Joshua: A Brooklyn Tale Part 15

She reached out, touched his face, and moved closer to hold him.

"Look, Peanuts," she said, "you know where I am, and you can come visit anytime. That's better than it used to be."

"You think so? Listen, Big Bob's never going to let me get near you again. He's gonna watch you like a hawk. And you're not staying in this nice place forever, trust me on that."

She didn't respond; she wasn't listening. He knew he had lost her.

He looked in her eyes. "Wherever you are, if you need me, you call. Even if Mama answers, you just tell her where you're at, and I'll get to you."

She began crying again. "But you can come see me anytime you want," she said, as she fell into his arms. They stood there, holding one another for what seemed an eternity. Only, it wasn't.

He came out of the building, and began his trek back to Crown Heights. Daylight was dwindling, he had to move quickly. He raced against the sun, which was slowly descending somewhere beyond the tenements. Not much of a sunset, but the best these streets had to offer.

His thoughts were muddled, and his spirit was defeated. He had lost the money and Celeste, and had made a mess of everything. He tried contemplating his next move, but was too demoralized to consider the future. Yet, despite this, he knew there would be a next move. Somehow. Sometime.

BOOK II.

CHAPTER 20.

The first time Joshua saw Rachel Weissman, he was sweeping the stairwell of the synagogue. It was his third day on the job, a few minutes past seven in the evening. Quitting time was seven; he was running late.

He was between the first and second floors, and she was ascending the stairs. He moved aside to let her pa.s.s. Their eyes met for a split second. She smiled politely and said h.e.l.lo.

He watched her continue up the stairs. Something about her; no, everything about her struck him. She exited the stairwell, the door closing loudly behind her. He ran up, taking three steps at a time, eased the door open, and stuck his head out to see where she was going. She stopped outside one of the cla.s.srooms in which a group of men gathered every evening to study. She leaned against the wall and waited.

She didn't notice him watching. He came out of the stairwell and started sweeping the hallway. He had already swept it ten minutes earlier; what the h.e.l.l.

She looked at him and smiled once again. The cordial, obligatory sort of smile that one usually offers a stranger. He tried to smile back, but his face froze. He guessed her to be around his own age, and figured she was probably waiting for one of the men in the cla.s.s.

In the three days working in the synagogue, he had encountered some rather strange things. The first was the notion of grown men still attending school. They were all at least in their thirties, and every night they came to study for hours and to listen to an older rabbi give a lecture. Outside the cla.s.sroom, Joshua was able to hear what went on, though he didn't understand a word of it. The men spoke mostly Hebrew, or Yiddish, with a little English here and there. And they spoke loudly, as if they were always yelling at each other, flailing their arms all over.

He'd asked Calvin about it, but Calvin had told him to mind his own business. Calvin was his boss, the custodian, and seemed an okay sort. But Joshua could tell that Calvin was ticked off about having him around. From the moment Rabbi Weissman had introduced them, Calvin seemed less than welcoming.

Joshua understood that Calvin had been working in the synagogue for over five years, was older, and had a family to support. He figured that Calvin had probably been doing a fine job, didn't need any help, and felt a little threatened about having an a.s.sistant. Joshua knew he would have felt the same way if the roles had been reversed.

He tried to explain to Calvin that Rabbi Weissman was doing someone a favor. He even told Calvin about his parole and all. It helped some, but not entirely.

Calvin reminded him of his mother, a hard working, serious sort. She would also have told him to mind his own business about the goings on in the synagogue. They both would probably be clobbering him right now if they knew what he was up to.

Calvin was big, muscular, well defined, and looked as if he spent a lot of time lifting weights. He had a crew cut, and a bushy mustache, both of which were starting to show some gray. And he was always sweating.

Joshua had told his mother about Calvin after his first day. He had pointed out that she would probably think Calvin was good looking, despite the fact that he was married. She'd told him to shut his mouth and mind his own business.

So here he was, sweeping a clean floor, watching this girl, when suddenly the cla.s.sroom door opened and the men came out. Rabbi Weissman, who was among them, greeted the girl with a warm embrace and a tender kiss on her forehead. They shared smiles and a few words, and then started towards the stairwell, holding hands. As they walked past Joshua, the rabbi stopped to ask him how things were going.

"Good," he answered, trying to hide his anxiety. "Calvin's been showing me the ropes."

"Oh, by the vay, this is my daughter, Ruchel," the rabbi said, p.r.o.nouncing her name in Hebrew.

Rachel, realizing Joshua's unfamiliarity with Hebrew names, politely interjected, "Rachel."

The sound of her voice was pleasing. Joshua managed a stiff smile, and said, "Hi."

She smiled back, this time with a bit more warmth. One could fall deeply into her emerald eyes, with no hope of returning to his former life.

"Vell," the rabbi said, "I'm glad everything is vorking out. Have a good evening and regards to your mother."

As they walked away, Joshua watched her from behind. He wondered if she knew he was watching, and figured that she probably didn't even care enough to think about it.

