Esther shook her head. “I don’t know. Rosa said we should try. It was horrible, what the policemen were doing.”
Rosa in the street had been shiny like steel. Help me, Rosa had said. Throw now.
The DA lowered his voice to a soft whisper, but it still filled the courtroom. “Can you explain to the jury why you threw those apples, Mrs. Green?”
“I wanted to stop the cops from hitting people, cracking their heads. I never meant to hurt a horse, or an officer.”
Esther wanted to sob. There was no right way to tell this story. No way to explain that she didn’t want to do what Rosa said, and she did want to, both at the same time. No way to stop remembering every diamond-sharp word Rosa said. We have to stop them. Help me.
“You never meant to hurt anyone.” The DA sighed loudly. “What did you and your sister do next?
“We ran back to the first aid tent, told them about the unconscious woman. The medics called for an ambulance and asked us to stay in the tent while they went to help Maggie on Grand River.”
“Then what?”
“When the medics returned, we caught the bus home.” Esther’s voice drifted off and she looked down at her lap. She remembered how her milk let down on the bus, thinking about Molly. The idea of her milk feeding the Vietnamese baby on her T-shirt had tickled her fancy, and for a few seconds, she forgot what they did in the street.
“Just a few more questions, Mrs. Green.” The DA’s voice had a listen-up-here edge. “Are you medically trained? A doctor, or a nurse?”
“No.”
“So when you went to Grand River with the medic, it wasn’t really to offer first aid to injured demonstrators, was it? Did you go because you knew there was fighting there, and you wanted to throw rocks?”
“No, that’s not true. I went to help. And I never threw a rock.”
“Excuse me,” the DA said, smirking at the jury, “a very hard green apple, the size, shape, and solidity of a rock.” He shook his head before continuing. “How do you feel about your older sister, Mrs. Green? Are you afraid of Rosa?”
“Of course not. Why should I be afraid of her?”
“Your sister Rosa is a committed activist, a self-proclaimed revolutionary leader. Are you ever frightened of her zeal?”
“I admire her commitment.”
“Do you always follow her lead?”
“I can think for myself.”
“Is your sister the leader in political matters?”
Esther shrugged. “I guess so. She’s older.”
“Did you follow her lead last August 17 on Grand River?”
Esther looked down at her hands. They were strangers folded in her lap. She couldn’t feel them at the ends of her arms. Her neck wouldn’t work either, so she could not turn and look at Rosa at the defense table. She didn’t need to look; she knew how tall and straight her sister was sitting.
“Mrs. Green. Please answer the question. Did you follow Rosa’s lead on August 17?”
“I don’t know.”
“Was it Rosa’s suggestion to throw rock-hard apples at the mounted police?”
“I guess so.”
“Did Rosa bring the apples to the demonstration and put them in your backpack?”
“Yes. But we never meant to hurt anyone.”
The DA’s voice boomed. “You might not have meant to hurt anyone, but you cannot know what your sister planned.”
Oh, but she did know. She had always known. All their lives, until the last few months, people joked that Rosa and Esther could have been twins, even with the dramatic difference in their hair color. Rosa made fun of those comments, but Esther had always loved the idea.
People probably wouldn’t be saying that anymore.
“Did your sister Rosa bring the apples, hand them to you, tell you to throw them, and then herself start aiming them at the officers and their horses?”
Esther tried to imagine what Rosa was thinking. She didn’t trust herself to look at her, but she didn’t have to. Esther had spent her whole life studying her older sister, trying to avoid disappointing her. Rosa would be ferocious with rage, blazing with it, just like on Grand River on that awful afternoon. She could feel Rosa’s gaze on her chest. Rosa’s eyes burned twin holes through Esther’s clothes, sizzled her tattoo, charred her flesh.
“Please answer the question, Mrs. Green. Did your sister Rosa Levin do those things?”
“Yes,” Esther said. “She did.”
CHAPTER 10
Jake
“Yes. She did.”
