Joshua: A Brooklyn Tale (32 page)

“Want to go inside?”

“Where?”

“There’s a little luncheonette a few blocks from here. Nice, quiet, and
warm.
”

She considered for a moment. “Okay, let’s go.”

They left the boardwalk, and walked the two blocks in silence. The freezing air was nothing compared to the chill Joshua felt from her. The luncheonette was on a corner, just below the El, its fogged windows suggesting a toasty interior.

They walked over to an empty table. Rachel removed her coat and hat, as Joshua noticed how four months of pregnancy didn’t do much to alter her appearance. In fact, he thought, she looked even better, as if that were possible. She smiled a bit awkwardly, knowing she was being scrutinized.

“I’ve put on a few pounds,” she said.

“You look great.”

“Thanks, you’re being kind.”

The waitress presented herself. Joshua ordered a hot chocolate. Since the place wasn’t kosher, Rachel asked only for some cold water.

“I’m sorry, I forgot,” Joshua said.

“It’s fine,” Rachel replied. “Cold water is good for you, especially when you’re pregnant.”

He looked at her and smiled.

“Enough about me. How have
you
been?” she asked.

“Pretty good.”

“I guess you’re learning a lot in college.” A touch of envy and sadness.

“Yes, I am.” He didn’t want to rub it in her face.

“I’m really happy for you.” She reached over and touched his hand.

“I’m happy for you, too.”

The waitress brought their drinks. The hot chocolate felt good in his hands, even better going down. He felt guilty for her water; he still wanted to take care of her.

“It’s really good to see you,” she said.

“Why?”

“Why what?” Taken aback, she withdrew her hand.

“Why is it good to see me?”

“Because I’ve missed you, that’s why.”

“Okay, if you say so,” Testy.

“What does that mean?”

“It means, if you say you’ve missed me, you’ve missed me.”

“You don’t look happy about it.”

“Maybe I’m not.”

She was silent for a moment. “I suppose I knew this was going to happen.”

“Look, Rachel, I just…”

“I know,” she interrupted.

“Know what?”

“It’s wrong of me to keep calling you, to keep suggesting meetings like this. It isn’t fair to you.”

“And what about
you
? Do
you
enjoy meeting this way?”

“No, I don’t. But what else can I do? I can’t simply forget you, I just can’t!” She began to cry.

He handed her a napkin. “Rachel, there’s something I need to know.” Now he was touching her hand.

She looked him in the eye, waiting for him to continue.

“I need to know if it’s because I’m black?”

“If
what’s
because you’re black?” Defensive.

“If you didn’t choose
me
because I’m black.”

“
Choose
you? What do you mean?”

“You know what I mean. Didn’t you ever think about it—being with me?”

“You mean, marrying you?”

“Whatever.”

Another silence, this time long and onerous.

“Oh Joshua, I’m not going to pretend I haven’t thought about it, or how stupid I’ve been, expecting us to go on forever like this without talking about it. We never have talked about it, have we?”

“No, we haven’t.”

“And we should have.”

“Better late than never.”

“Yes, I suppose.”

He nodded.

“I do love you,” she said. “It’s a strange thing, but I know in my heart that I love you.” She squeezed his hand. “But I haven’t been fair to you and,” she hesitated, “I haven’t been fair to myself.” She stopped and considered what she was about to say. “I suppose your being black has something to do with it. I would be lying if I said it didn’t. I
don’t
want to lie to
you
. But I also know that my being a coward has a lot to do with it as well. I gave you up just like I gave up my dreams of college and medical school. I was afraid of what it would do to my parents; I just couldn’t hurt them.”

He hesitated a moment, trying to frame his words as tenderly as possible. “I don’t think you can completely blame your rejection of me on your parents.”

She thought for a moment. “You’re right, I can’t. There are so many complications, I just don’t know where to start. I love being a Hasidic Jew, not because of my parents, but because
I
really love it. Of course, there are things I would change if I could, and there was a time I believed I could have my dreams and they wouldn’t affect anything. But I was naive,
everything
affects everything.

