The Righteous One

by Neil Perry Gordon

  Solomon’s face turned young. He looked handsome and bright. “You are the hand of Hashem, tzaddik. You have the power to forgive. Offer me redemption. Let me prove to you in the few years I have left that your forgiveness will change me.”

  Moshe felt himself softening. Maybe Solomon truly was just a man, and not this bizarre amalgamation of some evil force. He turned to Solomon. and pulled him in close. “I am the hand of Hashem, and by his grace, you are forgiven, for now. You must show me that you are not rasha, or we will be back here, and I will release you into the cauldron below.”

  Moshe woke up screaming in pain. He opened his eyes and looked around, confused. Ah, I’m at Noa’s, he remembered. He tried to push himself up from the bed, but the pain returned like a knife was cutting through his left arm. He pulled back the blanket and saw a bruise that stained his upper arm in colors ranging from pink to purple to black.

  The bedroom door swung open and Noa ran in. “What is it?” Noa yelled.

  “It’s my arm. I think it’s broken.”

  “Did the rasha do this?” asked Sammy.

  Moshe nodded as he tried to stand up.

  “Let me help you, Moshe,” Noa said.

  “Is it done?” Noa asked.

  Moshe shrugged, shook his head, and said softly, “I offered him forgiveness.”

  Noa shook her head quickly, back and forth. “What are you saying, you offered him forgiveness?”

  “What if he is not the rasha? What if he’s just a man who wants to die, like everyone else.”

  Noa dropped her head into her hands and said, “What have you done, Moshe?”

  Chapter 79

  Myron jabbed his finger into Frank’s chest and said, “I want you to send some muscle to each of those knuckleheads and tell them to find a new career.”

  Frank nodded, looking at the list of lieutenants that reported to Mickey Coppola. “I know these men. They will try to assert some control, but none of them have what it takes. Once they know there’s nothing here for them, they will probably head to Queens or Brooklyn.”

  “They’re next. I want the remaining families taken down, Frank. There will be a clean sweep of mob control in this city.”

  Frank smiled and said, “I have to say, Myron, that I never thought you had the will to do this.”

  “This will be my legacy, as well as my assurance of winning a second term,” he said with a smile.

  “What’s this I hear about Arnold Lieberman withdrawing his name from the race?”

  “It’s true. Now that he’s not an adversary, I’m going to offer him a position as my advisor. He can be a useful addition to the team.”

  Frank nodded. “Arnold Lieberman is a good man. I’m just a little surprised at his change in attitude. He certainly was not fond of you, or your father.”

  “Let’s just say he has had an epiphany after the death of Mickey Coppola. Like many people did, or soon will,” Myron said with a smirk.

  “Well, I’d better get back to work. There’s a lot to do.”

  Frank and Myron rose from their chairs and walked together toward the office door and shook hands.

  “Thank you, Frank,” Myron said and opened the door.

  They stepped into reception, where Agnes was typing.

  “Thank you, Mr. Mayor,” Frank said.

  Myron patted Frank on his back and saw Niko sitting on one of the chairs lined up against the wall, reading a magazine. Her legs were crossed, with her right foot dangling one of her black patent leather Mary Jane shoes off her toes.

  She is certainly easy on the eyes was Myron’s first thought. He swallowed hard and his next thought was, I’m not ready for this?

  “Niko, I didn’t know you were here,” he said, feeling his heart start to race as if he had sprinted up a staircase.

  “I’ll be going,” Frank said, and exited out into the hallway.

  Niko stood up and took a step toward Myron’s office. “Do you have some time for me?”

  Myron rubbed the sweat off the top of his lip with the back of his hand. He looked over to Agnes, stretched his eyes wide to express his surprise, turned back to Niko, offered a weak smile and said, “Please come in.”

  Myron closed the door to his office. Niko was already standing by the large window overlooking City Hall Park.

  “Can I take your coat?”

  “Sure,” she said slipping it off and handing it to Myron.

