Ravages of a Guillotine

RAVAGES OF A GUILLOTINE

(Tel Aviv 1957)

 

 

I. DAHLIA NISSIM’S TRAGEDY

            That morning I arrived at work just before Rachel. She caught up with me at the foot of the staircase.  Grinning, she conceded: “So you won the race, my pet. You must have got up right after you crawled into your bed.”

“I don’t need much sleep. And you waited by your ‘phone for my call. I really don’t know why you fret like this.”

“You left my flat at 2.00 a.m. and were too proud to call a taxi!  You had to take the half hour walk home!”

“So why not marry me and solve the problem,” I coaxed.

“Now, now, Eli – how about our agreement?”

“Eh?” I let my surprise show.

“You undertook, solemnly and formally, to propose just once a month; and you proposed just two days ago.”

“This is not a joking matter, Miss Rachel Zeitlin!” I let my chagrin show.

“Quite, quite. So, let’s change the subject!”

 

            We had by now reached the third floor of the ramshackle building, which housed Jacob Keren and Associates, one of the best law firms in Tel-Aviv. As we walked through the waiting room, my glance fell on an attractive Sephardic girl, sitting beside her mother on the bench in front of our employer’s room. She was young, with dark skin, brilliant black eyes and elegantly styled lush hair. Neatly dressed and groomed, she looked out of place in the dark, spacey yet crammed outer room. Unwittingly, I bestowed on her an admiring glance, which she pretended not to note.

 

“Love at first sight, my pet?” asked Rachel, sweetly, as we turned into corridor leading to our offices.

“Don’t be silly: I’m in love with just one woman!”

“Not readily discernible from that admiring glance!”

“Purely aesthetic, Rachel, purely aesthetic.”

“Lucky, then, that you didn’t see her hands!”

“She kept them under the table,” I conceded, puzzled.

“With good reason, Eli. She is Dahlia Nissim!”

 

I was about to say ‘Eh’, when the penny dropped. Rachel’s nod put the matter beyond doubt. The mysterious girl in our waiting room was, indeed, in need of legal representation. Her rosy future had been put in jeopardy by a gruesome accident.

 

            Dahlia Nissim’s tragedy took place during the long vacation following her penultimate year in High School. Having a penchant for smartly bound books, she secured temporary employment in a firm of master printers called Wollor. One of her tasks was to clean and polish the electric paper guillotine, used for trimming the edges of bound volumes. In the process, the protective guard, placed in front of the blade, had to be removed. Naturally, the switch was off and, of course, the blade was not expected to operate. But, on that fateful day, the blade unexpectedly came down and amputated Dahlia’s hands. The shock would have killed an older person. Dahlia, though, was young, strong and resilient. After a spell in hospital, she came out recovered in spirit. Her hands, alas, were gone.

            The owner of Wollor, an aging Second World War migrant from Leipzig, was heart broken. His firm was renowned for its excellent relations with staff. And its record for safety measures and accident prevention was impeccable. Far from seeking to shirk responsibility, Herr Franz Wolf ensured that Dahlia got the best medical care available and visited her regularly during her spell in the hospital. He was keen to make reparation but, to his dismay, discovered that  Wollor’s accident and third-party liability policy had lapsed.

            Wollor did not have the funds needed to pay the damages. The only hope was to induce the insurance company to admit liability. As Wollor had been a customer for many years,  Franz Wolf hoped the insurers would be open to argument. He was dismayed to discover that this was a difficult task. After all, why should an insurance company, which had not received its premium, agree to fork out the stupendous amount involved?

The Press did not disclose the name of the insurers. I was surprised when Rachel told me they were Rotem, an Israeli company effectively owned the labour party. Our firm was on Rotem’s panel, and, in addition, Jacob Keren was one of its non-executive directors. In consequence, we normally turned down briefs against them.

 

            “Dahlia’s late father was a comrade in arms of Keren’s days in the labour movement,” explained Rachel. “I suspect he had also been a tout. Dahlia’s mother turned to us when the chips were down. And Jacob Keren is not one to forget an old friend.”

“But did we get dispensation from Rotem?”

“Of course we did. They were happy to see the matter in the hands of a responsible adversary – with whom they could talk. You know they hate uncivilised courtroom skirmishes. And in this type of case, an aggressive opponent would resort to such tactics. Keren intends to pass the file on to us. He says he thinks we’ll do an excellent job!”

“How pious,” I muttered. “Who acts for the other parties?”

It turned out that Israel Silver’s firm acted for Wollor. Both Silver and Franz Wolf were on the Board of the Tel Aviv Ceramics Society and knew each other well. As Silver’s firm was also on Rotem’s panel, they too had to secure dispensation. To avoid acting against a major client in person, Israel Silver delegated the file to Boaz Tamir, a pal from my University days. Regrettably, Rotem’s choice of counsel was less encouraging. They had engaged Ben Zion Vered. 

“Shit,” I said.

“You mean ‘shut’, my pet. But why this gloomy look? Ben Zion is a good lawyer. And a  smart opponent keeps you on your toes. He’s better than a dud whom you don’t take seriously.”

 

            As a general statement, Rachel’s sentiment was supportable. In the instant case, though, she overlooked two factors. The first related to Ben Zion’s outlook: he was a stickler to the rules. Moved by Dahlia’s tragedy, some other lawyer might encourage Rotem to make an ex-gratia payment. Ben Zion was unlikely to succumb to such sentimentality. In his eyes, a strict application of doctrine would be preferable to a settlement based on sympathy. An insurance company was not a charitable organisation. So why should it pay money if it was not legally bound to do so?

Ben Zion’s circumstances were bound to encourage him to stick to this line. Having resigned from a leading law firm after a shouting match, Ben Zion had launched his own law firm. Competition remained fierce and, even after two years, Ben Zion was still on the make. To get established, he had to win cases referred to him. Voluntary settlements of unsustainable claims brought against his clients were to be avoided at all costs.

            My second apprehension related to a motion reading “this House opines that the Law is an Ass” debated at the Philosophical Society of Israel. Ben Zion moved; Boaz and myself, who were then still in our student days, opposed.

            I recalled with a grin how Ben Zion, who had already been called to the Bar, rose to his feet and delivered a measured and well-structured speech. His sober suit, tall figure, broad shoulders, ruddy face and beaked nose conferred on him an aura of respectability, underscored by the blue-and-white scalp-cap pinned to his thinning hair. Speaking slowly and deliberately, he demonstrated that our legal system was full of contradictions, inconsistencies and plain absurdities. It was plain stupid or – in other words – an ass!

            There could be no doubt about the soundness of the address.  Unfortunately, Ben Zion was not endowed with a sense of humour and, to exacerbate matters, repeated himself incessantly. When at long last he resumed his seat, applause was restrained.

Speaking in refutation, Boaz, who delivered our address, pointed out that the motion comprised two determinative words: “Law” and “Ass”. Boaz conceded that the Law was stupid, adding that this was to be expected: the “law” was nothing but a blunt tool used to prevent people from doing what they desired. For instance, once a speaker (and here Boaz mimicked Ben Zion) had repeated himself thrice, every intelligent listener wished to punch him. But in law such a rational act constituted assault. Was this not absurd?

            Waiting for the laughter to subside, Boaz turned to the “ass”. Boaz insisted that, far from being stupid, the noble “donkey” deserved admiration. Passages in the Bible (such as the episode of Balaam) and in later sources supported our contention. So did observations taken from everyday life. For instance, you could ride a horse to its death or keep loading a camel until the last straw broke its back. The donkey, in contrast, jettisoned a rider who drove him too hard and shook off a load once it became too heavy! Accordingly, was the humble donkey not smarter than the silly horse and the dumb camel?

            To conclude our address, Boaz turned back to the motion before the House. While we accepted that the law was stupid, we were convinced the humble ass was a wise and intelligent being. Ergo the Law was not an ass: it was too stupid to deserve such an honourable title!

