Ro’el lifted his eyes from the yellow notepad and looked at her. “What didn’t you understand?”
“Lawyers, they’re not allowed to advertise themselves? How are they supposed to recruit new clients and earn a living?”
“That’s right, they’re not allowed. Lawyers aren’t permitted to advertise themselves, except for the few exceptions that the law permits. There are specific rules regarding direct solicitation of clients based on Model Rules of Professional Conduct. If you’d like, I’ll explain it to you later in greater detail. Let’s get back to the story, shall we?”
She blinked softly and arched her lips into the shape of a half-moon. “Gladly,” she said.
***
Attorney Epstein completed his speech and in a deep, festive tone Professor Green then invited the mayor, Eddie Bolton, to the podium. Mayor Bolton spoke in sweeping terms about law and order and didn’t mince words about the need to fight against New York’s pervasive criminal networks. It seemed that his PR staff had crafted a speech that he could use repeatedly for future occasions. His words were barely relevant to the present occasion. Once the speeches had ended, the graduates were called up one by one to receive their diploma—the Master of Law Degree. Ricardo and Yiftach stood up and joined the long line of graduates stretching across the expansive lawn.
“This is it, man...” Ricardo stated.
“Hey!” Yiftach exhorted him, “I’m the one who’s supposed to be melancholy, and trying to sum things up. Don’t go gloomy on me now, I won’t be able to take it.”
“The entire time we kept begging that all this would end already,” Ricardo ignored Yiftach’s words, “we complained about the tuition fees, the long hours, the stress during exam periods. We waited for this for so long and now suddenly it’s here. Hey, man, you’re flying out in two weeks!”
Yiftach placed his hand on Ricardo’s shoulder, remained silent for a moment, then blurted out: “Not in two weeks, bro—I’m flying back to Israel tonight.”
And just at that moment, as the sunlight fell on Ricardo’s back and lit up half of Yiftach’s handsome face, Professor Green called out “Yiftach Posner!” and Yiftach went up to the stage to receive his diploma.
When they returned to their apartment, Yiftach headed to his room with Ricardo trailing right behind. “Didn’t you think of telling me about this earlier?” Ricardo asked. His Israeli roommate began throwing his clothes, shoes and other items into his hardshell red suitcase.
“You must believe me, my flight was scheduled for two weeks from now. This morning I got an urgent call from El Al asking if I’d be willing to move up my ticket to tonight, for a discount of thirty-seven dollars.”
“And I suppose it wasn’t the thirty-seven dollars that made you change your plans.” Ricardo viewed the mess in Yiftach’s room—like an MRI scan—and in his soul as well. “You didn’t pack a thing, you didn’t disconnect from the internet, or see to the bills that have to be paid...”
Yiftach sat on his bed and stared at the cracks in the ceiling. “Yeah, you’re right, I’m just dying to see her already…”
“And what about all this?” Ricardo asked, pointing to thedozens of files and textbooks that had accompanied Yiftach throughout his studies.
“As soon as I’m back home and get organized, I’ll get in touch with you. Could you help me with sending all this back to me? I don’t have the time to deal with it now.”
The good-hearted man from Lisbon looked forlorn. He walked over to a photo hanging on the wall above Yiftach’s computer table. “Well, at least you must take this with you,” he said, handing the picture to Yiftach. In the photo was a pair of white boxer shorts and with the words ‘Good Luck Boxers’ printed on them. From the very first exam, Yiftach had always ensured that he would excel in his studies, and the two young roommates credited his success to the fact that, on the day of his first exam, he had worn these white boxer shorts. After that, Yiftach wore them to every exam he had until finally completing his studies with honors. After the last exam, Ricardo had taken the good luck boxer shorts from the fresh laundry and had the words printed on them, then photographed them, had the picture framed, and hung it above Yiftach’s computer table.
“The glass might break in the suitcase, let’s leave it here for now,” Yiftach replied.
Ricardo looked at the picture and fell silent.
At 11:30 p.m. Israel time, Yiftach Posner landed in Tel Aviv without informing anyone of his changed flight. The reception area for incoming flights was filled with excited people waiting for their loved ones, holding helium-filled balloons and welcome signs. No one was waiting for him. In another thirty minutes, he would meet Nicole after two years of absence. In another thirty minutes, he would give her plump lips a long kiss. What are you doing right now? he asked himself. Perhaps you’re sleeping and I’ll wake you up and, instead of waking up from a dream, you will awaken to the most beautiful dream of your life… or perhaps you’re out with your girlfriends and I’ll wait for you inthe apartment, sitting in the lounge chair—just as before… or maybe you’re sitting at the computer, wondering where I am and trying to understand why we haven’t had our daily internet rendezvous?
The cab pulled up at the building on Balfour Street and Yiftach stopped imagining. The driver took his suitcase from the trunk and Yiftach placed a fifty-dollar bill in the driver’s hand. He knew he wouldn’t get any change, but what did it matter now? He entered the stairwell of the historically preserved old building. The yellowing light over the first flight of stairs was weak and two flies kept buzzing around the lightbulb. He held his suitcase in one hand and, with the other hand, grasped the peeling green banister. He climbed the stairs slowly, feeling the excitement course through his body, his heart pounding. He was a bit out of breath, either from the climbing, the anticipation, or both and, for the first time in two years, he now stood in front of door No. 9 with a small blue sign painted in white letters, ‘The home of Yiftach and Nicole.’ He breathed heavily, looking at the sign as a smile crept across his lips. This is where his love is now, she is here, behind this door.
He took a deep breath and, with a silver key he had kept beneath his pillow throughout his years in New York, he turned the lock, pressed down the door handle and entered. He had replayed this moment in his mind all throughout the forty-eight months abroad. The apartment was dark. He passed the living room and kitchen and walked down the narrow hallway to the bedroom from which a weak light emitted. As he approached the room, he heard the whistle of the wind outside blowing between the buildings and rattling the windowpanes.
As soon as he opened the door, Yiftach encountered the worst of all. Two thick candles on the floor at the foot of the bed lit up the room, wax dripping onto the parquet floor.
Indeed, Nicole was there, laying naked in their bed, and astrange woman was lying on top of her, writhing slowly, sending arrows of pleasurable shivers through her as her groans pierced the music playing in the background, the acoustic version of Alanis Morissette’s song ‘You Learn.’
Chapter Four
“And the Egyptians made the children
of Israel to serve with rigor.”
Book of Exodus, 1:13
It was Attorney Yiftach Posner’s first day at his new job at the State Attorney’s Office on Salah al-Din Street in Jerusalem. He gazed out of his office window with the old, rust-covered, white iron grating and watched the pedestrians rushing to and fro on the street below. He thought to himself that surely none of them ever gave a thought to the awesome history of this site, this street that was paved at the start of the twentieth century and named after the Muslim warlord, known in the West as Saladin. He wondered about the person who had occupied this office before him, if he too had gazed out this window, thinking the same thoughts.
