My choice of Hannah was partly explainable by the friendship I felt for her. Although Hannah’s solid Hamburgese background differed in more than one way from my relaxed and light-hearted Viennese milieu, both of us were Yekkes. In a firm dominated by Russian Jews and Sabres this cultural affinity drew us together. Every so often, when we felt alienated by the rough mannerism and Chutzpah of our colleagues, we reverted to German, earning hostile glances from those present. In addition, Hannah and I shared a taste for books and for good films. Frequently, we lent German novels to one another and, occasionally, went together to the cinema. Another, even stranger, bond was that both of us suffered from Asthma. When either of us came down with an attack, the other lent a supportive shoulder.
A romance, though, was out of the question. To start with, Hannah was my senior by some fourteen years, had been divorced by her husband after twelve years of an unhappy marriage and had a daughter aged ten. She had let it be known that another involvement was not on the cards unless she met a man, in her own age group, who was certain to be a dependable companion and a model stepfather. Obviously, I was not mister right. Another disincentive was Hannah’s down to earth and uncompromising approach to life. She was simply not of the material of which dreams are made. Her plain looks, gaunt figure and sharp tongue did the rest. In the event, we had developed a relationship of sister and brother. It bound us together without producing the undesirable side effects often associated with an affair.
Professionally, too, Hannah and I got on famously. Her stamina and perseverance, her skill as a cross-examiner, her ready grasp of facts and her sheer doggedness made her an effective courtroom advocate. I had a more analytical and academic approach to legal problems and an inborn knack for spotting weak points. So, in effect, we complemented each other’s skills. When pitted together, we formed a formidable team.
My recommendation that she take charge of the Omri Tal case was, therefore, dictated not only by subjective but also by objective considerations. She would nip Boaz Tamir’s attempt to steal a march in the bud, would know how to handle witnesses coached by him and, further, would thrive on piercing the veil of any demagogic or fancy argument Boaz chose to raise. My own role, I smiled inwardly, would be to undermine Boaz’s performance by placing traps on his course. This was the strategy I had used against him on previous occasions.
Although the Omri Tal case appeared lacklustre, I expected Hannah to take charge happily. There was, after all, room for imaginative manoeuvrings and for an apt cross-examination. I was surprised by the scowl that marred her face when, two days after my conversation with Keren, she barged into my office and sat on the edge of my desk: “I thought you were my friend, Mr. Eliahu Peter Berger!”
“Never must you question me!” I adapted the classic Wagnerian phrase.
“Ha, Ha, Ha!” She retorted, letting her mouth drop. “But you better tell me – what made you ask Keren to assign this blasted Omri Tal case to me?”
“You are the best person for it!”
“Flattery won’t get you anywhere, Sir Galahad! That case is well within the brilliant horizon of Abraham Kadmon.”
“Kadmon is aging fast: he’s losing touch. He may confound the issues!”
“How about Ravid then?”
“He’ll accept an unfavourable settlement and walk to his club early in the afternoon for a drink!”
“So what? Rotem can afford to be generous, can’t they?”
“They can! But, Hannah, I’d like to outmanoeuvre Boaz Tamir!”
“Using poor me to settle a score with your pal Boaz? What has he done to you lately? Stolen your girl friend?”
“No – Hannah – he is happily married to his Miri; and no – he hasn’t done anything to me. He’s a nice chap and, actually, we’re close friends! But it’ll do him good to be pegged down from his Olympian heights!”
“So, you want to teach him a lesson out of friendship and brotherly concern. Well, well, well – I didn’t know you were such a caring person, my dear Eli. But, then, life is full of surprises.”
“And for you, Hannah, the case will be a respite: needed, after your recent six weeks trial with Keren in the lead. Just for once, you can do with a walk-over matter.”
“You have a point there.” Hannah loss of weight and dry cough affirmed that working on a major case with a martinet like Jacob Keren took its toll. I was concerned. “Are we on then?”
“Do I have a choice? So shall we have our orientation conference over lunch?”
Like most Israelis, Hannah and I relished Oriental cuisine. David Mizrachi, the Yemenite owner of the eatery near the courthouse, knew us well and led us to a table by the window.
For a while we gossiped about our colleagues and the office staff. When our orders arrived Hannah turned to our case. It soon transpired that, like myself, she had spotted the errors in Boaz’s calculation. We then turned to the first fundamental issue: would Omri Tal’s handicap interfere with his work in the long run.
