Joshua: A Brooklyn Tale Part 10

It was a group of five kids, and they were less than ten feet from him when the light finally turned. He started to cross the street and thought he heard the word "Jew-cap" followed by laughter. He wasn't sure if he was being paranoid or not, so he continued crossing, trying not to appear frightened. The kids were right behind him. He quickened his pace; they quickened theirs. Now, he was certain he wasn't paranoid.

"Hey Vinny," one of his pursuers said, addressing a tall, dark, good looking kid who seemed to be the leader, "the sissy is a yid."

They all laughed.

"What you gotta say, sissy? Maybe you gotta a bald spot youze covering or somethin'?" another added.

Paul ignored them. By the time he reached the curb he decided to make a dash for it, but as soon as he started to run, two of them grabbed him, and two others blocked his way.

Vinny, the leader, stood proudly, watching his henchmen at work. Paul tried to wrestle free, but couldn't. Vinny began to laugh again. He had a s.a.d.i.s.tic look; he was enjoying this. "Is it true, sissy, that your people killed Christ?" he asked, peering directly into Paul's eyes.

Paul didn't respond, and stopped struggling.

"Vinny asked you a question," one of the others said, "or are you deaf along with being dumb?"

"Why don't you do what you want and get it over with," Paul said.

"Okay guys, lets grant the Jew-boy his wish," Vinny said as he pointed toward the back of the shopping center. Paul was scared, but did a good job of hiding it. He would let them get their kicks, then it would be over.

"My G.o.d, what the h.e.l.l happened?" Evelyn exclaimed as Paul came through the door, his face bloodied and swollen. She was so beside herself at the sight, she forgot he'd gone AWOL.

Paul groaned, indicating that talking was painful, and went directly to the freezer for some ice. She noticed the yarmulke and had the answer to her question.

She followed him to the kitchen. "Let me help you," she said, taking the ice tray from his hands. She started preparing an ice pack.

She handed him the ice-pack, helped him sit, and asked, "Who did this?"

He shrugged, pretending he didn't know, then grunted again, reminding her that he couldn't speak. She left him sitting at the table, and went to the bathroom for some iodine and bandages.

"Did some kids do this because you were wearing the yarmulke?" she asked as she came back into the kitchen.

Paul winced at the sight of the iodine. He dreaded what was coming next, the real punishment. He looked at her and nodded, "Yes." Why not tell the truth, he figured, hoping she might appreciate the strength of his convictions. Maybe she'll respect me, he thought, though he knew she wouldn't.

"Well, I hope you learned a lesson. It is just plain stupid for you to wear that thing all over the place, especially in school and on the street." She reached over and began to clean his face with soap and warm water. Unlike her words, her touch was soft.

He flinched from the sting of the iodine, as he wondered why she hadn't yet mentioned his sneaking out of the house. Then, it occurred to him: she was probably leaving that for his father. I'm sure she is, he mused, wondering how he was going to deal with that.

Alfred entered the house and was removing his coat when the private phone in his study rang. He had a special line installed about three months earlier, after years of Evelyn's complaints about his tying up the house phone in the evenings. What she had wanted was for him to stop conducting business at home and spend more time with her. She should have known better.

Thinking it was an important call-what else could it be at this time-he hurried and grabbed the receiver by the third ring. The man on the other end identified himself.

"Yes, good evening Rabbi Weissman," Alfred said with exasperation, wondering about the rabbi's perfect timing, and also how the rabbi had gotten his private number.

"I hope I'm not disturbing you," the rabbi said.

"Well, I just got home and..."

"Then I'll only be a minute. You see, I've spoken vith Paul today and I understand there's been some problems in school, and some trouble vith kids in the neighborhood."

Alfred hated the way the rabbi replaced W's with V's, p.r.o.nouncing vith instead of with. Why can't he speak like an American, Alfred wondered. And why can't he stay out of my f.u.c.king life.

"I would say so," Alfred said. Evelyn had called him earlier to tell him about the shopping center incident.

"Vell, I'm calling to tell you that I have a solution to all this."

What the h.e.l.l is "vell," Alfred thought. Maybe I should ask him. Yea, that's a good idea. Hey, rabbi, what's "vell"? And he'll probably answer, "Vell, Mr. Sims, is a vord." Alfred said nothing.

"I've been thinking about how Paul maybe vould be better off in a yes.h.i.+va, yes?"

"In a what?"

"A yes.h.i.+va," the rabbi repeated, acting as if Alfred hadn't actually heard him.

