Joshua: A Brooklyn Tale (55 page)

CHAPTER 65
 

The
riots
in
Crown
Heights
began
on
Monday
evening,
August
19,
1991.
It
took
more
than
three
days
for
the
police
to
regain
control
of
the
streets.
The
official
word
from
City
Hall
was
that
Mayor
David
Dinkins
had
been
uninformed
about
the
full
extent
of
the
unrest
until
the
third
day,
due
to
a
breakdown
in
communication.
This,
despite
the
fact
that
the
mayor,
Police
Commissioner
Lee
Brown,
and
various
other
aides,
had
all
visited
the
71st
precinct
at
about
one
o’clock
Tuesday
morning,
for
an
emergency
meeting
with
police
brass.
The
mayor’s
office
argued
that,
notwithstanding
the
emergency
meeting,
the
mayor
hadn’t
actually
visited
the
streets
until
Wednesday
morning
and,
thus,
could
not
have
had
a
true
grasp
of
the
situation
until
that
time.

Investigations
into
the
riots
revealed
that
police
were
instructed
by
their
superiors
to
exercise
restraint
and
not
make
arrests.
The
department’s
explanation
was
that
they
were
concerned
that
their
officers
not
escalate
the
situation
and
become
targets
themselves,
which,
in
fact,
had
occurred
in
more
than
one
instance.
The
department
also
claimed
that
arrests
were
made.
There
were
six
disturbance-related
arrests
on
Monday,
twelve
on
Tuesday,
and
thirty
on
Wednesday.
However,
on
Thursday,
after
a
firm
arrest
policy
was
finally
issued,
sixty-one
arrests
were
made,
almost
twice
as
many
as
the
previous
day.

Challenged
by
the
media,
accused
of
ineptitude,
the
department
eventually
admitted
that
there
was
too
much
ambiguity,
and
a
breakdown
in
the
chain
of
command
in
the
field.
Until
Thursday,
when
they
received
specific
orders,
many
officers
weren’t
sure
about
how
to
handle
the
situation.
The
department,
however,
has
never
assigned
accountability
for
the
breakdown.

There
was
additional
controversy,
particularly
relating
to
the
handling
of
911
emergency
calls.
For
unexplained
reasons,
many
response
times
were
far
in
excess
of
the
norms
for
that
area.
Some
critics
have
suggested
anti-Semitism
as
a
factor.
Whatever
the
reasons,
one
thing
remains
clear:
along
with
City
Hall,
the
New
York
City
Police
Department,
and
911,
all
of
Greater
New
York,
and
the
country
at
large,
watched
news
reports
for
three
nights
before
any
significant
action
was
taken
to
quell
the
unrest.

CHAPTER 66
 

A mid November chill filled the air; the sky was overcast, and the humidity was high. Joshua got out of the passenger seat of the ambulette and helped the driver pull the gurney out from the back. Rachel lay still upon the gurney, tired from the trip, eager for the warmth of her house.

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 shit.”

“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. God is with you.”

“God 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.

“God 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.