 

            The recollection of that episode brought a blush to my face. Rachel, who had been observing me keenly, was quick to catch on. “You are not thinking of that old debacle, when Boaz and you lampooned poor Ben Zion?”

“I am rather. Wouldn’t he love to pay us back?”

“I don’t think so, my pet. I know he was furious. I watched him whilst the two of you carried on that childish prank …”

“I didn’t know you were there. It happened long before we met!”

“True: but I, too, am a member of the Philosophical Society.”

“I hope you weren’t bored.”

“Disappointed rather; but I was amused. Still, you needn’t worry about this old business. Ben Zion won’t let it affect his ‘judgment’. But he’ll be on his guard when he deals with you two; and we’ll have to persuade him and Rotem that payment is ‘appropriate’. They won’t buy the ‘poor helpless victim’ argument. We need something better.”

 

            She was right. At this stage, I could not find a sound legal argument to pressure Rotem. I was about to express my doubts, when Jacob Keren’s secretary summoned us to his office. The clients, she said, were keen to meet us.

 

II.MEETING DAHLIA – THE CLIENT

 

            Dahlia Nissim and her mother, Rivka, were seated in front of the spacious desk, which made Jacob Keren look bigger than life. Both gazed at us with curiosity mingled with apprehension. Our first task was to make them feel at ease. To win a case, you must enjoy your client’s trust and confidence. As soon as Jacob Keren concluded the introductions, in which he alluded to us as his star team, Rachel set out to break the ice.

“I gather you are back in School, Dahlia.”

“I am,” Dahlia had a pleasant, resonant, voice. “And it’s good to be back.”

“In this regard everything is back to normal,” observed Rachel.

“Not exactly.”

“How come?”

“Before the accident many boys were nice to me. Now I’m more friendly with the girls. Before the accident some girls were sort of perhaps jealous because I was so popular. But now it is different. I think some boys are embarrassed because of my hands.”

“You really think so?” asked Rachel.

“Are these questions really necessary?” interceded Rivka Nissim.

“I think we’ll let Miss Zeitlin raise the points now. They will be relevant when we proceed,” stepped in Jacob Keren. Rivka shrugged.

“Oh, I don’t think they are unkind,” explained Dahlia. “But they used to tease me and – you know – try to show off. Now they don’t know how to behave. They don’t want to offend me. So, they keep away.”

“And the girls?” persisted Rachel.

“They’re no longer threatened by my being so popular.  It makes them feel good to be kind. And I’m grateful: it’s good to have friends.”

 

Obviously, Dahlia had retained a positive even if realistic outlook on life. Most importantly: she had accepted her lot. Her responses convinced me she had a strong character and was not inclined to whine. If the matter ever proceeded to a hearing, her realism would stand her in good stead.

            For a while, Rachel went on in the same vein. As she proceeded, Jacob Keren’s face brightened. He knew that, to win a complex case, it was essential to have a strong willed yet sensible client. When, in due course, Rachel was through, he signalled it was my turn.  With some trepidation, I raised points that kept bothering me about the accident.

“How do you think it happened, Dahlia? The switch was off?”

“Oh, yes” she affirmed. “If it’s on, we can’t remove the protective guard!”

“And if somebody switches the machine on when the guard has been removed?”

“But it can’t be switched on. If the guard is off the switch is inoperative!”

“So how do you think it happened, Dahlia?”

Jacob Keren’s raised hand blocked Rivka’s unuttered protest. She yielded but glared at me unhappily. Dahlia fidgeted and then, with some hesitation, replied: “I really don’t know – honestly.”

“I don’t understand, Dahlia, how could the blade  move when the machine was off?”

“Perhaps because the main switch was on?” Dahlia spoke in undertone.

 “Shouldn’t it also have been switched off?”

“The manual said so. And Mr. Wolf insisted we read it. But the big ceiling fans are also connected to the main switch. If you switch it off everybody complains the room was stuffy. So, we always left it on!”

“Did Mr. Wolf know?”

“Sometimes he also handled the machine and left the main switch on; everybody did!”

“You see,” exploded Rivka.

“Yes: but this is essential. We must know the facts,” Keren let his annoyance show.

“One more question, Dahlia,” I sped on. “Did the blade ever move before when the machine was switched off?”

“Not when I was working there!”

“Why don’t you tell them it never happened,” interceded Rivka. “Mr. Wolf told us.”

“No, Rivka,” insisted Jacob Keren. “Dahlia is doing fine. She tells us what she knows herself. What others told her is hearsay. She can’t testify to it. If necessary, we’ll ask Mr. Wolf. Any further questions, Eli?”

“I’d like to know more about Mr. Wolf’s behaviour.”

“He was really good to me,” confirmed Dahlia. “He came many times to see me in the hospital. He brought me chocolate; and he unwrapped it for me and was happy when I took it. And, you know, I don’t really like sweet things: but I wanted to please him. So, I ate it; and I don’t want you to do him any harm. He suffered enough!”

“What do you mean?” asked Rachel

“He lost his wife. And she used to run the office. I think this is why the policy lapsed. And he is a good man!”

            The meeting came to an end shortly thereafter. Keren asked Rivka to contact Rachel or myself if she obtained any further information. We would contact her once we decided how to proceed.

 

 Jacob Keren asked Racel and me to stay behind. He wanted to assess the information available to us and settle on a basic plan. Like us, he was impressed with Dahlia’s personality and bearings: she would be a good witness, and her demeanour was bound to command respect  and invoke the Court’s sympathy.  All the same, what argument was to be used to persuade Rotem to admit liability?

“Is there room for an action against the manufacturers?” asked Rachel.

“They’re a German firm,” advised Keren. “It may depend on German law. Let’s see if Wolf has any information.”

“Actually, I’m having dinner with the Tamirs on Thursday. I’ll see if Wolf told anything to Boaz,” I volunteered.

“Excellent,” grinned Keren. “You may also ask more about that main switch. After all, Wolf’s fight is with Rotem. It’s in his interest to form a common front with us. Well, see me next week. We must get cracking while the iron is hot. I only wish Rotem was represented by a more amenable fellow than Ben Zion Vered.”

“At least he knows what’s he doing,” countered Rachel.

“True. But he may have a grudge against Eli and Boaz; on account of that ‘ass’ debate!”

“How do you know about it, Mr. Keren?”

 Keren chuckled. “I was there, and I enjoyed every minute of it – but I don’t think  Ben Zion did. And you did rub his nose in it.”

“Let’s hope he sees the bright side,” sighed Rachel.

“Might as well hope for a miracle” concluded Keren.

                                                                                    

 

III.RACHEL AND I ANALYSE THE CASE

 

             Rachel’s and returned to her office. As we went again through the facts, we concluded the accident had been triggered off by a fault in the machine. Still, in an action against the manufacturers it would hard to establish the fault. We preferred a suit against Wollor – the local firm – provided Rotem admitted liability. The question was how to persuade it.

            In the ultimate, it was an open-ended issue. Wolf’s record with the insurers would, undoubtedly, be a relevant fact. So would the orientation of Rotem’s personnel in charge. In this regard, both Rachel and I had some hope. Any decision of the Board of Directors would depend on a recommendation of the in-house lawyers. We knew both well and so embarked on an assessment of their likely reaction.

            The senior in-house lawyer, Ruth Schwartz, had done her pupillage in Jacob Keren’s firm and for a while worked with him. She was not deterred by hard work and by Keren’s exacting demands. Work had become her utmost priority. What perturbed her were Keren’s derogatory remarks about the Yekkes – the German Jews. Initially, Ruth tolerated the outbursts of her East European employer. But after one particularly disparaging remark, she handed in her resignation.  

            Hannah Hod, who had been my team leader before Rachel joined our firm, was yet another Yekke. But unlike Ruth, she shrugged Keren’s tirades off as if they were outbursts of an uncouth child. What broke her back was the pressure of the long hours of work and the exacting demands involved in handling cases with Keren. Being, like myself, an asthmatic, she lacked the required robustness. In addition, she was bringing up her daughter single handed. When Ruth Schwartz offered her a post, she grabbed it.

