Chains Around the Grass (14 page)

That was how he viewed it, so that when Hesse began to cry: “Let go of me!” to shout and attract the attentions of passersby, Dave was not even embarrassed. He felt like a sheriff at High Noon. He knew what he had to do. He walked a few blocks, dragging Hesse behind him. He felt himself bursting with release, with a feeling of magnificent deliverance; like winning a lottery that will change your whole life, or seeing yourself speed down a finish line first.

“Officer. I want you to arrest this man!”

The cop looked up, pushing back his hat brim slightly, taking in the situation. Dave saw his eyes pause at his own cabby hat with its faded, slightly frayed and dirty tweed, then travel downward to where his rough hands wound tightly around the other man’s small, clean one. He saw the cop’s eyes take in Hesse’s good cashmere coat, his shiny shoes, the small diamond ring.

“I think you better take your hands offa him, Mac. Don’t you?” the cop said mildly, tapping his heavy stick on the ground.

“He’s crazy!” Hesse kept repeating with assurance and calm derision.

For one panicked moment, Dave thought: He’s going to weasel out of it. He’s going to walk away. He turned to the cop, his eyes begging.

“I’m making a citizen’s arrest. This man robbed me! I’ve been looking for him for months!”

It might have been Dave’s eyes, or the way he wasn’t going to budge, or perhaps Hesse had overplayed his hand with his superior calm in front of the big Irish cop, but finally the cop said: “OK Mac, I’ll take him in to book him if you want to file a complaint. But if you’re lyin’, you could get yourself locked up, see. Pressing false charges, see. You wanna take the chance?”

Dave hardly heard. He only saw Hesse disappear with the cop into the station house. He followed behind them, almost too happy to walk straight. He filed the forms.

“Tomorrow morning is a preliminary hearing. Get your ass down here, buster. And you’d better not’ve made a monkey outta me,” the cop called after him.

“Just grabbed him right off the street! Made a citizen’s arrest!” Dave repeated the story for the umpteenth time.

Jesse, sitting at his father’s feet, made a fist and punched a couch pillow: Wham! His eyes widening with satisfaction and relief. But the truth was, he wasn’t quite sure. There had been something wild, almost savage in his father’s joy. He felt an odd queasiness.

“You should’ve seen that cop give me the eye. I tell you!”

Jesse watched his father’s hands rub against each other with impatience, dissatisfied, as if the words were not enough, as if he wanted to conjure up the magic of the moment for them, wanted to transport them all by some alchemy to the exact place and time of his triumph. “I tell ya, he just couldn’t believe it, such a thing. Thought I was the crook!”

He looked at Jesse and the boy caught the glance gratefully, realizing that the source of his own unease was not doubting his father’s great triumph, but rather at the nagging sensation that he had been eavesdropping. It was a feeling difficult to shake, for in the last months his entire knowledge of Hesse had been gleaned from muffled sentences leaking through closed doors; single, disjointed phrases thrown across the kitchen or living room; anguished animal sounds hidden deep within the night. They had never told him what had happened. Never acknowledged it. Oh, he could understand wanting to keep it from Sara and Louis. But he deeply resented being lumped together with them in the despicable category of “the kids.” Like a detective, he had pieced together the vague and fragmented story of Hesse and his father, letting it scrape his insides raw with the fine, deep, precise pain of a scalpel. He had cauterized the wound with a white-hot fury that was directed mostly at Hesse, but also at his parents, especially his father. He’d tried to stop his anger, wanting to analyze, to find excuses, but always the searing pain stopped him, preventing forgiveness of any kind. And now, for the first time, he felt the undissembling directness in his father’s glance, free of guilt, which did not say, “What is this kid doing here?” but rather “You and me, Jess. We can handle it, together!”

So later, when he heard his mother’s soft doubtful mutters, he knew himself bonded to his father, at one with him against all timid, sickening equivocations that aimed to pull down his unquestionable victory. Laid flat, his father had pulled himself back to the center of the ring, and like one of those bloodied old boxers in a Garfield movie, had flailed out against the odds, splitting the soft rotten underbelly of corruption. His mother’s soft entreaties, her warnings: “Dave, we’re not out of the woods yet!”; her “What if he gets a smart lawyer who can twist things around?”; or, more ominously, “What if he’s spent the money?” filled Jesse with the same fierce, impotent rage he saw reflected on his father’s face.

