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 7th 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.”