Joshua: A Brooklyn Tale Part 29

Again, chanting: "We want Mos.h.i.+ach now! We want Mos.h.i.+ach now!"

"Many of you have waited patiently for me to consider our problems."

Silence.

"And now, it is time for me to speak out."

"Bring Mos.h.i.+ach now! Bring Mos.h.i.+ach now!"

"My friends, it has always been our faith that the Messiah will be arriving any day to deliver us from exile, return us to our holy land, and rebuild the temple in Jerusalem..."

"Mos.h.i.+ach is here! Mos.h.i.+ach is here!"

At this point, just about everyone in the hall was perspiring from the frenzy. The heat was unbearable. Hannah turned to Rachel, seeing that her face was peaked, and asked, "Do you want to go home?"

"No, not yet."

The Rebbe continued: "I believe that the day is near. I believe that the day is tomorrow!"

More chanting.

"And that is why I say that we must remain here in our home, that we must not leave like the others. For this is the place where G.o.d has delivered us from the hands of the n.a.z.is. This is the place where G.o.d wants us to wait for His final redemption: the coming of the King Messiah, to gather us, and bring us back to Jerusalem."

A song erupted: L'shana haba'a b'Yerushalayim, next year in Jerusalem. The Rebbe looked out at his followers, and began to clap along as they sang the words of hope. Within seconds, there was dancing throughout the hall. A joyous occasion. The Rebbe has spoken. We will stay in Crown Heights until the Messiah arrives. We will not run!

Even the many who had hoped to be leaving Crown Heights danced. For it was the Rebbe's desire that they wait for the Messiah, and the Rebbe had said that the Messiah was at hand. Soon, they would leave.

Rachel and Hannah made their way through the crowd and down the stairs. As they came out of the synagogue, some men were standing around and talking. Rachel could have sworn she heard one of them say, "The Rebbe is the Messiah."

"Of course, there is no question," another added.

She turned to her mother. "Did you hear... ?"

"Yes. There's been a lot of talk like that lately. Your father doesn't like it; he thinks it's blasphemous. The first time he heard it, he almost had another heart attack."

Rachel suddenly felt awful. She'd been so wrapped up in her own suffering, she had forgotten about her father's condition. "How is he doing?" she asked, embarra.s.sed.

"He's okay. This thing with you has upset him, but he's handling it."

"I'm going to bring him joy," Rachel said tearfully. "I'm going to give him grandchildren."

"I know you will," her mother answered. "He loves you more than anyone in the world."

Rachel read the jealousy in her mother's comment, feeling ashamed that she had never completely appreciated Hannah's predicament. True, she'd had her own albatross, measuring up to a dead half-brother, always fearful of disappointing her saintly father. But Hannah was doubly cursed, having to compete with Isaac's lost wife, and his obsession for his daughter. That was more than anyone should have to bear.

Rachel looked at her mother. The once stalwart enchantress was growing delicate and weary. Years of unspoken aching had taken their toll. "I'm going to bring you joy, too, Mama," she said, putting an arm around her.

"You already do."

CHAPTER 36.

Joshua wasn't surprised at not having heard from Rachel for the past six months. Their last rendezvous had left him doubtful about their future. He knew that staying away from him was a difficult choice for her, but it was one he would honor.

He escaped in his studies and, after his first year, it paid off with an A average and a place on the dean's list. He had also decided to take Professor Thompson's advice to pursue law as a career, not out of fidelity to the black plight in America, but because he started believing he could actually become one of those criminal lawyers he used to watch on TV. Perry Mason Eubanks.

He tried getting past his feelings for Rachel, and was frequenting social functions on campus. Lectures, dances, holiday parties; he forced himself to attend all of them. Loretta had also given him a push: "You can't sit around all the time waiting on something that just isn't going to be!"

It was hard for him to meet new people. He was fearful of rejection because of his cane, always came late, stood alone, and left early. Until a few weeks earlier, one Sat.u.r.day night, when everything changed.

Her name was Constance Henderson, or Connie as she called herself. She wasn't the greatest looker: a bit chunky, bespectacled, frizzy hair. But that didn't seem to bother him. He thought she was nice, real nice, and sharp too. An adept conversationalist, quick sense of humor, and bra.s.sy-considering the way she had approached him.

