Joshua: A Brooklyn Tale

by Andrew Kane

  Connie was less satisfied. She ached for another Willie Johnson, a high profile case that could bolster their standing as criminal specialists. She understood, however, that the business they got was the business they did, and why Joshua was thankful for any and all of it.

  Eventually there was enough money to hire a secretary. Connie’s mother had a friend, a bone skinny, frail looking, fifty-five year old English teacher from East New York who had grown weary of yelling at children. Despite her appearance, she was a toughie, a Caribbean like Connie’s parents, stiff and punctilious. The perfect secretary. Her name was Emma, but she preferred Mrs. Sawyer.

  Between the three of them, things got organized and moving. Joshua even started getting to the office, and other places, on time. Anything to avoid Mrs. Sawyer’s admonition.

  Rachel Weissman Frankel changed her name back to Rachel Weissman. She had given Binny the house, the car, the china, the silverware, the money—all the things that had come from his family. She didn’t want anything that was his.

  She found a job selling dresses in a shop on Kingston Avenue. Often, after work, she saw Joshua. They frequented the vegetarian place, The Greenery, which had become their hideout. On warmer nights, or when they simply needed a change of pace, they strolled the Brighton boardwalk or caught an out-of-the-way movie. Whatever they did, it was always surreptitious. And always celibate.

  Joshua was frustrated, but chose not to force the issue. For now, the fantasy would have to do.

  They found themselves in troubled times. Notwithstanding their difference in religion, which could have been resolved through conversion—his, of course—racial tensions around them were exploding. Between the Willie Johnson case, the Israel Turner killing and its aftermath, they knew they were playing with fire.

  And then there was Rachel’s guilt over her father’s death, her belief that God had taken him from her as punishment for her involvement with Joshua. She had never discussed this with Joshua, but he was keenly aware of it anyway. He tried to understand. It wasn’t easy.

  “There are two men here to see you,” Mrs. Sawyer said, standing in the doorway to Joshua’s office.

  He waved her in. She took exactly one step, indicating that she didn’t appreciate being commanded by hand gestures. He beckoned her closer, not wanting anyone in the reception area to overhear them. Reticently, she approached. Without inquiring as to the identity of his visitors—he figured they were prospective clients—he asked, “Do they have an appointment?” He didn’t like the idea of seeing a “walk-in.” It made him appear too available.

  “No, they do not.” Formal. Snide.

  “Then, perhaps you should give them one.”

  “You might want to see them now.”

  “And why is that?”

  “Because one of them is that famous professor from Brooklyn College. Thompson, I believe his name is.”

  “Thompson,” he uttered. “And who is with him?”

  “That, I can’t help you with, but whoever he is, he looks important.”

  Joshua thought for a moment. He could have sworn he’d seen the last of Thompson. But maybe it was payback time. Then it came to him: The Israel Turner killing; the suspect, Larry Pilgrim. Payback time, indeed.

  “Show them in,” he said.

  A few seconds later, she knocked lightly on the open door. Joshua was attending to some papers, feigning indifference, but as soon as he lifted his eyes, his pretense evaporated. For the man accompanying Professor Alvin Thompson was none other than his boyhood friend, Jerome Williams.

  “Good afternoon counselor,” the professor said, smirking at Joshua’s obvious uneasiness. “I understand you already know Reverend Williams.”

  “Yes,” Joshua responded, attempting what subtlety he could muster. He stood to shake hands. Jerome’s was clammy, making Joshua feel that he wasn’t the only nervous one. “Please, sit,” he said, gesturing to two chairs in front of the desk.

  “We’re here about the matter of Mr. Larry Pilgrim,” Thompson said. “Seems Mr. Pilgrim is in need of legal representation, and your name has come up as a possible candidate.”

  “Why me?”

  “Because of the excellent job you did for Mr. Johnson.”

  “Mr. Johnson was innocent,” Joshua reacted.

  Joshua thought he saw Thompson squirm in his chair. The professor had obviously expected him to jump at this, offer gratitude, and beg everlasting forgiveness for past iniquities. Not so.

