Joshua: A Brooklyn Tale (56 page)

CHAPTER 67
 

Paul Sims sat in his living room, staring at the walls. It was past twelve; Chava and the girls were asleep. He was trying to study the weekly Torah portion, but couldn’t concentrate. He couldn’t take his mind off Rachel’s funeral.

Between Rachel’s death and the recent riots, Paul found himself contemplating his life. His participation in the neighborhood patrol, the blockbusting, and his obsession with Rachel all these years—he didn’t have a lot to be proud of. He hadn’t told Chava that he’d attended the funeral, but he was sure she suspected as much. She wasn’t stupid, and had her own way of learning things. He wondered if he could ever mend his relationship with her, turn it around and start over.

There was a knock at the door. He wondered who it could be so late at night. He got up, walked to the door, and looked through the peephole. He was shocked when he saw the face of Joshua Eubanks.

Paul’s hands trembled as he opened the door. He was apprehensive, wondering if Joshua had come to get even with him or something, but then he saw that Joshua was nervous too. It had been close to thirty years since the two of them had stood face to face.

Neither seemed to know what to say. They observed one another in silence for a moment, until Joshua broke the ice: “You going to invite me in?”

“Sure, of course,” Paul said, holding the door open, feeling his own awkwardness.

Joshua walked in. “Nice digs,” he said, trying to be nonchalant. His tie was loosened; he appeared to have come from a long day, but still he looked the part of a lawyer.

Paul found it hard to imagine that this was the same person who had grown up wearing his hand-me-downs. He wondered if Joshua was reading his thoughts. More than that, he wondered what Joshua wanted.

“Sorry to bother you this late,” Joshua said. “I know it’s been a rough day.”

“For all of us.”

“Yes, I suppose so,” Joshua reacted, reflecting on the comment. “I needed to talk to you about some things. Is it a bad time?”

“No, no. Please,” Paul said. He took Joshua’s coat, showed him into the living room, and offered him a drink.

“Some scotch would be fine,” Joshua said.

“Great. I happen to have some good stuff.” Paul wasn’t sure why he offered the good stuff, but something about Joshua made him want to. He opened the liquor cabinet and took out a bottle of Glenlivet 18 Year Old. He wasn’t from the fancy single malt drinkers, but kept the stuff around for his father’s occasional visits to see the girls. He took out two glasses. “Ice?” he asked.

“Neat, please.”

Paul put some ice in a glass for himself, poured the drinks, sat down, and waited for Joshua to start.

Joshua sipped his drink. “Very smooth,” he said.

“I wouldn’t know the difference; my father’s the connoisseur.”

“Yes,” Joshua responded contemplatively. “So I’ve heard.”

“It was good seeing your mother today. I wish only that it had been under different circumstances.”

“She was glad to see you, too. She’s always been very fond of you.”

“I know.”

Joshua hesitated a moment, then continued, “Speaking of my mother and your father,
that’s
what I came here to talk about. That, and some other things.” He stopped, took another sip, then added, “
A
lot
of other things.”

Paul squirmed a bit in his chair, at once both uncertain of, and dreading what was coming.

It ended up being a long night, close to five hours for Joshua to tell a story that was as difficult for him to reveal as it was for Paul to hear. And in the end, shaken by what he had learned, Paul still couldn’t understand why Joshua had chosen to bring this to him now, after all these years. He was inclined to ask, but opted not to, figuring that Joshua probably didn’t completely know the reason either. Perhaps it was Rachel’s death, Paul mused, or maybe it was simply that the time had come.

Paul did, however, ask if Joshua was planning on telling Loretta what he knew, and Joshua answered, plainly, “No.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t want to hurt her.”

Paul wasn’t surprised by the answer; he believed that Joshua hadn’t intended to hurt him either.

“Will
you
tell your father?” Joshua asked.

“No.”

“Why?”

“Same reason.”

It seemed they had some things in common.

By the time Paul showed Joshua out, the sun was rising. They shook hands and promised to keep in touch, a promise that, for some inexplicable reason, they both knew they would keep.

EPILOGUE
 

Joshua had thought that the cancer ward at Mount Sinai hospital was the most wretched place he’d ever been, until he stood in the hallway of the AIDS unit at Kings County Hospital. The lighting was dim, the institutional-green walls hadn’t been painted in years, and linoleum floor panels were chipped and lifting from their base. The smell of death permeated the air, and moans of torment echoed from the rooms.

He walked into her room. It was barely large enough for four patients, but it held six. No one noticed his presence. The patients seemed lost. Coughing. Groaning. Gasping. He looked at their faces, and moved slowly until he recognized the one he’d come to see.

He stood by the foot of her bed for a few minutes, watching her sleep. She looked different. Sickly, emaciated, but he would have known her anywhere.

She opened her eyes as if she knew someone was there, and for a moment she thought she was dreaming. “Joshua?” she said.

He smiled.

“Is that you?”

“Yes, it’s me.”

She smiled broadly, a tear fell from her eye. He moved closer to wipe it, feeling the weathered flesh of her cheek. “I’m here, Celeste.”

“I knew you’d come. Sooner or later, I knew it.”

“So did I.”

She coughed, took some water and drank. “Jerome told you where I was?”

“Yeah.”

“Good old Jerome.”

