This from Billy, whose great-grandfather had handed down a Damascus blade, and which still hung over the family fireplace back in the Old Bay state.
Macauley and Canby by this time had come up from the rear, and listening in wonder to the plain English from the oriental mouth.
The old man seemed to appreciate that he was causing a bit of a stir by the fluent use of a foreign language.
Waving his hands, palms upward, he explained:
“I am one of the Jews who immigrated back from Europe—and I have memories; oh, so many; but how long ago; how long ago.”
The wisdom of ages was on his brow, and treasured memories in his heart.
“How came you here?” he repeated; “I have listened and heard no answer.”
Billy simply pointed to the war-planes, resting on the sward.
“But once have I seen the like, and on high, above the Mediterranean. Will wonders never cease?”
The old man curiously paced the length of the machines, and peered through the rigging, lightly touching the various exposed parts, all the while talking softly to himself.