She had recognized him from Thompson's cla.s.s. He hadn't recalled seeing her, but politely pretended he had. He wasn't proud of being remembered from that cla.s.s; his notoriety there had been far from his finest moment. But at least something good had come from it. Another one of those silver linings.

He liked that she laughed a lot, and that she wasn't one of Thompson's blind devotees. Their mutual interest in studying law was the proverbial icing on the cake. They had much in common and, while he enjoyed her immensely, he knew in his heart that they weren't destined for a flaming romance.

Since the night they'd met, they had eaten lunch together daily, seen two movies, and she'd been to his house to meet his mother. They'd started holding hands now and then, and had even shared a few tender kisses. Neither of them seemed particularly ecstatic, but it was okay. They liked one another, and that seemed to be enough.

So here he was, Sat.u.r.day evening, getting dressed for another date with Connie. He glanced in the mirror, then went into the living room to say good-night to his mother. She kissed him, and said, "Good luck, now. You act polite and gentleman-like, and things will be just fine."

She was referring to the fact that he was meeting Connie's parents. He dreaded the occasion, for Connie's family was from Trinidad, and Caribbean blacks usually preferred their children socializing amongst their own. Joshua loathed the ever growing divisiveness in his own community, the deep prejudices regarding shade of color, purity of heritage, place of birth, and rearing. He couldn't understand any of it, as if there weren't enough problems from the whites.

Connie lived in East New York, a predominantly black neighborhood ab.u.t.ting Crown Heights. It was a clear, warm summer night. He walked two blocks to East New York Avenue, and noticed the hookers gathering around the park. A lump formed in his throat as an image of Celeste came to mind. A day seldom pa.s.sed without the thought of her, wondering where she was and if she was all right. He continued on his way.

He took the East New York Avenue bus, got off at the corner of Snediker Avenue, and walked the rest of the way. She lived on a block of red-brick, two-family row houses. He looked for her address, and arrived at her doorstep ten minutes early for a Seven-thirty date. He climbed the cement stairs to the front door, and pressed the buzzer.

Her father answered the door. A large man, rotund, dark brown complexion, sharp mahogany eyes, coal black hair, gray at the temples, and a well trimmed goatee also with a touch of gray. His most notable feature at the moment, however, was an angry expression.

"Hi. I'm Joshua Eubanks." Joshua offered his hand.

"Mat Henderson." Frigid. No eye contact. Obligatory shake.

Mr. Henderson showed Joshua in. The living room was nicely decorated.

Wall-to-wall, gra.s.s-green carpet, gold and mint patterned wall paper, landscape paintings, an impressive burgundy couch with two matching sitting chairs, mahogany coffee table, and a brown leather recliner. Joshua knew that Connie's father was an auto mechanic; now he knew that auto mechanics didn't do too badly. Mr. Henderson offered Joshua a chair, and took the recliner for himself.

Connie's mother emerged from the kitchen. A short but pleasant looking woman: shapely, cafe au lait complexion, stylish hairdo, and a nicely contoured face. Connie looked more like her father.

Mrs. Henderson, who didn't bother to offer a first name, also appeared somewhat inimical. She attempted a smile, obviously transparent. "Can I offer you something to drink?" she asked.

"Sure." Nervous.

"Pepsi?"

"That would be great."

She left the men alone for what seemed to Joshua the longest minute of his life. He was tongue-tied, and Mr. Henderson had nothing to say either. They sat in silence.

Mrs. Henderson returned, handed Joshua his Pepsi, and took a seat on the couch. Nothing for her husband, and nothing for herself. Joshua, wondering what indignity they might have suffered to drink with him, held his poise.

"So, Joshua," Mrs. Henderson opened, "Constance tells us she knows you from college?"

"Yes, we met at a dance." Where the h.e.l.l is she, anyway?

"Are you studying anything particular?" she asked.

"I'm interested in law."

"Oh." A skeptical grimace. "Constance wants to be a lawyer, too."

Just at that moment, Joshua heard someone coming down the stairs. Connie. Thank G.o.d. He never thought he'd be so happy to see her. They all turned toward her as she entered the room. "h.e.l.lo everybody," she said cheerfully, as if purposely intending to break the tension. To Joshua: "Sorry I took so long."

