Chanukah Night 4
Title: Chanukah, Night 4
Fandom: Power Rangers SPD
Rating: K/G/general audience
Summary: In the Holiday Series. Fourth of eight fics for Chanukah.
Disclaimer: not mine, alas
Glossary of Yiddish words and phrases:
Gut yontif- good holiday
Az a yor af mir- I should be so lucky/I should have such good luck
Boychik- young boy, used as a term of endearment
A shtik naches- a great joy
Shmatteh- worthless
Mensch- a good man, a respectable person
Tuesday December 11, 2012
8 years old
Bridge wasn’t entirely sure what was going on, but he wasn’t exactly going to complain about it at the moment. His mother had woken him early that morning, quickly packed some bags, and told him he wasn’t going to school for the rest of the week. They had something more important to do. She rarely took him out of school unless he was sick, particularly when the long winter break was coming up, and he knew nothing was more important to his mother than his education. He didn’t ask why or where they were going; he just went along with it. Anything would be better than being in school.
They’d driven all day and had only stopped for lunch. They were going to visit Bubbe and Zayde, she had told him, and once he knew where they were going, he could only wish for the drive to be over sooner. He loved visiting Bubbe’s house. He never got to visit his grandparents during the school year, so he figured this was his Chanukah present.
They pulled up in front of the nursing home just as the sun was setting. He wondered why they hadn’t stopped at the house first, but maybe since it was starting to get dark his mom just wanted to get a start on the Chanukah celebration. He followed her in and tightened his gloves at the door. He didn’t mind nursing homes so much, people were generally at peace there, but the traces of the past clung to those near death like barnacles on a ship and that tended to make him uncomfortable. But Zayde was here, had been for years, and he would put up with trace memories just to see him. There was no man more important to Bridge than his grandfather.
“Zayde!” he cried when they reached the end of the long hallway. His door was open and he was propped up in his bed with more pillows than Bridge had ever seen. He looked much thinner than the last visit, much paler. Zayde’s skin hung off him like limp tissue paper and it was spotted and mottled with bruises and cuts. He looked sick, but Bridge launched himself into the room anyway.
“Bridge, my darling!” He seemed so surprised. Maybe this was Zayde’s Chanukah present too. Bubbe was there, sitting beside her husband and looking like her world was crumbling around her. Bridge could tell she was trying to be happy, but she could never fool him. Grey clouds were swirling around her whole body.
“We came for a visit, Zayde! I get to miss school and everything. Happy Chanukah!” He climbed up on the bed and gave his grandfather a hug. His grandmother shooed him off, but Zayde shushed her.
“Let the boy be, Zelda, he’s fine. I’m not so fragile, you know. We’re good strong men, eh?”
“Az a yor af mir!” she exclaimed, but she was fighting a smile.
“Your Bubbe, eh my little boychik? She worries too much.” Zayde winked at Bubbe and she tried to hide her smile behind a tissue, but it didn’t work. Bridge laughed. He liked when his grandfather teased.
“Sigmund, you spoil the boy!”
“A shtik naches. It’s my right,” his grandfather insisted. He knew the argument was moot. His grandmother would spoil him even more given half the chance. It was comfortable banter and it made him feel more at home.
“Can we light the candles now, Zayde?” he asked, looking around for the chanukiah.
“No fire allowed, no chanukiah.” Bridge looked aghast. No chanukiah? No candles? Well what good was Chanukah without the candles?
“We’ve got this nice electric one!” Bubbe said, pointing to a plastic monstrosity in the window. Bridge stared at it skeptically. “You just twist a bulb and magic! All your lights.” He knew she was trying to convince him, but he wasn’t a baby anymore. It was a cheap substitution for the real thing.
“Shmatteh, right? Eh, we make do.” At least Zayde understood. Bridge climbed off the bed and watched his mother twist the little blue bulb in the shamash and then the four spots to the right. They lit up and he sighed. Well, he wouldn’t be watching any candles tonight. No point if they didn’t burn. When he turned around, his Zayde held a little box in shaking hands.
“For me?” he asked. Zayde nodded with a wide smile on his gaunt face. His mother excused herself and Bubbe followed, allowing Bridge some time alone with his grandfather. He climbed back on the bed and opened the little box. It wasn’t wrapped or anything, but he didn’t mind. Inside the plain box was a tiny colourful dreidel. Each side was painted a different colour and the letters, nun gimel hey and shin, were contrasting to stand out.
“It’s not much. Can’t get out, trapped here in this place,” his grandfather sighed. Bridge smiled.
“It’s great! Want to play?”
