Joshua: A Brooklyn Tale Part 9

The next day, during recess, Joshua told Celeste what had happened with his mother the night before.

"How come you didn't tell me you've been doing so good in school?" Celeste asked, sounding betrayed.

"I don't know; it didn't come up."

The two of them talked regularly in school, though they weren't allowed to have any contact at home. Today, Joshua thought, was a perfect day to change that, to chance some time together after school in the park. He figured he could get away with coming home a "little" late, and even if his mother found out, she might overlook it, things being what they were.

He shared the idea with Celeste. "What am I gonna tell my mama about coming home late?" she replied.

"It'll only be for an hour or so. You could think of an excuse, if you really wanted to."

"I guess I can tell her I stayed after school for extra help or something," she said, her voice lacking enthusiasm. He figured she was still angry that he hadn't told her about his school-work, and hoped that by the end of the day she'd forget it.

They rendezvoused at their usual place in the park. It was a pleasant, mild afternoon; a clear sky and soft breeze bore the scent of gra.s.s and trees. Much had changed since the stabbing: Celeste, like Joshua, was attending school regularly, and Mr. Williams was supposedly behaving himself. Joshua figured Mr. Sims had really put the screws to him.

One thing that hadn't changed was that Joshua was still a virgin. He was planning to change that. A fitting birthday present.

They talked about missing the time they used to spend with one another, and fantasized about having a future together. They believed that there was too much between them to allow anything to tear them apart, and they vowed eternal fidelity.

After about fifteen minutes of this, they lost control. Joshua reached for her hand, leaned over to kiss her, and she wrapped her arms around him. They began to moan and pull at one another. Joshua maneuvered himself on top, rubbed his body against hers, and found his way beneath her blouse. She pressed her thigh into his crotch, and put her hands under his shirt.

They were shielded by the shrubbery, but not enough to go any further. Joshua suggested they sneak back to his apartment. Like old times.

"I don't think we should," she said, hoping he wouldn't get upset.

He looked askance at her; she was acting unusual. He started to get up, when she grabbed his hand and said, "Wait, don't be getting mad!"

"I'm not," he said, his tone belying his words.

She thought for a moment. "I changed my mind; I wanna go."

"You sure?"

She nodded.

"You don't have to."

"I know."

They managed to sneak into his apartment, and when they got to his room she became uneasy. She put her books on his desk, stood, and looked around. He walked over, took her hands, and kissed her lips.

She felt tense. He knew she was afraid. "It's okay," he whispered.

Suddenly, the nervousness left her. She pulled him tightly against her and began kissing him hard as they clumsily fell on the bed. Her hand made its way to his crotch, she caressed him and thrust her tongue into his mouth.

It was wild, and he felt like he was going to e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.e in his pants. He pulled her hand away, and began removing her blouse and skirt. She lay there, moaning. He tore his clothes off and got on top of her.

They kissed and rolled around some more. Her bra.s.siere and panties found their way to the floor with his underpants. They had come close before, but had never been completely naked. This was turning out to be the best birthday Joshua ever had.

Until, that is, he tried to put himself inside her.

Suddenly, she stiffened, pulled away from him, curled up, and began to cry. He reached out to touch her, but she pushed his hand away, jumped out of the bed, grabbed her clothes, ran to the bathroom and locked herself in.

He ran after her, knocked on the door and called her name. The only thing he heard was crying. He asked her to open the door; she ignored him. Minutes pa.s.sed before she spoke.

"Please leave me alone," she said.

"Celeste, what's the matter?"

"Just leave me alone. I wanna go home."

"Okay."

"Will you go back in your room so I can go?"

"Why don't you just come out. I won't stop you from leaving."

"No, I don't want you to see me. I just wanna go. Please!"

He went back to his room and began putting his clothes on. In a short while, he heard the bathroom door open, faint footsteps, and then the front door. He ran through the living room and opened the front door, but she was gone. He heard her running down the stairwell, and wanted to go after her, but he knew it wasn't wise. He stared down the empty hallway until Mrs. Eisenman opened her door.

"Is that you, Joshua?" she asked.

"Yes, ma'am."

"I thought I heard something."

"No, just me. Stayed late at school for a science project."

"Oh." Skeptical.

"I don't mean to be rude, but I have to go inside and do my homework."

"That's a good idea. Just this morning your mother told me that you are doing very vell vith your studies. She's very proud, yes?"

"Yeah, she is."

"That's gut. It's very important to do vell in school. Go! Do your vork. I'll stop by later to check on you. Your mother told me that she didn't think it vas necessary anymore, but I told her it vas no bother; I enjoy it. I hope you don't mind."

"Oh no, I don't mind."

"Gut then, I'll see you later."

