o all the other firsts taking place in these--as the
newspapers had dubbed the start of the Twenty-first Century--the
Galloping Twenties.

He was glad when the official greeting was over. He was a very tired man
and he had come farther, traveled longer and over darker country, than
any man who'd ever lived before. He wanted a meal at his own table, a
kiss from his wife, a word from his son, and later to see some old
friends 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 perhaps
he would talk.

Or would he? For he had very little to tell. He had traveled and he had
returned and his voyage was very much like the voyages of the great
mariners, 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 him
off 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 had
wanted it to be as before.

The head of the American Legion and the chief of police, who had
escorted 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 with
strangers. There were dozens of them up and down the street, standing
beside parked cars, looking at him. But when he looked back at them,
their eyes dropped, they turned away, they began moving off. He was
still too much the First One to have his gaze met.

He walked up what had once been a concrete path and was now an ornate
flagstone path. He climbed the new porch and raised the ornamental
knocker on the new door and heard the soft music sound within. He was
surprised that he'd had to do this. He'd thought Edith would be watching
at 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 she
hadn't changed at all. She was still the small, slender girl he'd loved
in high school, the small, slender woman he'd married twelve years ago.
Ralphie was with her. They held onto each other as if seeking mutual
support, the thirty-three-year old woman and ten-year-old boy. They
looked at him, and then both moved forward, still together. He said,
"It's good to be home!"

Edith nodded and, still holding to Ralphie wit