They were still playing, fourth game in, by the time his mother and Bubbe came back. Bridge had won each and every game, but Zayde didn’t seem to mind. He was smiling, his eyes misty, the entire time. Bubbe pulled Bridge out of the room and took him down to the cafeteria before they’d even finished the fifth game. His mom wanted some time alone, she’d said. She kept him down there a long time. It was late when they got back and his mother’s eyes were red rimmed, but he didn’t question her about it. He clutched his new dreidel tight and kissed his grandfather on the cheek.
“See you tomorrow, Zayde. Happy Chanukah,” he said. Bridge could hear a rattle deep from within his grandfather with every breath he took.
“Gut yontif, little boychik. You’re growing into quite the little mensch. I love you.” Zayde replied, placing his shaking hands on either side of Bridge’s face. Bridge was flooded with exhaustion, love, longing, and a burning sense of desperation. It all rolled off his grandfather and coursed through him. Colours clouded his vision, streaking off Zayde like a confused rainbow. There were traces of the past clinging to the edges.
“I love you, Zayde,” he whispered, suddenly not trusting his voice to the emotions he was trying to rein in. His mother took his hand and led him out to her car. She took a deep breath and drove out the parking lot, leaving Bubbe behind. They were heading to her house, though, no mistaking it. Bridge knew the route well. He looked down at the dreidel. It left little indentions in the thick leather of his gloves.
“Mama?” he asked. He saw her eyes flash in the rearview mirror and he knew she was listening. “Zayde is going to die tonight, isn’t he?” It wasn’t really a question. He already knew the answer, but pretending made it just that little bit easier to voice. She pulled the car over abruptly. They sat for a minute as traffic sped past, him silent and staring, her breathing deeply and trying not to cry.
“Yes, baby,” she finally managed to say. Tears began to pool in Bridge’s eyes at the answer he already knew. Without a word, without so much as a sound, Bridge’s mother climbed in the backseat. She unbuckled him and pulled him out of his booster straight into her lap. He hadn’t sat like this since he was very small, but right now he didn’t care. His Zayde was going to die and his heart was breaking. They clung to each other, seeking comfort and solace for their mutual loss. Bridge slipped one of his gloves off and fingered the little dreidel. He was treated to flashes of his grandfather, memories imprinted on the object, and he screwed his eyes shut tight against the tears to better see the memories. He never wanted to let go, and for the first time ever, he didn’t want morning and another day of Chanukah to come.
Fandom: Power Rangers SPD
Rating: K/G/general audience
Summary: In the Holiday Series. Fourth of eight fics for Chanukah.
Disclaimer: not mine, alas
Glossary of Yiddish words and phrases:
Gut yontif- good holiday
Az a yor af mir- I should be so lucky/I should have such good luck
Boychik- young boy, used as a term of endearment
A shtik naches- a great joy
Shmatteh- worthless
Mensch- a good man, a respectable person
Tuesday December 11, 2012
8 years old
Bridge wasn’t entirely sure what was going on, but he wasn’t exactly going to complain about it at the moment. His mother had woken him early that morning, quickly packed some bags, and told him he wasn’t going to school for the rest of the week. They had something more important to do. She rarely took him out of school unless he was sick, particularly when the long winter break was coming up, and he knew nothing was more important to his mother than his education. He didn’t ask why or where they were going; he just went along with it. Anything would be better than being in school.
They’d driven all day and had only stopped for lunch. They were going to visit Bubbe and Zayde, she had told him, and once he knew where they were going, he could only wish for the drive to be over sooner. He loved visiting Bubbe’s house. He never got to visit his grandparents during the school year, so he figured this was his Chanukah present.
They pulled up in front of the nursing home just as the sun was setting. He wondered why they hadn’t stopped at the house first, but maybe since it was starting to get dark his mom just wanted to get a start on the Chanukah celebration. He followed her in and tightened his gloves at the door. He didn’t mind nursing homes so much, people were generally at peace there, but the traces of the past clung to those near death like barnacles on a ship and that tended to make him uncomfortable. But Zayde was here, had been for years, and he would put up with trace memories just to see him. There was no man more important to Bridge than his grandfather.
“Zayde!” he cried when they reached the end of the long hallway. His door was open and he was propped up in his bed with more pillows than Bridge had ever seen. He looked much thinner than the last visit, much paler. Zayde’s skin hung off him like limp tissue paper and it was spotted and mottled with bruises and cuts. He looked sick, but Bridge launched himself into the room anyway.
“Bridge, my darling!” He seemed so surprised. Maybe this was Zayde’s Chanukah present too. Bubbe was there, sitting beside her husband and looking like her world was crumbling around her. Bridge could tell she was trying to be happy, but she could never fool him. Grey clouds were swirling around her whole body.
