Joshua: A Brooklyn Tale

by Andrew Kane

  “I appreciate your sentiments, Mr. Thompson,” the judge said, “but this is a court of law, not a place for grandstanding. In the future you will limit your soliloquies to appropriate forums!”

  Thompson smiled.

  “And as for the concerns of the community,” the judge continued, “this court is always occupied with justice. No one, regardless of race, religion, or anything else, gets railroaded inside these walls. No one!” The judge waited a few seconds for his words to be absorbed. “Now, regarding the matter of the State vs. Willie Johnson, trial will be set for…” He stopped to consult his calendar. “February 20th.”

  A six month delay was not unusual considering the court’s schedule, but most of the people in the room didn’t know that. They grew restless at the idea that Willie would have to sit in jail awaiting trial for that long. Thompson, however, didn’t protest; he knew six months was typical, and he was also confident of his ability to raise money for Willie’s bail. He figured that the time would only help Willie’s case. Tempers would calm down in the Hasidic community, and maybe he could even pressure the police to do some real investigating.

  Strauss rose to his feet. “Your honor, in the matter of bail…”

  Wilkins: “Save it, Mr. Strauss. This matter has taken up enough of the court’s time already. In consideration of the state’s case, which is rather weak at this moment, I am setting bail in the matter of five thousand dollars.”

  Strauss: “Your honor…”

  Wilkins: “That’s it, Mr. Strauss!”

  With that, the judge stood up and left the court, the guards escorted Willie out, and Thompson stood around congratulating his followers. Fielding marched out in a huff, not even stopping to look at Joshua. Strauss followed quickly behind him.

  Joshua and Connie were still seated, taking in what had just transpired, when Thompson approached them. “You best pass that bar exam, Mr. Eubanks,” the professor said. “This boy is going to need a real lawyer in six months, not some flunky. The case is yours, you earned it!”

  He walked away before Joshua could even discuss the offer. But Joshua knew it wasn’t an offer at all. It was a command, and one which he would gladly accept.

  CHAPTER 40

  Rachel and Binny came out of Doctor Silver’s office; she, in tears; his mind elsewhere as if she didn’t exist. He offered no words of comfort, no gestures; in fact, he had withdrawn from her weeks earlier, just after her third miscarriage.

  “Three successive miscarriages over four years suggests the obvious,” the doctor had said. “The chance of miscarrying again is high, and the blood loss could be quite dangerous.”

  “Dangerous?” Rachel had asked.

  “To be honest, Mrs. Frankel, it could kill you.”

  “You mean, we can’t…” Rachel had been unable to complete her own sentence.

  “I’m sorry,” the doctor had said.

  Through it all, Binny had sat silently. He was again the person she had thought she would never see again, the Binny of old. And now, this was the Binny she would be stuck with forever.

  She knew in her heart she couldn’t put all the blame on him. In her despair, she had also retreated. She had stopped taking care of herself and her home, had stopped trying to keep her marriage strong.

  And the fighting. So loud, so harsh, so ruinous. Incessant bickering, constant criticism, such had become their only form of communication. She wanted it to stop, and would do anything to make it better. But it was too late. It had taken on a life of its own.

  Paul Sims had heard rumors of Rachel’s troubles, for there were no secrets among the Hasidim of Crown Heights. The latest chatter predicted an imminent separation. Something about their not being able to have children, and their disenchantment with one another. No one had seen Rachel for months, but Binny was always around. In the yeshiva, on the avenue, taking his weekly meals in restaurants and his Sabbath meals in other people’s homes. To all appearances, he was living the life of a bochur, a single man.

  Paul’s own marriage had its own problems, the result of years of tedium and disinterest, but nothing near the calumny of the Frankels. Chava had given him a second daughter, and he had learned to find unexpected pleasure in his children. But aside from that, he was discontented. Financial considerations had forced him to work for his father, managing four apartment buildings in Crown Heights. Basically, he saw himself as nothing more than a glorified “super.” The only saving grace was that it kept him busy, away from Chava.

