by Andrew Kane
“His stomach.” Rachel wasn’t certain of her answer, and figured that if Schiffman was asking, it was probably a trick question. She was becoming acquainted with the doctor’s style.
“Close, but not quite,” Schiffman said.
The boy’s mother was growing more anxious. She kept looking at her watch. Again, she asked, “Where could Doctor Bronstein be?”
Rachel wondered if Schiffman was ignoring the boy’s mother, or if she was so engrossed in what she was doing, she just didn’t hear what was said. Schiffman moved closer to the boy. “Shloimie, I’m going to have to remove your pants to examine you. Rachel, please help me.”
The mother appeared stunned. She looked at Rachel, about to assist the doctor, and suddenly recognized her. “Aren’t you Rabbi Weissman’s daughter?” the woman asked.
“Yes, I’m working here for the summer, helping Doctor Schiffman. She’s a friend of my father’s.” It was a small lie, but Rachel thought it might help set the woman at ease. If the doctor was a “friend” of Rabbi Weissman’s, she must be “okay.”
“Rachel,” Schiffman said, ignoring the interchange between Rachel and the boy’s mother. “I need you to help hold Shloimie still while I remove his pants. This is going to hurt a little,” she said to the boy.
The boy started jumping around and Rachel tried to hold him down. As his pants came down, the boy shouted, “No! No! No!” He was embarrassed about his genitalia being displayed in front of women. His mother looked embarrassed as well. So did Rachel.
Schiffman kept her mind on business, palpating around the boy’s abdomen. Cries of pain resounded. Then, she stepped away and recorded something in the chart. “Rachel, please help Shloimie get his pants back on.” Despite his agony, the boy angrily pushed Rachel aside and did the pants himself. She turned away, allowing him his dignity.
At that moment, Doctor Bronstein entered. Schiffman turned to him and the boy’s mother, and said, “Acute appendicitis.”
Bronstein nodded as if that was what he’d suspected when he’d first heard from the mother earlier in the day.
“Oh my God,” the mother exclaimed, “does that mean he needs an operation?” She looked at Bronstein for an answer. He turned to Schiffman.
“I would say so,” Schiffman said.
Again, the mother looked to Bronstein, who gave his nod of approval.
At that moment, seeing the respect Doctor Bronstein had for Doctor Schiffman solidified Rachel’s dream of becoming a physician. True, she already had what most Hasidic girls would pray for. Being the daughter of Rabbi Isaac Weissman had afforded her much homage in her community, and heaven knew the hordes of matchmakers lining up for her because of her father’s prominence, offering the most pious of scholars from the wealthiest families for her to choose from. And her physical beauty—something of which she was becoming more aware—didn’t hurt either. But, it all just wasn’t enough. She wanted to be regarded for her intellect, not for lineage, appearance, or ability to be a wife and mother. She wanted to know that she, too, could use her mind to study and achieve all her God-given potential. Of course she wanted to marry a scholar and bring up her children as she’d been raised, but she also wanted more, and now she knew that with greater certainty than ever before.
The doctors conferred for a few minutes, then Doctor Schiffman requested an orderly to move the boy to pre-op. “We should operate as soon as possible,” Doctor Bronstein said to the mother, who appeared unnerved, but nodded.
Rachel approached Bronstein and the mother. “Ah, Rachel,” Doctor Bronstein acknowledged, “it seems you’re doing well here with Doctor Schiffman.” He wasn’t surprised to see Rachel, for Rabbi Weissman had consulted with him about her working in the hospital.
“Yes, I’m learning many things,” Rachel answered.
“Mrs. Glustoff,” the doctor said, addressing the mother, “this is Rachel Weissman…”
“Yes, I know who she is,” the mother reacted with a disapproving tone. Doctor Bronstein looked at Rachel, as if to say, forget it.
“Well, anyway,” Bronstein continued, “I think you should go and call your husband. He should be here with you.”
“Yes, I should,” the woman repeated. She appeared stupefied, unable to accept any of this—her son with appendicitis, a female doctor, the rabbi’s daughter—it was all too much to handle.