  Myron had not seen her for a few weeks. The one time he called her was right before her father’s funeral.

  “How have you been?” he asked.

  “I’m feeling a little better. This hasn’t been easy,” she said, as tears welled up.

  Myron took a breath. Stay strong, he told himself. “I’m sorry about your father. You know I had nothing to do with it. The FBI never told me about their surveillance.”

  “You really think I believe that?”

  “I swear it’s true. You can ask the commissioner,” he said pointing to the door, where Frank was just standing a few minutes earlier.

  Niko shook her head. “I don’t believe you. But that’s not why I came here.”

  “Oh, why did you come?”

  “I came to tell you what’s going to happen now.”

  Myron cocked his head. “Please tell me.”

  “You think I don’t know what’s going on, just because I’m a girl?”

  “I don’t know what to think,” he said truthfully.

  “Myron, I grew up watching Daddy run his organization. I know what he did and how he did it, and I know you, Myron. If you think that you’re going to take over his business interests, without any pushback from me, you’re mistaken,” she said, with one hand on her hip and the other thrusting a finger at him.

  Myron rubbed the top of his head. He had never seen this side of Niko before. “You want to be my business partner?”

  “Not just your partner, I also want to be your wife. I think we’ll make a formidable team.”

  Myron’s mouth was wide open, with no words coming out.

  “What do you have to say?” Niko asked.

  “Are you serious? You want to be my business partner and my wife?”

  She nodded and said, “What’s so hard to understand?”

  “Niko, you betrayed me at the Stork Club! You chose your father over me!”

  “I was protecting him, Myron. You would have done the same if it had been your father and I’d been the one secretly recording our conversations for the FBI.”

  Myron nodded. This is true, he thought. “I can’t argue with that. But why does that mean I should trust you again?”

  “You’re right to be skeptical, Myron. But you know that my father was everything to me,” she said brushing away a tear. “I won’t apologize for my devotion.”

  Myron took a breath, not sure how to react. He admired her unwavering loyalty but wondered if this was a justifiable excuse for her betrayal.

  As if she knew what he was thinking, Niko squinted, pointed a finger at him and said, “Understand me now, Myron, with Father gone, you are my number one.”

  Myron smiled. “Wow, that’s quite a statement Niko,” he said.

  “It is, but I mean every word of it. So, Mr. Mayor, what do you have to say?”

  Myron looked into Niko’s green eyes and felt his resistance melting away. He had loved her deeply before her betrayal—shouldn’t that be enough to give her a second chance? He smiled and took a step toward her, put his hands around her waist, and pulled her in tight. “What do I have to say?” he asked.

  She looked up to him, her green eyes sparkling, and she nodded.

  “Niko, will you marry me?”

  Chapter 80

  Solomon waited an hour to see a doctor in the Lebanon Hospital emergency room.

  “I’ve never seen a wound like this before. It looks like a hand print that was burned into your skin. How did this happen?” said the emergency room doctor, applying a salve to the fresh burn.

  Solomon
felt like telling him that a tzaddik burned his throat with his bare hand when he was being dragged to Gehenna. But that would probably get him committed to Bellevue for psychiatric care. Instead he just told him that it was a cooking accident.

  With gauze wrapped around his neck like an Egyptian mummy, Solomon stepped out onto the street and hailed a cab. During the ride back home to City Island, he had a moment to think about how close he came to burning in the fiery river of Gehanna.

  Moshe the cobbler had, after all, proven to be the lightweight Solomon thought he was when he first met him. But he was surprised how easy it was to convince him to offer his forgiveness.

  Solomon was aware that he disturbed the balance in the dream world with his beliefs in Kabbalah’s dark side. On top of that, there were his sexual exploits with Rebecca, which brought ominous warnings from the spirit, Francesa Sarah. But he had escaped eternal damnation, freeing his soul to carry on after his death.

  Now that he had put the existential threat of the tzaddik behind him, he could focus on spending his remaining years in the dream world, making love as a young man, with Rebecca.