            I knew that, left to their own, both would try to help our pretty client. Behind the disguise of her cold front, Ruth Schwartz hid a warm and kindly heart. Hannah, who was a strong willed and blunt lawyer in court, was a softy. She would identify with poor Dahlia and would look for legitimate grounds to induce Rotem to do the right thing.

 

“I think, Rachel, our true problem is Ben Zion. He is a stickler to the rules. He is not a bad chap. But he will suppress any sentimental urge”.

“You are right there. But we do have one further problem!”

“Oh?”

“Jacob Keren, my pet. Here in the office he wears the hat of the kindly and resourceful lawyer – all set to take care of Dahlia’s plight. But what will be his attitude when the matter comes up before the Board of Directors? Won’t he wear his other – corporate – hat?”

“Wouldn’t he disqualify himself because of ‘conflict’?”

“They may not let him!”

“And then he’ll pontificate! Well, what are we to do?” I asked.

“We must come up with an argument – a sound legal argument – to induce Rotem to admit liability. That’s your department, my pet. You’re the ‘bright spark’. So, get started.”

“I’ll see if my chat with Boaz produces any results.”

 

 

IV.DISCUSSION WITH BOAZ

 

            Boaz’ home was as welcoming as ever. The pleasant odours emanating from the kitchen, revealed Miri had prepared a sumptuous meal: she had mastered the art of cooking from her mother, who oversaw the kitchen in their Kibbutz, and had complemented her expertise by taking cooking lessons in Tel Aviv. Although I preferred mid-European and Mediterranean dishes to the East European cuisine, I always looked forward to a dinner at the Tamirs.

            Boaz grinned as I produced a small parcel, while he uncorked the bottle of white wine I had brought with me. “I hope you didn’t bring chocolates for Ruthi. They give her rashes.”

“I brought her a doll.”

“Eli,” chuckled Boaz. “Ruthi  is getting too ‘old’ for dollies.”    

“And I’ve a book for Benji!”

“Not War and Peace I hope.”

“Don’t be silly: it’s David Copperfield.”

“I’m not sure he’s up to it; he’s just had his 7^th birthday.”

“I expect great things from him!”

“Thank you, thank you. But you won’t have to answer the thousand questions he’s bound to ask when he struggles through the book.”

            My affection for Boaz’ young son had a great to do with his being a fellow sufferer. The asthma attacks I saw Benji fighting reminded me of my own, marred, childhood.

“I hope he hasn’t had any attacks recently,” I ventured.

“Not bad ones. But we had to call the doctor two weeks ago. Still, we hope he’ll snap out it when he grows up.”

“He’ll have a better chance if the two of you don’t molly-cuddle him. But I know:  it’s not easy. Well, time will tell: fortunately, he loves sports. That’s good; I hated them.”

 “Miri takes the brunt, Eli. Benji’s sickness is hard on her.”

 

            At that point Miri announced dinner was ready. Except light conversation and gossip, little was said during the excellent meal. When we dug into the sweet – a pudding of dates and figs – Ruthi and Benji slid in from their bedroom. To my relief, Ruthi broke into a smile when I declared I got the doll because she was almost as cute as my little friend.

“Uncle Eli flatters you like a big girl, Ruthi” Miri coaxed her.

            “And that’s a nice book, Benji,” affirmed Ruthi. “I’ve read it, Uncle Eli; and I like David: he was a brave boy.”

            When the children retired, Miri started to tidy up, rejecting the offer for assistance from the two of us. Boaz, I though to myself, had chosen well: a common sense, pleasant and straight wife like Miri was to be preferred to a spoilt glamour woman. With Miri beside him, my friend had gone from strength to strength.

 

            Left on our own, Boaz and I started to gossip about our respective colleagues. We then discussed an address on the dangers of chauvinism we were preparing for a meeting of the Philosophical Society.  Finding ourselves in agreement, we turned to what had been on the mind of each of us from the start.

“Are Rachel and you in charge of Dahlia Nissim’s case?”

“We are. Jacob Keren would not handle a case against Rotem personally.”

“Just like Lordship Israel Silver. But we, of course, are expandable!’

“You said it,” I consented. “But your client – is he going to resist the claim?”

“Off the record – no; he isn’t! He wants to do the right thing by Dahlia!”

“Off the record – how did this happen? How can a machine be both off and on?”

“Faulty production, we suspect!”

“Have you written to the manufacturers?”

 

It soon dawned on me that in this regard we faced an uphill struggle. The manufacturers – a well-known West German firm – relied on their manual and on the terms and conditions in the Standard Sale and Purchase order. They had warned purchasers that the machine was not to be cleaned or subjected to any maintenance procedures unless its own switch as well as the main switch had been turned off. They had also restricted their liability to the replacement of defective parts and had excluded ‘consequential loss’. In consequence, Boaz’ clients, Wollor and Franz Wolf, were pessimistic about an action against the manufacturers. It would have to be instituted in Western Germany and the outcome would depend on the law there prevailing.

“Did you get an opinion from a German law firm?” I asked.

“Franz Wolf did. The prognosis is negative.”

“Even if the action was brought by Dahlia?”

“I am afraid so. The German law in point is even more antiquated than ours!”

“This suggests that  the best way is to induce Rotem to pay.”

“I think so. But then, we have to reckon with Mr. Ben Zion Vered. He will take the formal line of  ‘no cover hence no liability’. I suspect we would do the same in his place.”

“Rachel thinks we must find a legitimate argument to induce him to change his mind.”

“She’s right, Eli. And it’ll have to be a sound argument. Ben Zion will examine any plea coming from the two of us with a powerful microscope.”

“So where do we go from here?”

“It’ll be best to go through the facts with Franz Wolf. We might come up with something. And I’m sure the two of you will get on fine.”

“Because we are Yekkes?” I protested. “I’ve told you many times that Austrian Jews are not pure Yekkes!”

“All right, all right; but he collects porcelain: so, the two of you share an interest.” 

           

            Miri reappeared, wheeling in a pot of strongly brewed coffee and chocolates. Boaz produced a set of dominoes. Before long, the three of us were immersed in the game. As often before, Boaz and I ensured Miri won. Her childlike happiness made both us break into a smile. Knowing her well, I realised, at the same time, that something was on her mind.

“Eli,” she said when we stopped playing; “why didn’t Rachel come with you?”

“I asked her,” I told her, ignoring Boaz’ embarrassment at his wife’s directness. “But she said she wanted to finish some work.”

“What was the true reason?”

“I suspect she doesn’t like to advertise our … liaison.”

“But that’s silly, Eli. Most of your friends know.”

“Quite, Miri. But, you see, I keep proposing and she is stalling. Perhaps she doesn’t want to create an impression of a permanency.”

“I think I understand … ” Miri cut herself short in response to Boaz’ expression.

“I am not sure I understand Rachel’s stand, Miri. But, in any event, what on earth am I to do? I love her and want to share my life with her.”

“Be patient. Rachel is concerned about the age gap between you.”

“Also,” Boaz broke in, “she has two failed marriages behind her and fears another miss.”

 

           

 

V.FRANZ WOLF

 

            Franz Wolf’s firm occupied  a pre-War ramshackle three story house in Peenes Street in the industrial part of Tel Aviv (adjacent to Jaffa). It took Boaz and me a brisk walk of some twenty minutes to get there. Keeping up with the speed of my army trained friend was an effort. On arrival, we had to climb up a steep external staircase leading to the office. I was relieved to drop into the comfortable armchair proffered by our host. A cup of tea made me feel better.

            Mr. Franz Wolf turned out to be a heavy set man, in his late middle age. His grey hair, stump nose and short mustachio gave him an aura of distinction. Puffing away on his carved Meerschaum pipe, he described the accident. While he related the gruesome details, my eye fell on a rack of pipes complemented by a tray of tobacco pincers and a few pipe-stops. Most were plain gadgets made of metal, but one – shaped as a smiling Chinaman with his arms folded in front of his chest – caught my attention. It was less than two inches in size but its shining, polychrome, porcelain could not be mistaken. I was looking for an opportunity to ask about it when, to my shock, Herr Wolf picked it up and muttered he had better extinguish his pipe.