Bronstein showed the mother to a phone, and left Rachel standing alone. Rachel looked around, a statue amid the commotion. She liked the ER, and felt she could learn more here than she could ever learn in the women’s seminary. And she would. She would go to college and medical school, no matter what it took. As for the condemnation from others, she would deal with that, for she knew there would be more of it to come.
Later that afternoon, Rachel met Esther at the hospital entrance, wearing her excitement.
“What’s up, darling?” asked Esther.
Rachel proceeded to relate the day’s events, but she could see that Esther’s mind was on other things.
“So what’s new at camp?” Rachel asked after finishing her spiel. Esther was spending the summer as a drama counselor in the Lubavitch day camp in which Rachel had spent previous summers.
“Oh, not much, really. The kids are putting on a play about Joseph, the coat, the brothers, and all that. I really wanted to do something with David and Bathsheba, but you know how it is.” She held her hands up, gesturing quotation marks, “It’s not for the children!”
Rachel worried about Esther’s derisiveness. It seemed her friend was becoming more scornful of Hasidic life with each passing day.
“Don’t be so harsh. Maybe it isn’t a good idea for children to learn about David and Bathsheba, at least until they’re old enough to understand the story.”
“And you understand the story?”
Perhaps not, thought Rachel. “You know what I mean,” she said.
“Yes, I suppose I do. But it just bothers me, all these rules and restrictions. And it bothers you too, Miss-lady-doctor!”
Esther had a point. Rachel kept quiet, not knowing what to say.
The girls continued on their way to the park. It was another dog day, perfect for their purposes. None of the boys would be wearing shirts.
They stayed in the park for a while, watching the boys, laughing, chatting, and eventually went home. On the way they passed four Irish boys, hanging out in the street. Unseemly types, obvious trouble makers. The boys noticed them, whistled, and offered a few lewd comments. Rachel became frightened, but Esther lifted her skirt, just a drop, to tease them.
Rachel hit Esther on the hand to knock down the skirt. “What are you doing? Are you crazy?”
“Just having some fun, darling. No harm done.”
Rachel grabbed Esther’s arm and dragged her along more quickly. At that, one of the boys ran up behind them and said, “Looking good today! Hey babe, maybe you wanna pick that up a little more, or maybe ya want me t’ do it for ya?”
Esther turned around and blurted out, “Sorry honey, you’re not man enough.”
Rachel was shocked. She held Esther tighter and started running. The boy didn’t bother after them, but yelled out, “You come back ’round here, and I’ll show you how much man I am!”
Rachel promised herself that this was the last of their jaunts to that part of the neighborhood. From now on, she was going to have Doctor Schiffman drive her home from the hospital.
But Esther had other ideas, for she had actually enjoyed the confrontation. And while she knew what Rachel was thinking, she was confident she could convince her friend to reconsider. In any event, she was certainly going to try.
CHAPTER 22
Joshua managed to see Rachel almost every night. He even changed his routine, making sure he was working in the hall outside the classroom when she arrived. Her presence still made him nervous, even shy. He didn’t know what to say or do to catch her attention. Usually, he simply nodded as she passed, and was rewarded with that same polite smile.
He sensed that Calvin was becoming suspicious. Calvin always left on time, just about when Joshua was taking the broom and dustpan up to the second floor. Earlier that evening, as Calvin was leaving, he turned to Joshua with a curious expression. Yes, Joshua thought, he must know.
Joshua predicted that Calvin’s lecture would come the next day. He would deny everything, of course, and would have to be less obvious in the future. He wondered just how obvious he had actually been, if either Rachel or her father suspected anything as well. That could mean real trouble. Heck, he was used to trouble.
In any event, he wasn’t sure how much longer he could keep up the charade with the broom and dustpan, and figured this was as good a night as any to break the ice. Lucky for him, she happened to be carrying a biology textbook. It made things easier.
“I see you’re studying biology,” he said, trying to hide his uneasiness.
She was taken aback, faltered, looked down at the book, then at him. “Yes, I am. I’m working at the hospital this summer and I was reading up on things.”
