| Subject: Chapter 250 - Part 1 |
Author:
KatherineG.
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Date Posted: Wednesday, July 26, 07:06:24am
In reply to:
KatherineG.
's message, "Dreams in the Dark" on Monday, May 01, 06:55:47am
Dreams in the Dark (250/?)
by Katherine Gilbert
It was a holy day, a day when a savior had been born onto earth to aid the souls of all those who might otherwise have been suffering. That was how the story went, anyway; Sasha had never been so certain. In all she saw, there was still plenty of misery to go around. If Jesus had been as blessed as most of this country seemed to believe, then why hadn't his presence aided the goodness of the world even more? There were still too many people who were all-too-willing to aid the suffering of man.
The young actress the world knew as "Susan Sash" let out a deep sigh at these musings, her own religious background failing to indoctrinate her with the same, absolute beliefs that the average, all-American girl was supposed to uphold. Of course, she was anything but all-American, despite the studio's propaganda and the appearances she tried to pull off for the camera--but that usually wasn't noticed. Blonde hair and blue eyes went a long way toward making up the difference.
It was these, random factors--along with the color of her skin--which truly made her welcomed in this country, as far as she could see. The studio had played down the fact of her religion, Hanukkah celebrations not the ones which were performed for the cameras. She had already done her share of holiday photo spreads, some of them actually involving Bibles. The rest had mostly shown her smiling around Christmas trees--or in an occasional Santa get-up. But there didn't seem to be a lot of differentiation between these images and the more religious ones in a lot of people's minds.
She was sitting in Angie's living room with several of those she cared for now, the evening having momentarily gone quiet--allowing her the time to think. And being Jewish on Christmas tended to bring on such musings--the dominant religion making you feel more than a little left out. It might be her second Christmas in this major city of this predominately--and proudly--Christian country, but the questions didn't change much. She only wished that made any of the answers easier to come by.
Many of the concerns which plagued her weren't entirely solvable now--probably never would be; she began to think back. She had once asked her mother, given their exceptionally outcast status in her home country, just who Jesus was--and, after an awkward moment, had gained the reply that he was a very nice man whom people had built a religion around. Despite the many spiritual stories to the contrary, ones she could easily find all around her, it was probably as satisfying an answer as she was ever going to get.
It was true that she hadn't really studied the matter, but finding out more of the facts than she had already come to understand simply by existing during the holiday wouldn't answer most of her larger questions; they weren't even the type she could actually ask. Primary among them was one which had followed her her entire life--made all the worse during this last year or so of Hitler's continuing rise to dominance; it was impossible to put it aside. Why, if Christians said that they were following the son of God--a man of peace and purity who had argued, at the very least, for tolerance and love among all people--would they become so very fierce and hateful at the simple discovery of her faith? It had never made any sense. For all that she could tell of the man's teachings, it didn't seem to be a very Christlike attitude at all.
It was this dilemma which was the most difficult for her to answer--a dilemma made starker at every turn of her life. In her youth, she had discovered the hatred of the community growing around her by the day, ending more than once in fire, bombs, or beatings. Even in this country they had escaped to, the facts didn't differ much--the attitudes of the people at large less than sympathetic. She knew some Jews who even suspected that America's lack of interest in the current war, the one which was spreading all-too-virulently across Europe, could be traced quite easily to a decided anti-Semitism, a feeling that anyone who rid the world of a few more Jews was only doing it a favor. Although she suspected the issue was more complex than this, she wasn't entirely certain they were wrong. It wasn't like the Klan--stories of which came to her, from time to time--really saw much difference in enemies between, say, herself and Terry; she almost laughed, despite the seriousness of her thoughts. Of course, if they knew a little more about that woman's life, they would probably place the poor ex-actress all the higher on their list of targets.
She felt a deep sort of shudder at this possibility, had to move her mind on quickly to avoid pondering it in any depth, not wanting to see anything bad happen to any of her friends--or much of anyone else, for that matter. Still, it was the vitriol--the absolutely venomous, nearly instinctive, hate--of so many which really made her wonder. More than once, she had seen such a reaction against Terry's color, the most civilized conversation changing in a heartbeat as soon as certain topics were addressed--the speaker's face shifting from polite, benign interest to that of a demon, their bloodlust unending. It was a terrifying discovery, every time. But it wasn't too much different, when it came to her faith.
She was pulled back in her memories here, was thinking of one time in New York, when a man had been trying to pick her up. Her brother had taken one look at him before informing him of their religion. Her pursuer, the one who had been so interested, and unpleasantly persistent, a second before, had suddenly pulled back his hand as though it were going to shrivel and fall off; her head shook. No matter how familiar, it wasn't a reaction she found easy to understand--but she supposed that every faith on earth thought of itself as the "one true religion." God help those who might differ.
