Chapter 45: Pilgrim

"If any of you feel unable to keep your mind open for the duration of his stay, I would ask that you stay home and not return until he has returned to his."

Father Dietrich didn't usually do any entertaining in the rectory other than his yearly visits by Kurt and his family. This didn't exactly count as entertaining either though, since his guests were the entire staff and clergy of St. Stephen's. Besides the paid employees of the church, several of members from each of both the church's woman's auxiliary and the bible study group were there.

Though his plan to bring Kurt to the rectory for the summer seemed perfect at first, it wasn't an hour before he realized that it was fraught with problems. If he were living at the rectory totally alone, there would have been no difficulties. But he didn't live alone. The church was the core of a bustling and vital community all working together in service to God and for the good of society. Unless Kurt wanted to spend all of his days hiding in his room, which was hardly a therapeutic environment, he was going to have to get to know everyone and they him.

Father Dietrich had almost scrapped the plan for good; it was simply too much to ask. He had gone to bed one night deciding that it wasn't even worth mentioning the idea and woke up the next morning feeling horrible. If it had been Lars or Amanda or Wolfgang who had required his aid, Father Dietrich wouldn't have thought twice. And yet here he was prepared to deny Kurt the opportunity because he was too afraid to face the consequences that would come from admitting the acquaintance of a "demon". He'd never felt more ashamed in his life.

And so Father Dietrich steeled his resolve and once the necessary permissions were in place from Kurt's end, began to carefully cultivate the seeds of Kurt's introduction. He had done so cautiously, by beginning with a careful inventory of those who would be most likely to accept Kurt for whom he was. He wanted those who could look past the demonic exterior and see a young man whose love of God ran through the deepest core of him and know that they were looking into the eyes of a soul whose gentleness and kindness knew no bounds.

It was a tall order.

It was true that the Father had a slight advantage in that he had looked for these very traits in his staff, but still, Kurt was a lot to take in at once. He placed the most hope with Alexandra Fraser, the Parish's director of religious education. She was very young and Father Dietrich thought she would have made a wonderful priest had she not been female. Her mother was South African and had married a German geologist who had gone to the continent to study its wealth of precious gems, in particular a mine that was bursting with sapphires. She was the daughter of a mine foreman and they had fallen in love. It was like the stuff of storybooks, Romeo and Juliet with a happy ending, Father Dietrich had heard the story more times than he could count and it still warmed his heart. And so he named Alexandra, who herself had to contend with the triple obstacle of being black, African, and female in her struggle to fit into their primarily Caucasian male dominated pastoral staff, to the position of Kurt's ambassador.

Even before they were on the ferry to France, Father Dietrich had been in contact with Alex, setting the stage for their arrival. He wanted at least one person to know the whole story in detail before they arrived. Plus, he valued Alex's opinion and so he needed her to help him plan Kurt's introduction. Now, nearly two weeks later, Alex and her peers were all assembled in his small living room, a casual group sitting on the furniture but those who couldn't find seats reclined on the floor as well. He could hear them from the kitchen as they chatted amongst themselves.

"He didn't tell me exactly what was going on, but I think it has something to do with that boy in the pictures." He could hear Alex saying, being purposefully vague. He could pick out her voice anywhere, the German language made even harsher by the strong vowels of her native African accent.

"Kurt? The one from the circus?" Karl, his second deacon asked.

"That's the one." Alex said. "I heard he was injured recently and that's why the Father took that trip to England."

There were murmurs of ascension and understanding and so Father Dietrich took that moment to open the door from the kitchen. "Coffee's ready." He called down the hall. Conversation ceased and was replaced by the sound of footsteps. There were a few chaotic moments in the kitchen where everybody collected coffee along with rolls and croissants before they slowly trickled back into his living room. Father Dietrich knew that Kurt could hear all this from his room in the converted third floor attic. He could only imagine the thoughts going through Kurt's head.