  He looked at Jerome, wondering what his role was in all this. He had heard of Jerome’s involvement with Thompson. Jerome had become quite an activist since he’d taken over Reverend Sharp’s storefront Baptist Church, mixed up with the likes of the professor, preaching about white oppression, black uprising, and other such things. Reportedly, he was quite effective. A budding community force. Joshua had guessed it would be only a matter of time before their paths crossed. And here they were.

  “How have you been?” Joshua asked, looking straight into Jerome’s eyes.

  “Fine,” he answered. Expressionless.

  “Celeste?”

  Jerome flinched slightly, but kept his poise. “Wouldn’t know,” he said, almost indifferently.

  Thompson was growing restless. Joshua turned to him, and asked, “Who else are you considering?”

  “The usuals.”

  Joshua thought about that. He knew who “the usuals” were, the well established criminal lawyers with successful records and sizeable tabs. He also knew that not one of them would let Thompson run the show. It was the same situation as with the Willie Johnson case; Thompson needed him.

  He wondered how Thompson could imagine controlling him after what had happened the last time, then realized that Thompson was the quintessential pragmatist. Thompson still had a better shot with him than with anyone else—let bygones be bygones, onward and upward, anything for the cause.

  Joshua supposed that this was where Jerome came in. A crafty form of intimidation: Behave, or the whole community learns about your past, how you murdered the good reverend’s father.

  Nice touch, Joshua thought, wondering still why Jerome would go for it. Wouldn’t the story embarrass him too? Maybe not, maybe it would actually help him? What better way to bolster the image of savior than to have once been a martyr? Another hero!

  All this aside, the prospect of representing Larry Pilgrim enticed Joshua, though he wasn’t ready to share that with them. He was certain Connie would jump at the opportunity, and was thankful she was out of the office. He didn’t want her to know about this, at least not yet. First, there was someone else he needed to speak with: Rachel.

  “Gentlemen, I don’t mean to cut this meeting short, but I’m due in court.” He was actually due for a real estate closing, but court sounded better. “Your offer sounds interesting, but I’m not really sure how I feel about it.”

  “Time is of the essence,” the professor said.

  “Yes, I know. Even so, I will have to think about it. I’ll talk with my partner and get back to you no later than tomorrow. I’m sure that’s reasonable.”

  The professor didn’t hide his ire very well. He was accustomed to having what he wanted, when he wanted it. Joshua enjoyed delaying the man’s gratification, thus gaining leverage in setting the ground rules.

  “That will be fine,” Thompson said. Jerome looked at him with surprise; he hadn’t expected Thompson to fold this easily. Neither had Joshua.

  Thompson stood, Jerome followed his lead. They each extended their hands and the three men shook. “Tomorrow, then,” Joshua said.

  “Tomorrow!” Thompson responded.

  Jerome was silent, his eyes far away.

  Joshua wondered about Jerome, whether his old friend had somehow resolved the tragedy that had come between them. It was difficult sitting there, silent about it. Joshua wanted to say something, perhaps only to ask to meet in the future for lunch, or just a drink, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it.

  Maybe someday
, he thought.

  His next scheduled dinner with Rachel wasn’t for two days, but he needed to see her that night. He debated whether to stop by the dress shop, or go to her home later. Either way, it would be ticklish. He decided on her home, thinking her mother would probably be less of a problem than some nosey strangers.

  He had first met Hannah Weissman years earlier when the rabbi had gotten him the job in the synagogue, again when she had accompanied Rachel to visit him in the hospital after the stabbing, and a third time at Rachel’s wedding. Still, he wondered if Hannah would recognize him, and how he was going to explain his visit. And then there was always the chance that she might be out.

  No such luck, he mused as Hannah opened the door. She looked at him and smiled. “Joshua Eubanks!” she said.

  “Hello Mrs. Weissman.”

