Chapter Six
“And he dreamed yet another dream, and told it to
his brethren, and said: ‘Behold, I have again dreamed
a dream: and, behold, the sun and the moon
and the eleven stars bowed down to me.”
Book of Genesis, 37:9
“Your CV was here somewhere…” Yiftach said as he was trying to put some order into the chaos on his desk.
As he was searching among the papers, his finger collided with a staple that was holding some pages together and it started to bleed.
“Shit!” he yelled, losing almost all control.
“I could swear I saw it here just the other night...” he continued searching among the papers, then stopped.
“Okay, let’s do the interview without it.
” For a brief moment, Melody thought he resembled a child who was hurt while playing a forbidden game.
He looked at her young face as he pressed one finger against the other to stop the bleeding and didn’t speak.
There was a spark in her eyes that caused anyone looking into them to smile.
Perhaps it was their bluish-green color, or the gleam that shone from them, or simply the goodness and innocence they reflected.
But perhaps there is no reason to guess the secret of her charm, for any attempt to diagnose the secret of a person’s charm is doomed to fail.
Either way, Melody was blessed with it, unmistakably so.
“Melody,” he cleared his throat, “tell me a bit about yourself.”
She pressed her lips together and gathered her thoughts.
With her hands resting on her knees, she began in a calm voice: “As I said, my name is Melody Geva. In the army, I served as an Air Force simulator instructor. After that, I attended Law School at the University of Haifa and graduated with honors. When I finished my studies, I was torn between my love for the kibbutz where I grew up and my understanding that all the big law firms are located in the big, central cities.”
“Which kibbutz is that?” he asked.
“Regavim. Near Caesaria.”
He nodded, as he had heard of it, though he never visited there. “If I remember correctly from your CV, you did your internship in Tel Aviv. So would it be fair to say that your career got the upper hand over your love of the kibbutz?”
“Nothing can beat my love for the kibbutz,” she shook her head from side to side.
“However, it was important for me to get to know myself better, to know that I am capable of spreading my wings and move to the ‘Tel Aviv swamp’ and manage on my own in the fast-paced world outside. But also, I wanted to start anew. My life at the kibbutz was in a rut at the time.” A twinge of sadness nipped at her heart and it amplified the beauty of her eyes.
Clearly, modesty was deeply embedded in her character.
If there was one thing she wished for more than anything else (besides her desire to see Eitan again), it was to destroy the walls of modesty and goodness that encompassed her.
“Okay,” Yiftach said, trying to grant the conversation a more professional, definitive tone, “so you decided to go out into the world, you packed a bag and wandered all the way to Tel Aviv. Why?”
“I was accepted as an intern at the Agam-Rozner law firm.”
Like an intrigued coyote, Yiftach stretched his neck upon hearing the name of this excellent firm, but suddenly he understood—all the candidates he met had completed their internship at various criminal law firms, but these firms had decided to discontinue employing those attorneys.
How frustrating, he thought, here I am, about to recruit a candidate that others considered not good enough for them, and those ‘others’ are the ones I will be fighting in court.
“Melody, tell me,” he squinted, looking serious, “why did the Agam-Rozner firm decide to terminate your employment?”
She smiled hesitantly. “They begged me to stay, and promised me a high salary and excellent perks from the first year.”
“And you rejected their offer? Agam-Rozner’s offer?” He wanted to be sure he understood correctly, knowing there was no way he could compete with the conditions they had offered her.
“Yes,” she stared for a moment into space, recalling without regret, “I couldn’t continue representing the ‘bad guys.’” Yiftach leaned back in his chair.
“I know what you’re thinking,” she continued before he could say a word.
“I know how trite it sounds.” Her shoulders slumped and she retreated into herself.
“I’m sure all the other candidates you met gave you the same answer, the same cliché, but Attorney Posner—and you can believe me or not—I’ve had my fill of justifying tax evaders, money launderers and other people of power, and working for them.