“Not with this masterpiece,” I exclaimed, out of control.

            Boaz’s eyes opened wide. Herr Wolf, in contrast, broke into a smile. Placing the figurine back in the tray, he put his pipe out with a modern utensil.

“Didn’t take you long to spot him!” he said with satisfaction.

“He is magnificent. where did you get him?”

“Nüremberg – 1928. Herta and I spent our honeymoon there. What do you make of him?”

“Meissen between 1733 and 1740,” I asserted after I had examined the figurine.  “What a treasure Herr Wolf! He is perfect!”

“Why are you so certain about the dates?”

“Before 1733 they wouldn’t have cast him like this: he’d be heavier. Also, the hands and the face: miniatures like this were not produced before then.”

“Why are you sure he was fired before 1740?” persisted Herr Wolf.

“After that date, the porcelain was whiter and the decoration was even better.”

“Won’t you let an uninitiated Sabre like me into the secret?” complained Boaz.

“Herr Berger knows his Meissen. Connoisseurs study details.”

“True,” conceded Boaz. “I used to collect Russian stamps. Now practice leaves me no time.”

“But life without a hobby is like dinner without wine,” muttered Wolf. “And you, Herr Berger, how did you discover porcelain?”

“My mother collects: mainly Vienna. Most of her pieces were smashed by the Brown Shirts: I watched them. But she managed to save a few and took them with her when we escaped. And did you get your entire collection out?”

“I used some pieces to bribe my way out of Dachau. ‘Harley’ was kept by Herta.”

 

            Boaz, who had regained his composure, smiled indulgently. He realised the ensuing empathy between Wolf and me would advance the formation of the front needed to safeguard his client’s interest. Seeking to save time, he turned us back to the case.

            I listened attentively as Franz Wolf described his correspondence with the manufacturers. Right from the start, they had invoked the clause in the Contract of Supply and Purchase excluding their liability for consequential loss. To placate their conscience, they offered to inspect the guillotine and, if necessary, change the wiring. But they insisted that the accident took place because the main switch had been left on.

            An action against them was unlikely to succeed: German law was tipped against Dahlia’s claim. Herr Wolf was able to discuss the subject intelligently. Before opting for a career in printing, he had studied law in Heidelberg and obtained a practising certificate. His decision to switch careers was made after two unhappy years as an attorney. But although he did not return to the Law, his recollection of the legal principles remained clear. To reinforce his own conclusion, he had solicited a second opinion from a former classmate, who was still practising in Cologne. He, too, was pessimistic.

“Doesn’t Western Germany have consumer protection laws?” I asked.

“Of course they have. But Dahlia handled the machine as an employee of our firm. Accordingly, consumer protection laws do not apply.”

“How about a direct suit by herself against the manufacturers – based on a duty of care?”

“Unfortunately, the clauses in the Contract of Supply and Purchase will defeat such an action. The clauses can be invoked against the purchaser’s employees.”

“Can’t we shame the manufacturers into admitting liability? Surely, the publicity won’t do them any good!”

“If the accident had taken place in Germany, this could work. The German Press would not take kindly to a technical defence where a young woman lost her hands. But Tel Aviv is far away. And the manufacturers have no local market.”

“How many clients would they have in Israel?” I asked.

“Probably, just us. I ordered their guillotine because we dealt with them in Leipzig.”

“So, an action against them is out,” I concluded.

“I am afraid so,” agreed Boaz. “Our only hope is to twist Rotem’s arm!”

“So, the facts respecting the insurance policy are crucial,” I observed.

“Precisely,” agreed Boaz. “You better cover the ground, Mr. Wolf.”

 

            The circumstances, it soon appeared, were typical. Since its very foundation some fifteen years before the accident, the firm’s third-party and accident policy had been maintained with Rotem. Some four weeks before the annual expiry date Rotem sent a renewal slip, the duplicate of which was returned with a cheque for the premium. Unfortunately, when the last renewal slip had been sent, Rotem’s clerical staff overlooked a change of address notice they had received.  In consequence, the envelope was dispatched to the firm’s old  address and the new occupants had failed to forward it.

“But didn’t you realise the policy was about to expire?” I asked.

“Well, the office was run by Herta. If she had still been around, she would have notices. She ran the office meticulously. I’m sure she had a reminder in her diary.”

 

            Adroitly Boaz took over and explained that Herr Wolf had suffered his own tragedy. A few months before the accident, the couple’s only son, Uri, had been killed in a skirmish between his unit in the army and a group of saboteurs. Franz Wolf managed to carry on, but Herta was not up to it. She had a break down followed by a spell in a ‘sanatorium’. Shortly after her release she took an overdose of sleeping pills.

“Running both the office and the firm was too much for me,” confided Franz Wolf. “We were looking for an administrator when the accident took place.”

“But didn’t Rotem send a second reminder. They must have known the operations were in this house.”

“They knew because – once in every few years – they inspected the building for our house-owner policy. But they did not send a second reminder. If they had, I would have sent a cheque instantly. Actually, at about the same time, they sent me a renewal notice for our personal householder policy. It went to our home address and the cheque went out the next day.”

 

            Franz Wolf’s explanation required consideration. My eye fell on ‘Harley’. His benign expression and soothing ambience were balsam to my agitated nerves. For a few minutes I meditated on the facts and on the ensuing problem. At the end of the spell, I spotted a glimmer of light: an unformed argument to be developed in the seclusion of my office. All I could hope for at this stage was to clarify a few, as yet veiled, points.

“The firm’s policy, you say, was renewed regularly for at least ten years?”

“Fifteen, I think.”

“Did you at any time consider a change of insurers? Surely, some company might have offered more favourable terms: a lower premium or a reduction of the excess?”

“Coming to think of it,” he responded readily, “we were approached by a French company. They offered us better all-round terms. I mentioned this to Rotem and they gave me a lecture. Israeli firms had to support each other and, they insisted, our long-term relationship was of a lasting nature. This, they said, had stopped them from raising the premium after a year in which we had several accidents.”

“What did you do?”

“We stuck to them.” Having halted for a few seconds, he added: “In many Continental systems this would lead to the formation of a binding renewal arrangement!”

“Not in our English based system, I fear,” observed Boaz.

            “Let me think this over. In our system the point is perhaps debatable,” I told him.

            To complete his task, Franz Wolf  took us for a tour of the factory. Despite its ramshackle premises, the firm appeared well equipped. Modern instruments were in abundance. The accident-prone guillotine, which was no longer in operation, had been disconnected from the network and  moved to a remote spot, like a naughty school boy told to ‘stand in the corner’.

 

            When we took our leave, after completing the tour, Franz Wolf asked: “Did Harley sort of talk to you, Herr Berger?”

“He did rather and on legal points. I can’t explain it.”

“I, too, hear him from to time. I don’t understand how this happens. An inanimate object can’t talk or inspire.”

“Perhaps something inherent in Harley’s makeup triggers an internal channel of communications?”

“Perhaps. Or does he stimulate our thoughts by assisting us to concentrate?”

“My stamps did this to me,” volunteered Boaz. “When I got immersed in my album, the rest of the world ceased to exist and some of the heroes portrayed in Russian stamps appeared in front of my eyes.”

            Franz Wolf and I grinned. When Boaz and I took our leave, the alliance was in place. My next task was to communicate the information I had gleaned to Jacob Keren and Rachel Zeitlin.

 

VI. PLANNING SESSIONS

 

            My experience with figurine brought a smile to Rachel’s face. It reinforced her assessment of her boyfriend: an eccentric with an unworldly outlook. Her light-hearted airs gave way to a serious reflection when I outlined the information about the manufacturers’ response and the relationship between Rotem and Franz Wolf’s firm. She thought it best to discuss it straightaway with our employer.

