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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/24192-h.zip b/24192-h.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..f697104 --- /dev/null +++ b/24192-h.zip diff --git a/24192-h/24192-h.htm b/24192-h/24192-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..29234fe --- /dev/null +++ b/24192-h/24192-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,1028 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml"> + <head> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=iso-8859-1" /> + <title> + The Project Gutenberg eBook of The First One, by Herbert D. Kastle. + </title> + <style type="text/css"> +/*<![CDATA[ XML blockout */ +<!-- + p { margin-top: .75em; + text-align: justify; + margin-bottom: .75em; + } + h1,h2,h3,h4,h5,h6 { + text-align: center; /* all headings centered */ + clear: both; + } + hr { width: 33%; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; + clear: both; + } + + table {margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;} + + body{margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; + } + + .pagenum { /* uncomment the next line for invisible page numbers */ + /* visibility: hidden; */ + position: absolute; + left: 92%; + font-size: smaller; + text-align: right; + } /* page numbers */ + + .linenum {position: absolute; top: auto; left: 4%;} /* poetry number */ + .blockquot{margin-left: 5%; margin-right: 10%;} + .sidenote {width: 20%; padding-bottom: .5em; padding-top: .5em; + padding-left: .5em; padding-right: .5em; margin-left: 1em; + float: right; clear: right; margin-top: 1em; + font-size: smaller; color: black; background: #eeeeee; border: dashed 1px;} + + .bb {border-bottom: solid 2px;} + .bl {border-left: solid 2px;} + .bt {border-top: solid 2px;} + .br {border-right: solid 2px;} + .bbox {border: solid 2px;} + + .center {text-align: center;} + .smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} + .u {text-decoration: underline;} + + .caption {font-weight: bold;} + + .figcenter {margin: auto; text-align: center;} + + .figleft {float: left; clear: left; margin-left: 0; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-top: + 1em; margin-right: 1em; padding: 0; text-align: center;} + + .figright {float: right; clear: right; margin-left: 1em; margin-bottom: 1em; + margin-top: 1em; margin-right: 0; padding: 0; text-align: center;} + + .footnotes {border: dashed 1px;} + .footnote {margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-size: 0.9em;} + .footnote .label {position: absolute; right: 84%; text-align: right;} + .fnanchor {vertical-align: super; font-size: .8em; text-decoration: none;} + + .poem {margin-left:10%; margin-right:10%; text-align: left;} + .poem br {display: none;} + .poem .stanza {margin: 1em 0em 1em 0em;} + .poem span.i0 {display: block; margin-left: 0em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + .poem span.i2 {display: block; margin-left: 2em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + .poem span.i4 {display: block; margin-left: 4em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + // --> + /* XML end ]]>*/ + </style> + </head> +<body> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The First One, by Herbert D. Kastle + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The First One + +Author: Herbert D. Kastle + +Release Date: January 7, 2008 [EBook #24192] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE FIRST ONE *** + + + + +Produced by Greg Weeks, Mary Meehan and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + +</pre> + + + + + +<h1>THE FIRST ONE</h1> + +<h2>By HERBERT D. KASTLE</h2> + +<h3>Illustrated by von Dongen</h3> + +<p>[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Analog July 1961. +Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright +on this publication was renewed.]</p> + +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="images/frontis.png" + width="500" height="522" alt="Frontis" title="Frontis" /> +</div> + +<div class="blockquot"><p><i>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...?</i></p></div> + +<p>There was the usual welcoming crowd for a celebrity, and the usual +speeches by the usual politicians who met him at the airport which had +once been twenty miles outside of Croton, but which the growing city had +since engulfed and placed well within its boundaries. But everything +wasn't usual. The crowd was quiet, and the mayor didn't seem quite as +at-ease as he'd been on his last big welcoming—for Corporal Berringer, +one of the crew of the spaceship <i>Washington</i>, first to set Americans +upon Mars. His Honor's handclasp was somewhat moist and cold. His +Honor's eyes held a trace of remoteness.