"Look rabbi, with all due respect, my wife and I will handle this our way, and that doesn't include putting Paul in a yes.h.i.+va."

At this point Alfred's voice grew loud enough for Evelyn to hear from the den where she'd been watching TV. She got up and came into the study to listen to Alfred's end of the conversation.

"Please, Mr. Sims, before you make any judgments, it seems you should consider how committed Paul is to being a Torah Jew. You can ignore this if you vant, you can even try to change it, but in the end he vill still be what he vants to be. I suppose you could say that he's maybe like you in that respect?"

Alfred listened to the rabbi's point. He knew he had long ago lost control over his son, and also realized that Paul was now sixteen, not quite a "boy" anymore. But yes.h.i.+va? That was something else. How could he, Alfred Sims-nee Simenovitz-send his son to a yes.h.i.+va, after having spent most of his life shunning his ethnicity. It was too much to digest. What's next, he asked himself. Who knows, maybe the kid will want to become a rabbi?

"There is vone more thing I should tell you, Mr. Sims, though you probably already know."

Alfred waited.

"The boys in our yes.h.i.+va don't get drafted into the army. Ve claim they are all rabbinical students, and the government doesn't bother them."

Being a vet himself, Alfred was aware of 4-D deferments. He often thought about the Vietnam war, and what would happen if Paul were drafted. A kid who could barely make it in Hewlett Harbor wouldn't fare very well in Southeast Asia. The rabbi had struck a chord.

Evelyn noticed the defeat in Alfred's eyes, something she'd never seen before. She also knew what it meant. She and Alfred had been far from ideal parents, and now it was time to pay.

The rest of Alfred's conversation with the rabbi was short. Within himself, he couldn't deny that Paul's tenacity was indeed inherited. He recalled a Biblical pa.s.sage from his childhood, the one about the sins of the fathers being visited upon the sons, and realized that his own proclivities had come back to haunt him.

When he hung up, he was silent for a moment, then looked at Evelyn and said, "Well, I guess that's that." His tone wasn't flippant, just resigned.

She shared a final glance with him, and left the room.

Alone in his study, Alfred looked around, reflecting over what his life had become. He pictured his mother, how she would have been proud of Paul in a way she had never been of him. He also reminisced about his father, a simple man from the old country who, though forced to work on the Sabbath, never lit a cigarette from sundown Friday through Sat.u.r.day evening. Avrum Simenovitz, a devoted Jew, would have been appalled at the life his son had chosen, yet would have found great satisfaction in his grandson. Yes Mama, Alfred thought, now Papa is really turning over in his grave. Turning over and laughing.

A week later, Paul Sims was enrolled in the Yes.h.i.+va O'havei Torah on Eastern Parkway in Crown Heights, a high school yes.h.i.+va for boys under the auspices of the Lubavitcher Hasidim. That Sunday, his father accompanied him, and most of his worldly possessions, to the dormitory. As the car pulled up, Rabbi Weissman was waiting outside on the sidewalk, holding the black fedora which Paul had kept at his home. Alfred and Paul emerged from the car, shook hands with the rabbi, and the rabbi handed Paul the hat.

Alfred watched, wincing as his son put the fedora on, relieved that Evelyn had chosen not to accompany them. He looked at Paul, and realized for the first time that his son was truly a stranger. And deep in his heart, sadly enough, he understood that this was exactly what he had forced the boy to become.

CHAPTER 15.

"If I ran away, would you come with me?" Celeste asked.

"What are you talking about?" Joshua replied.

"One day I'm gonna go," she said. "I just wanna know if you're coming." Her eyes were pensive, her voice soft and serious. She looked past him, at the trees behind the park bench on which they sat.

"Where do you think you're going?"

"Don't know," she answered hesitantly, her eyes still looking elsewhere. "Don't matter."

"I thought things were okay now."

"What's okay?"

"You know, your father don't hit you and Jerome any more. And you and I are okay, too."

"Oh." Impa.s.sive.

"Oh what?"

"I guess you're right," she said without conviction.

He let it drop, but was still worried. He wanted to tell her he would go anywhere with her, only he couldn't. A year ago there wouldn't have been a question, he would have packed his bags on the spot. But now things were different. He'd been off the streets, getting straight A's in school, and his mother had been treating him like a man. Moreover, Loretta was growing tired and needed him around. He wanted to be with Celeste, but he had responsibilities. He hoped she would understand that he couldn't choose between her and his mother, and prayed he wouldn't have to.

