The drive to Connecticut from LaGuardia was long and tiring. Scully and Walter divided the time behind the wheel while Mulder sat numbly in the back seat and tried to doze or not to think. Every so often, his hand would stray to the book on the seat beside him. He hadn't seen it in fourteen years. His grandfather had left it to him, but he couldn't read the language. Now, though, it gave him an odd sense of comfort.
There had been delays, so instead of stopping by the house, they went straight to the chapel. Aunt Sara had made all the proper arrangements with the funeral home. Mulder didn't know anything anyway. His father had made certain of that. None of that *crap* in his house, thank you very much. One more thing to lay at his father's feet.
There were piles of black silk skullcaps and lace doilies on a table. Scully took a doily and a bobby pin and held it uncertainly. He could see that she was just as much out of her element as Mulder was. She was supposed to be out of her element, though. He ran his hand through his hair, and went to pick up one of the skullcaps, but Walter stopped him.
"Wear this instead, Fox." Skinner handed him a circle of dark suede. There was a similar one on his own head. Mulder looked at it. On the inside he could read "Congregation Beth Shalom Annual Dinner, 1990." in gold print. He didn't move, so Skinner gently took it from him and fastened it to his hair with two of the hairpins. Mulder noticed dully that Skinner looked entirely natural in the yarmulke.
"Walter?" Scully held up the doily.
"It's up to you, Dana. If it makes you more comfortable, wear it."
"This whole thing makes me uncomfortable. I have no idea how to behave. If it were a church..." She opened it up and pinned it to the back of her head.
The funeral director was there waiting for them. Mulder was put in front. He had an unobstructed view of the plain pine box. There were no other mourners - Aunt Sara was a widowed sister-in-law. His partners sat behind him.
"Why are there no flowers?" Scully whispered. "And why is the box closed? How are we going to pay our respects?"
"Jewish funerals are different. No flowers, and no one views the body." Walter sounded vaguely relieved. "I always dreaded that part of funerals for non-Jewish friends." Something tickled the back of Mulder's mind, but he couldn't think. He just wanted this to be over.
The place filled with people from his mother's family. People he'd had almost no contact with for most of his life. They were never welcome in Martha's Vineyard. Most, he noted dimly, were older women.
The rabbi stood in front and began to say things that Mulder heard but didn't process well. When did Mom become a mainstay of the local synagogue? When did she become part of a community? She never told him any of this.
He heard his name called. At Walter's prodding, he stood. The rabbi produced a knife and began cutting his shirt - the old one Walter had suggested he wear - over his left breast. Mulder took over and tore it halfway to his waist. Something healed in that tearing.
The rabbi then handed him a prayerbook, but he didn't know the language. Walter stepped from the pews and stood beside him with a worn brown paperback. He turned to the back, to a transliteration. Then he said it with him, supporting him with his voice. The Hebrew? Aramaic? words flowed from Walter's voice as easily as English.
Walter stayed with him as Mulder rose from his daze, throughout the rest of the ceremony and the trip to the cemetery. Again, Scully seemed lost. She hung back and stared at unfamiliar sights and sounds.
More words and prayers at the graveside. Walter helped Mulder start to fill in the grave itself, piling dirt on the casket. And then he walked him through the rows of relatives back to the car and the house.
The table was covered with donated food. Scully looked relieved to see that. Some things cross cultural lines. Walter gave Mulder a hard-boiled egg to eat.
"Circles, Fox. Life is a circle. Symbolism, you know." Mulder nodded, and ate the egg. Then he sat on a low stool in the living room while people walked around and chatted.
"Walter? Is this a wake?"
He shook his head. "It's a shiva. Notice, no one is drinking?" Indeed, there was no alcohol at all. Just coffee and soft drinks. "It's supposed to last a week, but I don't think Fox will manage it."
Mulder wanted to protest, but Walter was right. He wanted to go back home instead of sitting in the middle of strangers, doing things he was supposed to know but didn't. How did Walter know?
The day grew dark. The rabbi began to pass around prayer books again. Scully shook her head, and retreated with some others into the kitchen. Mulder wanted to go with her.
Next thing he knew, Walter Skinner was standing facing East and his powerful voice was pouring out liquid Hebrew. All Mulder could do was stand and watch as his brain finally came online.
Ten minutes later, Walter was sitting next to him again.
"Why didn't you ever say?"
"I got used to not talking about it. I ran away from a religious family, you see, and then I learned to hide it in the Marines."
"When did you learn...?"
"You know both of my parents are gone? I said kaddish for two years running. I couldn't forget it."
"Will you teach me?"
Walter smiled. "I'll be with you. I'll make sure you do what you feel comfortable doing." Surreptitiously, he took Mulder's hand. "I'll always be there for you."
"Walter?"
"Yes, Fox?"
"You look hot in a yarmulke."
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