“Me too. I mean, I took biology this past year.” Good, he thought, now they were equal. But not exactly, he still had the broom and dustpan.
“Really!”
He guessed her surprise was because she probably didn’t figure a black kid who was a janitor’s assistant for biology. “Really,” he said, “Ontogeny recapitulates phylogeny and all that.” I’ll show her.
She smiled, this time a bit more genuinely. She knew he was trying to impress her. “And what exactly does that mean?” she asked, a touch of cynicism in her voice.
“Is this a test?”
Now she appeared embarrassed. “Just kidding,” she answered.
For a moment she seemed vulnerable, easing some of his anxiety. “That’s okay,” he said. “I’ll tell you anyway, in case you don’t know, or if you’re confused about it or something.” No harm in a little arrogance.
“You see,” he continued, “it’s like this. The embryo, that’s like the egg that grows into the fetus. Well, it goes through all sorts of changes as it grows, sort of like real people, except it changes fast, and in weird ways too.” He knew he was running at the mouth, but she was listening, and ooh, that smile. He couldn’t help himself. “Anyway, as this embryo grows, and goes through those changes, they’re the same changes that the whole species went through as we evolved. That’s what “recapitulates” means, repeating the changes of the species. Cool, huh?” He knew all that studying would pay off.
“Yeah, cool,” she repeated, a bit awkwardly. It was the first time she’d ever used that particular adjective.
“Bet you thought I didn’t really know what I was talking about, huh?” He wondered if he was being too impressed with himself, and coming off like a jerk. She acted amused, so he figured he wasn’t.
The classroom door opened and the men piled out. Rabbi Weissman emerged, and Joshua returned to his work. The rabbi glanced down at the book in his daughter’s hand, seemed to disapprove, and asked, “Vhat is this?”
“It’s a biology book,” Rachel answered, trying not to be defensive.
“I thought school vas over?”
“It is, I’m brushing up on things for my work at the hospital.”
“Vhat does this have to do vith your vork at the hospital?”
“Biology, Papa, is the foundation for medicine.”
“Ah, I see.” Reserved. Tentative.
Joshua, overhearing the interchange, found it interesting that Rachel’s father wasn’t pleased about the biology text. He wasn’t at all schooled in the Bible, but knew enough to figure that all that evolution stuff in biology books didn’t quite cut the kosher mustard. He’d never gone to Sunday School. His mother hadn’t talked much about religion, and they seldom attended church. He had, however, learned a lot about the subject from TV, particularly the movie Inherit the Wind with Spencer Tracy and Katharine Hepburn. Tracy played a lawyer defending a school teacher for teaching evolution, and Hepburn, as usual, played Tracy’s lady. Joshua had enjoyed the movie, and even fantasized about one day being a lawyer himself. When he watched cops, he wanted to be a cop; when he watched lawyers, he wanted to be a lawyer. He never really wanted to be a criminal, but he just never saw any black lawyers or cops on TV.
There seemed to be much unspoken between Rachel and her father. Rachel’s face carried a look of determination, and the rabbi’s bore one of fear. Joshua suspected that Rachel wasn’t typical.
As Rachel and the rabbi walked toward the stairs, Joshua looked down. He concentrated on his work and pretended not to notice them. “Good night, Joshua,” Rabbi Weissman said as they passed by.
“Good night, Rabbi,” Joshua replied, lifting his head.
Rachel said nothing, but as Joshua watched them leave, she turned and caught his eye. Then she quickly turned again, so her father wouldn’t notice. And as they disappeared into the stairwell, Joshua wondered what other little secrets she kept from her father.
CHAPTER 23
Midnight, an early-summer heat wave. A small dormitory room with no air conditioning, windows wide open. Clamor from the traffic outside, the forever bustling Eastern Parkway. Paul Sims lay in bed, restless, staring at the ceiling, sweating, mulling over his latest conundrum.
He had just turned eighteen, the customary age of marriage for men in the Hasidic world, and he knew that it was also time for Rachel’s parents to be seeking a shiddoch for their daughter. He couldn’t bear the thought of losing her to another. So he obsessed, tossed and turned. Nothing unusual, just another thing keeping him awake.
