Joshua: A Brooklyn Tale

by Andrew Kane

  “Because your mother works for me and my wife, and I like her very much.” Defensive. “We think of her as family, you too.”

  There were many things running through Joshua’s mind, but he needed to stay focused on Celeste. “I need twenty-five hundred dollars,” he said, matter-of-factly, figuring he could still save his own five hundred for a “rainy day.”

  “Yes, that is a lot of money.” Pensive. “What do you need it for?”

  Having anticipated the question, Joshua had also decided to answer truthfully, hoping to appeal to Alfred’s sense of decency. He told the story about Celeste and Big Bob, as Alfred stared in disbelief. Joshua thought he even saw concern in Alfred’s eyes.

  Alfred thought for a moment, then said, “It seems this young lady has been the source of all the trouble you’ve been getting yourself into.”

  “I guess you could put it that way.”

  “And what do you think your mother would do if she ever found out that I helped you to continue your relationship with this girl?”

  “This ain’t about me and Celeste; it’s about Celeste only, and helping her. We aren’t together anymore.”

  “Are you sure of that?”

  Joshua waited a beat. “Yeah.”

  “How can you be sure this Big Bob character will keep his word and tell you where she is? And even if he does, how do you know she’ll come home with you once you find her? It doesn’t sound like she’s exactly been kidnapped.”

  Alfred was a businessman to the end, covering all bases, making sure his investment would be prudent. Joshua assured him that Big Bob, also a businessman, always delivered for the right price. “That’s what Big Bob wants folks to think. If he went back on his word, people would hear and nobody would trust him no more.”

  Joshua spoke in the language Alfred understood. As for the question about Celeste’s cooperation, he had no response, for he too wasn’t convinced.

  “Okay, Joshua, I’ll give you the money. But on two conditions.” He looked at Joshua closely, scrutinizing the boy’s reaction.

  Joshua was impassive, waiting to hear the conditions.

  “First,” Alfred continued, “you have to promise me that after you find this girl, whether you get her home or not, you’ll forget about her. She’s brought you nothing but trouble, and you can’t spend the rest of your life making good for what happened to her father. Second, this money will be regarded by you as a gift, not a loan. I want you to save the money you earn. One day you’ll use it for school or something. I don’t need it.”

  Joshua smiled, he didn’t have a problem with either condition. He knew there could never be a future with Celeste anyway, and the idea of not having to pay back the money suited him just fine. He also knew that the only reason Alfred was helping was guilt, a motive with which he himself was well acquainted.

  Like father, like son.

  To Joshua’s surprise, it was one of the better apartment buildings in Bed-Stuy; red-brick, five stories, graffiti-free, windows intact, front door-lock and buzzer system operational. As he stood in the entrance, about to press the buzzer for apartment 5-K, it occurred to him that he should have expected no less. Big Bob lured his girls with promises of comfort and riches. It made sense that he would treat them well, at least at the start. Then, once they became dependent upon him and his “free” drugs, he would put them on the streets to earn their keep.

  Joshua’s only hope was that Celeste had not yet fallen too deeply into the trap. Big Bob was a fast mover, and Celeste was vulnerable. He didn’t know what to expect.

  Big Bob had gladly taken the money, seeming nonchalant about losing one of his girls, almost as if he was certain that Celeste would stay put. Joshua wondered about this, and understood that there were no “money-back guarantees.” He had one shot, and if he couldn’t convince Celeste to come with him, it would be good-bye to both her and the money.

  The voice on the intercom asked who it was.

  “Sunshine,” Joshua responded, using the password Big Bob had given him, knowing that in a few hours it would change.

  The door buzzed, Joshua pushed and entered. He took the elevator to the top floor, found apartment 5-K, and pressed another buzzer. Next thing he knew, he was face to face with Celeste.

  Her expression lacked surprise, making him wonder if Big Bob had told her he would be coming. She held the door, stepped aside, and let him in without an utterance. He looked at her and realized she was on something.

