Joshua: A Brooklyn Tale Part 52

It had been a gruesome week, but now she was home. For Good. She had consented to these last two treatments, more for Joshua and Hannah than for herself, but now it was over. There would be no more treatments; they had proved ineffective, and there was nothing else to be done.

Hannah greeted them at the door in her wheelchair. She was still recovering from her stroke, but was making good progress. With continued therapy, she would soon be using a walker and, perhaps, eventually a cane. She was eternally grateful that Joshua's friends had gotten her to the hospital that night, for things could have turned out much worse.

Behind Hannah stood Loretta, who had finally quit her job, and would now be helping Hannah and Rachel full-time. Next to Loretta was a young Philippine woman, a nurse from a local hospice, who would set up and monitor some of Rachel's medications.

Loretta started putting away Rachel's things, while Joshua, the driver, and the nurse transferred Rachel to her bed. Rachel's fatigue was evident, her breathing labored. Hannah made some tea; she'd become quite adept at getting around the kitchen in the wheelchair. She offered the driver a cup, but he had to be on his way.

Rachel fell asleep quickly, the benefits of a morphine drip. The nurse left, and would return later that evening to check on things. Joshua, Loretta, and Hannah sat in the kitchen, sipping tea, making small talk, and waiting. All that was left to do was wait.

Joshua entered Rachel's room. It was almost ten o'clock at night, and he'd just come from a community board meeting. The situation in the neighborhood remained dire, the wounds from the riots still fresh. Rachel's condition wasn't much better.

"How'd it go?" she asked, barely able to speak.

"Same old s.h.i.t."

"Don't be so negative."

"Who's being negative?"

It hurt her to laugh.

"How are you?" he asked.

"Same old... whatever."

He touched her cheek and smiled. Her breathing was loud, her eyes glossed, her face listless. Her body had become ravaged by the cancer, emaciated to the point where he could see tumors beneath her skin. To him, she was still beautiful. "You don't have to talk," he said.

She offered a faint smile of her own, the best she could do.

Hannah and Loretta came in from the living room. They had overheard the conversation. Rachel had barely spoken during the five days since she'd returned from the hospital, and Hannah didn't want to miss a moment of it.

"Mama," Rachel whispered.

"I'm here," Hannah said as she maneuvered the wheelchair around to the side of the bed.

"You okay?" Rachel asked.

"I'm fine," Hannah answered. "The doctor says I'll be walking in no time. You're going to be fine too!"

"No." Rachel hesitated, she needed to swallow. It was hard to do even that. "I'm not."

"But you will be. The Rebbe has been praying for you."

Rachel looked at her mother. She had neither the heart nor the strength to reply.

"You should rest," Hannah said.

"Can't rest... afraid."

"There's nothing to be afraid of. G.o.d is with you."

"G.o.d is waiting for me. Papa is..."

"Don't say such things, Rucheleh." Hannah was desperately trying not to cry.

"Mama."

Hannah looked at her.

"I'm sorry."

"Sorry, for what?"

"For leaving you." Rachel was getting weaker with every word.

Hannah burst into tears. She was beyond words. Joshua was on the other side of the bed, and took Rachel's hand. "It's okay," Joshua said, trying to smile.

"Oh Joshua," Rachel said, tears falling. "My Joshua." She tried to lift her hand to touch his face, but couldn't. He lifted it for her.

"G.o.d has been unkind to us," she said. "Life has been unkind."

"There's been some good," he responded.

"Not enough."

"Just being with you has been enough."

"Has it?"

Their eyes met, communicating that it hadn't. She coughed and gasped for breath. He put his hand on her shoulder to relax her. "It's okay," he said.

"I'm so tired," she said.

"Then rest," Hannah said.

Rachel looked at Joshua.

"Rest," he said. "It's okay."

"Is it?"

"It is. I promise."

"I'm afraid."

"Don't be. We're right here."

She surrendered and closed her eyes. A few seconds later, she stopped breathing.

Joshua stood in a daze, as Hannah put both her hands on Rachel, shaking her, yelling, "No! No!" When Rachel didn't respond, Hannah began hitting herself.

Joshua gently restrained her, as Loretta knelt down and took hold of her. "Come, Hannah," Loretta said, "you should lie down."

"No! I can't leave her!"

"She's gone," Loretta said, looking Hannah in the eye. "Let me take you to your bed so you can lie down. You need to, or else you'll get sick again. Joshua will take care of everything."

Hannah buried her head in her hands as Loretta wheeled her out. Her wails echoed through the house: "Rucheleh, Rucheleh, Rucheleh . . ."

Joshua stood alone in the room with Rachel. He reached out and put his hand on her cheek. "Goodbye, my love," he whispered. He took the sheet and covered her, thinking that at least one of them was finally at peace.