  He worked all day, studied in the yeshiva most of the night, and usually saw his daughters after they were asleep, or on Shabbos. As for Chava, she had plenty to keep her busy; she seemed to accept the life God had given her.

  Paul had never stopped thinking about Rachel. Often, late at night, awake in bed, he imagined her there with him. Sex had stopped with Chava after the birth of their second daughter, and this was his only release. Thankfully, Hasidic couples slept in separate beds.

  He always believed Chava to be asleep while he indulged his fantasies, but he’d occasionally been mistaken. Sometimes she was wide awake, pretending to be asleep, listening. His intemperance both humored and humiliated her. Part of her wanted to be next to him, to have a husband who desired and craved her. And part of her was glad; better he have himself and leave me alone.

  Isaac and Hannah Weissman were worried about their daughter. They had watched with anguish as Rachel’s marriage deteriorated. They had tried talking with her, and Isaac had even spoken with Binny on more than one occasion, but their efforts were to no avail.

  Hannah visited Rachel daily. It disturbed her that Rachel was always at home, always alone. She tried to suggest going out together, shopping, lunching, whatever. But Rachel was never in the mood.

  Isaac would see his daughter some evenings and on Shabbos, but his conversations with her were sparse. The Weissmans had been having Sabbath meals together as if Rachel had never married. Except for the fact that the meals were always served in Rachel’s home, for she didn’t feel up to leaving. The table was usually subdued. Isaac no longer sang his melodies. The knowledge that he would never have grandchildren had opened old wounds, had infuriated him towards his God, had soured him on life and hope. He tried desperately not to show it, not to let his daughter see his disappointment. But there was only so much one could hide.

  One afternoon in early October, Esther Mandlebaum came over to deliver the news to Rachel: she had become engaged to Stephen Butler.

  “Esther, you’re crazy,” Rachel responded angrily, no trace of jest or sarcasm.

  Esther knew that Rachel wasn’t really angry with her. She understood how anger had become Rachel’s only way of relating these days. She walked over and shook her friend. “Rachel, you must come out of this slump! I’ve just told you I’m getting married and you’re not even happy for me.”

  “Are you happy for yourself?”

  “Sometimes.”

  “Sounds good to me.”

  “Ah, we’re beginning to feel a mite better, are we?”

  Rachel offered a slight smile.

  “Now that’s more like it,” Esther said. “I’ll tell you what. Why don’t you go pretty yourself up, and we’ll go out on the town tonight, just you and me, to celebrate.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Why not? Come on, you could use it.”

  “I don’t go out on the town.”

  “That’s part of the problem, deary, all those do’s and don’ts of yours. How about we forget the rules for a bit and just have a good time, come on!”

  “I’d really rather not.”

  “Please, for me.” Esther wasn’t going to give up.

  After a little more prodding, Rachel agreed. She showered, put on some make-up, and tried on three dresses before she was finally satisfied. Esther agreed on the choice.

  “Okay, let’s go,” Esther said as she reached for her coat.

  “No, wait!” Rachel went back into the closet and removed her sheite
l from its box.

  “Oh no, not the wig,” Esther protested. “You can’t wear that thing.”

  “Esther, I’m still married,” Rachel said. “For however long that lasts,” she added with a touch of acrimony.

  “But the wig, you simply can’t.”

  Rachel placed the wig over her hair, fussed with it for a while, then said, “You’re right, I can’t.” She replaced the wig in the box, went back into the closet, and emerged with four hats. “Okay, which shall it be?” she asked.

  Esther made a face, but didn’t object. She realized there was no way Rachel was leaving the house without a head covering, and a hat was certainly better than a wig. She looked at the four hats; she had to admit they were all stylish and tasteful. Rachel tried one on, looked in the mirror and scoffed at the clashing colors. The second wasn’t much better. But the third, a carmine beret, was just right for her ruby lipstick and royal blue dress. Esther had to admit, it worked.

  “Where are we going?” Rachel asked.

  “How about the Village? I know some places where we can have a splendid time.”

  “I’m sure you do.”

