Part 12 (1/2)
”Well, let me tell you a few things so you understand. First, n.o.body is going to send you away for nearly the amount of time you'll need to purge your conscience. And you know why?” He hesitated, observing Joshua's dumbstruck expression, then continued, ”Because n.o.body gives a s.h.i.+t! See, in this world, when one black guy kills another black guy, everybody's happy because there's one less black guy. What they really want to do is give you a medal or something, but instead they'll send you away for a few years so it looks right.
”Now, I'm here only because my friend, Alfred Sims, asked me to be. It isn't exactly my hobby defending kids like you. If you really want me to go, I will, but just realize that whether you want a lawyer or not, the court's going to appoint one, probably some idiot public defender with an overgrown caseload. He'll likely get you two years in some juvie p.i.s.spot like Spofford and you'll be out by your eighteenth birthday, not exactly a lifetime if you get my drift. So if you're planning on being a martyr, you better find another way.”
Rothman saw that he had Joshua's attention. ”See, I think probation is a definite possibility here. First, the guy you killed was a first cla.s.s dirt-bag, and everybody knows it. Second, according to the facts I have, it's pretty clear you killed him in self defense.”
”That ain't true!” Joshua responded. ”I went there to kill him. I could have left him on the floor. He was still breathing, but he was out cold. I didn't have to do it.” He felt his body tremble as he spoke. Tears welled up in his eyes. ”I murdered him,” he muttered.
Rothman looked into Joshua's eyes, placed his hands on Joshua's shoulders, and said, ”Listen kid! He attacked you first, and that's what matters. As for these thoughts you had in your mind, I suggest you keep them to yourself! Like I said, n.o.body gives a s.h.i.+t. That is, n.o.body, except your poor mother. And I'm sure it would destroy her to see you go to jail.
”I don't know about your girlfriend. No one's seen or heard from her, and I wonder if anyone ever will. But your mother, I'm sure she would like you to let me do my job. So why not keep a lid on all this talk about being guilty, and I'll keep you posted.”
Without even waiting for a reply, Rothman quickly gathered his papers, stood up, and walked towards the door. The guard opened the door for him.
Joshua contemplated Rothman's point. n.o.body gives a s.h.i.+t! He couldn't argue with that.
Rothman stepped out into the hallway, and as the door was about to close, Joshua called his name. The guard held the door as Rothman peered back into the room. Joshua stared at the lawyer for a second, hesitating. Rothman looked at him impatiently.
”Do what you have to,” Joshua said.
CHAPTER 18.
Rachel Weissman sat pensively at the dinner table.
”Rucheleh, is something bothering you?” her father asked.
Her mother also looked concerned.
Rachel knew she couldn't hide her feelings from them much longer. She would have to say something, but what?
”No Papa, everything is fine. I'm just worried about my finals in school.”
”Well, no need to worry. You'll do just fine,” her mother rea.s.sured her.
They resumed eating.
”Well, there is something,” Rachel said.
Hannah and Isaac looked at her. They had been suspecting for a while that there might be an issue concerning boys. Hasidic girls usually started dating at sixteen in order to marry young and have lots of children. Soon it would be time to contact the matchmaker. They wondered if Rachel was anxious about that.
”I mean, it's no big deal,” Rachel continued, ”it's just something I would like to do and I'm not sure how you will feel about it.”
Isaac looked at Hannah, then back at Rachel. ”Vell, ve von't know how ve'll feel until you tell us vhat it is.” He always spoke gently, and at moments like this, it only made things harder.
”Well,” Rachel began hesitantly, ”I saw Doctor Schiffman from the hospital. You remember her Mama?”
Hannah nodded.
”Esther and I were just taking a walk and we happened to pa.s.s the hospital,” Rachel continued, figuring that a small ”white” lie was harmless.
”What were you doing in that part of the neighborhood?” Hannah asked, her tone more acerbic than the rabbi would ever have been.
”We didn't even realize where we were. We were just walking, and got so involved in conversation, next thing we knew we were in front of the hospital.”