Rachel Weissman was buried the following morning. It was a small gathering as Hasidic funerals go, the final scorn she would have to endure from her community. The service was held at the grave site; there were no long speeches. Among the less than twenty attendees were Hannah, Joshua, Loretta, Esther and Steven Butler, Esther's parents, and a few neighbors and family friends. And Paul Sims.

Joshua wondered what Paul was doing there, and figured that Paul must have been wondering the same about him. It was Joshua's first Jewish funeral. He'd never before seen a group of men actually bury a person till the ground was leveled, and wasn't surprised when they didn't allow him to help.

One of the rabbis started chanting the memorial prayer. The mourners bellowed in anguish. Joshua was deaf to all of it. He didn't cry, he was beyond crying. And he wasn't angry either. His anger had been spent long ago. He stood, holding his mother's hand, like a small child grasping onto the only person left in his life. The only one he'd ever truly had.

CHAPTER 67.

Paul Sims sat in his living room, staring at the walls. It was past twelve; Chava and the girls were asleep. He was trying to study the weekly Torah portion, but couldn't concentrate. He couldn't take his mind off Rachel's funeral.

Between Rachel's death and the recent riots, Paul found himself contemplating his life. His partic.i.p.ation in the neighborhood patrol, the blockbusting, and his obsession with Rachel all these years-he didn't have a lot to be proud of. He hadn't told Chava that he'd attended the funeral, but he was sure she suspected as much. She wasn't stupid, and had her own way of learning things. He wondered if he could ever mend his relationship with her, turn it around and start over.

There was a knock at the door. He wondered who it could be so late at night. He got up, walked to the door, and looked through the peephole. He was shocked when he saw the face of Joshua Eubanks.

Paul's hands trembled as he opened the door. He was apprehensive, wondering if Joshua had come to get even with him or something, but then he saw that Joshua was nervous too. It had been close to thirty years since the two of them had stood face to face.

Neither seemed to know what to say. They observed one another in silence for a moment, until Joshua broke the ice: "You going to invite me in?"

"Sure, of course," Paul said, holding the door open, feeling his own awkwardness.

Joshua walked in. "Nice digs," he said, trying to be nonchalant. His tie was loosened; he appeared to have come from a long day, but still he looked the part of a lawyer.

Paul found it hard to imagine that this was the same person who had grown up wearing his hand-me-downs. He wondered if Joshua was reading his thoughts. More than that, he wondered what Joshua wanted.

"Sorry to bother you this late," Joshua said. "I know it's been a rough day."

"For all of us."

"Yes, I suppose so," Joshua reacted, reflecting on the comment. "I needed to talk to you about some things. Is it a bad time?"

"No, no. Please," Paul said. He took Joshua's coat, showed him into the living room, and offered him a drink.

"Some scotch would be fine," Joshua said.

"Great. I happen to have some good stuff." Paul wasn't sure why he offered the good stuff, but something about Joshua made him want to. He opened the liquor cabinet and took out a bottle of Glenlivet 18 Year Old. He wasn't from the fancy single malt drinkers, but kept the stuff around for his father's occasional visits to see the girls. He took out two gla.s.ses. "Ice?" he asked.

"Neat, please."

Paul put some ice in a gla.s.s for himself, poured the drinks, sat down, and waited for Joshua to start.

Joshua sipped his drink. "Very smooth," he said.

"I wouldn't know the difference; my father's the connoisseur."

"Yes," Joshua responded contemplatively. "So I've heard."

"It was good seeing your mother today. I wish only that it had been under different circ.u.mstances."

"She was glad to see you, too. She's always been very fond of you."

"I know."

Joshua hesitated a moment, then continued, "Speaking of my mother and your father, that's what I came here to talk about. That, and some other things." He stopped, took another sip, then added, "A lot of other things."

Paul squirmed a bit in his chair, at once both uncertain of, and dreading what was coming.

It ended up being a long night, close to five hours for Joshua to tell a story that was as difficult for him to reveal as it was for Paul to hear. And in the end, shaken by what he had learned, Paul still couldn't understand why Joshua had chosen to bring this to him now, after all these years. He was inclined to ask, but opted not to, figuring that Joshua probably didn't completely know the reason either. Perhaps it was Rachel's death, Paul mused, or maybe it was simply that the time had come.

Paul did, however, ask if Joshua was planning on telling Loretta what he knew, and Joshua answered, plainly, "No."

"Why not?"

"I don't want to hurt her."

Paul wasn't surprised by the answer; he believed that Joshua hadn't intended to hurt him either.

"Will you tell your father?" Joshua asked.

"No."

"Why?"

"Same reason."

It seemed they had some things in common.

By the time Paul showed Joshua out, the sun was rising. They shook hands and promised to keep in touch, a promise that, for some inexplicable reason, they both knew they would keep.