Esther’s three words punched into Jake’s sternum. Sitting next to him, Mama clutched her throat. She must have felt it too, the calamity of those three true words. Jake had encouraged Esther to accept the plea bargain. It was the right thing to do, for Molly, for their family. For herself, damn it; it was high time Esther stopped doing everything Rosa told her to. Still, when Esther spoke those three words in the courtroom, Jake wondered if he had been terribly wrong.
“That will be all, Mrs. Green. Thank you.” The DA’s voice was cheerful. If he was pleased, it couldn’t be good news for Rosa. Jake barely heard Dwayne’s cross-examination, taking Esther through her years of shared activism with Rosa, in Ann Arbor and Detroit. None of it mattered after those three awful words.
The bailiff helped Esther out of the witness box and down the steps. Jake tried to catch her eye, but Esther studied her feet as if she couldn’t walk without visual assistance.
“One moment, Mrs. Green,” the judge said.
Esther halted. Jake held his breath.
“Have a seat.” The judge pointed to an empty chair at the end of the prosecution table. “You are no longer sequestered.”
Jake wanted to stand up and object. Why does she have to sit with them? That’s not standard procedure; it’s harassment. She’s done, he wanted to yell, so let her sit here with her parents and me where she belongs. But Esther let herself be escorted to the DA’s table.
Next to Jake, Mama took Pop’s hand. Pop lifted her fingers to his lips, briefly. Jake closed his eyes. He had never before observed any physical intimacy between Esther’s parents. Things must be even worse than he thought.
The wire service photographer’s testimony echoed his television interviews. He set the scene with the scorching heat and the shade of the restaurant awning. He had just finished his sandwich and was smoking a cigarette when he heard the commotion on the street. Jake’s attention wandered as the photographer answered questions about angle of vision and camera distances. It had been right to leave Molly with the sitter, but his chest ached for the comfort of her small warm weight.
On cross-examination, Rosa’s lawyer tried to focus on the violent behavior of the cops. “Did you take any photographs of the altercation between the mounted police and the demonstrators?” he asked. “Of the police hitting citizens?”
“A few,” the photographer admitted.
“Where are those photos? Why weren’t they in the newspaper? Why aren’t they enlarged so the jury can see the whole picture?”
“Not my job,” the photographer said. “I take the photos. The wire service decides which ones to distribute and the papers choose what to publish.”
Jake had to admit that the DA was good. He primed the jury with evidence from the injured cop’s commanding officer, the paramedic first responders, the vet who treated the traumatized horse, the fourth-year resident on duty in the Emergency Room. Next came the spinal cord trauma specialist who had been called in from his Upper Peninsula fishing camp to operate late that night. Jake knew the guy from his neurosurgery rotation in med school, and it was bad luck for Rosa’s case. The neurosurgeon spoke to the jury in his husky voice, sharing secrets of the most intimate workings of the human body. On a large diagram, he pointed to the three crushed vertebrae in the officer’s spine. “These things are difficult to predict, but with a complete T11-L1 injury, most likely Officer Steele’s legs will be paralyzed for the rest of his life.”
Finall
y, an attendant in clean white scrubs pushed a wheelchair into the courtroom. The injured officer sat motionless, wearing his uniform and a neck brace under his bland and sad expression. Neck brace? The trauma was to his lower spine. If Esther were sitting next to him, he could whisper-rant about courtroom theatrics, about having the guy wear a collar when the injury was nowhere near his neck. Theatrics or not, the tactic seemed to work, judging by the sympathy visible on the jurors’ faces.
The judge agreed to the DA’s request that the officer be allowed to give testimony from his wheelchair, due to his significant injuries. “Officer Steele,” the DA said, “could you tell us what you and your squad were doing on Grand River Avenue on August 17, 1968? Take it slow and easy.”
