"Jack Dann - Kaddish" - читать интересную книгу автора (Dann Jack)

Kaddish
by Jack Dann

Born in Johnson City, New York on February 15, 1945, Jack Dann
and his wife, Jeanne Van Buren Dann, now live in Binghamton,
New York in a large old house with plenty of room for books.
Good job that, as Dann has written or edited well over twenty
books. Recent books include his mainstream novel, Counting
Coup, and an anthology of stories concerned with the Vietnam
War, In the Fields of Fire, edited in collaboration with his wife.
Dann's latest major project is a novel about Leonardo da Vinci,
which, at the start of this decade, was at 400 pages and going
strong. Dann's short fiction approaches horror in a quiet, moving
style that creates powerful and disturbingly reflective moods. Very
often he makes use of Jewish themes and history, as is the case
with "Kaddish." Regarding this story, Dann argues: "It's got to be
the only story written this year about Jewish horror! (We should
all live and be well!)" Don't know about that, Jack, but it's clear
that horror isn't bound by religion or creed -- this story will give
everyone a chill.


What ails you, O sea, that you flee?
-- Psalm of Hallel
Nathan sat with the other men in the small prayer-room of the
synagogue. It was 6:40 in the morning. "One of the three professors
who taught Hebrew Studies at the university was at the bema, the
altar, leading the prayers. His voice intoned the Hebrew and Aramaic
words; it was like a cold stream running and splashing over ice.
Nathan didn't understand Hebrew, although he could read a little,
enough to say the Kaddish, the prayer for the dead, in a halting
fashion.
But everything was rushed here in this place of prayer, everyone
rocking back and forth and flipping quickly through the well-thumbed
pages in the black siddur prayer books. Nathan couldn't keep up with
the other men, even when he read and scanned the prayers in English.
Young boys in jeans and designer T-shirts prayed ferociously beside
their middle-aged fathers, as if trying to outdo them, although it was
the old men who always finished first and had time to talk football
while the others caught up. Only the rabbi with his well-kept beard
and embroidered yarmulke sat motionless before the congregation,
Ms white linen prayer shawl wrapped threateningly around him like a
shroud, as if to emphasize that he held the secret knowledge and faith
that Nathan could not find.
Nathan stared into his siddur and prayed with the others.
He was the Saracen in the temple, an infidel wearing prayer shawl and
phylacteries.
A shoe-polish black leather frontlet containing a tiny inscribed
parchment pressed against Nathan's forehead, another was held tight
to his biceps by a long strap that wound like a snake around his left