ABSTRACT
THE DNA SIGNATURE Ever since Adam had a bite at the rotten apple, my ancestors have always made tactical errors, something to make them fall out with the establish ment. Not that we came from a family who traced its lineage all the way to Adam, far from it: I came from a family where genealogical trees were scribbled on parchments, made of the skins of lamb foetuses. These scrolls were periodically burnt in the various wars that were waged, first east wards and then westwards, wiping our lands both ways in the Carpathian foothills. Such cataclysms happened with monotonous regularity, like the ebb and flow of the ocean tide, until everything was wiped out of existence. In the end all that was left standing was the memory of bitterness, which eventually was purged by lost generations.