  When the taxi pulled up to his home he opened the door and used his cane to push himself up to his feet. The cabbie thanked him for the tip and drove off.

  Solomon entered the home and smelled aromas of someone cooking. Then he heard the clanking of pots.

  “Is someone here?” he shouted as he walked toward the kitchen.

  “You’re back,” the voice said.

  Solomon stepped into the kitchen and saw Rebecca preparing something over the stove.

  “What are you doing?” asked Solomon.

  “What does it look like? I’m making you dinner,” she said without looking up.

  Solomon looked over to the kitchen table, where a bottle of wine and two place settings were neatly arranged.

  “This is a surprise,” he said.

  Rebecca put down the wooden spoon and looked up and saw Solomon’s neck wound.

  “Oh my god, Solomon. What happened to your neck?” she said and hurried over to his side for a closer look.

  “It’s fine. Just an accident with some boiling water. I’m not too good in the kitchen.”

  She gently touched the bandage and said, “Does it hurt?”

  “It’s starting to itch now, which is a good sign. That means it’s healing.”

  “It seems I came just in time. You’re going to need someone to take care of you. So go relax, I’m making us dinner, and afterwards we’ll sleep together in your bed and see what happens in the dream world.”

  Solomon scratched the top of his head, not sure the words he was hearing were actually being spoken. “You’re staying the night?”

  Rebecca looked up from the sauce she was stirring in the pot and asked, “Don’t you want me to?”

  Solomon nodded. “I do, yes. I’m just surprised to see you.”

  “Now go sit down and read your paper. Dinner will be ready in a few minutes.”

  Later that same evening, after a dinner of spaghetti and meatballs with garlic bread and wine, Solomon and Rebecca lay side by side in his bed. She leaned over and gave him a gentle kiss on his cheek and said, “Good night, Solomon. Can you turn off the light, I’m sleepy now.”

  Minutes later, as Solomon heard Rebecca’s breathing deepen, he smiled to himself, thinking, I can’t believe my great fortune in having found Rebecca at this stage of my life. Of course it would have been wonderful if he would have met her as a young man. But he could at least be with her in the dream world as the thirty-year-old version of himself.

  He could barely keep his eyes open. Sleep seemed to take hold. Maybe it was the wine, he thought, as he fell into a deep slumber.

  “That’s ten girls,” Leo Gorpatsch said, patting Solomon on his back. “Our largest delivery so far.”

  Solomon looked at the bills in his hand. “This is the most money I’ve ever had.”

  “We will be rich men one day, Solomon,” Leo said.

  As the wagon was pulling away from the curb, one of the girls turned and looked at Solomon.

  Solomon stared back and pointed. “It’s Rebecca, wait.”

  The man holding on to the reins pulled back and brought the horses to a slow stop.

  Solomon ran over, reached into the wagon and lifted her out and onto the ground.

  “Who is that?” Leo asked.

  The man driving the wagon yelled, “Hey, you’ve been paid. Put her back.”

  Solomon reached into his pocket and handed him a few bills.

  “That should more than cover it. Come with me, Rebecca, I have a wonderful place we can be alone together.”

  “Where are you taking me?” Rebecca asked.

  “Up there,” he said, pointing to a balcony at the top of the Great Synagogue of Warsaw.

  He grabbed her hand and they flew upwards and landed like birds upon the decking of the balcony. “You can see all of the city from here.”

  Rebecca squeezed herself close to Solomon, resting her head on his chest.

  “It’s beautiful, Solomon.”

  “I used to live in that house right over there, with my uncle,” he said pointing to a small cottage.

  “Take me there,” she said.

  They held hands and floated back down to the street. Solomon turned the doorknob and they entered.

  “It’s smaller than I remember,” he said.

  “Take me to the bedroom,” Rebecca whispered.

  Memories flooded back at the sounds of their footsteps resounded off the wooden floorboards. He remembered being a child and playing in the cottage, while his uncle was out building what was to be the largest synagogue in all of Europe at the time.