  He surveyed the apartment with his eyes, turned to her, and said, “I’ve come to take you home.”

  She was unresponsive.

  He wondered if she’d heard him. “Where are your things?” he asked.

  Still no reply.

  He grabbed her arms, looked in her eyes, and said, “I am taking you home. Now!”

  Tears suddenly formed in her eyes. She broke free and sobbed, “No, you can’t! You Can’t!”

  He reached for her again. She held her hand up to ward him off, and continued crying.

  “I’m sorry,” he said softly.

  “You did nothing to be sorry for,” she replied, looking away.

  “But I did. I killed your…”

  “You didn’t kill no one! At least no one that didn’t deserve killing. You did me a favor.”

  “Look, we gotta go. Now!”

  “Where do you think we’re gonna go?”

  “Home.”

  “I don’t have a home.”

  “Yes you do.” He moved closer to her, and wiped her tears with his hand.

  They embraced.

  “Come,” he said, “we got to get moving.”

  “I can’t.”

  He stepped back and looked at her. “What do you mean, you can’t?”

  “Just what I’m saying. I can’t go! Don’t you see, I can’t go back to my Mama and Jerome. There’s nothing for me there. My Mama never did anything to help me. She just let him do what he wanted. She never said nothing! Acted like she didn’t know what was going on. But she knew all right. She knew everything. And Jerome, he ain’t no better. Hell, he was in the room, in the next bed, always pretending he was asleep. He never did nothing either.”

  “But they do love you, and I know they’re worried sick over you. They probably were afraid and didn’t know what to do. You know your Daddy was real big, and real angry. What could they do?” He hoped she would see his point, even though he wasn’t convinced himself.

  “That’s bull. You did something; you’re the only one who ever did anything. Don’t go making excuses for them!”

  “What I did wasn’t right.”

  “It sure was right. You stopped him, and now I never have to worry about him again.”

  “I could have done other things to stop him, but now’s not the time to talk about any of that.”

  “And Jerome and Mama could have done something, but they didn’t. It don’t bother me if I never see them again. I ain’t going!”

  “So what are you gonna do, stay here with Big Bob and become one of his girls? You know what they do for him?”

  “He don’t treat me like that. He treats me good, takes care of me mighty fine, not like my daddy.”

  “How? By giving you drugs!”

  “He’s giving me a nice place to live, and he don’t make me take drugs, he just offers me a little something now and then, makes me feel good. What’s wrong with that?”

  “And you think he’s doing all this for free? Don’t you see, it starts off as ‘a nice place to live,’ and ‘a little something now and then,’ and soon it becomes a lot of something, all the time, and you’re gonna have to work to pay for it.”

  “That’s what you say!”

  “What I know! What I’ve seen!”

  “Well you’re wrong, and I wouldn’t go back to Mama and Jerome even if you were right.”

  “Then just come with me, we’ll go somewhere else.”

  “And where’s that?”

  “You’ll stay with me and Mama for a
few days, we’ll figure something out.” Not very convincing, he had to admit.

  “You think your mama’s gonna let me stay with you?”

  “Don’t you worry about it; I’ll take care of it.”

  “Yeah, say you do; then what? I’m gonna stay with you forever?”

  There had been a time when he would have said yes to that, but “forever” was no longer in the cards for them. “I don’t know,” he said, “but there’s got to be some place better than here.”

  “It’s not so bad here; you just think it is. Big Bob’s been good to me, he says I’m special, he’s gonna take care of me.”

  The next thing Joshua knew, tears were flowing from his eyes. He couldn’t recall the last time he’d actually cried.

  She reached out, touched his face, and moved closer to hold him.

  “Look, Peanuts,” she said, “you know where I am, and you can come visit anytime. That’s better than it used to be.”

  “You think so? Listen, Big Bob’s never going to let me get near you again. He’s gonna watch you like a hawk. And you’re not staying in this nice place forever, trust me on that.”

