Kaddish
Chapter 3
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.




"Logan, I can try to help you if you'll work with me." Professor X sat behind his desk and looked across at Logan with a great deal of concern evident in his usually stoic features. "Do you have any idea what's been causing these episodes?"

Briefly Logan recounted his rescue of the young Jewish girl from an attempted rape and how, just afterwards, the sounds of men at prayer had nearly brought him to his knees in agony. He told the Professor as much as could remember from his nightmares and concluded, "Chuck, get me through this. Is this a real memory? Or it is something they implanted? I can't take much more. Ya gotta get these people outta my head!"

"It will be all right, Logan. Will you let me into your mind? Together we can explore what is happening to you. However, " Xavier added, "it might be safer if we proceeded in the Medlab. We don't know for certain what we are facing and I'd prefer to take no chances. If that's acceptable to you I'll ask Hank to meet us there."

Logan walked the corridors of the mansion in silence, keeping pace with the Professor and his hoverchair. None of the fine art on the walls could soothe his ravaged nerves, however. Labs always gave him the creeps and, although he trusted Charles as much as he could find it in himself to trust anyone, he wasn't looking forward to what was coming.

McCoy was waiting for them when they arrived. He had already arranged a bank of monitors next to an armchair at the side of the lab. Charles took up a position opposite the chair and motioned Logan to sit. He breathed a quiet sigh of relief when he realized he would not have to be strapped down to a table. Maybe this wouldn't be as agonizing as he first thought.

Hank approached Logan holding a collection of wires in his hand. A note of concern for his friend and colleague broke through his professional detachment as he spoke. "Logan, if you'll permit me. These contacts will help me monitor your physical condition while you are engaged with the Professor. Should anything unexpected occur, I would be able to begin treatment immediately. May I?" Logan felt the slight tickle of fur as Hank bent close to his ear. "And thank you for the delectable pastries, my friend. Truly exquisite," he whispered.

Logan breathed in deeply to steady himself and the faintest shadow of a smile passed over his face. "Do yer worst, Hank."

McCoy deftly attached the various contacts along Logan's temples and to different points along his torso. He then disappeared back to his monitoring station, as unobtrusive as possible for a blue-furred beast wearing a stark white lab coat.

The Professor claimed Logan's attention once again and gently began initiating psychic rapport. "Logan, listen to the sound of my voice and relax as much as you are able. Try to let your mind drift and do not focus on any one thing in particular. Clear your thoughts and let me help you."

Some of the tension left Logan's body as he listened to the soothing voice and soon he was no longer aware of his surroundings. The gleaming white lab faded from his consciousness and he was oblivious to the two men observing him. As his vision cleared once again he took note of his surroundings. He was walking along a path well rutted with animals' hoofprints and wagon tracks. The scenery around him was bleak and forbiddingly barren but a forest loomed off to his right perhaps a mile or two in the distance. He was bundled up in worn clothes but the chill wind still cut through to the bone and he knew he'd have to find shelter soon.

Memory flooded back to him. He'd been walking for months, crossing the steppes of Russia, moving westward towards a region known as the Pale of the Settlement, after having left his studies in Japan. Although he'd achieved new levels of inner peace through meditation, study, and service, his Master had, enigmatic as usual, ordered him to leave and not return until he'd found that which he sought. Logan's protestations that he had found the peace he sought were of no avail. Sensei had insisted and he had no choice but to obey.

Logan had skirted settled areas whenever possible and lived off the land. When that was not possible he reluctantly ventured into villages and offered his labor in exchange for food and lodging. Although naturally suspicious of outsiders, the initially sullen villagers had welcomed the taciturn stranger when they realized the value of his hard work. In turn he'd learned enough rudimentary Russian to communicate adequately and enough of the local customs so that he wouldn't draw excessive attention to himself as he moved from one place to another.

Footsore and weary, Logan was pleased when his keen eyes caught sight of chimney smoke in the distance. The crisp, cold air carried the inviting scent of the burning wood towards him. He was hoping for a break from foraging and looking forward to some relief from the unrelenting cold of the Russian winter. Where there's smoke, there's fire, he reasoned, and where there's fire, there's often a hearth. With any luck the hearth might belong to a tavern, replete with malty beer and willing serving girls. His prospects for the season seemed to be looking up and he quickened his pace towards the smoky beacon.

His heart sank as the village came into view. The smoke had risen not from an alehouse but from a forge in a blacksmith's shop, the type of backbreaking labor with which he had become all too familiar of late. Still, there were enough houses, shops, and other buildings to suggest that there might be sufficient work available here to keep him going for a while.

He headed towards the main street, if you could call it that, and quickly assessed the village. It was much the same as most other settlements he had passed through. There was a butcher shop, a tailor, a blacksmith, and all the necessities of life but not much more. After a moment Logan realized what was missing. In every other village he'd passed through a church was at the center of the town and everything else revolved around it. The Russians were a highly religious people and it didn't seem possible for there not to be a church. Interesting. Knowing that with his deceptive strength he might well find employment in the smithy he headed in that direction. He might find work and some information there.