I want to be on the other side, the side of the prosecution, to protect the victims, not to work for the perpetrators, and I believe that my internship at Agam-Rozner gives me a significant advantage. ”
“What advantage is that?” he asked, impressed by her response.
“I worked closely with Attorney Rozner for many months. I am quite familiar with the work methods of one of the country’s most senior criminal attorneys—how he thinks, how he prepares for cross-examinations, where he places the emphasis, what he tends to ignore, how he evaluates his chances of winning, and especially, what he is afraid of.
‘Know thy enemy,’ that’s a real advantage, isn’t it? ”
“How close was your work with Rozner?” Yiftach asked out of curiosity, but suddenly felt that perhaps it was an inappropriate question.
“Wait…” she remembered and pulled out of her bag a letter of recommendation written by none other than the great Rozner himself.
After reading the warm, sincere recommendation, Yiftach asked: “Rotem is a 24-year-old man who works as a counselor at a children’s camp.
Now, let’s assume that one evening, while the campers were out on an outing, Rotem convinced one of the boys, Ido, fifteen years old, to join him and they left the regular route without anyone noticing that they had gone.
In a dark, isolated place, Rotem committed acts of sodomy on Ido.
Several days later, Ido’s parents noticed that their son had become melancholy, quiet and withdrawn.
Eventually, Ido was able to overcome his fear of talking with his parents, and he revealed to them what Rotem had done.
Melody, tell me please, how much time, if at all, exceeds the statute of limitations on the offense committed by Rotem on Ido? ”
Melody didn’t seem frightened by the question put to her by the intelligent interviewer, and began thinking out loud.
“If the issue at hand were not considered a sex offense, like theft for instance, committed against the minor, Ido, the statute of limitations would begin from the moment the offense was committed, that is, when he was fifteen years old. But, since this is a sex offense, the hourglass on the statute of limitations would begin to run, presumably, only from the moment Ido turned eighteen....” She looked directly at Yiftach, but he remained poker-faced and she couldn’t decipher anything.
He prayed that she wouldn’t fall into the first trap he had set for her.
“However, the law regarding a sex offense committed against a minor by a family member or a person responsible for the victim, has since been amended, and now the statute of limitations is exceeded only after the minor reaches the age of twenty-eight.”
Yiftach remained silent, not providing any clues.
“However, acts of sodomy, under the circumstances that you described,” she began focusing on a precise response, “are a criminal offense upon which the statute of limitations applies only after ten years, and the timeframe begins to tick, as I mentioned, only when Ido turns twenty-eight. Hence, an indictment can be served until Ido reaches the age of thirty-eight. Now Ido is fifteen and, therefore, the statute of limitations for the offense will end only twenty-three years from the day it occurred.”
A smile spread across Yiftach’s face and for a moment he said nothing.
“Okay, thank you, Melody. I believe that’s enough for now. One last thing. If we hire you, will you be willing to move from Tel Aviv to Jerusalem to avoid the daily traffic jams? That is, will you continue to postpone your return to the kibbutz that you love so much?”
“I never said I was planning to return to the kibbutz,” she said, surprised.
“Perhaps not, but some things don’t need to be put into words.”
She lowered her head sadly and said in a cracked voice: “In October, a year-and-a-half from now, I’ll return to the kibbutz for one day. It will be after three years that I haven’t visited there,” she said and fell silent.
“And then what?” he asked her, fascinated by the words she was barely able to get out.
She raised her head and their eyes met. “And then—either I’ll stay there forever, or I will never go back again.”
He pursed his lips, knowing he mustn’t pursue this further. “Thank you,” he said.
She stood up and grabbed her bag. “Thank you for your time, Attorney Posner.”
“Have a nice day,” he added.
“I will,” she smiled. “This evening, some girlfriends are coming over. You know how it is, we’ve all just now finished our internships and, until we find a good job, we find comfort in our evenings together…
she said and blushed, sensing that her last statement was totally uncalled for.
