Different From All Other Nights
Adam Greenfield looked up, one foot holding the roof door open as he stood there in the warm April night. He knew it was unlikely he’d actually see Jean-Paul before he landed, as his lover would be flying at super speed and invisible to a normal human eye. Still, he scanned the sky, wondering if he’d notice a blur that would turn into Jean-Paul.
He didn’t. Jean-Paul was only feet from the roof when he slowed enough to be seen, landing with the lithe grace of a dancer finishing a leap. Well, that was pretty much what he had been doing, Adam thought, although the leap was one of 500 miles. He shook his head a little. More than a year of having a mutant superhero for a lover hadn’t erased his sense of wonder.
Jean-Paul kissed Adam briefly and they quickly went into the building, walking down a short flight of stairs to the elevator. “I don’t think anybody saw me,” he said.
Adam shrugged. “It doesn’t matter so much. It’s New York – nothing fazes anyone, not even flying men.” In the elevator he leaned up against his lover and kissed him more thoroughly, tongues meeting, hands on both of Jean-Paul’s shoulders, feeling Jean-Paul’s fingers stroking his ass. He broke off the kiss as they reached the fifth floor.
“So much for privacy,” Jean-Paul said with a sigh as they walked down the hall.
“No, we’ve got the place to ourselves.”
“Where’s Larry?”
“Detroit. Business. He’ll be back in time for seder tomorrow, but he kindly offered his place to us tonight.”
“Ah, so that’s why we’re not staying at your mother’s.” They walked into the apartment, a chic one-bedroom in a Chelsea high rise.
“I don’t think I can handle sex at my mother’s place,” Adam replied. “Or even in the same borough as her.” Jean-Paul laughed. “Hey, I never claimed not to be neurotic.”
“I always admired your honesty and self-awareness, mon ami. So, tomorrow night we’ll be in Brooklyn and I’ll be struggling to keep my hands off of you. Let’s make the most of being in Manhattan now.” He pushed Adam up against the closed door, kissing him hard.
Adam responded joyfully, hands exploring Jean-Paul’s body as his tongue explored his mouth. He broke off the kiss and whispered in his lover’s ear, “It’s been so long.” Jean-Paul nodded in agreement. “Are you okay?” he added, pulling Northstar’s shirt off now.
“Fine. Not a scratch on me. Walter aussi. And all the hostages freed. We were very lucky this time. A successful mission and no injuries – how often does that happen?”
“Not often enough.” Adam kissed Jean-Paul’s mouth again, nibbling on his lower lip, hands moving over his arms, shoulders, chest. He took him by the hand and they walked over to the couch. Adam sat down and motioned to Jean-Paul to sit next to him. When he did, they kissed again, Adam’s thumbs on Jean-Paul’s nipples, sliding over them as he pushed his tongue into his lover’s mouth. “It’s so much better like this, not worrying about touching you in the wrong place.”
“I’ll tell Mac you said so. Maybe he’ll give me a desk job, if I explain I need to remain unscathed for my lover.”
“You’d last a week and then complain you were dying of boredom.” Adam unbuckled Jean-Paul’s belt and unzipped his fly while he said it. “I think I’ll just enjoy the freedom to touch you anywhere while I can.” Reaching into his lover’s pants, Adam began to stroke his already hard cock, slowly. Gripping the shaft with his fist, he moved up and down, rubbing the head with his thumb, playing with the foreskin, eliciting happy sighs from Jean-Paul. “Oh, and what a nice place to touch. It feels so good in my hand. Makes me hungry.” The last part came out in a hoarse voice, full of longing.
