Alva's Boy. Alan Collins

in his waistcoat and gave a prodigious wink. 'Your Aunty Cissy's got something to tell you, haven't you, Ciss.' Harry moved to stand alongside his wife, who stretched her neck in the brace.

      'Your father is getting married ' again.' She ground out the last word with undisguised contempt.

      Well, whatever these adults expected of me, it did not eventuate. I was still enveloped in the wonders of this morning's Great Synagogue spectacular. The stars of the ceiling still danced before me, the scroll with its elegant Hebrew on parchment, whirled above my head. I could still feel the erotic smoothness of the wooden knobs at the ends of the pews; my palms tingled and my scrotum tightened at the recall.

      My father shook me roughly. 'I'm takin' you with me, son, just as soon as I get things fixed up.'

      The metamorphosis from Jewish boy to Jewboy was about to take place.