“You’re never going to be satisfied. Made a mistake once, that means the rest of my life…You’re just never going to trust me… never!”

“Dave, it’s not that! You know I…I…just don’t want you to get your hopes…”

Jesse saw his father pivot to face his mother with a contained violence that shocked him. “HOW MANY MORNINGS DID I GET UP TO DRAG IN THOSE BOTTLES TO THE CANDY STORE? HOW MANY!?! There wasn’t even a dog—you hear!—not a dog out in the streets. But I got up, two, three in the morning. How many times did I go out in the dark to drive people all over town? Getting sti?ed, getting robbed, getting tickets!? For that money, for my wife and kids… Does he think he can con me, that I’m a shmuck, a greener? Ponzi schemes! Who does he think I am…that I’ll go away quietly…?” he screamed in uncontrollable rage, like a wounded animal.

“Dave, not in front of the kids!” she implored.

His father’s answer was swift and satisfying. “Jesse is no kid. I have nothing to be ashamed of. He’s my son, he understands.” He put his arm roughly around the boy. “I’m telling you, I put him behind bars. Now he’ll give me back what he owes me. We have courts of law! We have judges, justice in America! Even if the judge doesn’t want to believe me, all he has to do is look at the guy’s record. Just to look!” Dave’s voice rang deep and bell-like, filling the room until there was no room for anything as petty and wretched as doubt.

The Brooklyn courtroom was overcrowded, overheated. It smelled of harsh floor wax, old coats, and people with bad teeth. The pews were filled as Dave, Ruth, and Jesse walked in with their lawyer. They could already see Hesse sitting up front, leaning over to whisper to the man beside him, a man with soft, smooth hands and a gold ring. A man that could have been Hesse’s brother.

“Markowitz versus Hesse!” the bailiff’s voice said finally.

Dave walked briskly forward, hat in hand, toward the judge whose black robes and crisp white collar made him look vague and unreal, like a picture of a judge.

Dave jumped up: “Your honor, I’d just like to say that this man,” he pointed to Hesse, “this man has taken the food from my children’s m…”

“What the hell is this?” the judge exclaimed, looking around, amazed, at the bailiff, the lawyers, smashing the gavel down. “Silence! Would you please instruct your client that another outburst of that nature will get him into jail for contempt.”

Dave felt his face grow hot. He let his lawyer pull him back down into his seat and heard his bored whisper. “Look, this is just a preliminary. No point in getting riled up. Save it for the trial. OK?”

Dave’s lawyer spoke. Dave tried to understand him. He wasn’t angry enough, Dave thought. All those big words. He wasn’t telling the story the way it was. Yeah, there were promissory notes. Yeah there wasn’t any collateral. But you’ve gotta tell the judge how he did it. His face. His smile. The handshakes. The little gifts. The way he looked into your eyes and said: “Trust me, believe me.” All the stories… Tell him about the chemical plant, and the patent, and the promises…!

“OK, John,” the judged motioned to Hesse’s lawyer. “What do you have to say?”

John, he called him, Dave heard, shocked. By his first name, he called him. And Hesse’s lawyer got up and smiled at the judge. He talked a few minutes. He put Hesse on the stand. A business deal. Exhibit A, Exhibit B. A business deal. Mr. Markowitz knew the risks. Disgruntled partner. Vindictive. Baseless. Partnership, and Hesse had taken his lumps like a man, and he, Dave Markowitz, was sour grapes, unbusinesslike. Vindictive. Vindictive!!

Dave watched his own lawyer rise, noticing for the first time the rumpled suit. The lawyer protested. He presented in evidence Hesse’s past record. The judge glanced at it briefly, and then looked up at Hesse’s lawyer with a sardonic smile.

“Quite a businessman you’ve got there, John.” Then he looked with the same expression at Dave: “You’re a cabby, I understand, Mr. Markowitz. A New York cabby. Mr. Markowitz, from my experience, a New York cabby knows what’s what. You took the notes. You signed them. You handed over your money willingly. I don’t know what kind of crooked deal you two had planned, but it seems to me you both got what you deserved. Case dismissed. Bailiff. Next case please.”

“What?” Dave looked at his lawyer, puzzled. He looked back at Ruth’s sad face, at Jesse’s appalled one. “That’s it?!! That’s it? Yeah, well, we’ll see about that.”