It wasn't just her beauty that struck him; there was something more, though he couldn't quite put his finger on it. Perhaps it was the ease with which she held herself, or the tenderness of her smile. Whatever, he had found it quite affecting.

And she didn't do anything to encourage this; on the contrary, he was certain she had no interest in him whatsoever. But that didn't matter, nor did the fact that she was the daughter of a Hasidic rabbi and he was a black kid working as a janitor. Nothing mattered, not even his sordid past. All he could think of was that he wanted to know more about her.

He promised himself he'd work late every evening.

CHAPTER 21.

The first few days in the emergency room were exciting, though there wasn't much for Rachel to do. Doctor Schiffman had explained that they didn't usually have volunteers in the ER, for most of the work that was done there had to be performed by doctors and nurses. "Unlike the regular floors, patients are here only temporarily, so there's really no time to get to know them," she said as she scrambled from one treatment room to another with Rachel by her side. "That's what volunteers usually do: talk to patients, bring them books and stuff. But here there's no time for that. We'll just have to make up a job for you as we go."

Rachel followed the doctor around, taking in every word and gesture. At the start, she had trouble just keeping up with Schiffman's pace, but after a couple of days, she was well in stride.

"So what do we have here?" Schiffman asked as she opened the curtain to one of the small cubicles. Inside, a young Hasidic boy, not more than five, was crying in pain, sweating profusely, his mother standing next to him. Schiffman picked up the chart, turned to the boy and his mother, and said, "I'm Doctor Schiffman." She walked over to the boy, placed her hand gently on his forehead, and said, "Don't worry, everything is going to be okay."

Rachel saw the boy's mother eye Schiffman in much the same way her mother had when Rachel had broken her ankle. She recognized the woman from the community, but didn't know her name. It was another of the many faces she usually pa.s.sed in the synagogue or walking the avenue. The woman seemed too preoccupied to recognize Rachel.

"He was feverish last night," the mother answered, reluctantly. "We called the doctor, Doctor Bronstein, and he said to give him aspirin. It helped a little, but this morning he woke up screaming in pain and the fever was worse."

The mother's mention of Doctor Bronstein prompted Schiffman to smile at Rachel, recalling the almost identical situation that had occurred when they had first met. Rachel returned the smile, realizing that this probably happened to Schiffman fairly often.

"Yes, the nurse who just took his temperature recorded it as 104.3. That's pretty high," Schiffman stated. "Did you call Doctor Bronstein this morning?"

"Yes, and he said to bring Shloimie here right away. He said he would meet us here," the mother added, impatiently looking at her wrist.w.a.tch.

"That was good advice to bring him here. I'm sure Doctor Bronstein will join us shortly. Tell me, where is the pain?"

"I think it's his stomach, that's what he says."

It was difficult to hold a conversation with a screaming child and a skeptical mother, but Schiffman managed. Rachel observed how the doctor took control, and imagined herself in Schiffman's place. She liked the feeling that it gave her.

Schiffman turned to the boy. "Shloimie, could you point to exactly where the pain is?"

The boy complied.

"Rachel," she said, her eyes still on the boy, "where is he pointing?"

"His stomach." Rachel wasn't certain of her answer, and figured that if Schiffman was asking, it was probably a trick question. She was becoming acquainted with the doctor's style.

"Close, but not quite," Schiffman said.

The boy's mother was growing more anxious. She kept looking at her watch. Again, she asked, "Where could Doctor Bronstein be?"

Rachel wondered if Schiffman was ignoring the boy's mother, or if she was so engrossed in what she was doing, she just didn't hear what was said. Schiffman moved closer to the boy. "Shloimie, I'm going to have to remove your pants to examine you. Rachel, please help me."

The mother appeared stunned. She looked at Rachel, about to a.s.sist the doctor, and suddenly recognized her. "Aren't you Rabbi Weissman's daughter?" the woman asked.

"Yes, I'm working here for the summer, helping Doctor Schiffman. She's a friend of my father's." It was a small lie, but Rachel thought it might help set the woman at ease. If the doctor was a "friend" of Rabbi Weissman's, she must be "okay."

"Rachel," Schiffman said, ignoring the interchange between Rachel and the boy's mother. "I need you to help hold Shloimie still while I remove his pants. This is going to hurt a little," she said to the boy.

The boy started jumping around and Rachel tried to hold him down. As his pants came down, the boy shouted, "No! No! No!" He was embarra.s.sed about his genitalia being displayed in front of women. His mother looked embarra.s.sed as well. So did Rachel.

Schiffman kept her mind on business, palpating around the boy's abdomen. Cries of pain resounded. Then, she stepped away and recorded something in the chart. "Rachel, please help Shloimie get his pants back on." Despite his agony, the boy angrily pushed Rachel aside and did the pants himself. She turned away, allowing him his dignity.

At that moment, Doctor Bronstein entered. Schiffman turned to him and the boy's mother, and said, "Acute appendicitis."