  Her expression was curious, and he still hadn’t concocted a good tale. Some lawyer. Suddenly, she turned sad. “I’m sorry, Joshua, but the rabbi isn’t here. He died a few months ago.”

  “Oh,” he responded, “I’m terribly sorry.” He knew it was low to play along, pretending he had actually come to see the rabbi, but he couldn’t come up with anything better at the moment.

  He tried convincing himself that he hadn’t actually lied to her, technically speaking. Notwithstanding his duplicitous display of surprise, his sorrow was genuine. Perhaps he was a better lawyer than he thought.

  There was a moment of silence, and then she said, “Why don’t you come in and have a drink?”

  He entered, discomfited, keenly aware of his infringement. He wanted to turn and leave.

  “Rachel,” Hannah called out, “guess who’s here to visit?”

  Rachel came out of her bedroom and turned pale at the sight of him. “What…”

  “Joshua came to visit Papa,” Hannah interjected.

  “Well,” he said, “I actually came to see the family.”

  Rachel was speechless, her face without expression. He knew he was in it up to his chin, and regretted having come. He should have just taken the Pilgrim case, and dealt with Rachel afterward.

  “Why don’t you two sit in the living room, I’ll make some tea,” Hannah suggested.

  They moved to the living room, and as soon as Hannah was gone, Rachel turned to him, whispering, “What the hell are you doing here?”

  “Shh,” he said. “I needed to see you. Something’s come up, and I have to speak with you about it before tomorrow.”

  Hannah entered the room. “I put the water up, it’ll just be a minute.” She sat down. “So, Joshua, what exactly was it you were coming to see my husband about?”

  He felt Rachel’s disgust as he looked at her. “Well,” he began, “like I said, I wanted to talk to both of you. It’s about a problem I have, and I would like to know what you think.” He could hear the nervousness in his own voice. “As you know, I defended the man who was accused of having attacked Emma Lukins.”

  “I read about that,” Hannah said. “I didn’t realize it was you, though.”

  “Yes,” he answered. “Anyway,” he continued, “I suppose that some of my old friends in this community weren’t very happy with me for having done that.”

  Hannah: “I don’t know about other people, but I can assure you that the rabbi never said anything derogatory to me about it. Come to think of it, I don’t recall his having mentioned it at all. Do you, Rachel?”

  Rachel: “No.”

  Joshua: “Well, that’s good to hear, because my intention was only to help my client. You folks were always kind to me, and I was concerned about how you felt.”

  Hannah: “There’s no need for you to be concerned. I’m sure the rabbi was proud of how you turned out, even if he only played a small role in it.

  Joshua: “He actually played a large role. He gave me a break, got me a job when I needed one and no one else would hire me, and he didn’t even know me.”

  Hannah: “Well you paid him back tenfold with what you did for Rachel when those hoodlums attacked her and Esther.”

  Rachel feigned a smile as her mother looked in her direction.

  “The reason I’m here tonight,” he said, “is because another case has been offered to me and I would like to know what you think before I decide whether to take it. Your opinions are important to me.”

  “And what case is that?” Rachel asked, almost as if she were alone with him. Her mother looked at her strangely.

  He swallowed hard and uttered the name, “Larry Pilgrim.”

  Rachel and Hannah looked at one another, both wondering if they’d heard correctly.

  Hannah: “The man who killed Rabbi Turner?”

  Joshua: “I didn’t know he was a rabbi.”

  Rachel: “Most people didn’t. He was a humble man who worked as a mechanic; as far as everyone knew, that’s all he was. But when a man dies, you learn the truth, things you never knew before.”

  Joshua hadn’t read anything in the press about Turner having been a rabbi. Strangely, the new information made a difference. He knew it shouldn’t have—a human being is a human being and all that—but it did. Isaac Weissman, a rabbi, had been his friend.

  He could see Hannah’s disappointment, while Rachel’s face remained barren. It ate at him; he would have preferred being chided.

  “I’m not sure what you want from us, Joshua,” Hannah said.

  “I’m not, either,” he responded.