Father Dietrich turned and faced the group how had retaken their seats and looked him expectantly. "Well, here goes." He thought and with a silent prayer that God would get him through this without screwing things up. He took a deep breath.

"Nearly ten years ago, a small circus rented the lot behind our church to park their trailers and use as their living quarters during a series of performances outside of Hamburg." He said. "They've parked there every year ever since." Father Dietrich tried to keep his voice natural, conversational, and not let it fall into the authoritative tone he used for sermons. He waited for a response, and when nobody spoke, he continued speaking.

"I went to their performance and they had the most extraordinary young performer. His name was Kurt Wagner and he wore a very elaborate costume, like a blue demon. And despite his young age he put on an impressive performance. I left the show thinking that 'the Incredible Nightcrawler', as he was called, might make for an interesting sermon topic, perhaps about not judging a book by its cover.

"Two days later he was standing in my church and I discovered that his costume wasn't a costume at all…"

"That's why you have these pictures." Karl interjected, finally understanding why Father Dietrich kept the pair of photographs, "He's this little boy." He held up the picture of Kurt in his confirmation clothes, grinning at the camera. This was going well, Father Dietrich thought, Kurt hardly looked menacing in that picture.

"That's right." Father Dietrich said. "And looks can be deceiving, because several days after our introduction, he asked me to baptize him. He was eight years old. Now he's seventeen."

He went on for a few minutes, answering questions about Kurt and the circus, trying to keep it in a semblance of chronological order so not to be confusing. Meanwhile the photos of Kurt and his family were passed around. They spoke for nearly an hour before he reached the present.

"About a week ago he was attacked and left for dead in Brighton, England." Father Dietrich said. There was a collective gasp. Alexandra put her hand over her mouth. "He has a long recovery ahead of him, not just from his injuries, but from the shock of what happened to him. I don't think he totally understands it."

"Has it never happened before? I mean, the way he looks…" It was Roberto, the leader of the church's study group who also shared the responsibility for teaching catechism with Alexandra.

"As miraculous as this seems, no, it hasn't. The circus has protected him so meticulously from the outside world that though he has experienced prejudice since the day he was born, he has endured very little violence. It is my hope that we can provide for him here a place where he can both recover from his injuries and make his peace with God, hopefully to come to an understanding of what happened to him." Father Dietrich said.

Heads nodded in understanding of the situation, but no one spoke.

"Now we come to the most important part of why I brought you here," Father Dietrich said. "Kurt arrived yesterday and if any of you feel unable to keep your mind open for the duration of his stay, I would ask that you stay home and not return until he has returned to his. I will forgive you your intolerance in hopes that you use the time to reflect on the seriousness of your action."

His gazed circled the room, trying to judge the character of those he worked with and prayed with everyday, because the time for discussion was over. No one made a sound. No one looked away. It was time for Kurt to make his introduction.

The rectory was small house with many tiny rooms. The most spaciously laid out was the first floor, which mainly consisted of the living room, an anteroom, and the kitchen. The second floor had two bedrooms; Father Dietrich's own room and a comfortable but Spartan guest bedroom where visiting clergy could stay. Accessible by a narrow staircase was a third story that had once been the attic. It had been divided in half to provide a second smaller guest room and Father Dietrich's cluttered study. Dormer windows let in some light but the ceilings sloped sharply downward all the way to the floor.

The third floor guest room was where Kurt always stayed. He was used to sleeping in the top bunk where the ceiling wasn't more the a few feet from his nose. He could never relax sleeping in a regular bed on the floor. He felt oddly vulnerable with the ceiling so high above him and so Kurt always choose the cozy attic bedroom as his. Besides the comforting slope of the ceiling, Kurt liked the tattered old quilts on the bed and the chintzy flowered wallpaper. He was especially fond of a hand made stuffed toy, an ancient floppy dog that Father Dietrich's mother had made him out of blue calico when he was a boy that always lay across the foot of the bed.

