Brooklyn Secrets

by Triss Stein

“Why, who is this?”

  “This is my daughter Chris. Chris, please say hello to Dr. Boyle. And this is Chris’ friend Jared and his grandmother, Evie Levine.”

  Ruby said with a smile, “I know Evie from the orchestra. Nice clarinet work on the Mozart.”

  “Why, thank you. Of course I am much too young to have a handsome grandson this grown up.” She winked and it was Jared’s turn to go pink. “But where is your sidekick? The lady who wears the track suits?”

  “Ah. You know…” Ruby fluttered a hand toward the clinic. “Not so well…”

  “So sorry. Come, Jared, escort me to get some punch and let these people visit. You can come back later.”

  “What is going on with Lil?”

  Ruby’s face turned to stone. “She is in hospice now and mostly sleeps. I always push her to wake up and talk, to keep her mind alive, but it works less and less.”

  She turned to Chris abruptly and demanded, “Tell me about yourself. Are you interested in music? Or did your mother drag you here? Are you interested in history, like your mom?”

  “I’m into creating, not studying.” She added quickly, seeing my face, “Not that I’m not a good student! But making things is what really interests me.”

  “Ah. So you are an artist. And you know it early. Excellent. And what medium do you like best?”

  “I went to art camp and we got to try everything! That was so cool. My photography won a prize. And my painting is only so-so, but my sketching improved a lot.”

  “Come walk with me,” Ruby began, as she took Chris’ arm. “I’ve known a number of artists, some quite famous. Would you like to meet a working artist? Perhaps a summer job? Now I have to warn you…” They walked off together, talking away, Chris confiding her dreams to a complete stranger.

  I was surprised. No, flabbergasted. I turned to Joe, who was amused by my reaction.

  Yes, Joe had come with us. He invited himself, just like Chris. In fact, I suspected Chris had something to do with it. His only explanation was, “I get along great with old ladies. And I can sit through a concert as well as the next guy.”

  I abandoned both Chris and Joe for a little while, to go see Lillian by myself. I wanted to see her and I was scared to see her. If she was awake, I would have to tell her I had failed at solving the mystery of her brother. And if she was not awake, I should probably still tell her. They say even unconscious people can hear voices—Zora talked to Savanna as much as she could—and I needed to talk to Lil. Or she needed me to.

  She was awake and sitting up by the window, looking out. I was so surprised I checked to make sure it was the right room.

  She turned a little when I called her name. “You see. There are the tulips. I watched the bulbs going in, in the fall, and here they are now, all that pink and red. Do you know the lovely poem about needing darkness for birth and light for flowering? I’ve been thinking about that lately.” She sighed.

  “Anyway, here I am to enjoy them. For a little while, at least.”

  I walked in, standing near her at the window and leaning over to shake her hand. Impulsively, I turned it into a kiss on her soft, wrinkled cheek. She smelled of lotion and cologne and something else, underneath, that was not so sweet.

  “We missed you at the concert but I sneaked some cookies for you.”

  “Why, thank you dear. I’ll be happy to have a cookie or two. I am partial to the ones with the swirl of chocolate frosting.” She ate it in two bites. “And what concert was that, dear? Was I supposed to go?”

  This was worse than I expected. She didn’t remember being in the orchestra. Her enunciation was blurred and so were her eyes.

  “Lil, do you know me? It’s Erica Donato.”

  “Come stand here, where I can see you better. Why of course it’s Erica! The sun was in my eyes so I couldn’t see you clearly.”

  Nice save. I pulled a small stool over so I could sit at her level. I held her hand and said, “You wanted me to find you some information.”

  She smiled gently. “And did you?”

  “Not really. I am so sorry. I found a tiny handful of references to your brother but that’s all. Nothing that told us what happened.”

  “My brother? Frank? That’s all right. He talks to me now. I suppose he will tell me himself in due time.”

  How many drugs was she on? A lot, it seemed. I knew the goal was to keep her comfortable and pain-free now. I wasn’t sure she understood anything I said, but did it matter? She was smiling, not worried about a thing.

  “I did bring you this, though. I thought you’d get a kick out of it.”

  It was copies of the census pages that showed her and her family, the originals and some I’d blown up to allow her to read the hand-written lines that had the Krawitz family data.

  “You see, there you are, and your parents and your other brothers.”

  “There I am! Little Lillian, the first baby with an American name.” She put a finger out and stabbed one of the boxes. “And my Feivel at the top, because he was the oldest. So someone knew about us? What was this, the secret police?”

  It said US Census at the top of the page in clear letters. I explained and she said, “Really? All our names are here, written in these books, forever?” In a minute, she was gently snoring.

  I left and I won’t lie. I had to stop and get control of myself before I returned to our table.

  Joe looked up and he knew everything and saw everything. He stood and put his arms around me and I stayed there for a long time. It helped.

  I took the fourth seat at the table, and he handed me a glass and pushed the plate of cookies my way. Chris and Jared were there too, sharing their own plate. I wondered if I was on a double date with my daughter and her boyfriend. And Joe. How was this possible?