"Yeah, see you later." He closed the door, went back to his room, sat down on his bed, and thought about what had happened with Celeste. He was at a loss to understand any of it.

That night, as Loretta served the strawberry shortcake, she said, "I hear you got home late from school today."

"Mrs. Eisenman?"

"Well, she wasn't ratting on you. I told her how good you been doing in school and how proud I am, and that she doesn't really have to check on you so much anymore. She couldn't wait to tell me that you stayed after school for a science project."

"That wasn't it," he said under his breath.

"Well maybe she got it wrong. She don't hear so good, you know."

"She heard just fine."

"What do you mean?" The smile left her face.

"I'm saying that Mrs. Eisenman told you exactly what I said, only it wasn't true."

"You lied to her?" Her eyes began to moisten. "Sounds like you're back to being your old self."

"If I'm back to my old self, why am I telling the truth now?"

She didn't answer.

"I was with Celeste today." He was glad he said it. No pretense, no lies, and no explanation. He started to eat his cake.

Loretta was silent for a while, then said, "I hope that whatever you do, you don't let nothing get in the way of school. You got a gift, Joshua. Be a shame to forget that."

"I know Mama. I won't forget."

CHAPTER 14.

"I'm sorry to bother you, Mr. Sims, but we can't have this sort of thing going on at our school," said the princ.i.p.al of the Hewlett Bay Academy, speaking sternly into the phone receiver. Paul sat quietly, observing, as the man reclined in his burgundy executive chair and listened to Alfred's reply. Doctor Goldman sat beside Paul, both of them listening to faint sounds of Alfred's voice oozing from the receiver, neither able to make out what Alfred was saying.

The princ.i.p.al, Mr. Harvey, was a thin, fit looking gentleman in his mid-fifties. His full head of salt and pepper hair and stark black eyebrows lent an air of distinction, as did the large mahogany desk and the countless diplomas and awards gracing the walls.

"Well, I'm glad you agree, and thank you for your understanding, but it appears that Paul is being less than cooperative. Frankly, he is forcing our hand. We will have to suspend him until he complies with regulations," Mr. Harvey said.

Paul tried to appear undaunted; Goldman seemed concerned.

The issue at hand was Paul's having arrived at school that morning wearing a baseball cap, and having refused to remove it when asked to by his homeroom teacher. The teacher had immediately sent him to the princ.i.p.al's office, and the princ.i.p.al had asked Doctor Goldman to join them in the hope that maybe the psychologist would talk some sense into the boy. No such luck. Paul refused again, claiming it was his religious obligation to cover his head.

"Yes, I know that is why he is doing it," Mr. Harvey continued, "but it's a baseball cap he's wearing, not a yarmulke. And in any case, I must admit that we would not allow him to wear a yarmulke either; it's simply against school regulations to have any head-covering in the building."

There was more inaudible mumbling from the receiver, then Mr. Harvey added, "Yes, I'm glad that you understand, and I'm sorry it has come to this. I just want to reiterate that Paul is absolutely welcome in our school so long as he removes the hat. It has nothing to do with religion; it is purely a matter of standards. We cannot make exceptions, I'm sorry. I have Dr. Goldman here with us, and we will both try to speak with Paul one more time, but if he doesn't comply..."

Alfred said something else into the receiver, and Mr. Harvey's expression indicated that the two of them were in agreement. Paul wasn't surprised at this, considering his father's antipathy towards his Orthodoxy. He knew he would get an earful when he got home, but he was used to that. Above all, he certainly wasn't going to remove his hat.

Mr. Harvey hung up, looked across the desk at Paul, and asked, "Well, what's it going to be?"

Goldman was in an unenviable position. Mr. Harvey was his boss, and Paul was his client. He remained silent.

Paul wondered if he would be allowed to cover his head if he'd had an injury, or had lost his hair from some illness. He chose not to ask. There was no point in arguing. "I'm sorry, Mr. Harvey, but nothing that you, Dr. Goldman, or my father can say will convince me to take off my hat."

Goldman, aware that Harvey was waiting for his input, was also aware that there was nothing he could say that would make a difference. He had gotten through to Paul on many things, but when it came to religion, the boy was inflexible. Goldman also suspected that this entire situation was coming off exactly as Paul had hoped. Paul had confided in Goldman about his desire to leave this school and attend yeshiva, and about his frustration over his parents' disapproval. What better way, Goldman reasoned, than getting suspended like this, to change their minds?

"I suppose you understand the consequences of your refusal to follow the rules," Goldman said, only because he had to say something.

Paul seemed to understand perfectly well.

By the time Paul got home, his mother had been alerted to what had happened. "You see, I warned you that your fanaticism would get you into trouble. You just don't listen, do you!" she harangued as he came through the door.

