As we walked out, Boaz heaved a sigh of relief. “Ehood Morag gives me a headache. He has a knack of complicating simple points!”
“Don’t you think his analysis of our case is right? Isn’t Morag brilliant?”
“He is; but only in a narrow field,” conceded Boaz. “But he is unbending and makes no allowances once he steers a course. Judges like him forget they deal with human problems: not with philosophical arguments!”
“I don’t think he is narrow,” I muttered.
“The way you step up to his defence after doing your best to put him down! You do admire him, don’t you?”
“I suppose I do.”
“How about his rotten performance in his commercial law course. You showed him up there!”
“It ain’t his field, Boaz!”
“That’s what I am getting at. A man with his ability should have spent some time in the library and prepared a decent series of lectures. He is up to it!”
“Of course he is. His commercial law course was disappointing. Perhaps he was too busy?”
“No, Eli, he was too bloody arrogant. It’s the same in his other activities. Take his interest in philosophy: he has read every scrap of paper written by writers he likes. But he ‘can’t be bothered’ to read Kant. I’m told it’s the same in the dancing club. He sticks to Waltz and Tango, which he says are civilised. You won’t get him to try a Polka. Sheer arrogance and narrow mindedness!”
“Oh well, we’ll have to agree to disagree,” I gave in, knowing in my heart of hearts that Boaz was a better judge of human nature than myself.
Soon we reached the small lane leading to David Mizrachi’s eatery. “Are you free for lunch?” I asked Boaz. Noting the change in his expression, I added in haste: “It’s a treat – Keren gave a bonus to all of us.”
Boaz and I relished the succulent Shashlik and Kebabs, the marinated eggplants and the Pitas dipped into the delicious Humus. As we kept indulging in small talk, I recalled our days at the Hebrew University in Jerusalem. Despite his shock of black hair, his broad shoulders and his tall figure, Boaz was too heavy set to be considered good looking. All the same, women were fascinated by the twinkle in his eye, by his easy going manner, by his confident airs and by his carefree demeanour. Many of us felt envy as he appeared, on many an evening, walking down fashionable King George Street with his arm around one attractive girl or another. All of them, though, turned out to be temporary companions. Boaz had his fun, showed his appreciation but preserved his freedom and independence.
After he graduated, Boaz Tamir left Jerusalem and joined Israel Silver’s renowned law firm in Tel Aviv. One morning, I received an invitation to his wedding. The lucky girl was Miriam Dagan, a relief teacher who spent a term in a left-wing secondary school in Tel Aviv on secondment from Kibbutz Yokneam.
When I saw her, I opened my eyes wide. The bride was not the type of easy going, light hearted, glamour girl we used to associate with the lady’s killer of Jerusalem. She struck me as a caring, self assured, dependable and warm hearted woman, whose beauty lay in her character and outlook on life. Her plain looks did not detract from the impact left by her personality and by her warm, dark brown, eyes.
“So you are Eli,” she said when I called on them a few weeks after their wedding. “Boaz never stops talking about your days in Jerusalem.”
“Hopefully he told you only good things, Miriam,” I said lamely.
“Please, call me Miri – all my friends do. And I’m sure there are only good things to tell,” she answered with a smile that transformed her face.
“I hope I’ll live up to your expectations,” I said, starting to feel at home.
Miri had prepared an excellent meal. In response to my compliments she revealed how she had picked the art up from her mother. Long before the family migrated to Palestine, Mrs. Dagan (Kornfeld in those days) had run a table d’hote in Prague. It was only natural that she was put in charge of her Kibbutz’s communal kitchen and dining room, with a small staff under her command. Over the years, she passed her culinary skills on to her eager daughter, teaching her also how to put any available foodstuffs to their best use. The meal we enjoyed that evening proved that Miri had been a good pupil. The stuffed cabbage rolls, served with a tangy tomato sauce, the mixed vegetables and the potatoes with parsley were delicious. Unable to resist, I accepted two extra helpings. Miri’s eyes danced with merriment.
Then, to my dismay, I felt the first wheeze and the asthmatic’s dreaded sense of choking. Trying awkwardly to conceal my inhaler in my palm, I took two puffs and, to my relief, found that the tight discomfort in my chest was abating.
“How long have you suffered from it?” asked Miri. Boaz, who knew I was reticent on the subject, looked at me with unease. Miri’s directness, though, had disarmed me.
“Since I was a boy of 4 or 5, Miri. It started after a bout of pneumonia I got when we were refugees in France.”
“I had asthma when I was a child,” she volunteered. “I grew out of it in my teens. And you, Eli, should not take things that can bring it on, like sweet wine. There’s nothing to be embarrassed about: you can be sure people understand.” Discreet Boaz looked at her reproachfully. I, though, was not offended: Miri had spoken sincerely and her words made sense. Smiling at both of them, I thought to myself that Fortuna had been at her gracious best when she brought Boaz and Miri together.
During the next two years I spent many a happy evening in their comfortable flat in North Tel Aviv, with its pleasant glimpses of the Yarkon river. Boaz was rising fast in Israel Silver’s office and Miri coped well with her two careers: the meticulous housewife and the model schoolteacher. To the regret of all their friends, the atmosphere of solid well being changed thereafter. Miri, who was a few years older than Boaz and who was concerned about her maternal age, decided to start a family. For a while Boaz resisted: he was blissfully happy with her and satisfied with his career. He craved for no permutation. In the end, though, he gave way.
Miri had a difficult pregnancy. The worried look that often crept over Boaz’s face was a source of concern to all his friends. Fortunately, he did not allow his personal problems to affect his work. On occasions, though, he appeared close to breaking point. As time went on, calling on them became an ordeal. Miri continued to shower her hospitality when a guest turned up. To our dismay, she often rushed down the three flights of stairs leading to their flat to get some sweetmeats or soft drinks from the grocer on the corner. Like other friends, I concluded it was best to keep away for a while.