</p> + +<p>Still, he was the honored home-comer, the successful returnee, the +hometown boy who had made good in a big way, and they took the triumphal +tour up Main Street to the new square and the grandstand. There he sat +between the mayor and a nervous young coed chosen as homecoming queen, +and looked out at the police and fire department bands, the National +Guard, the boy scouts and girl scouts, the Elks and Masons. Several of +the churches in town had shown indecision as to how to instruct their +parishioners to treat him. But they had all come around. The tremendous +national interest, the fact that he was the First One, had made them +come around. It was obvious by now that they would have to adjust as +they'd adjusted to all the other firsts taking place in these—as the +newspapers had dubbed the start of the Twenty-first Century—the +Galloping Twenties.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>And perhaps she <i>had</i> been watching ... but she hadn't opened the door.</p> + +<p>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!"</p> + +<p>Edith nodded and, still holding to Ralphie with one hand, put the other +arm around him. He kissed her—her neck, her cheek—and all the old +jokes came to mind, the jokes of travel-weary, battle-weary men, the +and-<i>then</i>-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 the +difference, and because of this difference he turned with urgency to +Ralphie and picked him up and hugged him and said, because he could +think of nothing else to say, "What a big fella, what a big fella."</p> + +<p>Ralphie stood in his arms as if his feet were still planted on the +floor, and he didn't look at his father but somewhere beyond him. "I +didn't grow much while you were gone, Dad, Mom says I don't eat enough."</p> + +<p>So he put him down and told himself that it would all change, that +everything would loosen up just as his commanding officer, General +Carlisle, had said it would early this morning before he left +Washington.</p> + +<p>"Give it some time," Carlisle had said. "You need the time; they need +the time. And for the love of heaven, don't be sensitive."</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>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 sat +down beside him—but she had hesitated. He <i>wasn't</i> being sensitive; she +had hesitated. His wife had hesitated before sitting down beside him.</p> + +<p>Carlisle had said his position was analogous to Columbus', to Vasco De +Gama's, to Preshoff's when the Russian returned from the Moon—but more +so. Carlisle had said lots of things, but even Carlisle who had worked +with him all the way, who had engineered the entire fantastic +journey—even Carlisle the Nobel prize winner, the multi-degreed genius +in uniform, had not actually spoken to him as one man to another.</p> + +<p><i>The eyes. It always showed in their eyes.</i></p> + +<p>He looked across the room at Ralphie, standing in the doorway, a boy +already tall, already widening in the shoulders, already large of +feature. It was like looking into the mirror and seeing himself +twenty-five years ago. But Ralphie's face was drawn, was worried in a +way that few ten-year-old faces are.</p> + +<p>"How's it going in school?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"Gee, Dad, it's the second month of summer vacation."</p> + +<p>"Well, then, before summer vacation?"</p> + +<p>"Pretty good."</p> + +<p>Edith said, "He made top forum the six-month period before vacation, and +he made top forum the six-month period you went away, Hank."</p> + +<p>He nodded, remembering that, remembering everything, remembering the +warmth of her farewell, the warmth of Ralphie's farewell, their tears as +he left for the experimental flight station in the Aleutians. They had +feared for him, having read of the many launchings gone wrong even in +continent-to-continent experimental flight.</p> + +<p>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 the +long journey. Ralphie suddenly said, "I got to go, Dad. I promised Walt +and the others I'd pitch. It's Inter-Town Little League, you know. It's +Harmon, 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—and +ran from the room and from the house.</p> + +<p>He and Edith sat beside each other, and he wanted badly to take her in +his arms, and yet he didn't want to oppress her. He stood up. "I'm very +tired. I'd like to lie down a while." Which wasn't true, because he'd +been lying down all the months of the way back.