            Jacob Keren looked grave but was not unduly perturbed by the poor outlook of an action against the German firm. In any event, an attempt to sue it had to be deferred for the time being. Our clients were not wealthy and proceedings in a foreign country would entail extra expenses. This avenue might, however, be explored later on either by Franz Wolf’s firm or, possibly, by Rotem. In turn, the matter might be settled between the re-insurance companies of Rotem and of the insurers who covered the German manufacturers. Presently, we had to plan our campaign against Rotem.

            Jacob Keren conceded that the position was complicated by his own ambivalent position. As a non-executive director, he owed duties to Rotem. These were not vacated by Rotem’s consent to his acting for Dahlia. To her, though, he owed the usual solicitor’s duties to a client.

“But then,” pointed out Rachel, “when Rotem agreed to let you act for Dahlia, they knew your duties to her would become paramount!”

“But Dahlia and her mother know of my relationship with Rotem. They engaged me with the knowledge that I cannot dismiss my directorship from my mind. One of the reasons for my delegating the case to you two, was to avoid any accusations about a conflict.”

“From a practical point, what does this mean?” she wanted to know.

“I can – and will – consider the plan you form. But I should not, in all conscience, work out your strategy.”

“So – all in all – you have the cake and eat it!” she pointed out.

“You can call it that. I prefer to see myself as a sort of mediator. But, of course, whatever I discuss with you, will not go beyond the door of this room. Similarly, I won’t be able to let you in on any deliberations of Rotem.”

            Jacob Keren then listened to the information I had obtained. He had doubts about my argument respecting a contract for the dispatch of renewal notices. In English law, the argument would not even get off the ground. It was – he added malevolently – a red herring. European systems were, of course, irrelevant: they did not apply.

“But suppose the position is governed by Turkish law?” I asked.

“Are you trying to fit this so-called contract into a provision of Turkish law?” sneered Keren.

“I, too, wonder about your idea,” broke in Rachel.

            Their apprehensions were understandable. Before the British armies took over Palestine, the applicable private law was to be found in a Turkish Code known as the Mejelle. Just before the outbreak of World War I, the Turks realised that the Mejelle had become outdated. Many modern transactions could no longer be fitted into the ambit of its rigid Articles. To overcome the difficulty, they passed a new Law, numbered as section 64 of the Civil Procedure Law, which declared that any agreement between parties was binding and valid provided its object was lawful.

My argument was that under this section Rotem’s undertaking to dispatch renewal notices when the firm’s policy was about to expire constituted a binding contract. As section 64 had not been repealed or chucked out when the British took Palestine over, it had remained in effect. A contract deriving its force from it was valid  even if it did not satisfy the technicalities of the English law of contract.

“Are you serious about this argument?” protested Jacob Keren. “Aren’t you flying a kite?”

“Of course not, Mr. Keren. Just consider the issue objectively. If you reject my argument you aver that the good old absurdities of the ancient Mejelle had been replaced by the sheer  technicalities of English law. If the British administration had sought to achieve such a result, why didn’t they kick out the Turkish law of contract and applied English law in its entirety?”

“An interesting point. Do you have any authorities in support?”

 “In expect to find some in law reports of the British period. Many Colonial Judges were eccentric barristers, who did not fit in at home. I should not be surprised if some of them were prepared to strike a blow at the sacrosanct English law!”

“It’s worth a try,” Keren agreed. “Even if it is not clear cut, it’ll provide a stick to beat Rotem. They’d hate to be told that English law doctrines can be challenged! I suspect they would, rather, admit liability.”

“Shall I then begin the search?”

“Sure,” he consented. “But we must also keep our clients informed. I’ll ask them to come over this week.”

 

            Dahlia and her mother had little to add to our professional analysis. It went over their heads. To them only one issue mattered: would we manage to get enough money to do whatever was possible for Dahlia. How we got it was immaterial. Rivka Nissim, though, sensed the sailing might not be smooth.

“But why does all this stuff matter so much?” she wanted to know.

“Because we need an argument to persuade Rotem to pay,” explained Rachel. “Usually, an insurance company does not settle a claim if the policy has lapsed.”

“But don’t we have rights against them?” Rivka persisted.

“I’m afraid not,” explained Rachel. “Their customer is Wollor and so we cannot sue them directly.”

“But I’m sure Mr. Wolf does everything he can,” chimed in Dahlia.

“He does,” Rachel assured her. “The problem is to persuade Rotem.”

“What do you intend to do?” asked Rivka.

“We are trying to formulate a good legal argument,” explained Jacob Keren. “And Eli has an idea. But it must be researched and so he must look up some books in Jerusalem.”

“But won’t this be very expensive,” she asked apprehensively.

“We’ll treat this as ‘general research’ of the firm. I’m sure the results will bear fruit in days to come,” Keren assured her.

“Thanks. Sometimes, you know, I feel I am a very lucky girl!”

“What do you mean, Dahlia?” asked Rachel, startled.

“The accident, of course, was bad luck. But look how kind everybody is to me. Mom is looking after me so well; and Mr. Wolf: he is really good to me; and now you. And I know I’m in good hands; and this is so comforting.”

“It’s alright, Dahlia,” Rachel hurried to assure her; “it’s the least we can do.”

 

 

 

VII.ROTTEM CONCEDES LIABILITY

 

 

            Jacob Keren expressed satisfaction with the authorities I had unearthed in Jerusalem. They established that the issue involved was very much alive. Usually, we would have appraised the other party’s lawyer. However, sending my detailed opinion to Ben Zion Vered was risky. His duty would be to plug holes in it. Jacob Keren considered it safer to leak the opinion to Rotem.

“But how?” asked Rachel. “Wouldn’t this be … unethical?”

“If we sent it to Ruth Schwartz or Hannah Hod, Vered might raise the matter with the Law Society; and justifiably so. But remember: I am a director of Rotem. What is there to stop me from showing to the Board an opinion which I received in the course of my professional activities?”

            It was a sound strategy. It ensured that my opinion would be dispatched to Ben Zion by his own clients, under the guise of an analysis that casts doubts on the firm’s general business orientation. He would have to weigh the argument raised by me as a general concept or doctrine and not merely as a point raised in the context of our case. Rotem would have to appreciate that my conclusions were tenable.

            Two weeks later a meeting of the parties involved was arranged at that Rotem’s request. The comity of the Bar demanded that we convene it in our office. As we did not have a proper Board Room, Jacob’s Keren spacious office was the venue.

            Rotem was represented by Ben Zion Vered, flanked by Ruth Schwartz and Hannah Hod. Rachel and I looked after Dahlia’s interests and Boaz after Franz Wolf’s and Wollor’s. Wolf, too, was present. Although the clients would usually be asked to come over only during an advanced stage of the negotiations, Boaz insisted that Wolf’s knowledge of German law would stand all parties in good stead. Jacob Keren, who attended as Dahlia’s senior counsel, occupied his usual place behind his imposing desk. This position conferred on him the extra authority usually enjoyed by a chairman. It was reinforced by the neutrality dictated by his special and long-standing relationship with Rotem.

            Ben Zion started the ball rolling by describing the opinion, signed by Rachel and myself, well reasoned. He then turned to me and asked pointedly  whether I believed the arguments raised by us would be accepted by a court. How would I rate the chances?

“About fifty-fifty,” I admitted

“Perhaps somewhat better than that,” interceded Boaz. “The courts are aware that section 64 is still alive. I’d say the chances are about 60% or even 70% in favour of the view expressed in the opinion.”

“I was inclined to rank them as 40%,” disagreed Ben Zion. “Still, in view of the plaintiff’s compelling case, I’d accept Eli’s fifty-fifty assessment. What do you think, Mr. Keren?”

“Difficult to say,” Keren spoke judiciously. “A few years ago, I should have thought such an argument was bound to fail. Our judiciary is conservative and inclined to regard English law as sacrosanct. But the winds seem to be changing and, of course, Dahlia will have the sympathy of the court. Therefore, I think the chances are  slightly better.” Pausing for a moment, he added: “Seen from Rotem’s point of view – or of the business world in general – it might be sensible to deal with this point in a less disturbing case.”