  She didn’t respond; she wasn’t listening. He knew he had lost her.

  He looked in her eyes. “Wherever you are, if you need me, you call. Even if Mama answers, you just tell her where you’re at, and I’ll get to you.”

  She began crying again. “But you can come see me anytime you want,” she said, as she fell into his arms. They stood there, holding one another for what seemed an eternity. Only, it wasn’t.

  He came out of the building, and began his trek back to Crown Heights. Daylight was dwindling, he had to move quickly. He raced against the sun, which was slowly descending somewhere beyond the tenements. Not much of a sunset, but the best these streets had to offer.

  His thoughts were muddled, and his spirit was defeated. He had lost the money and Celeste, and had made a mess of everything. He tried contemplating his next move, but was too demoralized to consider the future. Yet, despite this, he knew there would be a next move. Somehow. Sometime.

  BOOK II

  CHAPTER 20

  The first time Joshua saw Rachel Weissman, he was sweeping the stairwell of the synagogue. It was his third day on the job, a few minutes past seven in the evening. Quitting time was seven; he was running late.

  He was between the first and second floors, and she was ascending the stairs. He moved aside to let her pass. Their eyes met for a split second. She smiled politely and said hello.

  He watched her continue up the stairs. Something about her; no, everything about her struck him. She exited the stairwell, the door closing loudly behind her. He ran up, taking three steps at a time, eased the door open, and stuck his head out to see where she was going. She stopped outside one of the classrooms in which a group of men gathered every evening to study. She leaned against the wall and waited.

  She didn’t notice him watching. He came out of the stairwell and started sweeping the hallway. He had already swept it ten minutes earlier; what the hell.

  She looked at him and smiled once again. The cordial, obligatory sort of smile that one usually offers a stranger. He tried to smile back, but his face froze. He guessed her to be around his own age, and figured she was probably waiting for one of the men in the class.

  In the three days working in the synagogue, he had encountered some rather strange things. The first was the notion of grown men still attending school. They were all at least in their thirties, and every night they came to study for hours and to listen to an older rabbi give a lecture. Outside the classroom, Joshua was able to hear what went on, though he didn’t understand a word of it. The men spoke mostly Hebrew, or Yiddish, with a little English here and there. And they spoke loudly, as if they were always yelling at each other, flailing their arms all over.

  He’d asked Calvin about it, but Calvin had told him to mind his own business. Calvin was his boss, the custodian, and seemed an okay sort. But Joshua could tell that Calvin was ticked off about having him around. From the moment Rabbi Weissman had introduced them, Calvin seemed less than welcoming.

  Joshua understood that Calvin had been working in the synagogue for over five years, was older, and had a family to support. He figured that Calvin had probably been doing a fine job, didn’t need any help, and felt a little threatened about having an assistant. Joshua knew he would have felt the same way if the roles had been reversed.

  He tried to explain to Calvin that Rabbi Weissman was doing someone a favor. He even told Calvin about his parole and all. It helped some, but not entirely.

  Calvin reminded him of his mother, a hard working, serious sort. She would also have told him to mind his own business about the goings on in the synagogue. They both would probably be clobbering him right now if they knew what he was up to.

  Calvin was big, muscular, well defined, and looked as if he spent a lot of time lifting weights. He had a crew cut, and a bushy mustache, both of which were starting to show some gray. And he was always sweating.

  Joshua had told his mother about Calvin after his first day. He had pointed out that she would probably think Calvin was good looking, despite the fact that he was married. She’d told him to shut his mouth and mind his own business.

  So here he was, sweeping a clean floor, watching this girl, when suddenly the classroom door opened and the men came out. Rabbi Weissman, who was among them, greeted the girl with a warm embrace and a tender kiss on her forehead. They shared smiles and a few words, and then started towards the stairwell, holding hands. As they walked past Joshua, the rabbi stopped to ask him how things were going.

  “Good,” he answered, trying to hide his anxiety. “Calvin’s been showing me the ropes.”

