by Andrew Kane
Rachel helped her mother serve while Paul and the rabbi discussed the weekly Torah portion and sang Sabbath melodies. As usual, the meal was sumptuous; everything homemade. Challah, chicken soup, gefilte fish, roast veal, potato kugel, a cooked carrot and prune mixture called tsimmes, and three different types of cake for dessert.
By now, Paul was acquainted with the words and melodies of the songs. He sang loudly, often looking to Rachel for approval. Usually, she acknowledged him with a slight, yet perfunctory smile. He knew he had yet more work to do to make that smile shine.
That night, after the rabbi and Hannah had retired for the evening, Paul sat in the living room brushing up on his studies. It was a small, oak floored room with a red velour couch, matching recliner, mahogany coffee table, and three large overloaded bookcases. One wall was dedicated solely to a picture of the Rebbe, and the other walls bore family pictures and a few old portraits of rabbinical looking men that Paul took to be Rabbi Weissman’s ancestors.
Paul was stretched out on the recliner, trying to keep his eyes from closing as he struggled with the Hebrew book in his hands. Rachel sat patiently on the couch reading a chemistry textbook, waiting for the stroke of eleven when the automatic timer would turn the light out so she could open the fold-out bed and go to sleep. She was used to Paul remaining in the living room until the last minute and she knew why. It didn’t amuse her.
He looked over his book at her. She ignored him. “You know, the Rebbe said that Moshiach, the messiah, will be coming any day now,” he commented out of the blue.
“Yes, the Rebbe has been saying that for many years,” she responded.
“You sound as if you don’t believe it.”
“Do I?” she asked, nonchalantly, her eyes still in her book.
He wasn’t taking the hint. “Your father taught me that every Jew is supposed to believe that The Messiah is coming tomorrow.”
“I’m sure he did.”
He hesitated for a moment, realizing that it might be a good idea to change the subject. “You know, I’ve learned that it’s forbidden to study secular things on the Sabbath.”
“Is it?” she asked.
“Oh yes, it certainly is. Shabbos should be devoted only to holy matters and religious studies.”
“Even if one has a chemistry exam on Monday?”
“One must trust in God. If you follow His commandments, he will see to it that you pass all the tests of life.” He was proud of how wise his words rang, of how much he sounded like her father.
“Have you ever studied The Rambam?” she asked.
“The who?”
“The Rambam, Maimonides, the twelfth century rabbinical scholar who was also a physician.”
“Oh yes, I’ve heard of him, but…”
“Well,” she interrupted, “if you had studied him, you’d know that he believed that science is a religious and ‘holy’ subject!” She realized she wasn’t being kind, but she couldn’t help herself.
Paul didn’t respond. He sensed her impatience.
She continued, “He believed, in fact, that studying science is one of the necessary paths to knowing and appreciating God. In order to truly have a relationship with God, one has to understand the mysteries of nature and the universe.”
“But you said you were studying for a test, not to have a relationship with God.”
“It doesn’t much matter why I am studying science, just like it doesn’t matter why you are sitting there with a book you can hardly read. We each have our own reasons, and none of them, I suspect, are religious in nature.” She was surprised by her own candor, even felt bad about it, but only a little.
Before either of them could say anything else, the lights went out. Just as well, Paul thought, considering the tenor of their exchange. He sheepishly excused himself and bid her good-night.
On his way to the bedroom, Paul moved slowly, somewhat unsteadily, as if stumbling over his embarrassment. Growing up with his mother, he had never known that a woman could have such clarity of mind. This intimidated him, and he wasn’t sure how to handle it. On the other hand, it also challenged him and strengthened his resolve to make her his. And therein was his problem, for Rachel Weissman would never belong to anyone.
CHAPTER 13
“Joshua,” Loretta said, knocking on his bedroom door. It was six-thirty in the evening and she had just come from work.
As opposed to all those times she’d burst in, admonishing him for one thing or another, tonight was different. He’d actually done something that would please her, and he knew it. “Yes, Mama,” he said.
She opened the door and entered smiling. She hadn’t removed her coat yet, and in her hand was the report card he’d left for her on the kitchen table. He was sitting in his chair, facing her. She glanced at the desk behind him. The lamp was on, a textbook and notebook lay open, and his pencil was still in his hand. She was wordless.
“Yes, Mama.”
“Joshua, I just don’t know what to say,” she remarked, alluding to his having received straight A’s in every subject, and a personal comment from his teacher about his “astonishing turn-around.” She waved the card. “You didn’t even give yourself such good grades when you were fixing your report cards.”
He laughed. It felt strange, and good, to bring her pleasure.
“I knew you were gonna make something of yourself, I just knew it!” she said as she walked over and kissed him on his forehead. “I always knew you were smart enough to be anything you want. I prayed hard to God that you would one day know it too.” A tear fell down her cheek. “There ain’t no reason you gotta end up like those bums with nothing to show for yourself. You’re smart, Joshua, smarter than most folks, and if you use that, you’ll be all right in life.”
He nodded, though he wasn’t completely convinced. He hadn’t seen much of the world, but he’d seen enough to know that it was unlikely a black kid could become “anything.” But he would try, try at last to make her happy, for now he knew he could.
It had been three months since the stabbing incident; coincidentally, the day before his thirteenth birthday. Loretta hadn’t mentioned any plans for celebrating. She hadn’t been talking to him much at all over the past few months. He was expecting his usual gift—some articles of clothing he needed anyway—and not much else, though in the back of his mind, he hoped the report card might change things.
“Well, I best start preparing supper,” she said, turning to leave. “By the way, tomorrow night I’m gonna make you something special.” She stopped and pondered. “Yes, I think I’m gonna bake you a cake.”
“Strawberry shortcake!”
“Yes, that one,” she said, smiling. “Strawberry shortcake, your favorite, I believe.”
“You believe right, Mama.”
“Yeah, I suppose I do know you pretty well, Joshua.” She turned to him one last time. “Now you get back to your studies. I’ll call you when supper’s on the table.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
He returned to his books, but couldn’t concentrate on anything other than the look on her face as she held that report card. He’d worked hard these past months, he’d done it for her, to prove that he was as good as anybody. She had always known he was, had always told him as much, but he never believed her. Until now.
It hadn’t been easy for him to turn things around, though he had some help from not being allowed out of the house after school. She had locked the TV in her closet, so he had nothing to do except read his comics, listen to the radio, and stare at the walls. Within a week, he had become bored, so he decided what-the-hell. He started opening his school-books, and soon found that he was getting decent grades. Then came the praise from his teacher. He realized he could actually do this, he could succeed. And whatever that might mean in the end, for now it meant pleasing his mother and proving that Paul Sims wasn’t the only smart one in the world. For now, that was enough.
The next day, during recess, Joshua told Celeste what had happened w
ith 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 grass 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 ejaculate 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 brassiere 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 passed 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 principal 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 principal, 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 principal’s office, and the principal 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.
