The First One

by Herbert D. Kastle

  Produced by Greg Weeks, Mary Meehan and the OnlineDistributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net

  THE FIRST ONE

  By HERBERT D. KASTLE

  Illustrated by von Dongen

  [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Analog July 1961.Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyrighton this publication was renewed.]

  _The first man to return from beyond the Great Frontier may be welcomed ... but will it be as a curiosity, rather than as a hero...?_

  There was the usual welcoming crowd for a celebrity, and the usualspeeches by the usual politicians who met him at the airport which hadonce been twenty miles outside of Croton, but which the growing city hadsince engulfed and placed well within its boundaries. But everythingwasn't usual. The crowd was quiet, and the mayor didn't seem quite asat-ease as he'd been on his last big welcoming--for Corporal Berringer,one of the crew of the spaceship _Washington_, first to set Americansupon Mars. His Honor's handclasp was somewhat moist and cold. HisHonor's eyes held a trace of remoteness.

  Still, he was the honored home-comer, the successful returnee, thehometown boy who had made good in a big way, and they took the triumphaltour up Main Street to the new square and the grandstand. There he satbetween the mayor and a nervous young coed chosen as homecoming queen,and looked out at the police and fire department bands, the NationalGuard, the boy scouts and girl scouts, the Elks and Masons. Several ofthe churches in town had shown indecision as to how to instruct theirparishioners to treat him. But they had all come around. The tremendousnational interest, the fact that he was the First One, had made themcome around. It was obvious by now that they would have to adjust asthey'd adjusted to all the other firsts taking place in these--as thenewspapers had dubbed the start of the Twenty-first Century--theGalloping Twenties.

  He was glad when the official greeting was over. He was a very tired manand he had come farther, traveled longer and over darker country, thanany man who'd ever lived before. He wanted a meal at his own table, akiss from his wife, a word from his son, and later to see some oldfriends and a relative or two. He didn't want to talk about the journey.He wanted to forget the immediacy, the urgency, the terror; then perhapshe would talk.

  Or would he? For he had very little to tell. He had traveled and he hadreturned and his voyage was very much like the voyages of the greatmariners, from Columbus onward--long, dull periods of time passing,passing, and then the arrival.

  The house had changed. He saw that as soon as the official car let himoff at 45 Roosevelt Street. The change was, he knew, for the better.They had put a porch in front. They had rehabilitated, spruced up,almost rebuilt the entire outside and grounds. But he was sorry. He hadwanted it to be as before.

  The head of the American Legion and the chief of police, who hadescorted him on this trip from the square, didn't ask to go in with him.He was glad. He'd had enough of strangers. Not that he was through withstrangers. There were dozens of them up and down the street, standingbeside parked cars, looking at him. But when he looked back at them,their eyes dropped, they turned away, they began moving off. He wasstill too much the First One to have his gaze met.

  He walked up what had once been a concrete path and was now an ornateflagstone path. He climbed the new porch and raised the ornamentalknocker on the new door and heard the soft music sound within. He wassurprised that he'd had to do this. He'd thought Edith would be watchingat a window.

  And perhaps she _had_ been watching ... but she hadn't opened the door.

  The door opened; he looked at her. It hadn't been too long and shehadn't changed at all. She was still the small, slender girl he'd lovedin high school, the small, slender woman he'd married twelve years ago.Ralphie was with her. They held onto each other as if seeking mutualsupport, the thirty-three-year old woman and ten-year-old boy. Theylooked at him, and then both moved forward, still together. He said,"It's good to be home!"

  Edith nodded and, still holding to Ralphie with one hand, put the otherarm around him. He kissed her--her neck, her cheek--and all the oldjokes came to mind, the jokes of travel-weary, battle-weary men, theand-_then_-I'll-put-my-pack-aside jokes that spoke of terrible hunger.She was trembling, and even as her lips came up to touch his he felt thedifference, and because of this difference he turned with urgency toRalphie and picked him up and hugged him and said, because he couldthink of nothing else to say, "What a big fella, what a big fella."

  Ralphie stood in his arms as if his feet were still planted on thefloor, and he didn't look at his father but somewhere beyond him. "Ididn't grow much while you were gone, Dad, Mom says I don't eat enough."

  So he put him down and told himself that it would all change, thateverything would loosen up just as his commanding officer, GeneralCarlisle, had said it would early this morning before he leftWashington.

  "Give it some time," Carlisle had said. "You need the time; they needthe time. And for the love of heaven, don't be sensitive."

  * * * * *

  Edith was leading him into the living room, her hand lying still in his,a cool, dead bird lying still in his. He sat down on the couch, she satdown beside him--but she had hesitated. He _wasn't_ being sensitive; shehad hesitated. His wife had hesitated before sitting down beside him.

  Carlisle had said his position was analogous to Columbus', to Vasco DeGama's, to Preshoff's when the Russian returned from the Moon--but moreso. Carlisle had said lots of things, but even Carlisle who had workedwith him all the way, who had engineered the entire fantasticjourney--even Carlisle the Nobel prize winner, the multi-degreed geniusin uniform, had not actually spoken to him as one man to another.

  _The eyes. It always showed in their eyes._

  He looked across the room at Ralphie, standing in the doorway, a boyalready tall, already widening in the shoulders, already large offeature. It was like looking into the mirror and seeing himselftwenty-five years ago. But Ralphie's face was drawn, was worried in away that few ten-year-old faces are.

  "How's it going in school?" he asked.

  "Gee, Dad, it's the second month of summer vacation."

  "Well, then, before summer vacation?"

  "Pretty good."

  Edith said, "He made top forum the six-month period before vacation, andhe made top forum the six-month period you went away, Hank."

  He nodded, remembering that, remembering everything, remembering thewarmth of her farewell, the warmth of Ralphie's farewell, their tears ashe left for the experimental flight station in the Aleutians. They hadfeared for him, having read of the many launchings gone wrong even incontinent-to-continent experimental flight.

  They had been right to worry. He had suffered much after that blow-up.But now they should be rejoicing, because he had survived and made thelong journey. Ralphie suddenly said, "I got to go, Dad. I promised Waltand the others I'd pitch. It's Inter-Town Little League, you know. It'sHarmon, you know. I got to keep my word." Without waiting for an answer,he waved his hand--it shook; a ten-year-old boy's hand that shook--andran from the room and from the house.

  He and Edith sat beside each other, and he wanted badly to take her inhis arms, and yet he didn't want to oppress her. He stood up. "I'm verytired. I'd like to lie down a while." Which wasn't true, because he'dbeen lying down all the months of the way back.

  She said, "Of course. How stupid of me, expecting you to sit around andmake small talk and pick up just where you left off."

  He nodded. But that was exactly what he wanted to do--make small talkand pick up just where he'd left off. But they didn't expect it of him;they wouldn't let him; they felt he had changed too much.

  * * * *
*

  She led him upstairs and along the foyer past Ralphie's room and pastthe small guest room to their bedroom. This, too, had changed. It wasnewly painted and it had new furniture. He saw twin beds separated by anornate little table with an ornate little lamp, and this looked moreominous a barrier to him than the twelve-foot concrete-and-barbed-wirefence around the experimental station.

  "Which one is mine," he asked, and tried to smile.

  She also tried to smile. "The one near the window. You always liked thefresh air, the sunshine in the morning. You always said it helped youto get up on time when you were stationed at the base outside of town.You always said it reminded you--being able to see the sky--that youwere going to go up in it, and that you were going to come down from itto this bed