Adam dropped to his knees in front of Jean-Paul, who lifted his hips as Adam pulled his pants down. With the clothing out of the way, he leaned in, rubbing his lover’s cock against his cheek, still stroking. Then, bending down a little more, he proceeded to kiss and lick the underside, slowly, from balls to the head. Jean-Paul leaned back against the couch, eyes closed, fingers stroking Adam’s ears, concentrating on the feeling of Adam’s tongue sliding over him, the warmth and wetness of the inside of Adam’s cheek when Adam sucked him in. Adam kissed and sucked avidly, his hand stroking the root of Jean-Paul’s cock and all over his balls with firm, smooth motions. “I feel… I want… mon cher…” Jean-Paul tried for a while to say what was on his mind and then gave up, hard breathing and rhythmic moaning replacing the words. He gripped Adam’s ears hard as he came.
They moved to the bedroom afterwards. Soon they were both naked, Adam lying on Jean-Paul, their legs entwined. “I want to fuck you,” Adam said after a while. Jean-Paul laughed. “What’s so funny?” Adam sounded a little peeved.
“It just sounds so uncharacteristic to me.”
“Oh, that. Well, I’m getting to like it.” After a pause. “Is that okay?”
“It’s great. I’m sorry, did I break the mood?”
He shrugged. “We can get it back.” He kissed Jean-Paul, stroking his thigh. “You want to? You don’t mind that I’m getting to like something different?”
“I think it’s wonderful – I mean that. I always liked it – both ways. I like doing lots of different things with you – I don’t want to get stuck in one kind of sex, d’accord?”
“D’accord. Check out the nightstand drawer.” Jean-Paul looked at Adam questioningly. “Larry and I have been friends a long time. I know where he keeps things.” Jean-Paul rummaged in the drawer and took out a tube of lube and a condom. “What?”
“Oh!” He looked at the condom in his hand.
“Jean-Paul?” Adam said it tentatively, not sure what to ask. “Did you… do we need to…”
“No, no, no. I just… forgot. It’s not that long since we stopped using them. And we haven’t seen each other for a couple weeks. I forgot. Vraiment. C’est tout.”
“You’d tell me if you had?”
“Bien sur. Adam, I made an agreement. I will tell you if I do anything with another man – with or without condoms. But I don’t intend to have anything to tell.”
“It’s hard having to spend so much time apart. My assignments, your missions…”
“I’m willing to wait.”
“Me, too.”
“Not now, though,” he added, opening the lube and starting to spread it on Adam. “I want to feel you inside me. I’m glad you’re getting to like doing it that way. I want to be fucked. By you, Adam Greenfield. Un seul homme.”
Adam’s response was less articulate than usual, but nonetheless clearly understood.
On the subway to Brooklyn the next day, Adam said more about who would be at the seder and what to expect from them. “My uncle Harry always leads, at least nominally,” he said. “My mother’s clearly in charge from the sidelines. Not even the sidelines much of the time. Miriam Greenfield pretty much always manages to take center stage, one way or another – you’ll see. But Harry’s my father’s older brother, and I guess it was always his job to be the seder leader and Mom didn’t challenge that when Dad was alive, so she didn’t want to after he died. At least not overtly. But she tells him when she thinks he’s going too fast or too slow, injects lots of feminist additions and changes, points out the Marxist underpinnings of the Pesach story,” he said, rolling his eyes at the last bit. “And sometimes all the action stops so they can argue about some point until nobody can stand it any more and my cousin Mona and I restrain them.” Jean-Paul laughed. “Does it sound excruciating? It’s really quite fun, most of the time. I just worry about what it will be like for you, not knowing the players.”
“Stop worrying. It does sound fun. I like the idea of all this family stuff.”
“Yeah, you don’t get much of that, do you? With just Jeanne-Marie.”
“C’est vrai. My friends have been my family for most of my life. I think it’s great how you can mix family and friends. Larry comes every year?”