  Esther picked up the phone and called a car service. Rachel walked into the kitchen, opened one of the cupboards, and removed a Rosenthal sugar bowl. The gold trimmed set of dishes had been one of many gifts from her in-laws, and the delicate bowl had always seemed a most appropriate place to keep the “petty” cash. “How much do you think we’ll need?” she asked Esther.

  “Nothing, deary. It’s on me.”

  “Uh, uh! It’s your engagement celebration, I’m doing the treating!” She opened the jar, removed several bills, and looked at them. “I might as well spend his money while I still have it,” she reflected. “How much?”

  “Oh, I don’t know. How much is there?”

  Rachel counted. “Seems there’s at least a hundred.”

  “That should do.”

  They laughed; Rachel hadn’t done that in a long time. It felt good. She looked good. The night held promise.

  They heard the taxi’s horn, gathered their coats, and left. Rachel locked the door behind her, and as she walked toward the cab, she turned around and looked at the grand house. She felt a lump in her throat, and a force drawing her back inside, but she resisted. She was acutely conscious of the symbolism in her actions, a feeling that with each step, she was approaching another chapter of her life.

  Rachel and Esther got into the backseat of the cab, and Esther instructed the driver where to take them. “It’s a wonderful little bar on Bleecker Street,” she said to Rachel. “You’ll like it. Nice crowd, not too rowdy.”

  Rachel wasn’t sure if she would ever “like” going to a bar, but she had to admit it felt good to be out. “So, have you told your parents yet?” she asked Esther.

  “Heavens no.”

  “And when do you plan to?”

  “Sometime.”

  “Esther!”

  “I know, I know. It’s just that it’s going to cause such a ruckus.”

  “Do they know anything?”

  “About what?”

  “Stephen.”

  “You mean, do they know he exists?”

  Rachel nodded.

  “No, not really.”

  “You mean they don’t know…”

  “Anything. And I’d just as soon keep it that way, if I could. But I can’t, can I?”

  “I don’t see how.”

  Esther laughed. “It is funny when you think about it,” she explained. “My parents have no idea of the life I live; they’re in their own little world. I haven’t gone out on a shiddoch date in years, and they don’t wonder. Perhaps they don’t want to wonder, or maybe they’ve just given up on me. Who knows? Either way, it should be interesting to see their reaction.”

  “Interesting isn’t exactly the word that comes to mind.”

  “I suppose not.” Esther reflected. “You know, deary, I was wondering if maybe you could sort of help me out with this.” Devilish.

  Rachel couldn’t imagine what was coming next. “Help you? How?”

  “Well, to begin with, we will need a rabbi to marry us.”

  “Esther, Binny isn’t a rabbi yet, and even if he was, I’m sure he would have nothing to do with it. Besides, we’re practically separated.”

  “Who was talking about Binny? I was talking about a real rabbi.”

  Rachel suddenly had a familiar sensation, one she hadn’t felt in years. It was the same feeling she had had as a girl whenever Esther schemed. “You can’t be serious,” she said sternly.

  Esther turned to look at her. “Rachel please, if your father would marry us, if he would talk to my father, it might save us all from Armageddon. At least it would save me.”

  “Esther, my father’s heart is weak enough without all this.”

  Esther turned away, disappointed, silent.

  “Okay, I’ll talk to him.”

  Rachel awoke the next morning in a mood she hadn’t known in years. It had been a delightful evening. Lots of innocent male attention, even some harmless flirting, and probably a bit too much to drink. All in all, she felt like a woman again.

  She looked in the mirror, smiled, and ran her hands over her figure. Still not too bad, she thought.

  An image of Esther came to mind. Esther had looked awfully thin last night, but Rachel hadn’t wanted to mention it. There had been enough to contend with without getting into all that. And anyway, what difference would it have made? Esther believed she had to stay thin to keep her man and her sanity, and Rachel was far from an expert on either of those topics.

  Rachel jumped into the shower, got dressed, and went downstairs to fix herself some breakfast. No sign of Binny. He had been asleep when she’d gotten home, and was already gone when she awoke. She figured he didn’t even care where she’d been, and that brought back some of her sadness. But only for a moment. She was too absorbed with Esther’s problems to worry about her own.