  The bedroom had a small bed, pushed up against the wall. A pair of red plaid curtains hung over the window. Rebecca took Solomon by the hand and brought him to the bed. She sat him down and leaned into him and offered her lips.

  They kissed and slowly lowered themselves down to the straw-stuffed mattress. Solomon lost himself in her embrace.

  “Do you trust me?” Rebecca asked.

  “Of course.”

  “I want to take you somewhere. Will you come with me?”

  “Anywhere you want to go, I will follow.”

  Solomon found himself being pulled along by Rebecca’s hand through the darkness. A strange familiarity flooded his mind.

  “Where are you taking me?”

  “Patience, my love, we will be there soon,” she said.

  Solomon felt a rush of fear that extinguished his lust. He foresaw a vision of himself drowning in a sea of boiling blood. He tried to release Rebecca’s hand, but her grip was unbreakable.

  “It’s too late, Solomon. You have agreed to follow me anywhere. This gives me the power to bring you to the eternal fires of Gehenna.”

  With those words, the darkness was split open by a red streak below them. Solomon recognized the desperate arms of the damned reaching skyward.

  “You deceived me,” he shouted.

  “You were right about the cobbler. He was not strong enough. But I am.”

  “Who are you?”

  “I am a descendant of Francesa Sarah of Safed—the last in her line. Solomon Blass, rasha, your soul ends here.”

  Chapter 81

  Benjamin pulled up to Solomon’s home and even before the car came to a complete stop, Myron threw open the car door, jumped out, and ran in through the unlocked front door. Finding it unlocked was not unusual. Solomon never locked his doors. “There’s nothing to steal,” he would say.

  “Pops, are you here?” he shouted and walked out the back door and toward the dock. He’s probably fishing, he thought. His old battered chair was there, as well as a fishing rod, but no Pops.

  Myron walked back into the house and went into his father’s bedroom.

  “There you are, Pops. I’ve been calling you for a day and a half. Is the phone out of order?”

  Solomon did not answer. Myron leaned in for a clos
er look. His father’s eyes stared forward, not moving or blinking. Solomon’s skin looked like the color of an overcast gray sky. Myron shook him. There was no response. The gauze around his neck wound seemed loose, like his body had started to shrink.

  “Pops, what happened?”

  Still no response came. Myron leaned over and gently shook Solomon’s shoulder. Still nothing. “Pops. Pops!”

  He pulled up a small wooden chair that stood against the wall, sat down alongside his father and stared at him, still hoping he would suddenly wake up. When he finally resigned himself to the realization that Solomon was dead, tears exploded from his eyes and gushed down his face, and strong heaves rocked his body.

  He choked out the words, “I don’t understand. I just saw you two days ago, and you seemed fine. Pops, I came to tell you that Niko and I are getting married and I wanted you to be my best man. But now you’re gone. What am I going to do without you?”

  Two days later Myron and Niko stood alongside the hole in the ground that his father’s casket was lowered into. A rabbi recited the prayer to honor those who had passed. When it was over, Myron picked up the shovel, scooped up some dirt and tossed it onto the coffin.

  Niki held onto Myron’s arm as they walked back to the car.

  “How come no one came to his funeral? Didn’t he have any friends?” Niko asked.

  Myron shook his head. “His only friend was the rabbi, who was given the electric chair last month for killing that Gray fellow.”

  “I’m sorry, Myron. We’ve both lost our fathers now. At least we have each other.”

  Myron nodded and opened the car door for Niko. “Yes, that’s true. We certainly do.”

  Chapter 82

  With the Solomon episode behind him, Moshe got right back to work. He realized he had screwed up, but he could never kill another person, or worse, terminate their eternal soul. It was just something he would have to live with.

  “Thank you, Mrs. Rothman. Yes, I’ll have your shoes ready by five today. Goodbye,” Moshe said, and hung up the phone.