Adam nodded. “Yes, and with a different lover each time. I haven’t even met the new guy yet. Larry says he’s hot. And a sophomore at NYU. They’re all hot, and as Larry gets older, they get younger. My mother is always sure that this time it’s going to last, and completely shocked when I tell her that Jake or Bob or Tom from last year isn’t coming back this year.” He laughed. “She must be the only person in Larry’s life to ever think it’s possible he’ll settle down with one guy. Well, aside from Larry, who’s also completely deluded and thinks each one is The One.” He thought back to what Jean-Paul had said. “I hope you do enjoy being at a family gathering. I’m sorry you haven’t really had that for yourself. It’s great that your friends – and Alpha Flight – function so much like family, but it’s sad not to have the other kind of family, too. Don’t you think so?”
“A little. I don’t think about it so much, most of the time. I do feel something when you talk about all your relatives. Sadness, or maybe just distance. It seems like a different world or something. Since Jeanne-Marie and I weren’t even raised together, I think you’re closer to your cousins than I am to her, even though she is my twin. And she and I have looked hard for other relatives, but haven’t found any. So, I pretty much resigned myself to being without that kind of family a long time ago.” He mused a moment more. “Not having a family isn’t so strange, though, among gay people, n’est-ce pas? Or mutants, for that matter. Often for reasons other than parents dying when one is a small child. Sometimes I think I’m lucky I had no parents to reject me,” he added with a wry grin.
“Yeah, it’s not an uncommon thing to happen. Remember when Scott Summers roped me into speaking at Career Day at Xavier’s? Spending the weekend there and just talking to the kids, I was shocked at how many of them have no homes or family left. And, as you say, equally common among gay kids – not just mutants.
“I’ve been lucky that way. For all that my mother wants to run my life most of the time – and for all that I know I get too crazed about that – I have to admit she has been wonderful with my coming out. I shouldn’t have waited as long as I did. I wouldn’t have if I’d known she’d be so accepting.” He paused, thinking. “I wonder what my father would have been like.”
“Any clues?”
“Not really. I don’t know that much about him, since I really just see him through her eyes and she talks like he was perfect. I tend to think he’d have had a harder time with it. Maybe she would have, too, if he’d still been alive. It was just Mom and me, pretty much my whole childhood. That’s a large part of why I’m so affected by her, I know. Of course some is just her fearsome personality. Thanks again for braving meeting her,” he added, squeezing Jean-Paul’s hand. “But there’s a good side to the intense mother/son thing, too. I was too afraid of losing her to come out to her in my teens or early twenties, but she was too afraid of losing me to give in to homophobia when I finally did, I think. Maybe with him in the picture it would have been different?”
Jean-Paul was having a fine time. He was perfectly relaxed and comfortable, or would have been if Adam hadn’t kept shooting him intense are-you-alright looks. Miriam was Jean-Paul’s idea of a perfect hostess, warm and welcoming, yet totally down-to-earth. They’d arrived at her place in East Midwood in the middle of the afternoon, several hours before the other guests. She had kissed them both and immediately put them to work – peeling potatoes, setting up tables, polishing silver. Miriam talked to them both the whole time, with a kind of natural intimacy that made Jean-Paul feel like one of the family. He much preferred that – and keeping busy while they got to know each other – to being treated like a guest. Truly, he had no idea why Adam had been so nervous about their meeting.
“Jean-Paul?” Miriam asked. “Would you get the good dishes down for me? They’re in that high cabinet there. I can’t reach them without the ladder, but you’re tall enough to get them on a step stool.”
“I don’t need a step stool,” he replied, flying up to the ceiling and hovering there as he unloaded dishes, then carefully landing with them. Miriam stared at him, open-mouthed. “Mon dieu!” Jean-Paul said, belatedly realizing that he had felt so at home that he’d forgotten that Miriam had never seen him fly. “I’m sorry, Miriam. Did I frighten you?”
“No, not at all. It’s just... something to see. And so useful, too,” she added. She walked out of the kitchen and Jean-Paul and Adam exchanged puzzled glances. But before they could say anything, she was back with a wet, soapy rag. “Would you mind washing the ceiling fans for me?” she asked.