  Hannah: “I understand you have to do your job, but this is so…” She couldn’t finish her own sentence.

  “Ugly,” Rachel added, making no eye contact with him.

  The word pierced him like a dagger, right into his gut. He stared at her, hoping she would glance back, but nothing. “I suppose I wanted to hear it was okay,” he confessed.

  “And why is that important?” Hannah asked.

  “Because I respected the rabbi, I respect both of you, and your feelings mean a lot to me.”

  “It sounds to me like you’re looking for absolution,” Hannah said. “In our religion, absolution comes only from God, and from doing the right thing. I believe my husband would have told you the same thing had he been here.”

  “I suppose so,” Joshua said wearily, realizing this was as far as he was going to get. He rose to his feet. “I’m sorry I bothered you so late at night.”

  “No bother, it was good to see you,” Hannah said, also rising.

  Rachel remained seated, lost in some place he couldn’t get to.

  “Well, thank you both for seeing me.”

  “You are welcome always,” Hannah said, as she escorted him to the door.

  Rachel remained in the living room.

  He stepped into the hall. “Thank you again, and good-night.”

  “Good-night, Joshua, and may God help you find the answers you seek.”

  It was two o’clock in the morning. Loretta was asleep in her bedroom, and Joshua, unable to sleep, was up watching late night TV in the living room, trying to rest his mind. The doorbell rang, followed by a loud knock. He knew who it was.

  He responded quickly, hoping Loretta hadn’t been awakened. He barely had the door halfway open, when it came crashing into him. Then, a slap, hard and mighty, threw him off balance, as he heard the words: “How dare you!”

  She walked past him, straight into the living room. At this point, he was certain his mother was awake, and equally certain she would remain in her room, pretending not to be. He used his hand to sooth the sting on his face, and looked at Rachel. He wasn’t angry with her; he knew he had no right to be.

  “How could you do that to me?” she exclaimed.

  “I was wrong, I shouldn’t have…”

  “Shouldn’t have! Whatever were you thinking?”

  “That’s just it, I wasn’t thinking.”

  She looked at him, seething.

  “How did you get here this time of night?” he asked.

  “I walked, rather ran.”

  “But the streets…”

  “Th
e streets are perfectly safe, safer than ever. Since Rabbi Turner’s murder, they’ve formed community patrols. They’re all over the place.”

  “Who’s they?”

  “Who do you think?”

  “The Lubavitchers?”

  “That’s right. No more relying on the police. It was never a good idea for a Jew to depend on the Czar’s protection in the first place. It just took us a while to figure that out here.”

  “Oh boy!”

  “Oh boy what?”

  “It’s going to cause trouble. Hasidic community patrols in a seventy percent black neighborhood isn’t going to go over very well.”

  She considered his point.

  He looked at her. “I’m sorry I came to your home. It was probably the most idiotic thing I’ve ever done.”

  “Probably!”

  “There’s no excuse.”

  “But I’ll just bet there’s an explanation.”

  “Well,” he said hesitantly, “there is, if you want to hear it.”

  “I’m dying to.” Sarcasm.

  “I needed to run this by you tonight; they want an answer tomorrow morning.”

  “And I suppose it has something to do with me?”

  “It has everything to do with you; with us.”

  “Us,” she repeated, “I don’t even know what that means after tonight.”

  “That’s good because I didn’t know what it meant before tonight.”

  “So that’s what this whole thing is about, isn’t it? You had an opportunity to test the waters, to see just how far you could come into my life, and you decided, what the hell, why not? I can’t stand her silly little rules anyway!”

  He realized she was right: he had been motivated by more than simply getting her approval for the Larry Pilgrim case. He had used the case for another agenda, and why not; why not go to her home, have her mother see them together, and bring the whole damn thing out into the open at last?

  “That’s it, isn’t it?” she continued.

  “I did want to know how you felt about me taking this case.”

  “I’m sure you did, and I’m sure you’re clever enough to have found a way to get in touch with me without involving my mother. But you wanted to involve my mother, didn’t you?”