It was all these thoughts she was faced with once again, the similarity in hateful responses against her faith and Terry's color catching her attention especially. She supposed the one real difference--in this country, at least--was that there were Jewish people who did have some real power. There *were* rich and influential men of her faith in many different areas of life, especially in this town; it even seemed to be some sort of paranoia that there might be too many of them which was one of the reasons those who hated her would give for their prejudices. They weren't forced to live in one area only or told what schools to go to--not yet, anyway. And, while there were certainly many clubs which would bar her in an instant if they knew, it wasn't really the same as the random killings of those of Terry's color that she had been hearing about in the South; the shudder returned. But she supposed, if she wanted to see that done to those of her faith, all she had to do was return to Europe.
She had to work to keep up a smile for those around her, Peter especially giving her a searching look, as he listened to the pleasant conversation Angie was making--the man always concerned with his sister's well-being. But the pleasant look Sasha managed hid many questions. Among them were the confusing ones which her life had always given, the country she currently inhabited no exception; she couldn't keep them from replaying through her mind. While she had certainly heard the arguments which those who hated her used to support their violence, it seemed impossible that they could actually believe them--all of them far too illogical to credit. *She* hadn't killed Jesus--was nothing like nearly 2000 years old. In fact, from what she understood, Jesus himself had been Jewish. Didn't that give her people a little more credit than they usually received?
She nearly shook her head, the puzzles endless. She understood that her faith--regardless of actual observance or belief, which seemed to be rather secondary to the matter--was mostly defined by the religion of one's mother. Still, that made little sense. Was faith passed down through bloodlines? Was it another trait, like her blonde hair, which would be genetically passed on to her children? Most of the world seemed to think so. But, to a woman who hadn't been in any temple for a good five years or so, such ideas seemed a little hard to grasp.
Sasha was confounded, had no idea where to begin to take this in. And, while she didn't know about the history of slavery in the country she had come to, if she had, she would quickly have seen yet another link to race. Historically, the condition of the mother--whether she were a slave or free--was the condition of the child; the father's part didn't come into the matter. But that had much to do with the fact that a person who was legally property wasn't allowed to say "no" to her owner.
The actress didn't know about these matters but would have seen yet another connection, if she had. All she wondered about was a rumor she had heard about Hitler's own parents, about the fact that his father was supposedly Jewish. If so, it made even less sense of his ideology. Although it didn't exactly take a scholar to realize that he was far less the picture of outward, Aryan perfection than was Sasha herself.
She was shaking her head slightly, these conundrums impossible to answer--and they didn't get much easier, when she delved further into much of her new country's attitude toward Christmas. While supposedly a religious holiday, it seemed to focus more on the trees, wreaths, Santa suits, and presents--particularly the presents--which had taken center-stage in many of her recent photo shoots. Stores everywhere were hawking various consumer goods, somehow connecting this to the love of the son of God; Sasha was puzzled, again. Did any of these people really believe that buying the biggest--or the most--presents meant extra holiness? Would Jesus frown upon you, if you didn't buy your wife a diamond ring this year? Did anyone even take in that the country was in a Depression, so many homeless and out of work? Or was it all simply yet another example of just how confused the entire issue had become?
She didn't have answers to any of this, could only watch and wonder. Still, her situation was made a little better by the love of those around her--by the few who didn't seem to care about demarcating along strict religious lines; her smile became more genuine. Helmut, Rene, and the two women the untraditional couple lived with had invited them over earlier, sharing a few Christmas drinks and a good deal of quiet affection. It had been a small gathering--even Michael and Kitty not in attendance, although perhaps they had simply chosen to remain on their own--and a nice gesture. In her life, at least, there were those who didn't seem to care about the differences religion supposedly brought about; her gaze ran warmly over her brother and Angie. And, for some of them, things did seem to be flourishing.
She was happy for this--truly happy, for once--wanting more than anything to see Peter contented. It had been a long time coming, the man previously closed up like a fist; her sigh was relieved. But now, he seemed to be changing, if only a little; her smile landed on Angie, whose pleasant conversation was barely heard through the actress's many thoughts. It was good to see that the love of a tender woman could even bring him joy.
Her smile was warm and lingering, this fact quite long in coming. And, unfortunately, the couple's love wasn't entirely allowed to grow in peace. Peter still all-too-often spent most of his hours watching over his sister, his caution never allowed to slip; she had to sigh, the happy look fading, wishing he didn't have to. But wishing would do little for her now.
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