Matters took a turn for the better when little Ruthi arrived. Leaving the dining room at the Kibbutz in charge of her second in command, Miri’s mother came down to Tel Aviv to help her daughter out. Miri recovered in no time and was again able to welcome guests with the ease of earlier days. Once again, many of us flocked to their home. This happy state was not disrupted by Miri’s second pregnancy which went well. Unfortunately, she took things too lightly, carrying on her full-time job until, one sad morning, she had to be rushed to hospital. To everyone’s relief, the episode ended without a tragedy: Miri recovered after a few weeks. But baby Benjamin, who had arrived prematurely, remained undersize and sickly. After a number of heavy head and chest cold, he had his first attack of asthma. Despite the favourable diagnosis of two paediatricians and the care lavished on him by his parents, he was unable to shake it off.
Benjamin’s condition led to a turning point in the Tamir’s fortunes. Determined to nurse her son back to health, Miri resigned her job and, before long, the loss of her salary triggered financial problems. Eventually, their house loan fell into arrears. Although the bank agreed to reinstate it and to extend the repayment period, the interest rate applied to the new package was considerably higher than that charged originally. In consequence, the reduction of the monthly instalments was smaller than the Tamirs had anticipated. Occasionally, Miri was able to help keep their heads above water by giving private tuition. But more often than not, they were short of cash.
Thoughts of the problems faced by the Tamirs kept roving through my mind during the sumptuous repast in David Mizrachi’s eatery. I was, further, reflecting on the strong friendship that bound me to the Tamirs on the individual level but, at the very same time, did not stop me from resorting to every legitimate trick when Boaz and I were pitched against one another professionally. I knew that Jacob Keren had a similar relationship with his two arch rivals. To function properly within the rules: all of us had to drive a wedge between the personal and the professional worlds in which we existed. Those who lost sight, or who confused the issues, usually came to grief.
“A penny for your thoughts, Eli,” I heard Boaz chuckle.
“Our life philosophy: the lawyer’s need to separate the personal from the professional. Is it wholesome?”
“You mean: is it sensible?”
“I had rather ask: isn’t it perverse?”
“I don’t think it is,” said Boaz after a reflective pause. “When you handle a case, or negotiate a deal, you act for your client: you look after his interests. You can’t allow your friendship for the other party or his representative to interfere. But once that matter is settled, we function as individuals. The client’s dealings must not be allowed to affect us on that plane.”
“I suppose you are right. But sometimes the boundaries get obliterated!”
“Quite,” agreed Boaz dryly. “Like when you use someone else’s style and standard letters as a camouflage!”
“You think that’s going too far?” I asked, mortified.
“Borderline,” Boaz comforted me. “But pinching your friend’s notes just before he gets up for his opening is a different matter altogether!”
“I can’t imagine any one of us stooping that low!”
“I am told it has happened.”
For a while we gossiped about old friends and new acquaintances. Then, at long last, I assumed the courage to ask about Miri and Benjamin.
“Miri’s O.K., Eli. But Benji is no better. Sometimes I wish Miri didn’t drag him from one doctor to another. The bills accumulate but the medicines do him no good – no good at all.”
“You ought to put a stop to it, Boaz. I’ve been through it when I was a boy. Usually, these specialists are just a bunch of sharks – sharks and quacks!”
“Why don’t you tell Miri when you come over next? And, coming to think of it, we haven’t seen you for some time.”
“I’ve been shuttling between Tel Aviv and Jerusalem. Some legal points turn on the Turkish Land Law. Some materials are available only in Jerusalem.”
As we were getting ready to leave, Boaz reverted to the Omri Tal matter. “Eli, we should really spend some time on the liability issue. Is fifty -fifty agreeable?”
“I’m pretty sure it is. I’ll have to check with Hannah; but I see no problem. Off the record, it’s the very figure she had in mind.”
“Shall I drop you a line to this effect?” asked Boaz.
“Please do. I’m quite certain we won’t haggle on this point. The actual sum is something different!”
“Very well,” said Boaz, taking hold of his briefcase.
“But before we go, Boaz, thanks for saving the situation in Morag’s chambers.”
“Don’t mention it, Eli. And you must not let Jacob Keren put you up to such ruses. It’s one thing to parry with a chap like Morag. I suspect he enjoys it if he gives as good as he takes. Tricking him into an outburst with a view to getting him off a case is a different matter altogether: he would have never forgiven you.”
“Did he know what I was up to?”
“Hard to tell. If he was, he also knew Keren was behind it. In any event, you handled him well later on. So the episode is closed. But don’t you ever again let Keren use you as a pawn! I suppose he’d express regrets if you came to grief. But he won’t lift a finger to help! A chap like him never does!”
“Are they all like that, Boaz?”
“Some may be smoother – less obvious. But they are of the same mould. It’s a harsh world, Eli!”
“Are we, too, going to end up like them?” I asked after a pause.
“I fear we may. It’s the price of success at our game. All leading lawyer have worked their ways up through the ranks. They had their own ideals as young men and, even today, observe legal ethics and the norms of honesty and good behaviour. We must concede that they are honourable and righteous men! Still, they have taught themselves to play hard and fast within the accepted parameters. As long as they ‘act lawfully’, they are not pricked by conscience or bothered by any consideration for others!”
“And we too may end up like them,” I said sadly. “After all, even now we enjoy the games we play in court and out of it.”
“Quite. And see you soon in our place. Ruthi has been clamouring for her Uncle Eli. But please don’t bring her chocolates. She breaks into a rash the next morning!”