The blacksmith was a tall, brawny man, working shirtless over the heat of his forge despite the icy weather. Rivulets of sweat poured from his face and his heavily muscled body as he struggled to mold rapidly cooling iron to his will. Through his intense concentration on his task and roar of the forge's flames he didn't hear Logan enter. In the few moments Logan had to size up the dark, sooty shop he noticed nothing out of the ordinary but for two things. On the doorpost, about two-thirds of the way up, there was a small, rectangular box that seemed to serve no practical purpose and, despite his half-clad state, the smith wore a small cloth covering on his head.

"My friend," the smith addressed him suddenly, astutely sizing up Logan's travel-worn appearance and realizing that no greater term of honor was required. "Your horse has thrown a shoe perhaps? I can have it fixed for you before day's end and you can be on your way without delay."

"No, I have no horse, friend. I need a place to stay and I can be of use to you in the shop."

"No horse, no place to stay, stranger? Who are you? What have you done?" A wary tone etched the smith's voice and his bushy eyebrows drew together as his eyes narrowed. He was right to be suspicious. In this isolated part of the world strangers were few and far between and it was never wise to call down the attention of the Czar's agents.

Logan had heard those questions before. They were, in fact, part of the reason he had avoided settled areas. Still, winter was bearing down hard and he had no desire to struggle for existence when work was available. "Name's Lovek," he rasped, using the name he'd traveled under in these parts, a name that meant "hunter" and seemed unusually apt to him. "I promise you, I'm no criminal. No one's looking for me. Not the police, no cuckolded husbands, and no angry fathers. I'm just traveling."

The smith came out from his work area and approached Logan, appraising what he saw. The stranger was short and stocky but carried himself gracefully for someone of his build. Although he was bearded, his was a short beard, not cut the same as the men of his village or any other men of his acquaintance, for that matter. He was no stranger to hard work, from the look of his callused hands, and he liked the open honesty of the outsider's eyes despite the somewhat frightening glint he fancied he could see.

Circling back to Logan's front, the smith smiled and reached out a hand. "Welcome to Karsilevka, Lovek. My name is Heskel. Got a bit of the wanderlust, eh? I've always wanted to see the world myself. But me, I've never been more than five kilometers away. Business here has been slow so I don't know if I can help you. But I'll tell you what. You can sleep here for now until we can find you something better. Look, it's getting late now and it's almost Shabbos. Come home with me tonight and we'll worry about your problems later. What do you say?"

Logan allowed an answering smile and agreed, wondering what this 'Shabbos' thing was. Still, a hot meal and a place to stay were worth it. His highly sensitive nose detected no scent of deception in Heskel, just the smell of hard work and the sincere desire to help out his fellow man.

Heskel's home was simple, even for a villager. His wife, a sturdy peasant woman with a welcoming smile, showed no surprise or dismay the he'd brought a stranger home for dinner. They washed off the day's grime and Heskel changed into what must have been his "good" clothes. Logan noticed that his wife was laying their modest table with a clean cloth and their best tableware. The corner of his mouth quirked and he felt bemused that these poor people would expend all this effort on someone like him.

Heskel noticed Logan's expression and correctly surmised what he was thinking. "Friend Lovek, let me guess. You've never actually met Jews before, right?" At Logan's nod he continued. "Right. So tonight starts our Sabbath. We don't work the whole day from sunset to sunset. We rest, we pray, we honor G-d and the Sabbath with our best clothes and finest food and we enjoy the Sabbath peace. And it's our privilege and responsibility to make sure that every stranger has good food to eat and place to stay. So come. Sit at our table and honor Shabbos and us. My Dvashe," he looked with adoration at his plump wife, an emotion she clearly returned, "is the best cook I've ever known. Except my mother, of course, may she rest in peace."

Logan sat back and watched as a blessing was made over a pair of candles and prayers were said over two small loaves of bread and a cup of homemade wine before the meal was served. The food was simple but well prepared and contained more meat and fish at one sitting than Logan was accustomed to seeing in these parts. The care and attention that Dvashe gave to preparing food to honor her Shabbos was apparent and if Heskel took a little too much pride in his wife's culinary skills it was entirely forgivable.

After the meal was finished and the glasses of tea cleared from the table Heskel and Dvashe sat down again and, in unison, began chanting another prayer in a language Logan had never before heard. A few short songs in the same language followed the prayer, songs with bright, happy melodies that left Logan feeling strangely contented.

Heskel sat down by the hearth with a book in his lap and began to read. Logan looked at him quizzically. It wasn't all that usual for a simple laborer to be literate, let alone in a language other than his own, for it was obvious that Heskel's book was in a foreign language. As the light began to die Heskel put down his book and rubbed his eyes wearily.

"Enough studying for one night. If I don't get to bed I'll never be on time for shul tomorrow morning. You know what's 'shul', Lovek?"

Logan shook his head but knew he was about to find out.

"Shul is where we go to pray together. Come with me tomorrow and I'll introduce you around. We don't do any business on Shabbos but tomorrow night we'll see if we can find you some work. I'm sure somebody here can use a strong man like you. Come. Dvashe will set some blankets for you near the fire. We'll talk more tomorrow."

Logan settled down in a nest of snug blankets, his physical needs well satisfied. He was grateful to the unusual couple who had taken him in and shown him such unexpected kindness. Was it possible that they were typical of the other villagers here? Logan could only hope. And he could only hope that the unaccustomed tranquillity he felt in this home, this "Sabbath peace," would be a feeling he'd get to know better.



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.



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