</p> + +<p>She said, "Of course. How stupid of me, expecting you to sit around and +make small talk and pick up just where you left off."</p> + +<p>He nodded. But that was exactly what he wanted to do—make small talk +and 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.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>She led him upstairs and along the foyer past Ralphie's room and past +the small guest room to their bedroom. This, too, had changed. It was +newly painted and it had new furniture. He saw twin beds separated by an +ornate little table with an ornate little lamp, and this looked more +ominous a barrier to him than the twelve-foot concrete-and-barbed-wire +fence around the experimental station.</p> + +<p>"Which one is mine," he asked, and tried to smile.</p> + +<p>She also tried to smile. "The one near the window. You always liked the +fresh air, the sunshine in the morning. You always said it helped you +to 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 you +were going to go up in it, and that you were going to come down from it +to this bed again."</p> + +<p>"Not this bed," he murmured, and was a little sorry afterward.</p> + +<p>"No, not this bed," she said quickly. "Your lodge donated the bedroom +set and I really didn't know—" She waved her hand, her face white.</p> + +<p>He was sure then that she <i>had</i> known, and that the beds and the barrier +between them were her own choice, if only an unconscious choice. He went +to the bed near the window, stripped off his Air Force blue jacket, +began to take off his shirt, but then remembered that some arm scars +still showed. He waited for her to leave the room.</p> + +<p>She said, "Well then, rest up, dear," and went out.</p> + +<p>He took off his shirt and saw himself in the mirror on the opposite +wall; and then took off his under-shirt. The body scars were faint, the +scars running in long lines, one dissecting his chest, the other slicing +diagonally across his upper abdomen to disappear under his trousers. +There were several more on his back, and one on his right thigh. They'd +been treated properly and would soon disappear. But she had never seen +them.</p> + +<p>Perhaps she never would. Perhaps pajamas and robes and dark rooms would +keep them from her until they were gone.</p> + +<p>Which was not what he'd considered at all important on leaving Walter +Reed Hospital early this morning; which was something he found +distasteful, something he felt beneath them both. And, at the same time, +he began to understand that there would be many things, previously +beneath them both, which would have to be considered. She had changed; +Ralphie had changed; all the people he knew had probably +changed—because they thought <i>he</i> had changed.</p> + +<p>He was tired of thinking. He lay down and closed his eyes. He let +himself taste bitterness, unhappiness, a loneliness he had never known +before.</p> + +<p>But sometime later, as he was dozing off, a sense of reassurance began +filtering into his mind. After all, he was still Henry Devers, the same +man who had left home eleven months ago, with a love for family and +friends which was, if anything, stronger than before. Once he could +communicate this, the strangeness would disappear and the First One +would again become good old Hank. It was little enough to ask for—a +return to old values, old relationships, the normalcies of the backwash +instead of the freneticisms of the lime-light. It would certainly be +granted to him.</p> + +<p>He slept.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Dinner was at seven <span class="smcap">p.m.</span> His mother came; his Uncle Joe and Aunt Lucille +came. Together with Edith, Ralphie and himself, they made six, and ate +in the dining room at the big table.</p> + +<p>Before he'd become the First One, it would have been a noisy affair. His +family had never been noted for a lack of ebullience, a lack of +talkativeness, and Ralphie had always chosen mealtimes—especially with +company present—to describe everything and anything that had happened +to him during the day. And Edith herself had always chatted, especially +with his mother, though they didn't agree about much. Still, it had been +good-natured; the general tone of their lives had been good-natured.</p> + +<p>This wasn't good-natured. Exactly what it was he wasn't sure. "Stiff" +was perhaps the word.