Midway through the seder, Jean-Paul was still having a fine time and even Adam seemed to be relaxing a bit. “At this point,” Uncle Harry intoned, “in some households the newly invented ritual of Miriam’s cup is added.”
“In many households, and growing all the time, Harry,” Miriam countered. “All seder rituals are ‘invented’ and have evolved to meet the needs of Jews in different times and at different places. And given that in our household we have been including Miriam’s cup at seder since Adam was in high school, I think you’d be used to it by now.”
Turning away from Harry, Miriam reached for a large pottery goblet in the middle of the table. It was blue and painted with decorations of women dancing and playing the tambourine. “Miriam’s cup is a ritual that is designed to honor Jewish women. Too often our voices have been silenced and our role in Jewish history has been discounted,” she said, with a significant glance at her brother-in-law. “The original Miriam was Moses’ sister and a major figure in the Passover story, yet her name is not even mentioned in a great many versions of the haggadah. In this ritual, Miriam takes center stage.”
“The biblical Miriam or the Brooklyn one?” Harry asked.
Adam’s mother ignored him and continued. “Legend says that Miriam had a miraculous well that she brought with her during the forty years in the desert, providing water to the escaped slaves throughout their wandering. This is Miriam’s cup,” she said, holding the blue goblet high. She then took her own water goblet in one hand and poured a bit of water from it into the pottery cup. “I ask all the women at this seder – of all generations - to pour water from their glasses into Miriam’s cup.” She passed the goblet to Mona and continued as the goblet was passed and filled, all women and girls at the table participating. “Every year we honor a Jewish woman whose life and work inspires us. This year, we honor Hannah Arendt.”
Miriam consulted her notes. “Arendt, a German Jew who escaped Nazi extermination and became a New Yorker, was a political theorist, a practical philosopher, and a well-known journalist. Just like my Adam, although Hannah Arendt never won a Pulitzer Prize, I’m afraid.” Adam rolled his eyes. “As a correspondent for The New Yorker magazine, she covered Eichmann’s trial. The articles she wrote about that were later expanded into a book called _Eichmann in Jerusalem_. Arendt’s portrayal of Eichmann was not of an actively evil killer, but of an almost benign-seeming character who participated in genocide because he didn’t have the moral courage to think about he was doing. He felt that following orders was sufficient reason for suspending his own sense of right and wrong. Arendt coined the phrase ‘the banality of evil.’ Her work was very controversial at the time, but her portrayal of Eichmann has been the enduring picture we have of him. And the idea that great wrongs can be done without great hatred or other passions is one that we can all learn from now. Let us always be mindful that those who kill, oppress, and afflict others don’t always appear villainous or cruel. Let us always realize that evil can be done - and is, to this day - by those who believe they are just doing their jobs. Let us always remember that evil deeds are no less wrong if done with a friendly smile. May Hannah Arendt remain in our memory and her work be a guide to us in these perilous times.”
Several hours had gone by since the first guests had arrived. The festive meal at the center of the seder ritual had been consumed. Four glasses of wine had been drunk. Guests and hosts all seemed to be enjoying themselves. As Uncle Harry bargained with the children over the afikomen’s ransom, Adam pulled Jean-Paul out of the apartment and into the hall. “It’s almost over,” he said. “How are you holding up?”
“I’m fine,” he replied, putting his arms around Adam and kissing him on the forehead. “I’m having a great time. You worry too much. Your mother has been a delight.”
“She has been pretty nice, I have to admit. Although I think I’ll either die of embarrassment or kill her if she mentions my Pulitzer one more time.”
“It hasn’t been that many times. She’s proud of you. Let her brag a little.” He kissed Adam again, on the mouth this time. “I know I do.”
“Okay, maybe it’s not as over the top as I thought it was. I was just worried you’d be embarrassed the way she goes on.”
“I’m not. It’s sweet. Everything’s been wonderful so far.”