“I agree with this sentiment,” observed Ruth Schwartz.

“Actually, so do I,” nodded Ben Zion. “This is an unusual case and, of course, Wollor is a client of long standing. We accept that this in not an ordinary case of a lapsed policy.”

“So, what do you propose?” stepped in Rachel. As often before, she started the practical negotiations at what appeared a favourable juncture.

“Without prejudice, we are prepared, in principle, to treat the policy as if it had not lapsed,” said Ben Zion. “But, of course, we must discuss the amount involved and consider some apportionment.” Ben Zion’s last words suggested that he would expect Wollor to meet part of the claim. The percentage would depend on the excess clause in the original policy and possibly on the extent of Wollor’s fault.

“I am not clear about the second point,” Boaz interceded. “Surely, the policy covers Wollor’s third-party liability. So why does it matter whether or not the accident can be attributed, in whole or in part, to its own negligence. It is irrelevant.”

“It’s not that simple,” countered Ben Zion. “According to clause 12 of the policy, Wollor is not entitled to be re-paid more than 50% of a loss caused by its gross negligence.”

“Why is that of any relevance here?” I thought it important to ask.

“Because,” explained Hannah, “the ‘Safety in Operations’ section of the manual supplied to Wollor emphasised the guillotine must be switched off at the mains when it is serviced or cleaned. We appreciate that this does not have a bearing on Dahlia’s claim against Wollor; but it affects our liability to Wollor. It would be relevant even if the policy had never lapsed.”

“That puts it in a nutshell,” echoed Ben Zion. “Mr. Keren, don’t you agree?”

“I am not sure I ought to express an opinion,” prevaricated Keren. “I am in a somewhat delicate position.”

“But this is a without prejudice meeting,” insisted Ben Zion. “Everything we say is confidential. As an experienced personal accidents lawyer, you must have formed an opinion.”

Keren caved in. “Doctrinally you are right. But is this the way you expect Rotem to act in a case like this? If Dahlia gets an inadequate amount, the surgical steps may be in jeopardy!”

            Ben Zion fidgeted. It was clear that Jacob Keren’s measured pronouncement carried weight with him. As an observant Jew, he felt respect for his elders.

“I agree with Mr. Keren’s view,” stepped in Hannah. “This is not an ordinary case. We are entitled to rely on an excess clause and on clause 12. But do we want to do so in this case?”

“Well, so what do you say, Hannah?” stepped in Rachel. 

“It’s a difficult one,” explained Hanna with some awkwardness. “The terms of an agreement have to be observed: this is trite law. But – for the last two weeks – I have been tormented by one though: what would I feel if the victim had been my Tali and an insurance company had taken this stand. Need I say any more?”

            Her words left an impression on all of us. Here was a tragic accident, which in all probability ruined the life of an innocent victim. True, the mains should have been switched off. But how could Dahlia – a temporary relief worker – proceed to do so when even the boss himself, Franz Wolf, had handled the guillotine without taking this precaution.

            Ruth Schwartz and Jacob Keren nodded. Winking at me, Boaz added: “This sort of technicality – this clause – subjects the Law to the contempt of ordinary people. Surely, you agree, Ben Zion.”

“As a man, I agree,” he said unhappily. “As a responsible attorney, in charge of Rotem’s interests, I am bound to raise this issue. It is my duty as lawyer!”

Boaz agreed.  “In your position I should feel under a duty to take the same stand. But don’t you think that Rotem has to protect the humanitarian reputation it enjoys in Israel?”

“That is not for me to decide,” Ben Zion let his unhappiness show. “That is a policy matter, to be decided by Rotem’s management.”

“I shall raise it with them.” Ruth Schwartz was speaking as senior in-house counsel. “I agree with Hannah’s summary. I am sure we all do, both here and in other forums.” She had addressed the last few words to Jacob Keren, her former pupil master.

“I suggest we meet again in, say, 10 days or so,” said Keren. “And let all clients be there. Any further point?”

           

VIII. FRANZ WOLF OPINES

 

Franz Wolf, who had kept his silence till this point, fidgeted and eventually spoke his mind. He wondered whether Rotem might get the manufacturers to cover part of the loss. His own efforts had failed as had Boaz’s direct appeal to their humanity. Still, Franz Wolf wondered whether the issue should be referred to Rotem’s re-insurers. In the ultimate, the loss would be settled by them or by the German re-insurers of the manufacturer’s insurers. If the two re-insurers had a knock-to-knock agreement, the final award of damages might actually be apportioned between them.

“An excellent strategy,” approbated Rachel. “I trust Rotem will pursue it.”

“We sure will,” affirmed Hannah.

“I am gratified,” said Franz Wolf. “These Schweinehunden should be taught a lesson!”

            Ruth Schwartz, Hannah Hod and I grinned. Jacob Keren, Rachel, Boaz and Ben Zion looked bewildered. As I explained the meaning of the Teutonic swear word, I reflected that many Yekkes used German invective where others would stick to Hebrew. Cultural affiliation affected all facets of life.

 The meeting was over. Franz Wolf asked me to accompany him, explaining he wanted to talk about our mutual interest in porcelain.  For a while we stuck to the topic. Then, having voiced his views about porcelain, Franz Wolf turned to the real topic weighing on his mind. He had decided to take up a position in Hamburg and proposed to migrate within two or three months.

 “You understand?” he let his anxiety show.

“I do and – Herr Wolf – my own father returned to Vienna as soon as the Russians pulled out. He yearned to be back in his old milieu.”

“Can the case be settled before I leave?”

“I think so. And I’ll do what we can. The key is Ben Zion Vered. Ruth and Hannah want Dahlia to have the money needed for the best medical treatment. I sensed it today.”

“Actually, so did I. And Ben Zion Vered does not need much pushing.”

 

IX. SETTLING THE CLAIM

 

            Our next meeting took place two weeks later, on a Friday afternoon. This time Dahlia and her mother were also present. Both looked awkward and out of place. To my relief, Franz Wolf’s arrival eased the atmosphere. Dropping into a vacant chair beside Dahlia he talked to her in a quiet and measured voice. Taking our cue from him, the rest of us did our best to put mother and daughter at their ease. In due course, the clouds left Dahlia’s face. Rivka’s expression, too, brightened.

 

“Well, Ben Zion, so what do you have to tell us?” asked Rachel.

 “We have firmed our decision to treat the policy as if it had not lapsed,” advised Ben Zion. “As I said last time, the non-payment of premium terminates the contract between the insurance company and the assured.  But, in view of our lengthy relationship with Wollor, we have decided to treat the policy as being in force.”

“I consider this an appropriate and commendable stand,” interceded Jacob Keren.

“I am gratified,” said Ben Zion. “But, of course, this is not an end of the matter. We have to settle the amount to be paid by us.”

“Do you find the figures excessive?” I asked with alarm.

“Not in themselves: the assessment is  sound. Naturally, the amount claimed for Dahlia’s loss of enjoyment of life is high. But then the accident is serious.”

“What then is disputed?” asked Rachel.

“The amount claimed in respect of loss of future earnings. As you know, Dahlia was a temporary employee …”

Franz Wolf interceded: “But she was really good. We raised her salary after her first three weeks with us!”

            A round of heavy bargaining resulted, with Rachel taking the lead. On several occasions, she pushed Ben Zion into a corner and Ruth Schwartz had to step in to extricate him. In the end, Hannah brought the matter to its conclusion by pointing out that, in the ultimate, Rotem wanted to ensure Dahlia got adequate and fair compensation. Jacob Keren nodded.

“I wish this was the end of it,” said Ben Zion. “But there is one further matter, which  we raised last time. It concerns the effect of the excess clause. And there is also the apportionment issue. As we all know, the main switch was on when Dahlia cleaned the guillotine.”

“But my Dahlia did what she was told,” Rivka exclaimed with agitation.

