Part 18 (1/2)

But then, she spoke: ”I told your mother to go home for a few hours, get something to eat, clean up, that sort of stuff.” Nervous, jittery. ”I told her I would stay.” Hesitation. ”That is, until she gets back.”

It was her all right; he wasn't imagining at all. She seemed ill-at-ease, and he wanted to change that. He attempted a smile. ”Thanks.”

”You don't have to speak if it's hard,” she said, approaching the bed.

The first thing that hit him was her scent, despite his swollen nose. At once, both calming and enticing. It was hard watching her stand there from a hospital bed; definitely not what he would have planned for their first real moment alone.

”It's okay, I can talk. It only hurts a little,” he lied.

”Do you need anything?”

”No.” He pointed to the chair. ”Please sit.”

She sat, and suddenly a tear fell from her eye. Embarra.s.sed, she took a tissue from the box on the night-stand. ”I'm sorry, I get stupid sometimes.”

”You're not stupid!”

”Thank you, but I'm afraid I am. I should be thanking you for what you did, rather than sitting here, crying like a baby.”

”I didn't do anything really.”

”But you did, you really did. Those boys were out to hurt us. Who knows what they would have done if you hadn't come along.” She hesitated. ”You saved us.”

”What happened after they beat me?”

”Well, they didn't exactly beat you. I mean, you got a few licks in of your own. One of them had blood all over his face, and another limped away.”

”But what happened to you?”

”Us? Oh, nothing. Esther-that's my friend-she screamed the whole time, and I jumped in and tried to pull them off of you.” Her tears stopped as she became more animated. ”I think I actually got one of them square in the eye; at least, my hand hurts and all.” She held up her right hand, proudly displaying the discoloration around her knuckles. ”Anyway, someone must have finally heard what was happening, because two big men came over and broke it all up.”

”And me?”

She hesitated. ”You were unconscious.”

”What about the Micks?”

”They ran away,” she said, tentatively, fearful the news might displease him.

”n.o.body caught them?”

”Not yet, but I'm sure they will. Esther and I gave descriptions to the police, and so did the two men. It's only a matter of time.”

He became pensive; her story didn't make him feel like much of a hero.

”You really did save us, Joshua. I'm so sorry for what happened to you.”

”I've been hurt before, been in lots of fights. I was okay then, and I'll be okay now!”

She got up, came to the side of the bed, leaned over, and touched her hand to his face. Once again, she began to cry. He managed to maneuver his arm enough to take her hand. Suddenly, his pain disappeared. She squeezed his hand slightly, just enough to let him know that there was now something between them, something undefined yet tangible. Something that bound them together.

The police caught the Irish boys the next day and brought them to Joshua's hospital room for identification. He recognized all four, but didn't know which one had actually stabbed him. He knew from TV that the cops had ways of obtaining such information and, in truth, he didn't really care. He wasn't out for revenge or ”justice.” He'd had more than enough of both for one lifetime.

The neurologist came. A real professorial type-bespectacled, balding, bow-tie, hushpuppies, and all. He repeated the same examination as Doctor Schiffman had performed, wrote his notes, and went about his work rather impa.s.sively. ”Doctor Schiffman will be in to see you shortly,” was all he said before leaving the room. Joshua sensed it wasn't going to be good news.

About ten minutes later, Doctor Schiffman walked in, a solemn expression on her face. She examined Joshua again. No changes. She looked at Joshua and his mother. ”Okay, Joshua, Miss. Eubanks, I'm going to speak frankly now, because I don't want to hold out any false hope.”

Dread fell upon Joshua and Loretta.

The doctor continued, ”There's been significant nerve damage, affecting the left leg.” She turned to Loretta. ”Doctor Levy, the neurologist, agrees that we really have no way of knowing just how much sensation or movement Joshua will regain.” Then, to Joshua: ”What we do know, however, is that whatever you get back, Joshua, you have a long road ahead. I'm not saying that you're going to end up in a wheelchair or anything like that, but you are going to have to work very hard to learn to get around with that leg.”

Loretta tried not to cry, for his sake, but that didn't stop him. It hurt for him to cry; it hurt to do just about anything.

The doctor waited a moment before continuing, ”Now, we're going to keep you here for a little while, until we see how you progress. As soon as your wounds heel, you'll be transferred to the Rehab wing. That's where you'll get physical therapy, and we'll try to rehabilitate that leg. You'll have to work hard, it won't be easy. And there's no way of telling exactly what the result will be. Do either of you have any more questions?”

They didn't.

”Oh, there's one more thing,” she said, looking down at the chart. ”It seems every cloud does have a silver lining after all,” she added softly, as if to herself.

Joshua and his mother looked at one another, not quite understanding.

She realized she'd lost them. ”I'm sorry, I was just noticing in your chart that you're almost seventeen years old.”

Joshua nodded.

”Well, then, I also have what I suppose you might call 'good news,' though at a time like this it's hard for you to imagine such a thing.”

Joshua identified with the bewildered look on his mother's face.

”Under normal circ.u.mstances,” Schiffman continued, ”you would probably be drafted into the army in another year or so, and s.h.i.+pped off to Vietnam like all the other boys around here. Guess what?”

Joshua had no clue. What did Vietnam have to do with anything? Loretta seemed to understand.

”You're not going to be drafted at all,” Schiffman said.

Joshua looked at his mother.

”I suppose that's good,” Loretta said to him. ”Some boys have been coming back from that place in worse shape than you, a lot worse. I suppose it is good.”

So this was his silver lining, the saving grace of the single worst thing that had happened to him yet. And somehow, he thought, he would much rather have taken his chances in Vietnam.

Rachel visited daily, even on the Sabbath. She told him it was a special mitzvah to visit the sick on the Sabbath, and the hospital wasn't a bad walk from her home. She was surprised he knew what a mitzvah was; in fact, she was surprised by all the Yiddish terms he'd picked up at the synagogue. He enjoyed surprising her.

After a week, he was transferred to the Rehab unit, where he stayed for over a month. He was receiving the best care possible, no expense spared. He was too preoccupied with his condition to wonder where the money came from, though on reflection he would easily have guessed.

Rachel continued to come every day. On the days that she worked with Doctor Schiffman, she would visit late, after her s.h.i.+ft, and one of her parents would come to pick her up. Otherwise, she was with him for the entire afternoon.