  “Oh, by the vay, this is my daughter, Ruchel,” the rabbi said, pronouncing her name in Hebrew.

  Rachel, realizing Joshua’s unfamiliarity with Hebrew names, politely interjected, “Rachel.”

  The sound of her voice was pleasing. Joshua managed a stiff smile, and said, “Hi.”

  She smiled back, this time with a bit more warmth. One could fall deeply into her emerald eyes, with no hope of returning to his former life.

  “Vell,” the rabbi said, “I’m glad everything is vorking out. Have a good evening and regards to your mother.”

  As they walked away, Joshua watched her from behind. He wondered if she knew he was watching, and figured that she probably didn’t even care enough to think about it.

  It wasn’t just her beauty that struck him; there was something more, though he couldn’t quite put his finger on it. Perhaps it was the ease with which she held herself, or the tenderness of her smile. Whatever, he had found it quite affecting.

  And she didn’t do anything to encourage this; on the contrary, he was certain she had no interest in him whatsoever. But that didn’t matter, nor did the fact that she was the daughter of a Hasidic rabbi and he was a black kid working as a janitor. Nothing mattered, not even his sordid past. All he could think of was that he wanted to know more about her.

  He promised himself he’d work late every evening.

  CHAPTER 21

  The first few days in the emergency room were exciting, though there wasn’t much for Rachel to do. Doctor Schiffman had explained that they didn’t usually have volunteers in the ER, for most of the work that was done there had to be performed by doctors and nurses. “Unlike the regular floors, patients are here only temporarily, so there’s really no time to get to know them,” she said as she scrambled from one treatment room to another with Rachel by her side. “That’s what volunteers usually do: talk to patients, bring them books and stuff. But here there’s no time for that. We’ll just have to make up a job for you as we go.”

  Rachel followed the doctor around, taking in every word and gesture. At the start, she had trouble just keeping up with Schiffman’s pace, but after a couple of days, she was well in stride.

  “So what do we have here?” Schiffman asked as she opened th
e curtain to one of the small cubicles. Inside, a young Hasidic boy, not more than five, was crying in pain, sweating profusely, his mother standing next to him. Schiffman picked up the chart, turned to the boy and his mother, and said, “I’m Doctor Schiffman.” She walked over to the boy, placed her hand gently on his forehead, and said, “Don’t worry, everything is going to be okay.”

  Rachel saw the boy’s mother eye Schiffman in much the same way her mother had when Rachel had broken her ankle. She recognized the woman from the community, but didn’t know her name. It was another of the many faces she usually passed in the synagogue or walking the avenue. The woman seemed too preoccupied to recognize Rachel.

  “He was feverish last night,” the mother answered, reluctantly. “We called the doctor, Doctor Bronstein, and he said to give him aspirin. It helped a little, but this morning he woke up screaming in pain and the fever was worse.”

  The mother’s mention of Doctor Bronstein prompted Schiffman to smile at Rachel, recalling the almost identical situation that had occurred when they had first met. Rachel returned the smile, realizing that this probably happened to Schiffman fairly often.

  “Yes, the nurse who just took his temperature recorded it as 104.3. That’s pretty high,” Schiffman stated. “Did you call Doctor Bronstein this morning?”

  “Yes, and he said to bring Shloimie here right away. He said he would meet us here,” the mother added, impatiently looking at her wristwatch.

  “That was good advice to bring him here. I’m sure Doctor Bronstein will join us shortly. Tell me, where is the pain?”

  “I think it’s his stomach, that’s what he says.”

  It was difficult to hold a conversation with a screaming child and a skeptical mother, but Schiffman managed. Rachel observed how the doctor took control, and imagined herself in Schiffman’s place. She liked the feeling that it gave her.

  Schiffman turned to the boy. “Shloimie, could you point to exactly where the pain is?”

  The boy complied.

  “Rachel,” she said, her eyes still on the boy, “where is he pointing?”