  Under the table, Joe picked up my hand. I curled my fingers around his and held on tight. He whispered into my ear, “Let’s ditch the kids and have a nice dinner out. Chris plans to go to Jared’s and his parents will bring her home.”

  So it was a date after all. I had been conned. It didn’t bother me at all.

  ***

  That was the last time I saw Lil. She died a few days later. Ruby called to tell me, and I wondered how small their circle had become, if I was important enough to be told. There would be a memorial service later, and I promised to go.

  ***

  Ruby did arrange for Chris to meet a famous artist, son of a painter who had been a close friend. Chris’ mouth dropped open when she heard the name. She wrote a note to Ruby, thanking her, without any prompting from me and they have continued to keep in touch.

  ***

  Zora and I stayed in touch too but she was busy with Savanna now. The doctors are cautiously saying full recovery is possible but she has surgery ahead and many long months of physical therapy. Knowing Zora, I was sure there would be no slacking on the hard work. Wellesley would defer her admittance and her scholarship for a year. Tyler continued boxing, with Savanna’s name in big letters on the back of his warm-up jacket.

  ***

  Some months later, I had a message from Sergeant Asher. “News tonight. Just beginning!” It was a brief story: the state was indicting prominent boxing promoters on charges of racketeering, bribery, money laundering and more. Tax fraud, too. Among the boxers under management was Tyler Isiahson. Savanna was not mentioned then, and the case remained officially open, but two of the men repeating “No comment” had been talking to Tommy Brennan in a parking lot one spring day. Brennan retired abruptly, for real this time, and moved to Florida. And Joe’s friend Archie told us over dinner one night that Tyler had a whole new management team.

  ***

  James Nathan never found his treasure, or at least, not that I ever heard about it. I found one, though.

  Before the Stone Avenue library closed for renovation, when it was already close
d for packing, I had an invitation from Ms. Talbot.

  “Would you like to come by this week, while we are still here working? We found something you might like to see. We usually take a break about three and I bring in a treat.”

  I wasn’t going to miss that. I brought baklava from one of the Syrian groceries.

  The inside of the building looked so different, stripped of all contents and crowded with cartons. The emptiness made the stained paint and pitted wooden bookcases and cracked flooring far more noticeable. Yes, it was time for a facelift. Like Ms. Talbot, I hoped they would not destroy the original charm.

  Ms. Talbot, Mr. Wilson, and a small crew of clerks and teenagers were there. We ate cupcakes and baklava and fruit juice, and shared news of Savanna. They would all be scattering next week, the full time staff to different branches, and the teenagers to the nearest other branch, a couple of subway stops down the line.

  When everyone went back to packing, Ms. Talbot brought me into her office. It too was mostly stripped, except for the furniture the movers would take to storage, but there were stacks of books and files on the desk.

  “These are the valuable items. I pack and mark them myself so there is no question about how they need to be handled.” She handed me a cardboard folder, faded red and tied with attached string. “This is what I thought you’d like to see.”

  It was photographs, old, cracked, peeling. Black and white.

  “We found it way in the back of an old closet behind cartons of supplies. This place hasn’t been cleaned out in decades!” She saw my questioning look, and added, “Nothing with it, no explanation of any kind. But you can tell where they were taken.”

  I surely could, the streets surrounding the very place where we were standing, and a long time ago, judging by the cars and the clothes and the absence of apartment towers. I turned them over, and there was a name scrawled on the back. “K. Schwartz.”

  Three guys in street clothes of the day, double-breasted suits, talking intensely in front of a car, standing in what looked like a vacant lot. These were not poses; they seemed oblivious that they were being photographed. Was Espy hidden? Behind a car, perhaps?

  In the next photo, another man had joined them. Lillian’s brother Frank. I nearly stopped breathing as I turned over the rest. In the next there was wrestling. Was it for real or for fun? The one after gave me the answer. Frank was unconscious. They were loading him into the trunk of their car.

  I lost my breath when I saw it. Then I looked again a few times, to make sure it showed what I thought at first. It did.

  This was the answer for Lil, too late. There were no names and no dates, but an expert could add some of that. Had Espy hidden these because they were too dangerous? Or had he lost them? Or was he holding them for some other purpose? Blackmail, or to trade with the authorities? He would have been so young then, too young for that kind of thinking. Then again, he was on his own in a tough world. How did I know what he was capable of?

  “These are, well, they might be quite valuable.”

  “So I thought. It looks to me like a crime in real time.”

  “What happens to them?”

  “They go right to the Brooklyn Collection. They’ll know what to do. I’m going to take them over myself along with some other folders I found, library history and such.” She smiled. “So you think this was worth a visit?”

  “You have no idea. I can’t even tell you…”

  And then I did tell her.

  She had a set of photocopies for me and she gave me a name, the person who would be handling the originals.

  Then she said, “I have one more for you.”

  It was a casual snapshot in bright color, right here at this library, with Christmas decorations. Tall, elegant Savanna was in the back and tiny Deandra stood in the front row, wearing an outfit in startling colors.

  “Staff holiday party, last year. I thought you might like to have a copy.”

  I almost couldn’t get the words out to say thank you.

  “I’m holding on to one for Dee’s mother, if we can ever find her.”