  And what problems they were. Esther’s father, Lazar Mandlebaum, was a simple man. He would never understand any of this, just as Rachel’s father hadn’t understood when she’d told him about college and medical school. And this was worse. A lot worse.

  At least Rachel understood. Bravo, Esther, for chasing after the things you knew would make you happy, and shame on me for settling, for allowing myself to end up like this. But enough with feeling sorry for herself; she had work to do. She had to speak with her father.

  “Hello Mama,” Rachel said.

  Hannah Weissman was surprised to find Rachel at her front door. She looked her daughter over. Cherry red fall coat, matching hat, and a sprightly countenance. The old Rachel.

  They embraced. Hannah could barely hold back her tears.

  “Now, Mama, let’s not get melodramatic,” Rachel said.

  Hannah didn’t respond. She was speechless.

  Isaac emerged from the living room, and also began to cry.

  “You too, Papa?”

  Isaac was embarrassed, but couldn’t help himself. His daughter, his beautiful daughter, had returned to life. “Come, come in!” he said, waving her into the living room.

  Rachel removed her coat and followed her father. Hannah excused herself to the kitchen to prepare some coffee. “You look so vunderful,” Isaac said, his lips quivering, as he sat down.

  “Thank you, Papa.”

  They chatted for a short while, about nothing, until Hannah came in with some coffee and cake. Rachel stood to help her mother. “It’s okay,” Hannah said, “just sit, let me do the work.”

  “So, vhat’s new? Vat’s really new?” Isaac asked.

  “Well, as you can both see, I’m feeling better, Baruch Hashem.”

  Isaac: “Yes, Baruch Hashem, thank God.”

  Hannah: “Baruch Hashem.”

  Rachel: “And how are you?”

  Isaac: “Ve’re both gut, Baruch Hashem, and now that you’re okay, ve’re better than ever!”

  Hannah nodded alo
ng.

  Rachel: “I saw Esther yesterday, last night.” She had to start somewhere.

  Hannah: “And how is she doing?”

  Rachel: “Good, I suppose.” Tentative. “She’s getting married.”

  Isaac: “Mazel tov! It’s about time!”

  Hannah: “Mazel Tov.” Subdued. She could tell from Rachel’s tone that something wasn’t quite right.

  Isaac: “And who is the lucky man?”

  Rachel looked at her parents and read her mother’s reaction. She knew she could never fool her mother. “His name is Stephen Butler,” she said.

  Isaac: “Butler,” he reflected, “I don’t think I know the family.”

  Hannah: “You wouldn’t.” Disdain.

  Rachel: “Mama!”

  Hannah: “Rachel, why don’t you tell your father everything.”

  Rachel: “Okay, so he’s not Lubavitch.”

  Isaac: “She’s marrying a Satmar?”

  Hannah: “No, Isaac, I don’t think he’s a Satmar, or even a Bratslaver.” She hesitated a moment, looking at Rachel. “I don’t think he’s even Jewish.”

  Isaac’s face turned crimson.

  “That’s not true!” Rachel protested. “He is Jewish, just not religious.” As if that made much of a difference.

  Isaac: “How has her father reacted?”

  Rachel: “Well, that’s just it. He really doesn’t know yet.”

  Hannah jumped in. “Rachel, you’re not suggesting that we, I mean your father, be the messenger of such news, are you?”

  Isaac seemed a bit confused. There was an unspoken communication between the two women that he had never been privy to, a type of mind reading.

  “Well,” Rachel responded, “I was sort of hoping… actually, Esther was hoping that Papa might intercede and talk to Reb Lazar.”

  Hannah: “Rachel, it really is Esther’s place to deal with her parents.”

  Rachel: “I know. It’s just that she’s afraid of their reaction. But if Papa tells them it’s okay…”

  “Okay, what’s okay?” Hannah interrupted.

  Rachel was dumbfounded.

  “Don’t worry,” Isaac said to the women, “I’ll find a way to talk to Reb Lazar.” At that moment, he wasn’t going to deny his daughter anything.