of another's dashed dreams in addition to his own.

"You have yourself to offer, Chaim. You've saved Srul's dairy and you wouldn't be the first man to take up his father-in-law's business. You're a good man and a hard worker and you love her. What more does a woman need? So you're not Jewish now? That can change, too."

The thought stunned Logan. Actually become Jewish? The thought had never crossed his mind even though he had lived a Jewish life for nearly a year now. Religion had never had a place in his life. A man needed something he could rely on, something he could see and feel and reach out and grasp. In his long and bitter experience Logan had found that something could only be himself. G-d was intangible, G-d couldn't cover your back in a fight, and G-d couldn't keep you warm through a long, cold night. No, Logan had only himself and needed only himself. Religion wasn't for him.

Still, he found his thoughts pulled again and again back to the same place. Whether feeding the cows, mucking out the barn, or making his deliveries Logan chewed over Dvashe's words. It wasn't just that he and Chava had seemed to reach an unspoken understanding. He'd acquired an honest respect for the Jewish religion in the time he'd spent in the village along with a healthy admiration for its residents. It would be brutally deceitful to become Jewish for the sole purpose of remaining with Chava, but was she really the only reason?

The Sabbath peace he'd discovered on his first day in town was a reality. He'd experienced it over and again and looked forward to it each week. The sense of order and moral correctness he found in the religion appealed to him along with its frank appreciation of the beauties and pleasures of creation. True, life here was difficult and far from idyllic, but perhaps he had finally succeeded in his quest to find that which he sought. The longer he turned these thoughts over in his head the more he became convinced that this was the direction he was meant to take.

Finally, his resolve firm, he approached Rabbi Gershon and explained that he wished to become Jewish.

"I'm sure it's what I'm supposed to do, Rabbi," he said as they huddled around the small fire in the Rabbi's study in the synagogue.

"I've expected this for some time, Chaim. And no, wait. . . " the Rabbi said, putting up a hand to forestall Logan's interruption. "I know you're not doing it only for Chava. You know and I know that no Bet Din would ever let you convert for a reason like that. No, there's something different about you, Chaim, something special. You're not quite like anyone I've ever known before. You were sent to us for a reason and maybe this is it.

"When you first came here I sensed things in you, things I didn't like, things that were dark and ugly. You were a man at war with himself and the world and would be satisfied with nothing less than total victory. You've begun to change, though. I sense that you've learned to be more at ease with yourself and accepting of those around you. You've been able to let go of some of the demons that have plagued you. You've finally begun to open yourself up to the possibilities of life beyond yourself.

"You're a very old soul, my friend." Rabbi Gershon peered knowingly at Logan and Logan suddenly wondered just how much the aged scholar really did know. "But," he continued, "that doesn't mean there's nothing more for you to learn. I have a friend in Vilna, a truly great teacher, a wise and holy man. I'll write a letter of introduction for you. Become his student and keep your mind open to whatever he may teach you. Come back to us when you're ready. We'll still be here for you."

Logan left the shtetl for the life on the road once more. This time uprooting himself was just a little more wrenching than in times past. Heskel clapped him on the back and wished him well before catching him hard in an unexpected bear hug. Dvashe fussed as usual, admonishing him to eat well, study hard, and visit often. She also packed enough food for the road that Logan wondered when she had found the time to prepare so much. Chava - well, Chava simply stood and stared at him as if trying to memorize every detail of his appearance, as if her very life depended on her being able to remember the placement of each hair on his head and the exact angle of his endearingly crooked smile. No amount of reassurance that he would be back distracted from her intensity. Jacob had waited fourteen years for his Rachel and another Rachel had waited forty years for her Akiva. Feeling like yet another in a long line of Rachel's, Chava extracted a promise from him to write regularly and reluctantly let him depart after offering her promise to wait for him, however long it took.

The months passed quickly in Vilna. The year turned and turned again as Logan studied and learned with the great Rabbi. Always a loner, he hadn't bonded with the other, younger students. Although his mind was clearly on his studies and he had excelled beyond anyone's expectations, including his own, his heart remained in Karsilevka and with Chava. Finally, as spring returned again, Logan decided to return "home" for Passover.

