Joshua: A Brooklyn Tale Part 25

"You'd rather not." Thompson looked around the silent room. "Is that because you really don't know what you're talking about, or because you don't want us to know how much you do know?" The crowd chuckled.

Joshua kept silent.

"Well?"

Still silent, Joshua was aware he was letting Thompson intimidate him. He was angry with himself for getting into this position.

"It seems you don't know anything." More laughter. "Well, Mr. Eubanks, in this cla.s.s we have a rule. It's simple. If you don't know, don't say." He looked out at the audience, as if this were a warning to them as well. Then, he turned back to Joshua. "Okay?"

"Yes."

"Good."

Thompson continued on, his followers spellbound, until he'd gone about twenty minutes overtime. Joshua had heard that this was typical, and surmised it was also intentional-the professor must have enjoyed having his students arrive late for their other cla.s.ses, for it made him feel more important.

As the cla.s.sroom emptied, Joshua heard his name called. He turned, and saw Thompson looking directly at him, beckoning "come hither" with his forefinger. Joshua swallowed hard, and hobbled over.

As soon as Thompson and Joshua were the only ones remaining in the room, Thompson looked at the cane in Joshua's hand, then into his eyes, and said, "Tell me, Mr. Eubanks, why did you give up so easily?"

"I realized I had made a mistake."

"A mistake? And what might that mistake be?"

"I shouldn't have contradicted you."

"Why not?"

"Because it wasn't my place."

"That's good, Mr. Eubanks. Every Negro should know his place, right?"

"Excuse me?"

"You heard me, Mr. Eubanks. Every Negro should know his place, shouldn't he?"

"I'm sorry, sir, I don't understand..."

"Of course you don't, Mr. Eubanks, but I bet you're good and angry right about now, huh?"

"Yes sir," Joshua answered, knowing he wasn't sounding nearly as peeved as he felt.

"Then good. You should be angry, because you behaved like a scared little Negro, or would you prefer boy."

Joshua was dumb-struck.

"Well, let me tell you something, Mr. Eubanks. Next time, if you want to be a scared little Negro, then keep your mouth shut from the start. That's the way it's done. But, if by any chance, you desire to grow up and become a man, then never let anybody intimidate you. And that includes me!" He stood in Joshua's face. "Next time you have something to say in my cla.s.s, you say it! Otherwise, I'll be sure to fail you."

"Yes sir."

Thompson turned away, waving Joshua out of his presence.

Joshua obeyed, left the room, and walked down the hallway perplexed. He loathed Thompson, no doubt, but also realized that the professor did indeed have a thing or two to teach him.

Joshua stood on the Brighton Beach boardwalk, leaning over the railing, looking at the ocean, wondering why Rachel had sounded so desperate on the phone, and why she had insisted on meeting him here. She was late, giving him time to ponder the waves breaking on the sand.

It was an early autumn day, a mite too chilly for the beach. Two teenaged lovers strolled along the edge of the water, and a sanitation worker was combing the area for debris; otherwise, the place was empty. The sky was clear, and the view extended to the horizon.

Joshua had a vague recollection of his mother taking him to the beach as a child, but wasn't sure if it had been Coney Island or Manhattan Beach. He was certain it hadn't been here. This wasn't a place black people frequented.

The boardwalk was quiet. A few pedestrians meandered back and forth. There was a row of food concessions, most of which were closed. He had walked there from the train, and had pa.s.sed through streets with large apartment buildings, and an impressive commercial district beneath the El. He had seen only white faces, mostly elderly, and-he a.s.sumed-Jewish. He remembered that the Eisenmans, the couple that had lived next door to him, had recently moved to this area. Mrs. Eisenman had told him that they wanted to be with people their own age, but he had known the real reason. White people, except for the Lubavitchers, were disappearing from his neighborhood rather quickly these days.

The Eisenmans had even given him and his mother their new address, and had encouraged them to visit. He had always liked the Eisenmans, and had been thinking of perhaps dropping in on them. He reached into his pocket and removed the crumpled paper on which he had written their address earlier that morning, and stared at it. He didn't know why, but he eventually released his grasp and let it fly away.