</p> + +<p>They began with grapefruit, Edith and Mother serving quickly, +efficiently from the kitchen, then sitting down at the table. He looked +at Mother as he raised his first spoonful of chilled fruit, and said, +"Younger than ever." It was nothing new; he'd said it many many times +before, but his mother had always reacted with a bright smile and a quip +something like, "Young for the Golden Age Center, you mean." This time +she burst into tears. It shocked him. But what shocked him even more was +the fact that no one looked up, commented, made any attempt to comfort +her; no one indicated in any way that a woman was sobbing at the table.</p> + +<p>He was sitting directly across from Mother, and reached out and touched +her left hand which lay limply beside the silverware. She didn't move +it—she hadn't touched him once beyond that first, quick, strangely-cool +embrace at the door—then a few seconds later she withdrew it and let it +drop out of sight.</p> + +<p>So there he was, Henry Devers, at home with the family. So there he was, +the hero returned, waiting to be treated as a human being.</p> + +<p>The grapefruit shells were cleaned away and the soup served. Uncle Joe +began to talk. "The greatest little development of circular uniform +houses you ever did see," he boomed in his powerful salesman's voice. +"Still going like sixty. We'll sell out before—" At that point he +looked at Hank, and Hank nodded encouragement, desperately interested in +this normalcy, and Joe's voice died away. He looked down at his plate, +mumbled, "Soup's getting cold," and began to eat. His hand shook a +little; his ruddy face was not quite as ruddy as Hank remembered it.</p> + +<p>Aunt Lucille made a few quavering statements about the Ladies' Tuesday +Garden Club, and Hank looked across the table to where she sat between +Joe and Mother—his wife and son bracketed him, and yet he felt +alone—and said, "I've missed fooling around with the lawn and the rose +bushes. Here it is August and I haven't had my hand to a mower or +trowel."</p> + +<p>Aunt Lucille smiled, if you could call it that—a pitiful twitching of +the lips—and nodded. She threw her eyes in his direction, and past him, +and then down to her plate. Mother, who was still sniffling, said, "I +have a dismal headache. I'm going to lie down in the guest room a +while." She touched his shoulder in passing—his affectionate, effusive +mother who would kiss stray dogs and strange children, who had often +irritated him with an excess of physical and verbal caresses—she barely +touched his shoulder and fled.</p> + +<p>So now five of them sat at the table. The meat was served—thin, rare +slices of beef, the pink blood-juice oozing warmly from the center. He +cut into it and raised a forkful to his mouth, then glanced at Ralphie +and said, "Looks fresh enough to have been killed in the back yard." +Ralphie said, "Yeah, Dad." Aunt Lucille put down her knife and fork and +murmured something to her husband. Joe cleared his throat and said +Lucille was rapidly becoming a vegetarian and he guessed she was going +into the living room for a while. "She'll be back for dessert, of +course," he said, his laugh sounding forced.</p> + +<p>Hank looked at Edith; Edith was busy with her plate. Hank looked at +Ralphie; Ralphie was busy with his plate. Hank looked at Joe; Joe was +chewing, gazing out over their heads to the kitchen. Hank looked at +Lucille; she was disappearing into the living room.</p> + +<p>He brought his fist down on the table. The settings jumped; a glass +overturned, spilling water. He brought it down again and again. They +were all standing now. He sat there and pounded the table with his big +right fist—Henry Devers, who would never have thought of making such a +scene before, but who was now so sick and tired of being treated as the +First One, of being stood back from, looked at in awe of, felt in fear +of, that he could have smashed more than a table.</p> + +<p>Edith said, "Hank!"</p> + +<p>He said, voice hoarse, "Shut up. Go away. Let me eat alone. I'm sick of +the lot of you."</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Mother and Joe returned a few minutes later where he sat forcing food +down his throat. Mother said, "Henry dear—" He didn't answer. She began +to cry, and he was glad she left the house then. He had never said +anything really bad to his mother. He was afraid this would have been +the time. Joe merely cleared his throat and mumbled something about +getting together again soon and "drop out and see the new development" +and he, too, was gone. Lucille never did manage to speak to him.</p> + +<p>He finished his beef and waited. Soon Edith came in with the special +dessert she'd been preparing half the day—a magnificent English trifle. +She served him, and spooned out a portion for herself and Ralphie. She +hesitated near his chair, and when he made no comment she called the +boy. Then the three of them were sitting, facing the empty side of the +table. They ate the trifle. Ralphie finished first and got up and said, +"Hey, I promised—"</p> + +<p>"You promised the boys you'd play baseball or football or handball or +something; anything to get away from your father."