“What about all my cousins quizzing you about which shul you went to in Montreal; do you know the Grossmans in Cote St. Luc; is your family upset you aren’t home for Pesach? With a name like Jean-Paul Beaubier, you’d think they’d realize you aren’t Jewish. I’m sorry.”
“It wasn’t so bad. A little bit uncomfortable at first. More so when Mona clearly had no idea I was a mutant until I told her.”
“I must have missed that part. What happened?”
“I think you were in the kitchen. She started asking about my job and when I explained it, said ‘Adam works with mutants, too, sometimes.’ I don’t know who was more embarrassed – her or me – when I explained that I *am* a mutant.”
“Oh love! I’m sorry.”
“Hey, it’s fine. Your mother actually broke the tension. She told them how wonderful she thinks my powers are. And then started talking about ‘those nice boys from Westchester’ who are mutants. She was particularly voluble about the ‘sweet boy with the sensitive eyes, who has to wear those dark glasses all the time.’ It was all I could do not to laugh, thinking what Cyclops would think of being described like that.”
“I’m sure. Who’d guess my mother would be the most knowledgeable about mutants in any gathering?” He shook his head. “I really do appreciate you putting up with my family, Jean-Paul.”
“I’m having fun, I tell you. And at least they already knew I’m gay,” he added and they both chuckled.
“And now that we have finally persuaded the children to give us back the afikomen we can complete the seder,” Adam said to all, eliciting giggles from the children, who had been persuaded through gifts and candy. “Uncle Harry, I thank you for letting me take over for the final ritual of the night, the sharing of the afikomen, the reserved piece of matzo that ends the seder.” Adam paused and looked around. “Before we do, I’d like to say something about the traditional words that are said at the conclusion of the seder. At this time we identify ourselves as enslaved and oppressed and ask God that next year we be free men… sorry, Mom… free people in Jerusalem. Yet the seder tradition – and this passage in particular – was not developed in a time of slavery. And we around this table do not live lives of slavery and oppression. So why do we say that? Why do we call ourselves slaves? Why do we say all of this in present tense: ‘we *are* slaves,’ not ‘we *were* slaves’, or ‘our ancestors were slaves’? Why do we pray for a new home and a new life next year?
“We do these things because it is our tradition to identify so strongly with the oppressed and the enslaved that we see ourselves as not truly free until we can free others. We symbolize that identification with the downtrodden in the words we say tonight. So, before we finish, I ask that we all stop a minute and think of what we can do in the next year to bring about that wish, to help those suffering throughout the world find their own Jerusalems. I ask, in particular, for the strength and commitment and passion that will be required by people from all nations and all walks of life if we are to free those imprisoned in the mutant resettlement camps in Belarus. There are many horrors in the world, I know. That is one that I’ve seen first hand, and one I can’t forget. Their fate was once ours, and we as a people know what it is to be demonized, scapegoated, enslaved, and exterminated. Let us not cease from mental fight nor let our swords sleep in our hands until we have built Jerusalem in Minsk and, ultimately, throughout the world.”
All the seder participants took a piece of the matzo and together said, “Next year in Jerusalem.”
“That was lovely,” cousin Shirley said to Adam right afterwards. “I didn’t know the quote about letting our swords sleep in our hands, though. Is that from the Psalms?”
“No, actually it’s Blake,” Adam said, a little sheepishly. “I’m better on English literature than biblical quotes, I’m afraid.” He rose at his mother’s request, to help her bring things in from the kitchen.
“There’s a little known bit of halakha,” Uncle Harry intoned from the leader’s chair. He turned to Jean-Paul, saying by way of explanation, “Halakha is the Hebrew word for Jewish law.” Then he continued, “No uncircumcised men are permitted at the seder table. In particular, they may not partake of the afikomen.” With some effort, Jean-Paul finished chewing his piece of afikomen without choking.
“Oh, Dad!” his daughter Mona exclaimed. “What are you going to do, line up all the men and check? Honestly, I think you’re just seeing who you can embarrass by mentioning penises at the seder table.”