For the first time that Logan could remember his thoughts were not dark and brooding. As Rabbi Gershon had predicted he had begun to realize and appreciate the opportunities that life held for him. Him and Chava, he corrected himself. She was the light at the end of the tunnel that had be his life so far. She was the welcoming warmth at the end of a long journey. With a fierce determination he knew he would do everything possible to make up to her the years she had spent waiting for him. The sooner he could begin, the better.

The road took on a familiar appearance and Logan knew he was nearing home. Suddenly his sensitive ears picked up the sound of horses approaching at reckless speed. Suspicions instantly on alert, Logan moved into the brushes by the side of road and concealed himself, watching and waiting.

The dozen horsemen hadn't yet ridden into sight when Logan caught their scent. In addition to the stink of lathered horseflesh and men who bathed all too infrequently Logan picked up a series of smells that he didn't like one bit. There was alcohol, first and foremost, and an entire palette of human emotions, from hatred to fear to satisfaction. But most of all, there was blood - human blood.

The men were laughing drunkenly and trying to stay mounted as they passed Logan's hiding place - too inebriated to be aware of his presence if it even concerned them at all. He fought back the instinctive urge to confront them, demand an explanation, and get some answers even if it meant tearing the bastards to pieces with his bare hands - especially if it meant tearing them to pieces with his bare hands. Instead, he turned his efforts to getting back to Karsilevka as quickly as possible.

He abandoned his pack in the brushes and broke into a flat out run, covering the remaining miles as if they were only feet. All the while his thoughts were churning madly, running through the many possible explanations of the horsemen's drunken presence and not liking any of them. He cast out with his mind, hoping to receive some impression of Chava, Dvashe, or Heskel - anyone. He had never before been able to contact anyone this way but an overwhelming desperation forced him to try.

The blood scent grew stronger the closer Logan got, mingling with the smell of burning wood. As he closed in on the shtetl he began to move more stealthily lest any of the marauding band remained behind. He needn't have worried. The sight that confronted him was one of devastation and desolation. He was sickened, despite his battle-hardening. A good half of the homes and shops lay in ruins, gutted by wind-whipped flames and leveled by their own flimsiness. Bodies lay haphazardly in the streets, young boys run through by the sword, old men and women bleeding to death from ax wounds, women trampled to death by the hooves of those black beasts from Hell the pigs called horses. Logan snarled his fury and began moving house to remaining house, his senses telling him that there were still living beings here despite the seeming impossibility of it.

There was no one at Srul's farm, neither Srul nor Chava. The cows had all been deliberately driven off, at least those not caught in the barn when it was fired. Heskel and Dvashe's home was no more but no bodies had been caught in that fire. The synagogue was a different story. At least ten men had died here, Heskel and Rabbi Gershon among them. It appeared that the men had been attempting to rescue the Torah scrolls from the Ark when they had been attacked. Those very scrolls had been used to feed the fire that destroyed the building and took their lives.

Logan moved on, fighting the waves of nausea that threatened to overwhelm him. Finally, in the root cellar of Boruch the shoemaker's ruined home, he found a group of wretched survivors. One by one Logan pulled them out and watched as they took in the sights that greeted them. Finally, his patience with the shell-shocked group at an end, Logan, eyes slitted and teeth bared in an animalistic snarl, grabbed Boruch by his collar.

"What happened here?" he growled.

"Blood libel, Chaim," Boruch sighed numbly. At Logan's uncomprehending stare a woman's voice piped up from the back of the group.

"It's Passover, Chaim. The goyim accused Yakov the butcher of killing a Christian boy to use his blood to bake matzah. They came to take their revenge."

"Dvashe? Mame'le?" Logan thrust Boruch away roughly and pushed his way towards the familiar voice. She was disheveled, bruised, and plainly terrified but otherwise appeared unhurt. Logan hugged her gingerly and held her hands in his as she looked up at him hopefully.

"Heskel?" she asked tentatively.