Kurt was sitting on the bed cross-legged and barefoot when Father Dietrich arrived. His tail was draped over the side and onto the floor where it twitched to it's own rhythm. Long ago Father Dietrich noticed that whenever Kurt was under stress he tended to revert to animalistic behavior and postures such as pacing or twitching his tail like a cat. It was one of Kurt's many odd quirks and it made Father Dietrich wonder if there were more to him than his unusual appearance; that Kurt's differences were much deeper and more profound. Kurt was oblivious to all of this of course. He was praying the rosary, carefully maneuvering the well-worn beads through his sturdy fingers as he murmured to himself softly in German. He waited for Kurt to look up.

"Everyone's ready." Father Dietrich said when he had Kurt's attention. "Would you like to come down?"

Kurt didn't move.

"They're the ones I told you about, and I told them a little bit about you." Father Dietrich said, sitting down on the edge of the bed. "They want to meet you."

Kurt remained silent, a series of conflicting emotions crossing over his face like it always did while he was making a difficult choice. It made Father Dietrich realize that over the years he had known Kurt, he had gone from seeming older than his years to younger. When he was eight he seemed overly serious, like a small adult, but now that he was seventeen he hardly seemed like someone who was only a year away from adulthood.

This was the downside of being raised in such a sheltered environment. Within the circus community Kurt was confident, outgoing, and a consummate professional, but out in the world he was lost, seemingly stuck in early adolescence. Father Dietrich had never worried about it, but now he wondered if perhaps he should have. Kurt was no longer a child who happened to look like a mischievous blue imp; his demonic features were much harder to forgive on an adult. He had gone from cute to scary in a world he hardly understood, something that had already proven itself to be a dangerous combination.

Kurt sighed and shook his head. "I can't," he said sadly. "I can't do it. I'm sorry."

Father Dietrich moved closer to him on the bed. "But why Kurt? You can't hide forever. There's no reason for you to hide now. Please, you have to trust me."

Kurt shook his head a second time. "I'm sorry Father," he said.

Father Dietrich was surprised to see Kurt trying to blink back tears. He sighed. He couldn't force him to come down; dragging Kurt into the room kicking and screaming wasn't exactly the type of impression he had hoped Kurt would make.

"All right." He said at last. "You can stay up here today, but you will meet everyone and next time I won't let you off so easy."

"Thank you." Kurt said gratefully.

"It's been a rough few weeks hasn't it?" Father Dietrich said.

Kurt nodded in silence.

"We all have them." He tousled Kurt's hair. "Everybody does. It just makes the good times seem even better right?" Father Dietrich stood up when Kurt didn't answer. "I need go back downstairs now." He said. "Are you going to be all right?"

"I'll be fine." Kurt said.

Father Dietrich nodded and got up. He left quietly, closing the door gently as Kurt resumed his praying.

Only a few minutes had gone by when there was a knock on the door. Kurt got up to answer it, his fingers still marking a place on his rosary. He was expecting Father Dietrich, but instead there was a woman standing there. Kurt froze; he wasn't expecting anyone but Father Dietrich. He had promised hadn't he? Then again, she was beautiful. Her dark skin was nearly the same shade as Kurt's only in a hue that was the color of coffee. She wore her hair in braids that were pulled back into a loose, but neat ponytail. But the most striking feature was her eyes, they were large and expressive with irises of such a deep brown that they were nearly black. The reflected light stood out on them in sharp contrast.

"Hello Kurt," she said, "May I come in?"

It took Kurt a moment to find his voice. He'd seen dark skinned people before. Kiwi and Amiri had skin that was nearly the same shade, but it was more than that. She had a regal bearing and those giant eyes appeared to be able to penetrate directly into his soul. And her voice; Kurt had never heard an accent like that. It was so strong and had such presence; like the mere sound of it could stop evil in it's tracks and leave it quaking in fear.

"Hello," he said at last.