The next day, Celeste didn't show up in school. Joshua wanted to ask Jerome if everything was okay, but they hadn't spoken since the stabbing incident. It would have been a poor ice breaker for him to remind Jerome of his continued involvement with Celeste.

Joshua couldn't figure Jerome out. He believed Jerome hated his father, and might one day even kill the man himself. In any event, Jerome had become quite the "holy roller." He attended church several times a week, and spent most afternoons and weekends at Roy Sharp's home, studying religion with Roy's father, the preacher. Joshua wondered if it helped.

After lunch, Joshua noticed that Jerome didn't return to cla.s.s, and wondered if Jerome had also been concerned about Celeste's absence. He rea.s.sured himself that she wouldn't have run away without him.

Or would she?

Just as the cla.s.s was about to begin, he got up and hurried home.

He tapped on her bedroom window, but she didn't appear. Harder, and still nothing. Something was wrong. He tried the back door to the building, but it was locked, so he decided to go around to the front.

He ran up the alley and down the block. As he approached the building, he saw a large crowd gathered out front. In the street sat two police cars and one unmarked car with a flas.h.i.+ng red light. On the sidewalk, he saw Mr. and Mrs. Williams and Jerome talking with two plain clothed policemen whom he recognized: good ol' Detectives McQuade and What's-His-Name.

He came a little closer, and was about to ask a bystander what was happening, but before he could, Mr. Williams spotted him, pointed angrily, and yelled. The next thing he knew, the police were running toward him.

Now, there were many things Joshua had learned on the streets, and paramount among them was that when the cops run, so do you. It didn't matter why, or what they suspected he may or may not have done; he could ponder all that later. For now, fleeing was the only option.

He ran up Rochester, onto Eastern Parkway, and by the time he pa.s.sed Dubrows Cafeteria, it seemed the police had stopped giving chase. He slowed down, caught his breath, and started walking. He a.s.sumed Celeste had probably run away, and that the police were betting he had something to do with it. Now that he had run, they would be certain.

He had to find her. He wandered the neighborhood, searching alleys all afternoon, and once it was dark, he ventured back out to the street. He figured the night would camouflage him, for these days there were lots of "brothers" roaming around the neighborhood, and to the cops they all looked alike.

It was past midnight. He'd been searching for almost twelve hours, was tired, hungry, and worried about his mother. Celeste had either disappeared or had already returned; in either case, he was convinced he was wasting his time. He decided to go home and face the music.

As he sauntered down Rochester, he noticed some hookers across the street, outside the park. He knew there was prost.i.tution in the neighborhood, but had never been out late enough to actually see it. He stopped, stood still, and watched for a while as several cars cruised by.

Suddenly, he was grabbed from behind and lost his balance. Someone was pulling him backwards into an alley. He couldn't tell who it was, and tried to resist. His sneakers sc.r.a.ped the concrete as he struggled to free himself, but his a.s.sailant was too strong.

Once in the alley, he was thrown to the ground, and noticed a third person watching. He got up slowly, looked at his foes, and swallowed hard. Faces from the past.

Big Bob wore a cool expression. "Well, well, look what we got here," he said.

Bones grinned, but said nothing.

Joshua was also silent.

"Long time no see, Peanut, my man," Big Bob continued. He smiled widely, revealing a large mouth of browned teeth and gold caps.

Joshua nodded. It was a good time to be agreeable.

"You got nothing to say for yourself?" Big Bob asked.

Joshua looked at them; he had to figure a way out. "You know, the police are looking for me all over. So is my Mama and her friends. They're probably not far."

"Poss-ib-ly," Big Bob responded, "but seems they ain't found you yet, don't it?"

"But they will, probably soon."

"I suppose we should be scared," Big Bob said as he and Bones chuckled.

Joshua realized he was stuck there. His fear was showing.

"I heard about you and that girlfriend of yours," Big Bob said. "Seems you bought yourself some trouble."

"You know about that?"

"I know everything, don't you realize that by now? Ain't nothing happens on these streets I don't know."

Joshua didn't respond.

"Another thing I know is what that young girl's daddy been doing to her, and I don't mean those little beatings."

"Huh?"

"I'm saying her daddy been doing her." He and Bones chuckled again.

"Bulls.h.i.+t!" Joshua barked.

"Now, you ain't that stupid, are you?" Big Bob asked, looking directly into his eyes. Bones was still laughing.

"You were always a liar!" Joshua said, shedding his fear. He didn't care what they did to him at this point.

"Suit yourself," Big Bob said.