QUOTE : In Prague,” Jacob said. “I saw a clay figure. In the attic of the Alt-Neu Synagogue. The caretaker said it was the Maharal. But it looked like you. Exactly like you.” “I’ve told you,” Sam said. “I’m not the important link.” Jacob remembered the tombstone of the Maharal’s wife, whose name was Bina’s middle name. A disquieting thought struck him. “I’m descended on both sides,” he said. He stared at his father. “You and Ima. You’re cousins.” Sam hesitated. “Not close.” “How close is not close?” “There’s nothing to worry about,” Sam said. “Royalty did it all the time.” “You’re not royalty.” “I should also point out that it was not unusual among first-generation immigrants. Couples often met at family circles.” “You’re not a first-generation immigrant.” “What I’m getting at, son, is that plenty of these unions have taken place—” “In Alabama.” “I intended to tell you. I wanted to. We haven’t been speaking.” “Don’t even,” Jacob said. Sam studied him with concern. “Are you all right?” “You mean other than the fact that I’m inbred?