“We know that,” Ben Zion hurried, hoping to allay her fears. “But the point is relevant because the policy holder is Wollor. We raise it in respect of their claim under the policy.”

            To my relief, Rivka did not reply. In the ensuing bargaining session, Boaz – Wollor’s representative – took over. He started with an attempt to construe the clauses in the spirit of the main objective of the policy, which was to enable Wollor to settle claims brought by employees. He then pointed out that any apportionment of the amount would have a direct bearing on the compensation received by Dahlia. In the circumstances, we should sidestep any technicalities regardless of their legal soundness.

 Rachel agreed and, to my surprise, Jacob Keren voiced his reservations about any attempt to interpret the clauses of the policy in a manner that might defeat an employee’s justified claim. On further consideration, though, I realised that Jacob Keren’s words were true to his political manifesto. He had started his career in the courts as the advocate of victims of industrial accidents. Despite his rise in the legal world, he had retained his ideals. Like my reform orientated friend, Boaz, Keren had the facility of seeing the wider – sociological – effects of undesirable legal niceties. I knew that in his heart of hearts Jacob Keren realised that the law was a tool used by a powerful party against those weaker than him. Whenever possible he liked to see that justice be done.

Still, his intervention did not put an end to the haggling. Notwithstanding the patent sympathy of the Rotem lawyers, I had the feeling one further round of negotiations was becoming inevitable. Jacob Keren must have been of the same view. He was about to suggest that the meeting be stood over, when Franz Wolf saved the day.

“I understand the points you are making. But – in terms of real money – what is the gap between what Dahlia needs and what Rotem offers to pay?”

“About IL80,000.00,” explained Ben Zion Vered, sounding unhappy and embarrassed. “I wish we didn’t have to bargain like that, but  this is, really, a question of principle.”

“I understand,” answered Franz Wolf. “I too had a legal training. But perhaps I can help. You see, I have just sold our villa in Herzlia. I bought it before the prices skyrocketed. Well, I need some of the money to pay for a flat I bought in Hamburg. But there is a surplus of IL55,000. It can be used  to settle part of  Dahlia’s claim.”

 

            Everyone present was startled. In response to Ben Zion’s quizzical look, Boaz observed: “I told Mr. Wolf he was not under a duty to do this. But he has made up his mind.”

“But Uncle Franz,” chimed in Dahlia, “can you really afford this? Don’t you need the money to help you settle in Hamburg? I don’t want you to be too tight.” Her words reflected real concern for his well being. It was evident she had genuine affection for him.

“You must get the best medical treatment available. And, yes, Young Lady: I have enough and am going to be paid well in Hamburg. So don’t you worry. Just write to me as soon as you can tell me the operation has been a success.”

“You’ll get the first letter when I can write again,” she promised. Rivka – I sensed – wanted to add something but was unable to find the words. The grateful look she bestowed on her daughter’s former employer did, in any event, convey her message.

Jacob Keren felt the need to step in. “This brings us much closer. But we are still IL25,000 short. Well?”

“Just give us about 15 minutes,” said Ruth Schwartz. “I’ll need to make a telephone call. Hopefully, we can settle after it.”

“You don’t think it would be better to have another meeting?” asked Keren.

“I don’t think we need it. What do you think Hannah?”

“Not when they have been apprised of the proceedings,” agreed Hannah.

 

            Ruth Schwartz used the telephone in my office. When she returned – looking much relieved – she confirmed that Rotem would cover the deficiency. Franz Wolf’s idea about a possible intervention of the re-insurers had borne fruit. It turned out that Rotem’s re-insurers were also the re-insurers of the manufacturers’ insurance company. So, in the ultimate, the major portion of the loss was to be settled by them. The manufacturers, though, would lose their no-claims bonus.

 

X. FRANZ WOLF’S GIFT

 

            The matter was now settled. Jacob Keren had to leave in order to attend another meeting. Rivka and Dahlia hurried to catch a bus. Hannah, too, had to get back in order to prepare dinner for Tali and herself. Ruth Schwartz, Boaz and Rachel stayed behind in order to draw up the settlement agreement.

            Feeling that his presence was no longer required, Franz Wolf got ready to depart. As I accompanied him to the entrance door, he observed that it was fortunate we had managed to conclude the negotiations. His employers in Hamburg were pressing him to come over as soon as possible and now he was able to do so. He planned to leave by the end of the month.

“Is your flat in Hamburg ready?”

“It needs some renovations, but I am moving in as it is. I’ll just give her a coat of paint.”

“I hope you’ll be happy there. And if you travel through Germany you are bound to find good porcelain,” I said with a touch of  envy.

“I’ll make the best to get some,”  he grinned. “But look, before I leave I want to make suitable arrangements for him. Will you please look after him?”

            I had no doubt about the contents of the small olive-wood box he shoved into my hand. As I opened it, Harley smiled at me. Unable to contain myself, I caressed his sparkling jacket with my index finger. 

“He likes you,” said his owner.

“But how will you manage without him? Surely, he hasn’t stopped talking to you?”

“Of course not. But I am pushing on and in Hamburg I shall have a day to day existence. For myself, this is acceptable. But I can’t bear the thought of his ending up in an old curiosity shop and this time falling into the hands of a Philistine.  With you he would be as safe as he had been with me. Please take him.”

“Thanks,” was all I managed to bring out.

 

XI. THE SETTLEMENT DEED

 

            When I returned to the meeting – having placed Harley in my breast pocket – I found that the matter was not proceedings as smoothly as expected. To be placed before the re-insurers, the settlement agreement had to be written in English. Since 1948, though, the language of the courts had been Hebrew. Our day-to-day precedents were also expressed in the official language. The old English precedents were kept in Jacob Keren’s locked filing cabinet. As both he and his secretary had left for the day, nobody had access to them.

“But, in that case, draw the agreement up in Hebrew and we’ll translate it later,” I suggested.

“Doubles the effort,” retorted Boaz.

“So, what is to be done?” asked Rachel.

 

The situation was saved by Ben Zion, who had lingered behind although the document was to be drafted by Boaz, Rachel and Ruth Schwartz: “I have English precedents in my office. The only trouble is  that I have to rush home and so I don’t have the time to bring them over.”

            As it was late on a Friday afternoon, no further explanation was needed. Ben Zion had  to take his shower, put on fresh clothes and prepare himself for the Shabbat before  sunset. Although none of the remaining persons in the room took the rites seriously, Ben Zion struck a chord.

“I’ll come with you,” I offered, “and I’ll take documents back.”

“Thanks,” said Ben Zion after a brief hesitation. As an observant Jew, he preferred not to be a party to the violation of the Shabbat by a brother in faith. Still, he was aware of my heretical views and, accordingly,  overcame his scruples.

 

            A brisk walk of some ten minutes got us to Ben Zion’s office. In no time he located the required precedents. Seeing I was still out of breath, he offered me a cup of tea. I was about to leave, when Ben Zion said: “You must be relieved the case has been settled. I am, Eli.”

“In the end, Rotem was generous,” I said.

“They intended to be. But we had to find good arguments for our forthcoming General Meeting.”

“I know. And I thought Ruth, Hannah and yourself were really good about it. You must be pleased the manufacturers’ are not escaping scot free.”

“I am,” he confirmed. “And I must say: Franz Wolf’s lead was a real help. I only hope Dahlia gets the best medical treatment available. My brother is a plastic surgeon. He tells me the attachment of artificial limbs after such an accident is tricky. And, you know, the poor girl will have to go through a series of operations. They can’t do it in one go. Still, the compensation is adequate: she’ll have enough money. I only hope she won’t lose her courage.”

“I don’t think there’s much danger of that,” I reassured him. “I think she’s got a strong character and a positive outlook on life. She’ll need them!”

“Yes, she has the will to go through with it. I am not sure we appreciate  how rough this has been for her. The very thought of such an accident makes me shudder.”

“What makes you say this?” I wanted to know, sensing he had some information that had not reached us.