Alex smiled. "I'm Alexandra Fraser," she said as she held out her hand. "But everyone calls me 'Alex'. I work with Father Dietrich here."

Kurt moved away to perch himself back onto the edge of the bed. "I don't mean to be rude, but Father Dietrich said I didn't have to meet anyone today." Kurt said.

Alex laughed. "I guess he did say that." She said, "But when he told us you weren't coming down I was so disappointed that I had to come up. I hope that's all right."

Kurt sighed. So far she hadn't run from the room screaming or tried to set him on fire so she couldn't be that bad. In fact, Maria had said almost the same thing when he refused to open the door for her and he liked Maria a lot. "It's all right," he said quietly.

She wandered around the room. Kurt had set some of his things out and hung up a few of Wolfgang's posters, ones that had escaped Wolfgang's doctoring of his hands ever since James had met him at the airport. "What's it like, the circus?" She asked stopping to give one a closer inspection.

Kurt stared at her. It was such a huge question. Did she mean what was performing like? Or did she want to know what it was like to grow up as a member of a traveling circus? Or maybe she wanted to know what the people in the circus were like. He wasn't sure. Alexandra turned around.

"You grew up with them right? Did you enjoy it?" She asked.

Kurt smiled. He did enjoy it. His childhood was probably the only time when he felt he was normal; back then he had no idea how his appearance would affect the course of his life, it was the only time when he was just Kurt, when he didn't have to become Nightcrawler every night. And as much as he loved to perform, he missed the simplicity of his earliest memories with the circus.

"It was the happiest time of my life." He said.

"What about now?" Alex asked.

Kurt was silent again. What could he say? He loved performing as much as ever, but it was the all or nothing nature of it that bothered him. "Things are just more complicated." He said.

Alex laughed. "Aren't they always." She said.

"Where are you from?" Kurt asked suddenly. "I've never heard anyone talk like you do."

"Kenya. That's where I grew up."

"That's in Africa" Kurt said, "That's a long way from here. Do you miss it?"

Alex nodded. "Yeah, I do," she said. "What about you? Do you miss your circus?"

Kurt looked around the room, at the posters he had put on the walls to make it feel like home, the silly wallpaper, and the fact that for the next two months the room wouldn't move and he wouldn't have to perform or even practice. They were the two main factors that had defined his life and it was hard to imagine them not happening. He thought about standing on the deck of the ferry and watching the painted trucks pulling onto the road without him. "Ever since I watched them leave without me." Kurt said.

Father Dietrich picked up the last of the plates and carried them into the kitchen.

"So, what's he like?" Karl asked Alexandra. She had been the only one to talk to Kurt; everyone else had stayed in the living room. He never did come down. Now they were the only two remaining.

Alex pulled on her coat, "He's like anyone who's had to hide who they really are their whole life. I can't even imagine it."

"Why did Father Dietrich bring him here?" Karl said.

Alex shrugged. "I don't think he had anywhere else to go. And Father Dietrich likes Kurt. He's always spoken of him very fondly."

"But why couldn't Kurt have stayed with the circus?"

Alex shrugged. "Other than the reasons the Father told us earlier?"

"Maybe something more happened, something he's not telling us." Karl said.

"You'll have to ask Father Dietrich if you want to know." Alex said. She opened the door. "But I think he did the right thing."

"But why is he hiding then?"

"Maybe you should take a closer look at those pictures." Alex said.

"But if it's nothing more than his appearance… What if it is something more?" Karl said, leaning close, almost whispering.

Alex frowned at him, but said nothing. "I have to go." She said after staring him down for nearly a minute with her stern dark eyes. The she dipped the tips of her fingers into the small Fount of holy water Father Dietrich kept at the door. She made the sign of the cross, the water flinging from her fingers harder than she meant it to. " I don't want to be late, and this conversation is pointless," she said and let the door shut behind her.

"What's going on?"

Karl turned around. Father Dietrich was standing in the living room, apparently finished with whatever needed doing in the kitchen.