  ***

  Ruby and I finally did the interview about girls in Brownsville. Ruby began, “I miss Lillian a lot. My job today is to speak for both of us. I know what she would have said, and I will say it for her.” That was brave of her and it was a great interview, vividly describing the teachers and writers who opened new worlds for these girls, the barriers along the way, the parents who meant well but only encouraged the boys, the fights about staying school or going to work in a factory, the group of girl friends who so bravely supported each other’s dreams. I got a lot of kudos for it at work, but to be honest, it was all Ruby.

  When we were done recording I turned it off and showed her the lost Espy photos from the library. I thought she would be interested.

  She turned alarmingly red and dropped the cup in her hand.

  I jumped up, asking if I should call emergency service, but she covered her face, breathing hard, shook her head and finally was able to look up at me.

  “Sit down. I have something to tell you. I suppose it’s time. No, it’s way past time. I never told anyone, not even Lil.” She stopped, gathering her strength. “I should have told her. I was too…” She smiled bitterly. “I was too something.”

  “Can I help?”

  “No. Only listen. Do you remember we looked at photos and one showed the window where I used to sleep? When I was a girl?”

  I nodded. “You said on nights it was too hot to sleep you’d stay up and look out.”

  “Yes. So one night, I was up and my brother and Lil’s were hanging around on the steps, talking and smoking. I knew Frank more because of Lil than my brother. They weren’t so close, but knew each other forever. They sounded comfortable that night.”

  “Like old friends?”

  “Yes. Just like that. They talked about the Dodgers and about girls. And this is what I can’t forget. Frank talked to him, to Maury, about the meat cutters union. Some bad people were cranking up the pressure. That’s how he said it. And he said he wanted to say no, to fight back, but was that possible? I remembered it, but I didn’t understand it then. It sounded serious.”

  “And did you figure it out, later?”

  “Years later, when I learned some history of labor racketeering. And my brother said to Frank, ‘Good for you. You’re tough enough to fight back. We’ve got to stand up for what’s right,’ he said. He and Frank saw just the same on that.”

  “But your brother, Maurice, was he involved too?”

  “Not at all. He wasn’t a union man himself, he was a college boy. But Frank liked what he said, and laughed and said ‘They can all go to hell, those crooks. And I plan to tell them so.’ And I remembered that because he said hell, a very bad word.” She stopped and caught her breath. “I was only nine. And they said good night, and Frank said, ‘Thanks old buddy. I just needed to hear it out loud. Yeah. My road is clear.’”

  I looked at her and waited.

  “Frank disappeared two days later.” She patted the photos. “Now we know what happened. And Lil was sent away soon after. Maury would cross the street to avoid her and her parents.”

  “Did he ever talk about it?”

  “Not to me. I was only a kid. What did I matter? But it was impossible to keep secrets in that crummy little apartment. My parents were nagging him to go call on Lil’s family. It was the right thing to do, they said. He lost his temper and shouted at them. He felt guilty, I guess.” She sighed. “You understand, some of this is what I pieced together later, trying to make sense of what I knew but didn’t understand.”

  She stood up then, nervously, and stared out the window. “Well, hell, Lillian, do you think it mattered? That I didn’t tell you? What would it have changed?” She turned to me. “She’s out there you know.”

  “What?”
>
  “Oh, don’t look so shocked. I didn’t mean it literally! I don’t believe in ghosts and neither did Lil. That is for sure.” She paused. “Some of our parents might have.”

  “But she would say to me…”

  “Meds, darling, just meds talking. Lil herself didn’t believe in a thing. A long life does that to lots of us. But! But, she said she wanted her ashes where she could see some flowers. I sneaked out one night and scattered them in that big flower bed right out there. I owed it to her. She’s got tulips now and lilacs soon. She’s got a nice view of the Palisades too.”

  Then she did laugh.

  “When you finish that exhibit? Put a picture of her up on a wall. She would have loved that. Frank, too. And me. And even my brother Maury. Why not?”

  I promised I would and I did. And I persuaded the museum director to send a car for Ruby the day it opened.

  Afterword

  Brooklyn Secrets, like my other Brooklyn books, is a blend of actual history, possible history, and complete fiction.

  Like Erica, I was drawn into present day Brownsville by my interest in historic Brownsville. Unlike Erica, it is not entirely new territory for me, as I worked at the Stone Avenue branch library many years ago. None of the characters in those scenes is based on an actual person, though there are a few incidents that come directly from my own experience.

  This is not intended to be a full portrait of Brownsville, nor could it be. I am seeing it through the eyes of Erica, an observant outsider, but still an outsider. I hope the small part of the picture described here is an honest and fair one.

  In the dialogue, I have tried to suggest, rather than duplicate, street slang. It changes too quickly to catch in a book, has too much obscenity to be published here, and further, only a local teen could be sure of how a local teen should sound.

  Some people whose names are mentioned are obviously historical figures. The basic facts of 1930s Brownsville life, and the history of the organization nicknamed Murder Inc, are as accurate as I could make them. I was surprised several times by people I know telling me they had old family connections to Brownsville and the mob.