Half the Blood of Brooklyn

– Sorry, got lost in a little deja vu there.

– This seems familiar to you? The temple? Us?

– No, being beaten and tied up and listening to some asshole try to frame my ass seems familiar. Swear I’ve gone through this shit before.

He taps one of my escorts on the shoulder and the kid gets up and the Rebbe takes his place.

– You’re not from the Coalition, then?

– Fuck is he gonna say?

The Rebbe shakes a finger at Stretch.

– You want me to have them gag you again? Yes? No? No. So be quiet for a moment. What my sister saw in you, all the talking without ever listening. A midget, I could almost be proud she was blind to such a thing, loved you despite your infirmity, but the talking and the cursing and never waiting to listen to anyone else, it’s a frustration.

– Fuck you, Moishe.

The Rebbe looks at me.

– See the mouth on him. With or without those grotesque teeth, the mouth. My sister, God love her and comfort her, she thought he was funny. She thought he was clever. To say fuck is clever? This is wit?

I look at Stretch, look back at the Rebbe.

– Fuck do I care.

He purses his lips, covers them with his fist, nods.

– Yes, you’re from Manhattan. It’s in your voice, your accent. And in your attitude. And an attitude like that, I would not be surprised if you are from the Coalition.

– He is, man, that’s what I’m telling you.

The Rebbe bangs his fist on the back of Stretch’s pew.

– Abe! If I have to ask you again to be quiet in the temple while I am speaking. I will be very upset if I have to do that. I did not tell these boys to do what they did.

He looks at his son, still by the Torah and the arc.

– I did not tell my son to abuse the Sabbath in this way.

– Dad!

– Shht! The things they’ve done, they raise grave questions. But they are done. Too late to change them. You are here. The girls are here. This man is here. Now there is nothing but to determine how best to proceed. And when you talk out of turn, you cloud the matter. And when you speak, Abe, it makes me think that perhaps you wish to cloud the matter. And that makes me regard you with doubt. So be quiet, Abe. For the sake of whatever passed between you and my sister. For the sake of my nieces. Be quiet.

The kid who scratched my head holds up a finger.

– There’s also the other girl.

The Rebbe looks at him.

– What?

Axler comes down the aisle.

– It’s nothing, Dad, a shiksa. She was there.

The Rebbe stands.

– Where is she?

Axler looks at the guy who opened his mouth and slits his eyes.

– She’s at my place. With the Lucys.

– What have I told you about that word? I raised you to use that word?

– No.

– Name them with respect.

– She’s with Rachel and Leah of the Tribe of Benjamin of the Chosen.

– Get her, bring her here.

Axler points at one of the other guys.

– Go on, get her.

The Rebbe steps to his son, looks up at him.

– No, you. You go and get this woman and cover her head and bring her here. You.

Axler bites the inside of his lip, nods, walks around his father and leaves the little temple built just behind his father’s house.

The Rebbe comes and sits next to me again and sighs.

– It won’t be long. His place he calls it. A room above our garage and he calls it his place.

He looks up at the ceiling, talks to whatever lives up there.

– No hurry, but he could move out soon, God? Anytime you see fit, but soon perhaps?

He drops his face, looks at me, smiles.

– The prayers of a father.

I’ve seen worse, but Lydia looks bad.

Someone’s removed the arrows from her abdomen and legs and done a shit job of it. They left the one in her throat, afraid they’d take her esophagus out with it, I suppose. Or maybe they like the way it looks there.

The Rebbe watches as they lay her on the pew behind Harm and Vendetta, a scarf tied round her head. He gets up and walks over and bends and inspects the raggedly bandaged wounds and the arrow in her neck.

– This was poorly done.

Axler rubs the back of his neck.

– She’s dangerous, Papa. She shot Matthew and David and Hesch.

Three of the boys touch holes in their black garments.

Axler takes his hand from the back of his neck.

– And she killed Selig.

He points at me.

– This one killed Chaim. And she killed Selig.

The Rebbe puts his index finger on the notched end of the arrow.

– Chaim and Selig. Selig was with you?

– Yes.

– Selig. His brother, I am not surprised, but Selig is a scholar.

He looks at me.

– A smart and a gentle boy. Promising. More than promising. A Rebbe born.

I glance at Axler.

– Not my problem, I killed the other one.

The Rebbe walks to a cabinet on the far wall.

– Always you are like this when you have killed? Lighthearted? Making jokes?

I ignore him, not having made a joke.

He comes back to Lydia with a small black doctor’s bag, sets it on the bench next to her head and opens it.

– I’ll need a cutter.

He opens and closes his hand as if squeezing something.

– In the garage, with the garden tools, there should be something.

One of the boys hurries out.

Axler puts a hand on his father’s shoulder.

– Papa, you shouldn’t. Let me do it. I’ve already broken the Sabbath.

The Rebbe pats his son’s hand.

– Yes, you have. Good of you to say so. And you think it will make it better now if you spare me the same? I have never broken Sabbath? Talked on the phone? Turned on a light? God will understand this. Will he understand what you have done, my son? Without studying the Moed, I cannot say. But this, helping a girl, he will