Isaac and Hannah didn't completely buy it, though they did know that when Rachel and Esther were together, the two girls often seemed as if they were in another world. They kept silent, awaiting the rest of the story.
”Then, you wouldn't believe it,” Rachel continued. ”Doctor Schiffman just happened to be coming out as we were pa.s.sing. She remembered me and said h.e.l.lo. She offered us a ride home because it was getting late.”
Rachel saw that her parents were growing impatient. She went on, ”Well, in the car, Doctor Schiffman asked us about school and all. I told her that science was my best subject. One thing led to another, and she ended up inviting me to visit her at the hospital. You know, watch her work, help out, stuff like that. She said I could officially become a volunteer.”
”Did she make the same offer to Esther?” Hannah interjected.
”No, I suppose not.” Tentative. ”I mean, she probably would have, but I guess she saw that Esther wasn't interested.”
”I suppose she did,” Hannah responded.
Rachel was hoping her father would offer something, but he was still digesting it all. That was his way.
”Well, there isn't anything wrong with volunteering at the hospital; it's a mitzvah to visit the sick, isn't it Papa?”
”Yes, Rucheleh, bikur cholim is a great mitzvah,” the rabbi answered. ”But volunteering in a hospital is something else, no? It vould take time avay from your studies, yes?”
”Oh, Papa, I promise it wouldn't. You know how good I am about my studies. I wouldn't let anything interfere with them. And soon it will be summer...”
”But you have plans for the summer,” Hannah interrupted. ”You're going to be a counselor in the Beis Rivka day camp.”
”But I've been going there since I was five. Can't I do something else, something new?”
Regardless of how reasonable it sounded, Rachel knew she was asking for something that was unusual for a Hasidic girl. There was no way it would sit well with Isaac and Hannah. All her life, they'd s.h.i.+elded her from Gentiles and Jews who weren't Orthodox. That was their job, as dutiful Hasidic parents, to protect her from the ”poisonous” influences of the outside world. And now she wanted a piece of that world, however small. There was no telling what she would see.
Isaac and Hannah looked at one another, neither appearing enthusiastic.
”Okay,” the rabbi said, ”but under vone condition!”
”Yes Papa, anything.” Excitement.
”Before you start, I vant to speak vith this Doctor Schiffman.”
Rachel had expected as much. Her father needed to make sure that Doctor Schiffman was aware that there were certain things that a Hasidic girl shouldn't be exposed to, medicine or not. ”I'm sure Doctor Schiffman would love to meet you, Papa,” Rachel responded, avoiding eye contact with her mother.
Rachel had won this little battle. The rabbi had no idea that this was only the beginning, but Hannah suspected otherwise. She knew Rachel differently than Isaac did, the way that only a mother could know a child. She had sensed Rachel's discontentment in the past-whether from Rachel's fascination with science and other secular subjects, or her relations.h.i.+p with Esther Mandlebaum-and it had often given her cause for concern. She had overheard the girls making fun of the Hasidic boys. Until now, she'd dismissed it all as the playful musings of adolescents, and had believed that her daughter would one day come to value the piety of the young Hasidic scholars, many of whom would be lining up to take her hand in marriage. But now Hannah wasn't so certain. Now, she was frightened.
Hannah could hide her feelings from Isaac, but not from Rachel, who was as perceptive about her mother as her mother was about her. The two women looked at one another, each understanding exactly what the other was thinking. And even Isaac's naivete wouldn't last very long.
It was three-thirty, a half hour after school had let out at the Hewlett Bay Academy. Doctor Harold Goldman sat at his desk, finis.h.i.+ng up paper work, eager to enjoy the beautiful spring afternoon with his five mile run. Goldman ran three times a week, religiously, even in the dead of winter. He only relished it, however, on days like this.
The other two afternoons, Mondays and Wednesdays, he spent seeing private patients in an office he sublet from another psychologist in the nearby town of Hewlett. He looked outside his window, and thanked G.o.d it was Tuesday. This was no day to be cooped up with patients and problems.