“That’s where you come in. I couldn’t marry a Gentile, not because I’m prejudiced—though I’m sure some people would say I am—but because I wouldn’t be able to have a Hasidic life or raise Hasidic children if I did. And even if you had offered to convert, it still would have been impossible. Not because of my parents as much as the community. My parents would eventually have accepted you—after my father had another heart attack or two—but I believe they
would
have. After all my father’s been through, there’s nothing more abhorrent to my parents than hatred and bigotry. But the community, that’s another thing. They would scoff at us, and their children would scoff at our children. It’s wrong, I know, especially considering that the Torah commands us to welcome the convert, and the fact that Moses’ wife was both black
and
a convert. But that’s how the community is, and the most unfortunate thing about being Hasidic—the thing I hate about it—is that the perceptions of the community are sometimes more important than the Torah itself. So what it all comes down to, I guess, is that my so-called rejection of you has a lot more to do with
my
weakness, than
your
color.”

“I don’t think ‘weakness’ is the right word,” Joshua responded.

“Then what is?”

“Fear.”

She offered a faint smile. “But I sure do feel weak,” she said, her face turning sullen again.

“It’s okay.” he said.

“Is it?”

“Yes. Some of it’s even my fault. Just as you can’t keep blaming your parents, I can’t keep blaming
you
. I need to get on with my life. I need to stop imagining us in ways that will never be.”

“I know.”

“You
do
look great.”

“I’m sure you think so.”

“I do.”

“It’s good we talked about it, isn’t it?” she asked.

“Yes, I think it is.” Unconvincing.

“At least everything’s in the open now.”

He nodded, as reassuringly as possible.

“I should be going,” Rachel said, looking at her watch.

Usually, she would leave first, and he would wait and catch a different train. He had always thought the precaution silly, but today he was only too glad to steal a few extra minutes of warmth. He watched her put on her scarf and coat. She moved slowly, sadly. She held her hat and gloves in her hand, turned to him, and asked, “Can I still call?”

“You still want to?”

“Yes. I want us to always be friends.
Real
friends.”

“We are.”

“And you’re not mad at me?”

“No more than I am at myself. I’ll get over it.”

She put her hat and gloves on just as she exited the door. He ordered another hot chocolate, and thought about their conversation, wondering if he would ever see her again. In his mind he knew he would be okay if he didn’t, for he realized he needed to move on. But in his heart, well, that was another matter altogether.

CHAPTER 35
 

At a few minutes past 7:00 p.m., Rachel and Binny Frankel finished dinner. Rachel started clearing the table, and Binny went to the closet for his coat. He was heading back to the yeshiva for the evening, and would return in about two hours. He used to love the yeshiva’s evening study sessions—a requirement for all rabbinical students—but as of late his preference was being home with his wife.

He came into the kitchen and kissed her good-by. “I’ll be home soon,” he said.

She smiled. His love for her made her happy, and at moments like this she wished that could be enough. But it wasn’t. Having things out with Joshua had cleared the air, so-to-speak, but she wondered if she’d really resolved anything, or if she ever would. She knew she couldn’t rid her life of Joshua. She’d given up too much already, too many of her dreams, but the duplicity was killing her.

After finishing the dishes, she felt unusually fatigued. Her pregnancy often made her tired, especially at night, but this was something else. She decided to go upstairs and lie down for a few minutes. She could make her phone calls and tidy up the house later. She walked toward the stairway and began to feel faint. She held the banister as she started up the stairs, but halfway up she felt she couldn’t continue. Fearful of passing out, she clutched the banister and leaned against the wall. A strange sensation ran down her leg as she reached unsteadily to lift her skirt. She gasped at the sight of blood trailing down to the bottom of the stairs. Petrified, she struggled up to her bedroom for the phone, but never made it.

She awoke in the hospital. Her father, mother, and Binny were at her side. “What happened?” she managed.

“Nothing. You’re okay. Thank God you’re okay,” she heard her mother say.