It was then that she tapped him on the shoulder. He turned around, and his heart fell. Fifteen months, and she hadn't changed a bit.

"Hi," she said. "Sorry I'm late, the train was slow."

"It happens."

"How are you?"

Joshua knew that this was one of those rare times in his life when that question was genuine. "Pretty good, and you?"

She shrugged.

"Come," he said, putting his arm around her shoulder, "let's walk."

She walked beside him, allowing him to hold her. This far from Crown Heights, she seemed comfortable no one would recognize her. Joshua realized that was why she had chosen this place.

They sauntered along the boardwalk in silence for a few minutes, then she stopped, turned to him, and began to cry. "Oh Joshua, I don't know what to do."

"About what?"

"About Binny. And me." Hesitant.

"What about Binny and you?"

"We're having a problem, a big problem."

"What kind of problem?"

"Look at me." She stepped back and postured herself.

"Yes?" G.o.d, she's gorgeous.

"Don't you see?"

"See what?"

"Joshua, look at me!" She put both her hands on her stomach.

"You're pregnant?"

She laughed, almost choking on her tears.

"What?"

"I'm not pregnant!"

"Oh." He felt stupid, realizing he should have known that a Hasidic woman ought to be pregnant after over a year of marriage.

There was a long silence.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't be bothering you with this," she said.

"No, it's okay."

"I guess I just needed someone to talk to, someone with a man's perspective. I talked to Esther, and she suggested seeing a doctor."

"Good idea."

"I did. I called Doctor Schiffman, and she gave me the name of a gynecologist at the hospital, a Doctor Silver. I went and he examined me."

"And?"

"And, I'm okay, as far as he can tell."

"Has Binny seen a doctor?"

"That's what Doctor Silver asked."

"And?"

"And, Binny would never see a doctor. He believes it's all in G.o.d's hands. So does my father, I imagine. That's why you're the only one I could turn to."

Oh, Joshua said to himself.

"What do you think I should do?" she asked.

"I think you need to convince Binny to see a doctor."

"But how?"

None of this was easy for Joshua, for he really wanted to say, run away with me! He would gladly have given her plenty of children. "Rachel, I don't think I'm the right person to be talking to about this..."

"You're right, Joshua, I shouldn't have..."

"It's okay."

"Come, let's walk," she said, and this time she held his arm.

They strolled a bit farther. A smile came to her face. "I miss you," she said.

"I miss you too."

"I guess I just wanted to see you. I suppose it was selfish of me, but I needed to know that you still care."

He stopped, turned to her, put his hand on her cheek, and said, "I do. I always will."

"I needed to know."

"Don't ever doubt it."

They walked on, his arm around her shoulder, in silence, feeling safe in this place, so far from the world that divided them. They felt good being together, even for a short while, untouched by complication and intrusion. But, in truth, they weren't safe at all. For somewhere, in the shadow of a nearby shop, Paul Sims stood, observing their every move.

CHAPTER 33.

Doctor Marcia Schiffman phoned Rachel to find out how the visit with Doctor Silver went. Upon hearing what the gynecologist had said, Schiffman responded, "Well, there's one other possibility as well."

"What's that?" Rachel asked, hoping it might mean Binny wouldn't have to see a doctor.

"I don't know how to say this, Rachel, but it could be that the problem you and Binny are having isn't medical."

"What do you mean?"

"What I mean is-and I don't understand it completely-but sometimes couples have difficulty getting pregnant because of psychological reasons."

"You mean because they don't really want to?"

"No, just the opposite. I mean because they want it too much. It creates a lot of tension and anxiety, which somehow affects the reproductive process."

Rachel took a moment to consider the point. "What do you suggest?" she asked.

"To put it simply, Rachel, and at the risk of sounding cra.s.s, you need to stop thinking about getting pregnant, and start thinking about having s.e.x for fun!"

"But I used to enjoy being with Binny. I didn't always do it just for children." Defensive.

"Yes, but somewhere along the line that stopped, didn't it?"

"I suppose so."

"Well, that's what you should work on, if you want my advice. Try it this way for a few more months and let's see what happens. There's always time for Binny to see a doctor, but if you do this, it may not be necessary."