He jumped over the desk and ran to Hesse, grabbing his shoulders and shaking him. He shook off the restraining hands that were reaching out to stop him from every corner of the room. He felt his fists crack bone and pierce flesh and land squarely and heavily into Hesse’s soft middle. He had the strength of a goring bull. No one could stop him. But when he saw the blood spurt up and out of Hesse’s nose and mouth, his eyes begin to blacken and swell, he dropped his arms helplessly, letting himself be dragged away. Blood money. But blood was not money. It was not an even exchange.

Chapter twelve

There were only two more people in front of her. Ruth shifted her weight from her right leg to her left, easing the discomfort from the long wait. At least she could do this for him, stand and let him sit. Let him sit. Rest. He needed rest. Maybe here, afterward, they would take good care of him, make sure that he ate the right foods. It was quiet here, no kids running around.

“Next!” It was the kind of arrogant voice she hated most. “Medical insurance?” Ruth studied the nurse’s flawlessly white cap with its sharp edges and answered softly, with deep shame: “Welfare.” But the nurse said she couldn’t hear and made her repeat it again, loudly, so that everyone behind her in line looked up.

“Not here. Welfare is down the hall, two turns to the right. Next!”

“Another line?”

The nurse stopped shuffling her papers for a moment and stared at her. “Down the hall, Missus.”

Ruth took the forms humbly and walked back to where Dave sat waiting. “It’s not the right place. I’ll go…I’ll be right back…”

“Let me go. You stood so much already.”

But she pushed him gently back into the seat. He did not resist her. Three hours later, after he had already changed into hospital pajamas that made him look like a prisoner, and been placed in a room crowded with five other men, they said goodbye. “I’ll be back tomorrow before the operation. They told me you go in at four o’clock.”

He smoothed her cheek with his thumb. “What are you so worried about?!” With tremendous effort he flashed her one of his old smiles. “So what’s the big deal? You heard the doctor. Minor stuff. I’ll be out and good as new. Lousy ulcers! Only one thing worse: lousy bleeding ulcers. Can I say goodbye to the kids?”

“Jesse already took the baby home. He couldn’t wait anymore. They don’t let kids come up. But Sara wouldn’t go. She’s waiting downstairs.”

“So sneak her up the stairs. I’ll wait for you.” “Dave?”

“You’ll be OK?” “Huh?”

“You’ll be OK?”

“Sure, sure. Stop with the long face already! Go, honey. Bring Sara up. Kiss Jesse and Louis for me. Tell them I’ll be home before they know it. We’ll buy them something, huh?”

“Sure, Dave.” She drew him to her for a moment, too conscious of passing strangers to do more than just peck his cheek and whisper: “Tomorrow.”

“What are you worrying about? I’ll buy the paper, stretch out in bed. Like in a hotel. Breakfast in bed. Like in the movies, right?”

“Right.” She smiled back, her eyes blurring for a moment. “I’ll get your daughter.”

Sara heard her mother’s too quick steps, the frightened turning to check if any officious white-coated enforcer of hospital rules might be on their trail.

“Saraleh, I’m going to get Daddy. You stay here a minute.”

Alone on the dark stairs, the child trembled. But it was too late. Her mother was already gone. But then there was a shaft of light and he was standing there, a thin stranger in an unfamiliar striped robe. She could not understand, neither then nor later, how she actually got to him. It was as if the space between them suddenly evaporated from the heat of her joy. Her small arms strained vainly to encircle him, kneading him, wanting to find the muscles beneath the thin flesh.

She pressed her mouth into the unfamiliar cotton of his robe, tasting and smelling, searching for the odor that had come to her as a comfort so many times in the night. But it had been robbed from him, overpowered and rendered sterile. He was theirs.

Daddy, Daddy.

Buried in his arms, still the terror hovered near, entering with the coolness that crept between them at the slightest shifting of their bodies. It was like being encased in a soap bubble, she thought. All around them, it was luminous and exquisite, but so fragile she was afraid to breathe. She felt filled with a sudden urgency, a desire to plead with him, to utter sacred vows, promises never to do it again, no never (whatever she had done to bring him here, to separate them)! If only he would come home!

Daddy, please. One more chance. Just one more.

And then she felt anger. He had promised her something, and it hadn’t come true. She wanted to tell him that. To warn him that she was older now; that she understood that he hadn’t spoken the truth. For she had seen them take away the ropes when the grass was thick and strong, only to replace them with a long, steel chain that looped for miles around the earth. Chains around the grass. And now he, too, was chained off, theirs, to be approached guiltily, behind turned backs.