“My squad was assigned periphery duty that afternoon, patrolling a neighborhood adjacent to the demonstration. We came upon an offshoot of the march. These individuals did not have a permit to use the street.” Officer Steele’s mild expression tightened slightly. “We advised them of the situation. We requested several times that they move onto the sidewalk. They refused to comply. They began shouting abusive comments at us.”
“What kind of comments, Officer?”
“Epithets like ‘pig,’ sir.” The police officer seemed comfortable in the courtroom, conversing with the DA as if they were relaxing together with a beer at a bar down the street. Jake envied that kind of ease. He had observed it in some physicians at the hospital, wondered where it came from.
“And then what happened, Officer?”
“More demonstrators joined the group in the street. Despite multiple warnings and the deterrent use of tear gas, they did not disperse. Instead, they attacked us.”
“Attacked you how?”
“The perpetrators swarmed into the street, surrounded us. They yelled threats.”
“How did you respond?”
“We defended ourselves with our billy clubs, sir. To secure the street.”
“How were you injured?”
Officer Steele shook his head slightly in the neck brace. “I’m sorry, but I can’t remember. The doctors say I might never regain those memories. My buddies tell me that rocks were thrown at us and my horse was hit. They say that when I fell off, I landed so hard they could hear bones break.”
Jake looked at the defense team; why didn’t they challenge that testimony as hearsay? Jake knew it wasn’t likely that bystanders could hear the vertebrae crack, but it made a strong impression on the jury, a damaging impression. Their faces mirrored the DA’s expression of shock. Esther felt it too. Jake knew by the way her shoulders sagged, collapsing into herself.
He studied the sisters’ backs at the twin tables facing the judge. When they were younger, their torsos were almost identical: Rosa a bit taller, Esther slightly rounder. They didn’t resemble each other anymore. Esther slumped at the far end of the DA’s desk. Jake hadn’t noticed before how much pregnancy weight she still carried. Rosa sat erect between Allen and Dwayne at the defense table. She didn’t move, but her body radiated energy. Rosa had always been like that, even as a teenager. Before Allen fell in love with her, he once called her a matchstick, tall and skinny with a flaming head. Not that he ever would, or even really wanted to, but Jake couldn’t help wondering what it would be like to hold that voltage in his arms.
Officer Steele was excused and wheeled out of the courtroom. Jake wondered if he had kids. If he used to hurry home from work in time to read Babar at bedtime, deeply inhaling the scent of shampoo in their damp hair as they sat together on the sofa. He bet that was what Esther was thinking about too.
Jake wanted to take Esther away. Away from the courtroom. Away from Rosa. From danger. Just Esther and Molly and him. Safe.
CHAPTER 11
Allen
Waiting for Jake or Esther to answer their doorbell the next afternoon, Allen admitted to himself that he probably shouldn’t have come. He could have telephoned with the news, or even asked Rosa’s lawyer to tell them. But that didn’t seem right after all the years of friendship. Didn’t seem right even now, when their friendship was dead, had to be dead.
He and Jake had been through rocky times before, like that last summer at camp when they were both counselors, when Allen really noticed Rosa for the first time. She was two years younger, and any romantic involvement between counselors and campers was strictly forbidden. For a while, Allen suspected that his best buddy also had a crush on the skinny redhead, who stood up in the middle of a campfire program and asked why everyone was singing a silly song about a purple people-eater when their country was testing nuclear bombs over Bikini Atoll. Even back then, Rosa was ablaze, and most of the guys were attracted to her.
Over the last few years, he and Jake hadn’t made much time for each other. They were both so busy, with the pull of their professions and then Jake’s fatherhood. Rosa proclaimed that Jake had sold out his activism for a white coat and stethoscope, but Allen couldn’t think of any guy he admired more. That made this visit even harder, knowing his news would likely end their friendship.
Jake answered the door. He hesitated, then stood back, a wordless invitation to enter. Esther was sitting on the sofa nursing Molly. Allen wished this were a social visit, so he could ask to hold the baby. He had wanted to ask so many times but never did, and now he probably never would. He felt Esther’s eyes on his face, searching for the reason he was there. Maybe worrying that she had goofed in court the day before, said something bad enough to make the DA change his mind about the plea agreement.