Logan's face clouded and he shook his head slightly. Dvashe's head dropped and a few tears trickled down her wrinkled cheeks. Just as quickly determination steeled her countenance and she moved towards the street where, slowly, the rest of the living had begun to congregate. It was now painfully clear that Karsilevka would be no more. There were so few buildings left and so many families broken and destroyed. Still, there was much to be done.

"Chaim," Dvashe said as she steered Logan towards a group of dazed men. "We must begin to bury the dead."

"Now?"

"Now," she said firmly. "As soon as possible."

"But. . . Chava?"

Dvashe's glance darted away and Logan could smell the deception on her. A low growl rose from his chest as he pulled forcefully from her grasp and focused his senses on detecting Chava's unique scent. It had almost faded completely but Logan picked up a faint trace and followed it, at a run, to a spot near a copse of trees. Chava had obviously been running for the shelter of the woods when she had been struck down. She lay in the road, too far from the trees to have mattered, her limbs at an impossible angle, a pool of blood spreading beneath her, matting her long, black hair.

He had been too late to save her, to save any of them. It was his fault for leaving them defenseless. He could have stopped this. He could have protected them. That was what he had been sent here for and he had failed. Miserably.

His glare was murderous as he rounded on a breathless Dvashe who had hurried up beside him. "Did they touch her?" he grated harshly. It would kill him but he had to know.

"I don't know, darling, I don't know."

Logan smelled only the truth and a black pall of rage and despair settled on him. Pain alternately knifed through him and throbbed dully, a constant horrid companion. Throwing his head back Logan poured out his anguish to the sky, howling loudly and fearfully. In the funereal silence of the desolation his tormented cry echoed loudly. As the agonized reverberations faded slowly in the calm April air three birds, startled by the unexpected sound, abruptly took wing across the disconcertingly clear sky.

Rain. There should be rain and thunder to match his mood. Lightning to illuminate the gaping chasm where his heart had been. Black and gray skies to always remind him of his miserable, pathetic failure. The warming sun had no place in his life anymore.

"Chaim, Chaim." A suddenly fearful Dvashe grasped his arm. "Come. We have to go back."

Logan pulled his arm back and stared down coldly at the older woman. "Lovek," he snarled. "My name is Lovek."

He turned and stode purposefully back to the road, not looking back once. Behind him he heard the sound of Dvashe's hushed sobs and the quiet murmurs of a prayer echoing from the village - the Mourners' Prayer. The sound followed him down the road long after he had left Karsilevka far behind.

"Yisgadal v'yiskadash, sh'mei rabbaw, b'almaw dee v'raw chir'usei v'yamlich malchusei. . . "



Glossary


bet din - court of religious law composed of three Rabbis who rule on religious matters

goyim - non-Jews, not necessarily a pejorative term

Kaddish - "Sanctification," the Jewish prayer for the dead recited by mourners, composed in Aramaic

mama'le - "little mother," a term of endearment used either to an actual maternal parent or a little girl

nu - untranslatable, generally used as a verbal prompt

Shabbos - the Sabbath, lasting from sundown Friday night to sundown Saturday night

shul - synagogue

Vilna - present-day Vilnius, Lithuania, a city once renowned as a great seat of Jewish learning

Yisgadal v'yiskadash, etc. - the beginning words of the Kaddish

The prayer translates as follows:

May His great Name grow exalted and sanctified in the world that He created as He willed. May He give reign to His kingship in your lifetimes and in your days, and in the lifetimes of the entire Family of Israel, swiftly and soon. Now respond: Amen.

Amen. May His great Name be blessed forever and ever.

Blessed, praised, glorified, exalted, extolled, mighty, upraised, and lauded be the Name of the Holy One, Blessed is He beyond any blessing and song, praise and consolation that are uttered in the world. Now respond: Amen.

May there be abundant peace from Heaven, and life, upon us and upon all Israel. Now respond: Amen.

He Who makes peace in His heights, may he make peace upon us, and upon all Israel. Now respond: Amen.*


* translation taken from The Complete ArtScroll Siddur, copyright 1984 Mesorah Publications, Ltd.



CHAPTERS:   1   2   3   4   5




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