Part 8 (1/2)

He waited for her to say more, but she didn't. ”I'm also sorry about today,” he said, a quiver in his voice.

No reply.

”I know you're angry, Mama, but...”

”Now listen here, Joshua,” she jumped in, ”before you go offering excuses, let me tell you a thing or two.” She turned from the sink and looked at him. ”First, it ain't none of your business if Mr. Williams got what was coming to him, or not. That there's The Lord's concern. Your place is in school, and if you'd been there as you're supposed to be, none of this would've happened.”

”But that's not true Mama, he beats her always, he don't even need a reason!”

She stopped, pondered his statement, and asked, ”If he beats her for no reason, then why go and give him a reason?”

Joshua didn't answer.

”That's my point, Joshua-you had no business missing school with this girl, no business being in this house with her. And I don't wanna know what the two of you been up to when you were here.”

So that was her lecture. Surprisingly, nothing about his having stabbed Williams, only for having gotten himself into that situation in the first place. It was as if she believed that Williams had gotten what he deserved, but wished it hadn't come from her son.

Joshua knew that it was his lying and deceit that had hurt her. It was also that she blamed herself, the long days away at work, leaving him alone to fend for himself. All these years she had tried to protect him, to teach him the right way. And now, she believed she had failed.

For Joshua, realizing all this was punishment enough. Well, not quite enough. His mother added something extra: he was grounded for the remainder of the school year, four months to be exact, confined to the house after school and on weekends, without television, and no friends over either. Mrs. Eisenman would be checking up more frequently to insure compliance, though to Joshua's thinking that wouldn't be necessary. He was certain he would do as he was told.

CHAPTER 12.

”Look young man, this is my home and I decide what we eat. You are not going to take over our lives with your religious fanaticism!” Such were Evelyn Sims' words when Paul finally refused to eat the pork chops she had served for dinner. It was about a year after Paul's Bar Mitzvah. ”If you don't want what I give you, then don't eat. Or move in with that rabbi and eat what his wife makes.”

”I don't understand what you're so upset about, I just don't want to eat that kind of meat anymore, that's all,” he said.

”What I'm so upset about,” she yelled. ”What I'm so upset about is the way you've tried to take over our lives. We've given you everything, and now you behave as if that's not good enough!”

”Please, Evelyn, stop screaming,” Alfred interjected, seeming more engrossed in his food than in the problem. ”It's just a phase he's going through, don't worry about it.”

”A phase,” she parroted angrily. ”With you, everything is a phase. After all, he's not criticizing what you made for dinner...”

”I'm not criticizing anything,” Paul a.s.serted.

”Don't interrupt me when I'm speaking young man,” she said. ”Or didn't your rabbi teach you about honoring your parents?”

Paul was seething. At this point in an argument with her, he would always seethe. He knew there was never any winning, or reasoning. She believed what she wanted.

In past years, he had occasionally resorted to temper tantrums, banging on walls and throwing things. Once he had gotten so enraged, he actually spit at her. He wasn't proud of these things; there were simply times when he just didn't know what else to do. He bore the brunt of her misery, he was her scapegoat, and he was trapped. Doctor Goldman had helped him with his temper, but at moments like this he felt tested.

He sat there, trying to control himself, recalling his last session with Goldman, in which he had revealed an incident that had occurred when he was seven years old. Evelyn was going to visit her sick father in a hospital somewhere in New York City, and took him along because she couldn't find a sitter. The details were scanty, but Paul had remembered that they were stopped at a red light and it appeared as if smoke was rising from the hood of the car.

”Look Mommy, there's smoke coming out!”

”Oh my G.o.d!” She opened the car door and jumped out to see what was happening. Paul followed. They examined the car and looked underneath, and discovered that what Paul had seen was not smoke from the engine, but steam rising from a man-hole. Of course, young Paul's intentions had been completely innocent, but that didn't stop his mother from grabbing him by the jacket and dragging him back into the car, yelling, ”I'm going to punish you for this. You knew there was nothing wrong with the car. You were just trying to aggravate me! You're just like your father, always trying to upset me!”

Then too, Paul had tried to explain to her; then too, it was pointless.

It might have been easier for him if she was purely evil. He could simply hate her and that would be that. But she was a contradiction, a cross between an overprotective Jewish mother and a wretched neurotic. He never knew which to expect.

Whenever he was sick, she was at his side, sometimes through the night. Once when he was ten years old, he had come home from school shaking and nauseated, on the verge of vomiting. Evelyn hadn't been there, so Loretta rushed him to the bathroom, and tried to help him vomit.

”I can't!” he protested, sitting on the floor by the toilet, afraid of gagging.

”If you let yourself throw up, you'll feel better,” Loretta said, her hand on his shoulders to comfort him.

”Where's my mother?”

”She's out shopping. What does that matter?”

”If she were here, maybe I could.”

”You need her here to throw up?”

”I don't know, I just can't do it till she gets here.”

”Well, that may be a while yet, and you look like you best throw up soon.”

Lucky for him, he heard his mother come through the front door at that very moment. ”Maaaa,” he called from the bathroom.

”What's the matter?” Evelyn yelled.

He hadn't had the strength to answer.

”He's up here, in the bathroom, Missus Sims. He's pretty sick by the looks of him.”

Evelyn hurried up the stairs. ”What's wrong?” she said as she came into the bathroom.

”He needs to throw up, but he won't do so without you,” Loretta explained.

Evelyn knelt on the floor beside him. ”It's okay, Paul,” she said calmly as she began gently rubbing his back.

Within seconds, he vomited.

Because of incidents like this, Paul Sims knew he loved and needed his mother. And he believed that, however strange her way of showing it, she loved him as well. The problem was her inconsistency, and that was why he had become so fearful of people in general. He never knew just what to expect, never felt quite secure or safe from somehow being hurt.

Thus, the appeal of Rabbi Isaac Weissman's world-a life centered around books and learning, structured and consistent, everything according to the dictates of the law. The axioms were simple: study, and you will know how to be a righteous Jew; be a righteous Jew, and you will find fulfillment.

And there was also Rabbi Weissman himself, the first person with whom Paul had ever felt completely at ease. The rabbi had never pushed Paul to become Orthodox, for that would have created more problems for the boy than solutions. He was also careful not to provoke Alfred and Evelyn into terminating his services or depriving Paul of the occasional Sabbath visits to his home. Moreover, Rabbi Isaac Weissman was a patient man, certain that G.o.d would decide the right time for Paul to join the fold.

And Paul, in his desire to gain favor with the rabbi's daughter, was giving G.o.d's plan a little push.

A few weeks later, Paul found himself once again at the rabbi's Sabbath table, this time donning a dark suit and fedora. He had coaxed his mother into buying the navy blue suit, dark enough for him and blue enough for her-a rare compromise.