“My wife’s aunt, Dr Schlossberg, is the medical officer of Dahlia’s school. She goes over a number of times each term to have a good look at the pupils. Usually, if she spots anything unhygienic – like unwashed hands during meals, dirty nails or filthy clothes – she shows the culprit up and delivers a homily. But she never said an unkind word to Dahlia since the accident. Instead, she made sure Rivka helped the girl out: I mean like brushing her teeth for her and other such things.”

“How awful,” I said. “But, hopefully, the operation will put an end to this. But how about the rest of it?”

“What do you mean?” asked Ben Zion. “I watched you during the negotiations and sensed something was on your mind. Well, what is it?”

“Dahlia is not a blue stocking, or a girl keen to set out on a professional career. Before the accident she was a beautiful girl, popular with all her classmates. She had plenty of admirers. And she has the making of an excellent housewife and mother.”

“And you fear that, even after a successful series of operations, she will be unable to find a suitable husband?”

“Quite,” I said. “Will any man fall in love and wish to marry a girl in her condition?”

“I wondered if that kept bothering you,” he nodded.

 

For a time, he remained silent. When he had gathered his thoughts, he expressed his mind clearly and succinctly. Marriages, he pointed out, were delicate arrangements. In our days the majority were based on physical attraction. Frequently, such marriages went on the rocks when the sex appeal was over. The spouses fell apart and, sooner or later, started to look for other partners. He thought that chemistry was not an adequate cornerstone of a good marriage.

“But surely,” I argued, “if it is not there at all, the marriage is bound to be miserable!”

“Of course,” he agreed. “Sex appeal, or the right chemistry, is an essential component of a good marriage. But you need more than that: there must be mutual respect, tolerance and some common interest or purpose. These are as important as physical love. They keep a marriage going when passion wanes. They stand the spouses in good stead when romance is no longer there. Really good marriages are based on understanding.”

“Why is all this relevant in Dahlia’s case?” I asked.

“Because Dahlia has a lot to offer: a pleasant disposition, a kindly heart and a strong character. A man who wants such a wife looks for a mate and not just a sex partner – and he’ll be happy with her regardless of her artificial hands!”

“But how about the initial reaction when he meets her. When I spotted Dahlia for the first time, I didn’t know she was the victim of this horrid accident. She hid her hands and so I was impressed with her good looks. But when Rachel told me, my admiration turned into pity.”

“That’ll be the initial reaction of any man. But, when he knows her better, he might regain his admiration for her character and courage.”

“I do hope she finds somebody like this! What are her chances?”

“Difficult to say. But think of the empathy she has developed for Franz Wolf and his patent affection for her!”

“Based on a feeling of guilt?” I ventured.

“I don’t think so.  Franz Wolf knows she is a good girl. His affection for her stems from  his appreciation of  her personality.”

“I hope a younger man – in her own age group – may react to her in this way.”

“The chances are not too bad,” said Ben Zion. “Don’t you know that some men – especially fellows who are successful with women – settle on plain but decent girls rather than on glamour women? Just think of your friend Boaz. In his student days he was running around  with some stunning females. And I’m sure he had plenty of fun with them. But he married Miri!”

“She’s a splendid girl!”

“She is,” he agreed readily. “But nobody would call her a stunner. She is a decent, dependable and forthright woman. A sensible man would prefer her to a pretty but spoilt brat.”

“And Dahlia?”

“Has most of these attributes. We can  hope for the best,” he insisted.

 

            A glance at my watch disclosed that it was getting late. Rachel, Boaz and Ruth Schwartz needed the English precedent, and Ben Zion had to be on his way home. That he, too, was getting agitated became clear when spoke again.

“I’d better be on my way. If I am late my wife may fear something has happened to me.”

“Give her my regards,” I said inconsequentially. “I’ve never met her; but I feel certain she keeps a fine home for you, BenZi”

“She sure does,” he affirmed, smiling happily in response to the nickname used by his inner circle of friends. “And it is high time that you come over. We’ll arrange something soon.”

 

            We walked down the stairs together. As I watched his rapid pace in the direction of the bus stop, I realised I had come to like him. Naturally, our views about the world were  miles apart. A close friendship was unlikely to develop. All the same, Ben Zion was a person with whom I could work in harmony. He would be a reliable and accommodating partner.

 

XII. FINAL REFLECTION

 

            To put the drafting committee at ease, I rang to let them know I was on my way. It turned out that the precedents in my hand were no longer needed. Jacob Keren’s secretary had gone back to the office to pick up a parcel she had left behind. With her assistance, they located the old precedents.

            As I was no longer in a hurry, I decided to drop into David Misrachi’s eatery.  I had been too nervous to take a proper lunch before the meeting. I was hungry but it was getting too late to have dinner before the show to which Rachel and I were going.

 

The popular lawyers’ haven was deserted at this time of day. It owner, David Mizrachi, who continued to serve on the tables, came over and asked me to have a Humus on the house. He had been forthcoming with such gestures ever since I came up with the name he bestowed on his establishment when its renovation was complete. But although an elegant poster described the place as The Lucky Lawyer’s Haven, the profession continued to use its old name. as David had not raised the prices, the establishment retained its popularity and appeal.

“I’d love a Humus; thanks David. but please let me treat you to one.”

“That’s very kind of you, Mr. Eli; but sorry: I’m not allowed to take it.”

“Why?” I asked without thinking. “It’s the best Humus in town. why can’t you take it?”

David brushed his bushy sideburns thoughtfully.  “The doctor says I must not take it. I have diabetes and it is getting worse.” I gleaned that his affliction was of a long standing. The yellowish tinge of his skin suggested that some complications had started to plague him.

“I sorry; really sorry, David. But can you have something else? I don’t know what you are allowed to take.”

“Not a great deal, Mr. Eli. Sarah cooks plain food for: boiled fish and chicken; and vegetables. But I can have a cup of coffee if I take it without sugar.”

“Please have one,” I pleaded. “I am celebrating: a big victory.”

            David Mizzrachi came back from the kitchen with two steaming cups of coffee. He placed the one with sugar in front of me and sipped, appreciatively, from his cup.

“That big victory – is it Dahlia Nissim’s case?”

            “How do you know?”

“Nathan Nissim was a good friend. Pity he died so young. From time-to-time Rivka and her daughters come to visit us. She told me all about the accident. She wanted to go to another lawyer, but I told her Mr. Keren was Nathan’s friend: so she better go to him.”

“Well, we did what we could for her. And, David, Rotem paid. This is still a secret: so you must not tell.” I was taking a risk, but David Mizrachi was renowned for his discretion.

“Enough for her treatment in America?”

“Of course,” I confirmed. “Everybody including Rotem’s lawyers did their best to get things settled.”

“Nobody likes an accident like this, Mr Eli. They all think about their children and family and hope nothing like this happens to them. This is not like an accident where a driver speeds and runs into a wall or something like this.”

“And everybody had real sympathy for Dahlia,” I augmented. “Her boss sold his house in Herzlia and gave her some of the money.”

            To get matters in focus, I told David what had transpired at the meeting. When I finished I asked him whether Dahlia’s personality and courage could have triggered off general sympathy.

“It is possible, Mr. Eli. Everybody likes Dahlia. When she came over – I mean before the accident – all my children made a fuss over her. They loved her.”

“Do you think she’ll remain like this. Won’t the accident, the operations, the pain and sufferings and the remaining handicap turn her into a bitter and unhappy person?”

            David Mizrachi weighed his words carefully. He concluded that  Dahlia’s warmth and courage ought to enable her to retain her positive outlook on life. A strong spirit is not easily defeated. All in all, David was optimistic.

 

            He smiled benignly when I took my leave. As I stepped out of the door, I saw dusk had set. For a moment I panicked. Rachel and I were going to the theatre. I had to get ready and it was too late to walk back to my parents’ flat to freshen up and to place Harley in my modest show case.  Still,   had a change of clothes in Rachel’s place and could leave Harley there for the evening.

            Notwithstanding the sad case we had handled, I looked forward to my date with Rachel. Tragedies or no tragedies: life had to go on.