“We came for a visit, Zayde! I get to miss school and everything. Happy Chanukah!” He climbed up on the bed and gave his grandfather a hug. His grandmother shooed him off, but Zayde shushed her.
“Let the boy be, Zelda, he’s fine. I’m not so fragile, you know. We’re good strong men, eh?”
“Az a yor af mir!” she exclaimed, but she was fighting a smile.
“Your Bubbe, eh my little boychik? She worries too much.” Zayde winked at Bubbe and she tried to hide her smile behind a tissue, but it didn’t work. Bridge laughed. He liked when his grandfather teased.
“Sigmund, you spoil the boy!”
“A shtik naches. It’s my right,” his grandfather insisted. He knew the argument was moot. His grandmother would spoil him even more given half the chance. It was comfortable banter and it made him feel more at home.
“Can we light the candles now, Zayde?” he asked, looking around for the chanukiah.
“No fire allowed, no chanukiah.” Bridge looked aghast. No chanukiah? No candles? Well what good was Chanukah without the candles?
“We’ve got this nice electric one!” Bubbe said, pointing to a plastic monstrosity in the window. Bridge stared at it skeptically. “You just twist a bulb and magic! All your lights.” He knew she was trying to convince him, but he wasn’t a baby anymore. It was a cheap substitution for the real thing.
“Shmatteh, right? Eh, we make do.” At least Zayde understood. Bridge climbed off the bed and watched his mother twist the little blue bulb in the shamash and then the four spots to the right. They lit up and he sighed. Well, he wouldn’t be watching any candles tonight. No point if they didn’t burn. When he turned around, his Zayde held a little box in shaking hands.
“For me?” he asked. Zayde nodded with a wide smile on his gaunt face. His mother excused herself and Bubbe followed, allowing Bridge some time alone with his grandfather. He climbed back on the bed and opened the little box. It wasn’t wrapped or anything, but he didn’t mind. Inside the plain box was a tiny colourful dreidel. Each side was painted a different colour and the letters, nun gimel hey and shin, were contrasting to stand out.
“It’s not much. Can’t get out, trapped here in this place,” his grandfather sighed. Bridge smiled.
“It’s great! Want to play?”
They were still playing, fourth game in, by the time his mother and Bubbe came back. Bridge had won each and every game, but Zayde didn’t seem to mind. He was smiling, his eyes misty, the entire time. Bubbe pulled Bridge out of the room and took him down to the cafeteria before they’d even finished the fifth game. His mom wanted some time alone, she’d said. She kept him down there a long time. It was late when they got back and his mother’s eyes were red rimmed, but he didn’t question her about it. He clutched his new dreidel tight and kissed his grandfather on the cheek.
“See you tomorrow, Zayde. Happy Chanukah,” he said. Bridge could hear a rattle deep from within his grandfather with every breath he took.
“Gut yontif, little boychik. You’re growing into quite the little mensch. I love you.” Zayde replied, placing his shaking hands on either side of Bridge’s face. Bridge was flooded with exhaustion, love, longing, and a burning sense of desperation. It all rolled off his grandfather and coursed through him. Colours clouded his vision, streaking off Zayde like a confused rainbow. There were traces of the past clinging to the edges.
“I love you, Zayde,” he whispered, suddenly not trusting his voice to the emotions he was trying to rein in. His mother took his hand and led him out to her car. She took a deep breath and drove out the parking lot, leaving Bubbe behind. They were heading to her house, though, no mistaking it. Bridge knew the route well. He looked down at the dreidel. It left little indentions in the thick leather of his gloves.
“Mama?” he asked. He saw her eyes flash in the rearview mirror and he knew she was listening. “Zayde is going to die tonight, isn’t he?” It wasn’t really a question. He already knew the answer, but pretending made it just that little bit easier to voice. She pulled the car over abruptly. They sat for a minute as traffic sped past, him silent and staring, her breathing deeply and trying not to cry.
“Yes, baby,” she finally managed to say. Tears began to pool in Bridge’s eyes at the answer he already knew. Without a word, without so much as a sound, Bridge’s mother climbed in the backseat. She unbuckled him and pulled him out of his booster straight into her lap. He hadn’t sat like this since he was very small, but right now he didn’t care. His Zayde was going to die and his heart was breaking. They clung to each other, seeking comfort and solace for their mutual loss. Bridge slipped one of his gloves off and fingered the little dreidel. He was treated to flashes of his grandfather, memories imprinted on the object, and he screwed his eyes shut tight against the tears to better see the memories. He never wanted to let go, and for the first time ever, he didn’t want morning and another day of Chanukah to come.