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.