“He tries. He loves you.”

She thought about his words. “He says he’s going to take care of me from now on.”

“You going to let him?”

“Suppose I should. I’m tired of the streets. Need to get healthy. The doctor says I could live a long time if I cleaned up and took my medicine. Says I wouldn’t be in the hospital so much.”

“Sounds like a plan to me.”

She coughed again. “Damn pneumonia. Third time this year.”

He was wordless.

“You know,” she said, “my mama’s in a nursing home, feeble minded. Sad thing.”

“Yes, Jerome told me.”

“Your mama’s okay?”

“Like the day I was born.”

She stared off in silence. “Let me touch you,” she said as she took his hand. “Feels good to touch you.”

“For me too.”

“You been okay?”

“Up and down.”

“Yeah, I heard. Jerome told me about that lady friend of yours. Sorry thing, real sorry.”

“Sure is.”

She saw the glimmer in his eye. “You loved her?”

“Very much.”

“Just like you, Joshua, going off, loving the wrong people.”

“That’s true enough.”

“Guess you can’t help who you love.”

“Never could.”

“Neither could I.” She squeezed his hand.

“Strong grasp for a sick lady.”

“Not as sick as you think; I’ll be out of here in no time!”

He smiled again. She was always able to make him smile.

“Jerome also tells me you’re a big lawyer now.”

“A lawyer, yes. Big?” He looked himself over. “Not really.”

She laughed, and coughed some more.

He watched her.

“So you here to save me again?” she asked.

“You need saving?”

“Probably.”

“Then I’m your man.”

“Good. Cause when I get out of here, I’d like to have you around.”

“You’ll have to get an army to keep me away.”

They laughed together.

“There’s something I need to tell you,” she said, sounding serious.

“Yeah?”

“It’s something bad. Real bad.”

He looked at her curiously.

Her tone turned to a faint whisper. “If you’re my lawyer, I can tell you anything, right?”

“You could tell me anything even if I wasn’t your lawyer.”

“I know, but this is
real
bad.”

“Doesn’t matter how bad it is.”

She pulled him closer. “You hear ’bout Big Bob?”

“I read about it in the papers. He was killed.”

“He sure was.”

“You know something about that?”

She looked him in the eye. “I was the one.”

“The what?”

“I was the one who killed him.”

Joshua swallowed hard. “Why?”

“He found me and beat me bad. Sent me back into the streets, his streets, demanding all kinds of money. Made a habit of beating me when I came up short. One night, he met me in an alley. I was real sick then, and he still wants his money and all. I didn’t have anything. He came at me like he was going to kill me, only he didn’t know I had a knife. I Finished it there and then.”

Joshua stared at her.

She waited for a response, tears fell from her eyes.

“It’s okay,” he said. He wiped her tears again.

“It’s not okay,” she replied, “but it
is
over.”

“Yes, that it is. Over and done. So leave it be; you’ve got more important things to worry about. You have to get healthy.”

“Yes, I do, and I will.”

“I know.”

They talked a little more, and he promised to return the next day. She would be out of the hospital in another week, and would be staying with Jerome. Joshua assured her he would come by often, spend as much time as possible with her, as much time as she had.

“That could be a while,” she said. “I plan on sticking around for a long time.”

“I plan on it too,” he said as he kissed her good-by. “See you tomorrow.”

“Yeah, see you tomorrow.”

He came out of the hospital to a bright, crispy afternoon. He breathed deeply; the air was as fresh as it ever got in Brooklyn. He started toward the street, when he saw Jerome Williams walking in his direction. Jerome spotted him.

“So you came to see her,” Jerome said.

“You knew I would.”

“Yes, I did.”

“Thanks for telling me where she was,” Joshua said.

“She asked for you.”

Joshua smiled at his old friend. “She seems like she’s going to be okay.”

“The doc says she has some time if she lives right.”

“She’s in good hands with you.”

“I’ll do what I can.”

“I’d like to come around,” Joshua said.

“Hope you do.”

The two men looked at one another, each feeling the things that would forever remain unspoken between them. “I’m sorry about Rachel Weissman,” Jerome said.

Joshua appreciated that Jerome knew her name. “Thanks,” he said.

“Well, don’t want to keep Celeste waiting,” Jerome said.

“Right.”

“See you around.”

“You will.”

They shook hands, and started to part when Joshua said, “Jerome.”

Jerome turned around to him.

“I just wanted to say that… I’m sorry too.”

Jerome appeared curious, unsure of what Joshua was alluding to.

“For your father. I’m sorry. If it means anything.”

Jerome contemplated for a moment, looked at Joshua, and said, “That was a long time ago.”

“Yes it was. But sometimes it seems like yesterday.”

“I suppose so. Maybe you need to make your peace with God about it.”

“God’s easy; you’re the tough one.”

“Not as tough as you think.”

“Good to hear.”

Jerome put his hand on Joshua’s shoulder. “Come around the house when Celeste’s there. We’ll talk more.”

“Look forward to it. Maybe we could even solve some of the world’s problems while we’re at it.”

“Pretty tall order,” Jerome said.

“One never knows.”

“That’s for sure.”

They said good-bye, and went their separate ways. Joshua had planned to catch a cab back to the office, but had decided to walk.

It was a good day for walking.