“My cousin lost a leg in the War of Independence,” said Hannah. “But he’s still one of the best jewellers in Tel Aviv. So why can’t our Omri sit on his backside when he works!?”
“We better find out more about the work of dental technicians,” I voiced my consent.
“I intend to,” said Hannah.
“And how about his dancing?” I prompted.
“This is the other main issue! We must accept that he won’t end up as the Israeli Valentino!”
“If he ever had a chance. But, even if he did, he had shown no aspiration to turn himself into a professional dancer!”
“True,” agreed Hannah. “But he does not claim loss of earning under this heading. We’re talking about loss of future enjoyment of life!”
“Quite. But why can’t he find some other hobby? He’s young enough to pick one up!”
“Ruth Schwartz’s secretary sent his photo over. Have a look.”
The young, well built and good-looking man, whose face was brightened by a warm, ingratiating, smile could not be readily associated with libraries or literary circles. His zest for life was bound to direct him to beaches and, perhaps, to soccer. Here was an out of doors man, proud of his prowess in physical activities.
“Sooner or later this chap will be back on the dancing floor,” I said. “But then, Boaz doesn’t assert Omri will never dance again. All he says is that his client’s wings have been clipped.”
“Quite. But Boaz will do his best to persuade our Omri to lay off. For a while, our Valentino will listen to him.”
“So, we have to bide our time,” I mused. “Putting a P.I. [private investigator: detective] on his tail too early may be counter-productive. Omri may spot him.”
“Precisely. I’ll give him six months. So, Eli – you know what do! And one more thing: I’ve not appeared against Boaz Tamir before. Do tell me a bit about him – is he a good courtroom lawyer?
“He is indeed: excellent on his feet, keeps his cool in a crisis, likes to lay traps and is quick to spot one placed by the other party. And his timing is spot on. Still, he is not so bright when it comes to legal points: freaks out when things get complex.”
“How comes you know him so well? He graduated two years before you?”
“We met in the Debating Society. Also, we appeared together and against each other in Moots. And we are friends: don’t you make any mistake about this.”
“You must have been a first-class team when you joined forces.”
“We were. But he used to beat me when we crossed swords.”
“So that’s why you’d love to give him a black eye. But tell me, does he specialise in running down cases?”
“He doesn’t. Silver & Co.’s running down files are handled by Leah Sapir. Boaz specialises in industrial accidents and building disputes.”
“That’s what I thought. So how comes he handles this file?”
“Omri may have been referred by a common friend?”
“No, Eli, no! Boaz would have passed the file on to Leah! I suspect Omri is one of his personal friends!”
“But why does this matter?”
“Boaz will fight hard for a friend. We all do. So we have to be prepared. Also, I want to know where these two met! They can’t be school mates: Boaz is some five years older than Omri! Were they brought together by some common interest or, perhaps, hobby?”
“Boaz hates dancing and I can’t visualise Omri in a debating club. But – hold on – Boaz likes to play chess. He’s not too good but, even so, he’s a member of the Emanuel Lasker Club. He and his Miri love to watch tournaments!”
“So, we better find out if our Valentino finds respite from his exertions on the dancing floor in chess! If he is a good player, we’ll tell him to regain his zest for life in chess. I’ll get the relevant information from an old friend.”
“That would be excellent. So, we’re all set?”
“We are. I better write to tell Boaz to direct all future correspondence and documents to us!”
“Mind if I do this?”
“Go ahead, Eli – but why?”
“Because I shall use one of Kadmon’s standard letters. I’ll get his secretary to type it and, I am sure, she’ll dispatch it under ‘in reply please quote: `AK\zb’!”
“What’s the big idea?” Hannah let her surprise show.
“Boaz will think it’s Kadmon’s file. He’ll draft his documents and plan his strategy accordingly!!!”
To my amazement, Hannah burst into peel of laughter, earning us the startled glances of patrons filling their stomachs on adjacent tables. “What’s so funny, Frau Hod?” I asked irked.
“You: my dear Eli! When you first joined our esteemed firm, you sought to broaden our narrow horizons by talks about Rousseau’s social contract and about natural justice. And look at you now! Still, you might as well go ahead and give your pal Boaz a taste of his own medicine! Only don’t complain if he puts a laxative in your coffee when he gets a chance!”