Trying to ignore her, he started up the stairs to his bedroom.

"Don't you dare walk away when I'm talking to you!"

"You're not talking to me, you're screaming." He continued on his way.

"This is my house, and if I want to scream, I'll scream," she shouted, following after him.

He turned to her, pointed to his ears, and said, "And these are my ears. If I don't want to listen, I won't." With that, he slammed his bedroom door.

He waited for her to open the door and really give it to him, but the phone rang. He figured it was probably his father, checking on the situation.

A few minutes pa.s.sed before his mother burst in, saying, "Your father wants you to stay right here in this room until he comes home." Paul was sitting at his desk, wearing his yarmulke, and hovering over one of the books of the Talmud. "While you're at it," she added, "take a look in there for what it says about slamming doors in your mother's face and talking back to her. Or did you skip that chapter?"

She left before he could reply, though he really had no response. Unable to concentrate, he closed the book. He felt antsy, and didn't care that his father had grounded him. He wanted to go out.

It wouldn't be the first time that he'd left through his bedroom window. When he was younger he had done it often, for no other reason than to prove he could. His parents had never suspected.

There were two windows, one that looked out to the front of the house, and another that bordered part of the roof. He opened the latter one, hoisted himself up on the ledge, and climbed out onto the roof.

As soon as he was on the roof, he made his way to the side of the house, where the branches of a tall sycamore were in reach. He looked down, smiled at how easy it was, and grabbed onto one of the tree's solid branches.

He walked across the front lawn to the road, reached into his pocket and felt a dollar and some change, more than enough for a candy bar and a c.o.ke. His house was on Everit Avenue, near the entrance to Hewlett Harbor. "The Harbor," as it was called, was considered by The New York Times as one of the five wealthiest communities in the country, inhabited by mostly Jews, with a smattering of WASPs and white Catholics. It was rumored that Sammy Davis Jr. had once attempted to purchase a home there, but had somehow been dissuaded.

Everit Avenue was close to the shopping district of the town of Hewlett, and less than a mile from the bay, where the most expensive homes were. But even on Everit, there were homes that qualified as "estates," some of which were surrounded by more than an acre of land. While Paul's house wasn't quite that large, it was still impressive by most standards. Sitting on about half an acre of fastidious landscaping, it was a three story edifice with four bedrooms and two baths on the top floor; dining room, living room, den, study, maid's room, eat-in kitchen, and two baths on the ground floor; playroom, four walk-in closets, laundry room, guest bedroom with bathroom, and finished sitting room with a fully stocked bar in the bas.e.m.e.nt. Outside, in the back, was an in-ground pool, which was seldom used. Alfred was never around, and Evelyn didn't like Paul "traipsing" through the house in a wet bathing suit. It was there because, like everything else, it looked good.

The neighborhood was quiet. The kids on the block were still in school, not that Harbor children were ever found playing in the streets anyway. Paul could smell the pollen from blooming trees and fresh cut gra.s.s as he sauntered past the houses. Hewlett Harbor was definitely a nice place, he had to admit, but he preferred Brooklyn. At least there he could wear his yarmulke in peace.

Suddenly, he realized he still had his yarmulke on, and that he had forgotten his baseball cap. He was halfway down the block, and couldn't go back, so he kept walking. The end of Everit Avenue intersected with Broadway, the main street for the town of Hewlett. Just before the intersection sat the local public high school. Kids from "The Harbor" generally didn't attend public school.

As he neared the high school, he heard a bell ring from inside. He looked at his wrist.w.a.tch and realized it was the end of the school day. A few seconds later, the doors to the building opened and hordes of teenagers burst out.

He felt uneasy wearing the yarmulke. In the past, he'd had a few scuffles with public school kids, especially some of the Italian and Irish kids from the middle-cla.s.s neighborhood of Gibson, who liked to bother him and other Academy students. Sometimes things got physical; mostly it was just heckling.

Paul realized that, under the circ.u.mstances, it would be wise for him to remove the yarmulke. But he didn't. A Jew must cover his head! I cannot be a hypocrite! I will not be afraid! He told himself these things as he recalled Rabbi Weissman's stories of Jews who refused to shave their beards or remove their head coverings in n.a.z.i Europe. "You must be proud to be a Jew," the rabbi had said, "and sometimes you must suffer because of it!" Paul pictured the rabbi's soft eyes turn ablaze with those words, and became ashamed of his fear.

He was walking fast, and came to the corner of Everit and Broadway. The candy store was just on the other side of Broadway, half a block down. The traffic light was against him, he had to wait. He heard rowdy voices behind him, and the beating of his own heart.