Bronstein nodded as if that was what he'd suspected when he'd first heard from the mother earlier in the day.

"Oh my G.o.d," the mother exclaimed, "does that mean he needs an operation?" She looked at Bronstein for an answer. He turned to Schiffman.

"I would say so," Schiffman said.

Again, the mother looked to Bronstein, who gave his nod of approval.

At that moment, seeing the respect Doctor Bronstein had for Doctor Schiffman solidified Rachel's dream of becoming a physician. True, she already had what most Hasidic girls would pray for. Being the daughter of Rabbi Isaac Weissman had afforded her much homage in her community, and heaven knew the hordes of matchmakers lining up for her because of her father's prominence, offering the most pious of scholars from the wealthiest families for her to choose from. And her physical beauty-something of which she was becoming more aware-didn't hurt either. But, it all just wasn't enough. She wanted to be regarded for her intellect, not for lineage, appearance, or ability to be a wife and mother. She wanted to know that she, too, could use her mind to study and achieve all her G.o.d-given potential. Of course she wanted to marry a scholar and bring up her children as she'd been raised, but she also wanted more, and now she knew that with greater certainty than ever before.

The doctors conferred for a few minutes, then Doctor Schiffman requested an orderly to move the boy to pre-op. "We should operate as soon as possible," Doctor Bronstein said to the mother, who appeared unnerved, but nodded.

Rachel approached Bronstein and the mother. "Ah, Rachel," Doctor Bronstein acknowledged, "it seems you're doing well here with Doctor Schiffman." He wasn't surprised to see Rachel, for Rabbi Weissman had consulted with him about her working in the hospital.

"Yes, I'm learning many things," Rachel answered.

"Mrs. Gl.u.s.toff," the doctor said, addressing the mother, "this is Rachel Weissman..."

"Yes, I know who she is," the mother reacted with a disapproving tone. Doctor Bronstein looked at Rachel, as if to say, forget it.

"Well, anyway," Bronstein continued, "I think you should go and call your husband. He should be here with you."

"Yes, I should," the woman repeated. She appeared stupefied, unable to accept any of this-her son with appendicitis, a female doctor, the rabbi's daughter-it was all too much to handle.

Bronstein showed the mother to a phone, and left Rachel standing alone. Rachel looked around, a statue amid the commotion. She liked the ER, and felt she could learn more here than she could ever learn in the women's seminary. And she would. She would go to college and medical school, no matter what it took. As for the condemnation from others, she would deal with that, for she knew there would be more of it to come.

Later that afternoon, Rachel met Esther at the hospital entrance, wearing her excitement.

"What's up, darling?" asked Esther.

Rachel proceeded to relate the day's events, but she could see that Esther's mind was on other things.

"So what's new at camp?" Rachel asked after finishing her spiel. Esther was spending the summer as a drama counselor in the Lubavitch day camp in which Rachel had spent previous summers.

"Oh, not much, really. The kids are putting on a play about Joseph, the coat, the brothers, and all that. I really wanted to do something with David and Bathsheba, but you know how it is." She held her hands up, gesturing quotation marks, "It's not for the children!"

Rachel worried about Esther's derisiveness. It seemed her friend was becoming more scornful of Hasidic life with each pa.s.sing day.

"Don't be so harsh. Maybe it isn't a good idea for children to learn about David and Bathsheba, at least until they're old enough to understand the story."

"And you understand the story?"

Perhaps not, thought Rachel. "You know what I mean," she said.

"Yes, I suppose I do. But it just bothers me, all these rules and restrictions. And it bothers you too, Miss-lady-doctor!"

Esther had a point. Rachel kept quiet, not knowing what to say.

The girls continued on their way to the park. It was another dog day, perfect for their purposes. None of the boys would be wearing shirts.

They stayed in the park for a while, watching the boys, laughing, chatting, and eventually went home. On the way they pa.s.sed four Irish boys, hanging out in the street. Unseemly types, obvious trouble makers. The boys noticed them, whistled, and offered a few lewd comments. Rachel became frightened, but Esther lifted her skirt, just a drop, to tease them.

Rachel hit Esther on the hand to knock down the skirt. "What are you doing? Are you crazy?"

"Just having some fun, darling. No harm done."

Rachel grabbed Esther's arm and dragged her along more quickly. At that, one of the boys ran up behind them and said, "Looking good today! Hey babe, maybe you wanna pick that up a little more, or maybe ya want me t' do it for ya?"

Esther turned around and blurted out, "Sorry honey, you're not man enough."

Rachel was shocked. She held Esther tighter and started running. The boy didn't bother after them, but yelled out, "You come back 'round here, and I'll show you how much man I am!"

Rachel promised herself that this was the last of their jaunts to that part of the neighborhood. From now on, she was going to have Doctor Schiffman drive her home from the hospital.

But Esther had other ideas, for she had actually enjoyed the confrontation. And while she knew what Rachel was thinking, she was confident she could convince her friend to reconsider. In any event, she was certainly going to try.

CHAPTER 22.