"I'm sorry, I should have been helping you." Karl said, quickly collecting his and Alexandra's cups and carrying them into the kitchen.

"What's going on?" Father Dietrich asked again, following him.

Karl put the cups and saucers into the sink and turned around. "I just don't think this is a good idea."

"What's not a good idea?" Father Dietrich said.

"You know what I'm talking about. Why wouldn't Kurt come down? What's he afraid of?"

"Attitudes like yours I expect," said Father Dietrich sitting down at the table.

Karl stared out the window over the sink; he could just see the edge of the garden where Alexandra had begun to overturn the dirt. They had a grounds keeper, but only she was allowed to tend to her small garden, which, every summer became the centerpiece of the church grounds.

"You're… Impractical" Karl said.

"I'm what?" Father Dietrich asked with a short laugh.

"Impractical. First you run off in the middle of the night to minister to a circus and now you've brought a circus freak to live with here."

Father Dietrich stood up so fast his chair knocked back into the wall. "Did I just hear you correctly?" He asked.

Karl looked immediately chastised. "I apologize. He's a talented performer. You said. But this is a church."

Father Dietrich looked around. "Actually, this is the rectory. It is also my home."

Karl closed his eyes. "I just don't think this was a good idea." He said. "What if the diocese finds out?"

"I'm sorry, did you not hear my little speech earlier? Because you still seem to be here." Father Dietrich said.

"I'm not going to tell anyone or do anything if that's what you're worried about. And if Kurt ever does come out of hiding, won't treat him poorly. I'll do as you asked." Karl said.

"I suppose I should be relieved." Father Dietrich said, unable to keep the sarcasm out of his voice.

"I'm just trying to be reasonable. You don't know how the diocese will react. And I'm trying to understand why you did this."

"He's a practicing catholic and a member of this church in good standing. I'm his priest and my purpose in bringing him here was to help him heal from wounds to both his body and soul, as a priest should." Father Dietrich emphasized the last part of the sentence. "And what's more, as a Christian, it is my obligation."

"Moral obligation?" Karl repeated. "What are you talking about?"

"When Kurt was baptized there was no Christian in good standing who was also a member of his circus. He needed a sponsor. So I am also his Godparent."

"You're what?" Karl asked in disbelief.

"You heard me," Father Dietrich said.

To his surprise, the expression of outrage on Karl's face softened and he give a rueful laugh. "I swear Father, sometimes I think God put your heart where your brain is supposed to be."

"Is that so bad?" Father Dietrich asked.

"No, it's not. It's why I was so honored when you picked me as Deacon here." Karl said and smiled.

Father Dietrich returned the gesture, finally understanding that Karl's intent was not to insult him or Kurt. Still, it paid to be cautious. He took Karl by the shoulder and steered him towards the front hallway. "If you want to take that two month sabbatical, you can feel free," he told him.

"Father, I'm just trying to warn you," Karl said. "I don't want you to make a mistake you may regret someday."

"I know," Father Dietrich said sadly and then leaving his Deacon by the door, he started towards the stairs. He turned his wrist to check his watch. "I think your sabbatical started about five minutes ago."

"Father…"

Father Dietrich turned around. "I know," he said. "Your message is loud and clear. Now, I've got work to do." He heard the door close as he reached the second floor and it made him wonder why the right choices were always the hardest to carry out

Author's note: The resemblance between Alexandra Fraser and Storm is entirely coincidental. She is entirely based upon one of the chaplains at the hospital where I stayed a few weeks ago. She made fairly regular visits to my room and we had some very interesting conversation about religion and her role as a woman and an African American in the clergy. But it's a convenient accident, no?

And one more: Bluefooted did this great drawing with Nightcrawler sleeping on a bed with a stuffed blue patchwork dog. I loved the image and shamelessly stole it. The scene she drew never actually appears in the story; I just liked the idea of there being a blue stuffed animal on his bed. Sort of an homage if you will…