</p> + +<p>Ralphie's head dropped and he muttered, "Aw, no, Dad."</p> + +<p>Edith said, "He'll stay home, Hank. We'll spend an evening +together—talking, watching TV, playing Monopoly."</p> + +<p>Ralphie said, "Gee, sure, Dad, if you want to."</p> + +<p>Hank stood up. "The question is not whether I want to. You both know I +want to. The question is whether <i>you</i> want to."</p> + +<p>They answered together that of course they wanted to. But their +eyes—his wife's and son's eyes—could not meet his, and so he said he +was going to his room because he was, after all, very tired and would in +all probability continue to be very tired for a long, long time and that +they shouldn't count on him for normal social life.</p> + +<p>He fell asleep quickly, lying there in his clothes.</p> + +<p>But he didn't sleep long. Edith shook him and he opened his eyes to a +lighted room. "Phil and Rhona are here." He blinked at her. She smiled, +and it seemed her old smile. "They're so anxious to see you, Hank. I +could barely keep Phil from coming up and waking you himself. They want +to go out and do the town. Please, Hank, say you will."</p> + +<p>He sat up. "Phil," he muttered. "Phil and Rhona." They'd had wonderful +times together, from grammar school on. Phil and Rhona, their oldest and +closest friends. Perhaps this would begin his real homecoming.</p> + +<p>Do the town? They'd paint it and then tear it down!</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>It didn't turn out that way. He was disappointed; but then again, he'd +also expected it. This entire first day at home had conditioned him to +expect nothing good. They went to the bowling alleys, and Phil sounded +very much the way he always had—soft spoken and full of laughter and +full of jokes. He patted Edith on the head the way he always had, and +clapped Hank on the shoulder (but not the way he always had—so much +more gently, almost remotely), and insisted they all drink more than was +good for them as he always had. And for once, Hank was ready to go along +on the drinking. For once, he matched Phil shot for shot, beer for beer.</p> + +<p>They didn't bowl very long. At ten o'clock they crossed the road to +Manfred's Tavern, where Phil and the girls ordered sandwiches and coffee +and Hank went right on drinking. Edith said something to him, but he +merely smiled and waved his hand and gulped another ounce of nirvana.</p> + +<p>There was dancing to a juke box in Manfred's Tavern. He'd been there +many times before, and he was sure several of the couples recognized +him. But except for a few abortive glances in his direction, it was as +if he were a stranger in a city halfway around the world.</p> + +<p>At midnight, he was still drinking. The others wanted to leave, but he +said, "I haven't danced with my girl Rhona." His tongue was thick, his +mind was blurred, and yet he could read the strange expression on her +face—pretty Rhona, who'd always flirted with him, who'd made a ritual +of flirting with him. Pretty Rhona, who now looked as if she were going +to be sick.</p> + +<p>"So let's rock," he said and stood up.</p> + +<p>They were on the dance floor. He held her close, and hummed and chatted. +And through the alcoholic haze saw she was a stiff-smiled, stiff-bodied, +mechanical dancing doll.</p> + +<p>The number finished; they walked back to the booth. Phil said, +"Beddy-bye time."</p> + +<p>Hank said, "First one dance with my loving wife."</p> + +<p>He and Edith danced. He didn't hold her close as he had Rhona. He waited +for her to come close on her own, and she did, and yet she didn't. +Because while she put herself against him, there was something in her +face—no, in her eyes; it always showed in the eyes—that made him know +she was trying to be the old Edith and not succeeding. This time when +the music ended, he was ready to go home.</p> + +<p>They rode back to town along Route Nine, he and Edith in the rear of +Phil's car, Rhona driving because Phil had drunk just a little too much, +Phil singing and telling an occasional bad joke, and somehow not his old +self. No one was his old self. No one would ever be his old self with +the First One.</p> + +<p>They turned left, to take the short cut along Hallowed Hill Road, and +Phil finished a story about a Martian and a Hollywood sex queen and +looked at his wife and then past her at the long, cast-iron fence +paralleling the road. "Hey," he said, pointing, "do you know why that's +the most popular place on earth?"