“Again, thank you, ciao for now,” she said and was about to walk out.
“Till when is this girls’ night going to continue? I mean, you’re not planning to go to sleep late, are you?”
“What?” she didn’t understand.
“You begin to work here tomorrow morning. Be here at 8:00 a.m. sharp.”
Yiftach returned home at 11:15 p.m. Chava was at the sink peeling a red apple for his father who was sitting in the living room, covered with a light cotton blanket with tattered edges. The TV was on; he was watching another prize-winning game show on the Italian channel.
When Max finished his military service he moved to Milano to study architecture.
His father, Yiftach’s grandfather, had owned a small shoe store in Tel Aviv on Ibn Gvirol Street but, over time, its revenue consistently decreased until it stopped altogether, unable to compete against the city’s new department stores and modern malls that were being built.
He had no choice but to take a job at a potato processing factory on the city’s outskirts and Max’s mother found work at a small factory.
Whatever remained of their meager earnings they sent to their son Max in Milano, which barely covered his tuition fees and living expenses.
Five years abroad in the boot-shaped land led Max to fall completely and totally in love with everything Italian.
Even after he returned home, he religiously drank a short, strong espresso every morning, he drove a shiny black Lancia, and wore the finest Italian-made shirts.
He closely followed the games of the Squadra Azzurra, and each time Italy’s national football team lost, his spirits fell.
Once every two weeks he would meet with a circle of friends from their student days in Milano and they would share stories and experiences, in Italian of course.
“Hi, Yiftach, would you like something to eat, dear?” Chava asked.
“No, thanks. I ate at the office.” He sat down next to his father. “Hey, Dad, how was your day?” he asked, stroking his shoulder.
“Oh!” he complained. “She’s a murderer! She’s like a disease!” he lowered his voice as if revealing a dark secret. “Today she tried to force some pills down my throat. Next time I’ll teach her a lesson!”
“Dad, she is the third caretaker that we’ve brought here in the past two months.
If you scare Chava away as well, we will have a very serious problem on our hands.
Please, I don’t have time for this endless chase after caretakers.
” Yiftach seemed totally exhausted. “Be good to her, okay? Take your pills, just like Chava says,” he added quickly, in a tone with a hint of accusation to it.
“You don’t have time for your own father… and it’s all because of the State Attorney’s Office… what do you need that shit for?!”
At that very moment, all Yiftach wanted was to be alone.
Only when I’m in bed, in total darkness, he thought to himself, will I be free to carry out one complete thought from beginning to end.
“Okay, we’re not going to have that same discussion again.
Good night, Dad.” Chava brought Max a plate with an apple carefully peeled and cut into thin slices.
Yiftach went to his room and sat on his bed.
His head hit the pillow and he stared at the white ceiling.
The light bulb kept appearing and disappearing.
The room turned blurry and he felt dizzy as he kept contemplating over and over again the same fundamental idea that was constantly nagging at him.
It wasn’t at all new to him, nor was he concerned that he may have already gone mad.
His greatest fear of all now was that perhaps his thoughts were going in the wrong direction.
Maybe it is possible, after all. Actually, why not?
he asked himself. Although, if Weissman won’t like the idea or thinks I’ve lost my mind, I’ll become a laughing stock.
He kept turning the idea over in his mind.
But if it succeeds… oh my God… if it succeeds…
I’ll become the most famous attorney in the world.
Everyone will worship me. My story will be taught in all the law schools everywhere on earth.
Yiftach’s contemplations soothed him and he fell asleep.
His sleep was disturbed by strange dreams. At first he dreamt that he was confined in a straitjacket and no one could hear his pleas for help.
Then he dreamt that he came to the office and his colleagues lifted him up high, celebrating his brilliant idea.
When he awoke, Yiftach was still under the spell of his last dream.
The clock showed nearly 6:00 a.m. He decided it was too soon to share his idea with his colleagues.
After he got up, washed and dressed, he drove to work to complete preparations for the upcoming hearing.