bow chatting to the boatman in the Iban language. How warmly the Ulus greeted the boys. It was during the summer holiday, when Stephan was eleven years old, Bintang presented them with costumes and made them a member of the tribe, and they danced with the chief wearing ceremonial feathers and “painted” tattoo marks.
Terry’s bright eyes watched over the surgical mask as Adam operated. Adam always glanced at him. When the boy was there he always performed a better operation.
The hard days of clinic at the long houses would be over and they would all go to the stream and bathe or sit under a waterfall and they slept near each other, never fearing the sounds of the jungle.
All the rest of it flooded his thoughts day and night until he could no longer bear it. It wasn’t only Terrence who filled his thoughts. What would happen when Stephan learned of this in America?
Sir Adam Kelno walked the narrow Chancery Lane, that artery of British law flanked by the Law Society on one side and Sweet and Maxwell, the legal publishers and booksellers, on the other side. The window of Ede and Ravenscort, Ltd., tailor of the profession, held its usual grim display of academic and black barrister’s robes, unchanged in style since time remembered and garnished with a variety of gray barrister’s wigs.
He stopped at 32B Chancery Lane. It was a narrow four story building, one of the few survivors of the great fires centuries earlier. A warped and misshapen Jacobean relic.
Kelno glanced at the registry. The second and third floor held the law offices of Hobbins, Newton, and Smiddy. He entered and disappeared up the creaking stairs.
ii/the defendants
1
T HE AUTHOR OF T HE Holocaust was an American writer named Abraham Cady, one-time journalist, one-time flyer, one-time ballplayer.
At the turn of the century the Zionist movement spread like a forest fire over the Jewish Pale of Settlement in Czarist Russia. Bent under universal suppression and pogroms of centuries standing, the groundswell to leave Russia found direction in the resurrection of the ancient homeland. The little Jewish village of Prodno sponsored the Cadyzynski brothers, Morris and Hyman, to go to Palestine as pioneers.
While working in the swamps of Upper Galilee on land redemption, Morris Cadyzynski fell prey to recurrent attacks of malaria and dysentery until he was taken to the hospital in Jaffa. He was advised to leave Palestine as one of those unable to adapt to the severe conditions. His elder brother, Hyman, remained.
It was usual in those days that a relative in America take on the responsibility of getting as many of the family over from the old country as possible. Uncle Abraham Cadyzynski, after whom the author was later named, had a small Jewish bakery on Church Street in the ghetto in Norfolk, Virginia.
Morris had his name shortened to Cady by a perplexed official trying to separate over a hundred “skis” who immigrated on the same boatload.
Uncle Abraham had two daughters, whose eventual husbands were not interested in the bakery, so it was passed on to Morris when the old man died.
The Jewish community was tiny and close knit, hanging together unable to shake off all the ghetto mentality. Morris met Molly Segal, also an immigrant in the Zionist movement, and they were married in the year of 1909.
Out of deference to his father, the Rabbi of Prodno, they were married in synagogue. The party afterward at the Workman’s Circle Hall was in the Yiddish tradition of an endless parade of food, dancing the hora and “mazel tovfs” until the middle of the night
Neither of them were religious, but they were never able to break most of the old country ties of conversing and reading in Yiddish and keeping a mostly kosher kitchen.
Ben was the first born in 1912 and then Sophie came two years later as Europe was going up in flames. During the First World War business prospered. With Norfolk as a major troop and supply shipping point to France, the
Terry’s bright eyes watched over the surgical mask as Adam operated. Adam always glanced at him. When the boy was there he always performed a better operation.
The hard days of clinic at the long houses would be over and they would all go to the stream and bathe or sit under a waterfall and they slept near each other, never fearing the sounds of the jungle.
All the rest of it flooded his thoughts day and night until he could no longer bear it. It wasn’t only Terrence who filled his thoughts. What would happen when Stephan learned of this in America?
Sir Adam Kelno walked the narrow Chancery Lane, that artery of British law flanked by the Law Society on one side and Sweet and Maxwell, the legal publishers and booksellers, on the other side. The window of Ede and Ravenscort, Ltd., tailor of the profession, held its usual grim display of academic and black barrister’s robes, unchanged in style since time remembered and garnished with a variety of gray barrister’s wigs.
He stopped at 32B Chancery Lane. It was a narrow four story building, one of the few survivors of the great fires centuries earlier. A warped and misshapen Jacobean relic.
Kelno glanced at the registry. The second and third floor held the law offices of Hobbins, Newton, and Smiddy. He entered and disappeared up the creaking stairs.
ii/the defendants
1
T HE AUTHOR OF T HE Holocaust was an American writer named Abraham Cady, one-time journalist, one-time flyer, one-time ballplayer.
At the turn of the century the Zionist movement spread like a forest fire over the Jewish Pale of Settlement in Czarist Russia. Bent under universal suppression and pogroms of centuries standing, the groundswell to leave Russia found direction in the resurrection of the ancient homeland. The little Jewish village of Prodno sponsored the Cadyzynski brothers, Morris and Hyman, to go to Palestine as pioneers.
While working in the swamps of Upper Galilee on land redemption, Morris Cadyzynski fell prey to recurrent attacks of malaria and dysentery until he was taken to the hospital in Jaffa. He was advised to leave Palestine as one of those unable to adapt to the severe conditions. His elder brother, Hyman, remained.
It was usual in those days that a relative in America take on the responsibility of getting as many of the family over from the old country as possible. Uncle Abraham Cadyzynski, after whom the author was later named, had a small Jewish bakery on Church Street in the ghetto in Norfolk, Virginia.
Morris had his name shortened to Cady by a perplexed official trying to separate over a hundred “skis” who immigrated on the same boatload.
Uncle Abraham had two daughters, whose eventual husbands were not interested in the bakery, so it was passed on to Morris when the old man died.
The Jewish community was tiny and close knit, hanging together unable to shake off all the ghetto mentality. Morris met Molly Segal, also an immigrant in the Zionist movement, and they were married in the year of 1909.
Out of deference to his father, the Rabbi of Prodno, they were married in synagogue. The party afterward at the Workman’s Circle Hall was in the Yiddish tradition of an endless parade of food, dancing the hora and “mazel tovfs” until the middle of the night
Neither of them were religious, but they were never able to break most of the old country ties of conversing and reading in Yiddish and keeping a mostly kosher kitchen.
Ben was the first born in 1912 and then Sophie came two years later as Europe was going up in flames. During the First World War business prospered. With Norfolk as a major troop and supply shipping point to France, the
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