Adam’s friend Larry chimed in. “Not me! One of my favorite topics, most anywhere.” Jean-Paul, on the other hand, was looking extremely uncomfortable and embarrassed.
Miriam and Adam came in with the coffee and cookies. “Enough of that talk, both of you,” she said, glaring at Harry and Larry. “You may be the leader tonight, Harry, but it’s my seder and my home. And we’re not discussing that sort of thing in my dining room.” No one dared argue.
The guests had all gone home and the dishes had all been washed. Jean-Paul was almost done helping Miriam put some items back up on high shelves. He wondered a little why he was putting the dishes away when they’d be used for the second seder the next day. Perhaps she just wanted to see him fly again.
He was happy to oblige, and was busying himself with his assigned tasks while musing on how to persuade Adam to relax enough to engage in sex – quiet, discreet sex – in his childhood bedroom down the hall from where his mother would be sleeping. Jean-Paul had pretty much decided that it was best not to discuss it with Adam. He figured he’d just try to seduce him and see where it went. Preoccupied with thoughts of what they’d done the night before and what he’d like to do tonight, he missed what Miriam had just said to him and had to ask her to repeat it. When she did, he wished she hadn’t.
“Mon dieu, Miriam. You can’t just ask me… C’est pas… I don’t know what… Vraiment…”
“Don’t lapse into French on me, Jean-Paul. It’s a simple enough question. Answer me in plain English.” Jean-Paul looked over her head, craning his neck to see the hallway outside the kitchen. “And no point in looking out there, because Adam is not rescuing you from this. He’s my son. I need to know.”
“But I can’t talk to you about…” Jean-Paul’s voice trailed off.
“Why not?”
“Miriam! I can’t… I don’t… Bien sur, I’m not in the habit of talking to my lovers’ parents about my sexual practices!”
“Lovers?” she repeated, voice rising. “How many do you have?”
“No, no, no.” Jean-Paul grabbed his head with both hands, wishing he could just disappear. “He’s the only one. I haven’t touched another man, haven’t even looked at another man, not since Adam and I met. He’s not my first, is all I meant. Tabernac, Miriam – I’m 30 years old. I had a life before I met Adam. And, and, and… nobody’s mother ever asked me before if we use condoms!” he blurted out, loudly. “Ask Adam, Miriam, if you must,” he continued more softly. “I’m just not comfortable talking to you about this. I’m sorry.”
Adam’s mother looked down. “He won’t tell me anything. He says it’s none of my business.” She looked Jean-Paul in the face and he could see tears in her eyes. “How can it be none of my business? He’s my only child. I can’t… lose him.”
“Miriam,” Jean-Paul put his hand on her shoulder and looked straight at her. “I love Adam. Truly I do. I want to spend the rest of my life with him – and I intend it to be a long one, for both of us. I would never do anything to hurt him. Vraiment.”
Miriam wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. “Yeah, well that sounds really nice. But a virus doesn’t care how much you love him, you know.”
Jean-Paul didn’t know how to answer that, but he didn’t have a chance to, anyway. Adam walked into the kitchen, face full of anger, clearly having heard his mother’s last comment. “Leave him alone, Mom,” he said.
“We were just talking.”
“No, you were hounding him. After I told you not to. Don’t you think he’s been through enough tonight? Putting up with all the crazy relatives. Spending hours on a ritual that’s mostly in a language he doesn’t understand. Dealing with people who’ve never met a mutant before. And then to top it all off, Uncle Harry suggesting he shouldn’t even be here!”
Miriam looked at Jean-Paul open-mouthed.
Jean-Paul suddenly found himself wishing that invisibility were his mutant power. “I really wish you hadn’t said that, Adam,” he said, burying his head in his hands again.
“Yeah, me too.” Adam looked truly miserable. “Hey, Mom. I’ll make you a deal,” he said. “If you promise to forget what I just said, I’ll answer that question about condoms.”