“The baby?” she asked.

“Everything is okay, you’re going to be fine.” Again, her mother’s voice.

“But the baby?”

No one answered.

“Oh my God,” she screamed. “Oh my God!”

“Don’t worry,” her father said, grasping her hand. “Don’t upset yourself. You need your strength.”

She read the anguish on Binny’s face. “I’m sorry Binny,” she cried, “please forgive me.”

He reached out and touched her. “It’s okay Rachel,” he said, fighting his own tears. “Everything will be fine.”

“I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry,” she repeated.

Binny and Hannah started to cry.

“There’s no reason to be sorry,” her father offered.

She was deaf to the world, lost in her anguish. “I’m sorry,” she repeated through her tears. “Forgive me!”

They didn’t understand, they couldn’t understand. Why was she blaming herself? But
she
understood. Only too well. For it was truly her fault; she had killed her baby, and it was no different than if she had used a knife. Her day of judgment had arrived, and with it the wrath of an angry, vengeful God. He’d been watching all along, just as she’d always been taught. Nothing is hidden from Him, a fact that had never been so compelling as it was now.

You
shall
not
chase
after
your
heart
and
your
eyes,
after
the
things
for
which
you
lust
.

She had ignored everything she’d ever believed in, and had placed earthly desire above the purity of her soul. And now she was paying the price.

“
Forgive
me
!”

She loathed herself for her iniquities.

“
Forgive
me
!”

She loathed God for His harshness.

“
Forgive
me
!”

She loathed Binny and her parents for her own inadequacy.

“
Forgive
me
!”

She loathed Joshua for her agony. She would
never
see him again!

During her first week home, her mood remained unchanged. Her mother stayed with her. Binny and her father were around all the time, and Esther visited daily. Rachel seldom left her room, and didn’t say much to anyone. They catered to her and tried to cheer her up, but she was intent on her suffering.

One evening, after about two weeks, she finally came down and joined the others for dinner. She didn’t talk much, but it was a good sign. The next day, in the afternoon, she was sitting in the living room with Esther. Her mother had gone marketing.

“You seem to be coming along better,” Esther observed.

“I’ll be okay.”

“I know you will, you’ve always been the strong one.”

Rachel considered the observation. “Compared to whom?”

“Compared to anyone.”

“I think you meant something else.”

“You’re right.” Hesitation. “Compared to me, I guess.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“Just that you manage to figure things out and rise above unpleasant situations. I’ve never been quite as good at that as you.”

Rachel raised her eyelids, still curious.

“Well,” Esther continued, “you’re married—and to a pretty good guy, as far as these guys go. You have a beautiful home, you
will
have children, you’ll have it all. Because you’re strong. You know what’s right.”

“Funny, I always thought I have all this because I’m weak.”

“I suppose it depends on how you look at it.” Sadness.

A moment of silence. Rachel took Esther’s hand. “Tell me, what’s happening with you?”

Esther proceeded to confess. It was the first time she’d told Rachel, or anyone, about Stephen Butler and, at this point, things had gotten rather spicy. She had finally managed to attract his attention; it had been a simple matter of wearing the right outfit. Those long skirts and ample blouses hadn’t been doing the trick, so she had purchased some sexier apparel at a boutique in the village. She had also found a place to change clothes en route to class. She would stop in a coffee shop, order a coffee or soda to please the owner, put on her new ensemble in the bathroom, go to class, and change there again on the way home.

These days, however, she was taking an additional detour on the way home: Stephen’s studio apartment. It had all begun on the third night of her new image. He had approached her after class, and asked her out for a drink. A quaint little pub a few blocks from school, a couple of drinks, and next thing she knew, his place.

“What can I say, darling? I’m just a harlot, like one of those pitiful vixens in the Bible.”

Rachel sat there, eyes fixed, ears glued to every word. “You mean you’ve been…”

“Just as
you’ve
been, my dear.”

“But I’m married.”

“Are you passing judgment?”

“I’m sorry, I have no right to…”

“It’s okay, I know you didn’t mean it.”