"It's okay. No problem," he responded. She could tell he was lying.

Her parents also seemed relieved by her appearance. "Well dear," her mother said, "where are you off to?"

"The movies, I suppose." She looked to Joshua for confirmation.

"Yes, the movies," Joshua said.

"How nice." Patronizing.

They all got up and walked to the front door. Connie kissed her parents good-night, and her father finally spoke. "Be sure to get home early, before twelve," he enjoined, looking at Connie, though Joshua knew it was for him that the comment was intended.

"Daddy!" Connie said cutely, as if they'd been through this before.

"Twelve," he repeated unflinchingly.

"Twelve it is," Joshua interjected.

They took the bus to the Kingsway on Kings Highway, at Coney Island Avenue. They were quiet, neither knowing quite what to say after that meeting with her parents. Finally, she turned to him and apologized again for having kept him waiting.

"It really wasn't that bad," he said.

"I'm sure it seemed like it was," she replied.

He chuckled.

"There's a lot they don't understand," she said.

"I'll bet there is."

"Okay, so they're prejudiced; show me someone who isn't."

He thought about it. No answer.

"They're just old fas.h.i.+oned," she said. "And scared."

"Does that bother you?" he asked.

"Of course it does. It's just that I'm used to it."

"What if they told you not to see me again?"

"They wouldn't. They know I wouldn't listen." She took his hand and smiled. "Looks like this is our stop," she added, pointing at the theatre.

The movie was The Great White Hope, a film about the persecution and humiliation of a black boxing champion, played by James Earl Jones, and his relations.h.i.+p with his white mistress, played by Jane Alexander. The story took place in the early 1900's, and was supposedly based on the real-life story of Jack Johnson, the world's first black heavyweight champion. It had been receiving a lot of media hype, and was certainly a topic of interest to both of them. Despite all that, they sat in the back row and made out through most of it.

She was home by twelve, but it didn't get Joshua any points. Her parents were awake, and greeted her at the front door, precluding any long good-nights. They didn't invite him in, didn't inquire about how he was getting home, didn't say anything to him, in fact. For some reason, their displeasure had augmented over the past few hours, and Joshua had some suspicion as to why.

He sat on the bus, glanced at his leg and cane, and became rife with anger. It was easy for him to despise his life, and at moments like this, that's exactly what he felt.

Joshua continued seeing Connie, but their relations.h.i.+p never took off. He hadn't really been smitten to begin with, and the other complications didn't help. He was thinking he should give the "woman thing" a rest for a while.

The summer flew by. He had a work-study position shelving books in the college library. He spent his days working, thinking about Rachel and Celeste, and lunched with Connie every now and then. Evenings were for TV and books he borrowed from the library-not much of a life, but at least he was staying out of trouble.

CHAPTER 37.

Esther Mandlebaum gazed into Stephen Butler's eyes. She couldn't help herself. They'd been dating for over a year, and still, each time she saw him was as if it were the first.

Tonight, Stephen cooked dinner at his place. In addition to his acting talents, he fancied himself a gourmet. Veal piccata, asparagus with hollandaise sauce, roasted garlic potatoes, and a slightly chilled Chardonnay to wash it down. Dessert: a homemade tiramisu.

Esther had forsaken the laws of Kashruth almost as quickly as the prohibition of premarital s.e.x. She had found a new existence, and was determined to enjoy it to the fullest.

Stephen watched how heartily she ate. Since they'd started dating, he'd been amazed by how much she could consume, while actually appearing to lose weight. He had even once mentioned it to her, to which she had responded by a.s.suring him that, aside from their meals together, she was a stern dieter. "I only indulge when I'm with you," had been her exact words.

After dessert, she excused herself to the bathroom while he cleared the table. Several minutes pa.s.sed, and he was almost done with the dishes when he became concerned. "Esther," he called out, "is everything okay?"

No answer.

"Esther." This time louder.

Still no answer.

He walked to the bathroom door. "Esther, are you all right?"

He heard her moving around in the bathroom. He knocked on the door. "Esther, please, open the door."