“Have a seat,” Jake said.
Allen sat on the arm of the easy chair, still in his coat. He buried his face in his hands.
“What’s wrong?” Esther asked.
Jake sat next to her, put his arm around her shoulders. Jake was protecting his family and Allen admired that. But it made him feel so alone.
“You look serious,” Jake said. “Did something happen in court today? ”
“Rosa no-showed.” Allen worked to keep his voice steady. “She’s gone.”
“Gone?” Esther looked at Jake for help.
“Underground,” Allen said. “She knew how badly the trial was going. I wanted to tell you in person. That means the trial is over, at least for the time being.” He hesitated. “This has been awful for all of us, but especially you, Esther. I’m profoundly sorry.”
Esther opened her mouth—to speak, to scream?—then sat silent, mouth agape.
“There’s more.” Allen felt his eyes begin to burn. He blinked several times, but it didn’t help. “Rosa is pregnant.”
“I should have guessed,” Esther whispered. “She was nauseous a lot. And so pale. When did she tell you?”
“She didn’t. I found the phone number of the clinic on the pad next to the telephone, with three exclamation points gouged into the yellow paper. I called the clinic, said I was Rosa’s husband. I told them Rosa couldn’t remember the brand of prenatal vitamins they recommended.” Allen heard how small his own voice sounded. He hated lying, even when it was necessary. “She didn’t tell me she was leaving either. I didn’t know until I woke up this morning. Her side of the bed was empty.”
He rubbed his eyes, his beard, but couldn’t wipe away the hopeless torrent of loss. He had to get out of there. He stood, glad he had never taken off his coat.
Jake moved awkwardly toward him. “I’m really sorry, Allen.”
Allen held up both hands, palms out. He couldn’t bear Jake’s sympathy. “Got to go.”
“Let me know if you hear from her. Please?” Esther called after him.
“Or if we can do anything,” Jake added. “For you.”
Allen pulled the apartment door closed behind him and crumpled against the wall in the unheated hallway. Closing his eyes, he relived his argument with Rosa after court the day before. Her leaving was partly his fault. He should have known better than to try to offer advice when she was so distraught.
“Maybe you could tone it down a little,” he had said on the way home. “Y
ou know, show some sympathy for the cop?” He had looked out of the bus window, as if it was just an offhand comment. He wanted to take her in his arms and banish her anger and hurt. Sometimes he wished she were the kind of woman who would let him do that. The kind of woman who would admit that she felt sorry about the cop’s injuries, that she felt wretched and hurt and betrayed that her sister would testify against her.
“I can’t.” Rosa’s voice, when she finally answered, was tiny. “I thought you, of all people, would understand what’s at stake here.”
“Your freedom is at stake. I understand that.”
Rosa compressed her lips into a tight white line. “How can I live with myself if I don’t fight every inch? Who would I be?”
“You’d be yourself, Rosa Levin, free and ready to fight another day.”
“No,” Rosa said. “You’re thinking like an arrogant lawyer. Not like an activist.”
“Why arrogant?”
“Because you act like you know everything. You think it’s all about manipulating the judge and jury, maneuvering the case law. The Olympics of Head Games, won by the team that comes up with the best bullshit. But you’re wrong. This trial is about taking a stand. Like slave revolts or Selma.” She paused. “What’s at stake is who I am.”
Later, in bed, Rosa had been more tender than usual, and she cried after they made love. At first he wondered if maybe she was sorry about their fight, but then he understood that something very bad was going to happen. He pushed the premonition away by licking the tears off her flushed cheeks and ears and neck and holding her until her breathing slowed into sleep.
The chill woke him up the next morning. Whenever Rosa got up first, she flung the covers off and never remembered to pull them back over him. That morning, he woke up cold, and Rosa was gone.
CHAPTER 12
Esther
Her Sister's Tattoo Page 7