“I really didn’t; I shouldn’t have said that; I’m sorry.”

Rachel was obviously still fragile. Esther took her hand, and reiterated, “It’s okay, it’s okay.”

“It really isn’t,” Rachel responded. She had never told Esther of her meetings with Joshua, and this seemed to be the opportune moment to change that. Whether for her own sake, Esther’s, or both, it was time to tell someone.

Esther was stunned by the confession, and Rachel had spared not a single detail. The telling had been heart wrenching, and also cathartic. It seemed to ease both of their guilt.

“So it’s over?” Esther asked.

“It’s over.”

The two friends looked at one another intensely. Suddenly, Esther started to laugh. Rachel hesitated at first, but couldn’t keep from joining in. They began to laugh harder; it felt good. Much better than crying. Oh, the mess they’d made of their lives.

“What are you going to do?” Rachel asked, trying to calm herself.

“Who knows? Maybe I’ll marry him; he’s Jewish, you know. I suppose I can’t hold that against him, can I?”

“No, I suppose you can’t.”

“What are
you
going to do?” Esther asked.

“Me?” Rachel contemplated her response, then: “I’m going to keep things simple. I’m going to love my husband, have lots of children, and make chullent and kugel every
Shabbos
.”

More laughter.

Rachel returned to the synagogue the following
Shabbos
. She hadn’t fully recuperated, and could have gotten away with staying home, but she wanted to go. She knew that sooner or later she would have to face the sympathetic stares from the women in the balcony.
It
might
as
well
be
now
.

There was also another reason for her decision. It had been announced throughout the community that the
Rebbe
was going to deliver a major speech, the topic of which was known only to a select few. Rabbi Weissman had been one of those few, and he had shared what he knew with his family during Friday night dinner. Rachel had been shocked:
the
Rebbe
is
going
to
talk
about
racial
issues
in
the
neighborhood,
unheard
of
.

The
Rebbe
had always been aloof from such unseemly matters. And now that was going to change. Notwithstanding her vows of ending her relationship with Joshua, and her belief that this was all behind her, she felt compelled to hear what the
Rebbe
had to say.

She and her mother arrived at the synagogue just in time. They climbed the stairs, and found the usually vacant balcony filled to capacity, standing room only. Rachel was glad to be hidden in the crowd, virtually unnoticed, able to avoid spurious consolation and inquiries as to her well-being.

They stood in the back for less than a minute before silence descended upon the hall. The room was never this quiet, not even during the Torah reading. Rachel had always found it disturbing how the
Rebbe
commanded more decorum than the Almighty Himself, but that was the way things were.

She couldn’t see beyond the heads in front of her, but she heard the
Rebbe’s
voice emanating from the podium below. He spoke softly, barely loud enough to be discerned, and in Yiddish, the preferred tongue of all Hasidic sects. Rachel had no problem with that; her teachers had all taught in Yiddish, and her parents had often used it around the house. She listened intently, her hand cupped behind her ear for better acuity. Around her, the women were
shuckling
, swaying back and forth with their bodies, believing that doing so enhanced their concentration. Rachel stood still, as did Hannah. The
shuckling
thing wasn’t in their blood.

“My friends, this small section of Brooklyn has been our home since the early 1940’s, and it will remain our home until, God willing, the Messiah comes to gather us.” The
Rebbe
paused for a moment, for words of the Messiah usually inspired cheers and singing among his followers. The crowd responded as expected:
We
want
Moshiach
now
!
We
want
Moshiach
now
!
We
want
Moshiach
now
 
.
 
.
 
.

Rachel looked at her mother with humor. Neither of them chanted, and they knew that, down below, Isaac wasn’t chanting either. Isaac Weissman had always stressed that prayer and deeds would hasten the coming of the Messiah, not screaming and yelling.

The crowd quieted after a few minutes, and the Rebbe continued. “Our neighborhood has also been the home of many groups other than ourselves, and over the past few years, some have been leaving for one reason or another.”