For weeks he’d been unable to concentrate on his studies. Even during the summer, the demands of yeshiva life were endless. Time usually spent on secular studies was now devoted to additional religious studies. There was never a break from learning God’s word.
It was a Saturday night. Shabbos ended quite late this time of year, a little after nine-thirty, and from ten till twelve there’d been the usual evening study session in the Beis Midrash, where Paul and his colleagues reviewed their Talmudic lessons, usually in groups of two or three. The following day, Sunday, was just another ordinary day in the yeshiva, not a day off as it had been in Hewlett Bay Academy. Paul was growing weary.
He considered taking tomorrow off, but was reticent. Not because he would get in trouble, but because his absence would be noted and an explanation required. He pondered that, still staring at the ceiling.
His plan was to disappear for the morning, maybe take a walk, clear his head, just get away from all this for a while. He was feeling stifled. He even thought about visiting Loretta. He’d been in Crown Heights for almost five months and hadn’t visited her yet. He missed her, and often considered dropping by, but still hadn’t gotten around to it.
It seemed like a good idea now. He figured he could go over there at around ten-thirty a.m., late enough for a Sunday visit. First, morning prayers with the yeshiva’s minyan, then breakfast in the dining room, then the disappearing act. Maybe a stroll past Rachel’s building—one never knows who might be outside! Eventually, Loretta’s place. He had her address, she’d given it to him when he left home. “Come any time,” she’d said, “We live right there, and I’d love for you to finally meet Joshua.”
Meeting Joshua. Paul wondered what that would be like. He felt as if he’d known Joshua his entire life, yet they’d never seen one another in person. Notwithstanding the few pictures that Loretta showed him through the years, he was sure he wouldn’t recognize Joshua, even if they passed on the street, which—he would soon discover—had actually already happened.
He rang the buzzer for the Eubanks’ apartment, and waited. A faint, muffled voice came through the intercom, asking who it was. He could barely make it out, the intercom was definitely in need of repair. As was the cracked glass on the front door, the chipped tile on the walls, and the busted up mail boxes in the lobby.
He thought he recognized the building from several years ago, when his father
had taken him along to collect rent, the only time he’d ever gone to work with Alfred. At first, he wasn’t sure. He was thrown by the disrepair and neglect. But after some scrutiny, he became certain. This was one of his father’s buildings. Why were Loretta and Joshua living here, he wondered. No one had ever told him about this.
“It’s Pinchas, I mean Paul Sims,” he shouted, figuring the reception on the other end was probably just as bad.
The door buzzer sounded, and he entered. At least that works, he told himself, approaching the elevator.
A few moments later, he was standing in a dim, musty hallway, facing the door to Loretta Eubanks’ home. He reached for the buzzer, wondering why he hadn’t come sooner. It was strange, considering that she was the woman who’d practically raised him. Strange indeed, he mused, being so close to a person in some ways, yet so removed in others.
He pressed the buzzer, and listened to the latches turning, wondering if it was Loretta or Joshua on the other side. He didn’t have much time to think about it before the door opened.
It was Joshua.
Paul froze. He didn’t believe his eyes, he immediately recognized Joshua as the “black kid” who worked in the synagogue. Now, looking at him more closely, Paul could see the remarkable resemblance to Loretta: tall, slender, handsome.
Joshua, however, didn’t recognize the young man, who appeared to him basically indistinguishable from the myriad of Hasidim he saw every day. He had occasionally wondered if one or another might be Paul, but the face before him was not one of those he had seen before.
They studied each other for a long, awkward moment, until Paul held his hand out and said, “Hi, I’m Pinchas Sims.”
Joshua offered a tense hand, responding, “I’m Joshua.”
A voice from inside the apartment yelled, “Joshua, if that’s Paul, invite him in!”
Joshua stepped aside, gesturing for Paul to enter. Paul walked in, and looked around. Loretta came out of the kitchen, stopped a few feet from Paul, and thundered, “Well, I’ll be! Take a look at you!”