</p> + +<p>Rhona glanced to the left, and so did Hank and Edith. Rhona made a +little sound, and Edith seemed to stop breathing, but Phil went on a +while longer, not yet aware of his supposed <i>faux pas</i>.</p> + +<p>"You know why?" he repeated, turning to the back seat, the laughter +rumbling up from his chest. "You know why, folks?"</p> + +<p>Rhona said, "Did you notice Carl Braken and his wife at—"</p> + +<p>Hank said, "No, Phil, why is it the most popular place on earth?"</p> + +<p>Phil said, "Because people are—" And then he caught himself and waved +his hand and muttered, "I forgot the punch line."</p> + +<p>"Because people are dying to get in," Hank said, and looked through the +window, past the iron fence, into the large cemetery at the fleeting +tombstones.</p> + +<p>The car was filled with horrified silence when there should have been +nothing but laughter, or irritation at a too-old joke. "Maybe you should +let me out right here," Hank said. "I'm home—or that's what everyone +seems to think. Maybe I should lie down in an open grave. Maybe that +would satisfy people. Maybe that's the only way to act, like Dracula or +another monster from the movies."</p> + +<p>Edith said, "Oh, Hank, don't, don't!"</p> + +<p>The car raced along the road, crossed a macadam highway, went four +blocks and pulled to a stop. He didn't bother saying good night. He +didn't wait for Edith. He just got out and walked up the flagstone path +and entered the house.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>"Hank," Edith whispered from the guest room doorway, "I'm so sorry—"</p> + +<p>"There's nothing to be sorry about. It's just a matter of time. It'll +all work out in time."</p> + +<p>"Yes," she said quickly, "that's it. I need a little time. We all need a +little time. Because it's so strange, Hank. Because it's so frightening. +I should have told you that the moment you walked in. I think I've hurt +you terribly, we've all hurt you terribly, by trying to hide that we're +frightened."</p> + +<p>"I'm going to stay in the guest room," he said, "for as long as +necessary. For good if need be."</p> + +<p>"How could it be for good? How, Hank?"</p> + +<p>That question was perhaps the first firm basis for hope he'd had since +returning. And there was something else; what Carlisle had told him, +even as Carlisle himself had reacted as all men did.</p> + +<p>"There are others coming, Edith. Eight that I know of in the tanks right +now. My superior, Captain Davidson, who died at the same moment I +did—seven months ago next Wednesday—he's going to be next. He was +smashed up worse than I was, so it took a little longer, but he's almost +ready. And there'll be many more, Edith. The government is going to save +all they possibly can from now on. Every time a young and healthy man +loses his life by accident, by violence, and his body can be recovered, +he'll go into the tanks and they'll start the regenerative brain and +organ process—the process that made it all possible. So people have to +get used to us. And the old stories, the old terrors, the ugly old +superstitions have to die, because in time each place will have some of +us; because in time it'll be an ordinary thing."</p> + +<p>Edith said, "Yes, and I'm so grateful that you're here, Hank. Please +believe that. Please be patient with me and Ralphie and—" She paused. +"There's one question."</p> + +<p>He knew what the question was. It had been the first asked him by +everyone from the president of the United States on down.</p> + +<p>"I saw nothing," he said. "It was as if I slept those six and a half +months—slept without dreaming."</p> + +<p>She came to him and touched his face with her lips, and he was +satisfied.</p> + +<p>Later, half asleep, he heard a dog howling, and remembered stories of +how they announced death and the presence of monsters. He shivered and +pulled the covers closer to him and luxuriated in being safe in his own +home.</p> + + +<h4>THE END</h4> + + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The First One, by Herbert D. Kastle + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE FIRST ONE *** + +***** This file should be named 24192-h.htm or 24192-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/2/4/1/9/24192/ + +Produced by Greg Weeks, Mary Meehan and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The First One + +Author: Herbert D. Kastle + +Release Date: January 7, 2008 [EBook #24192] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE FIRST ONE *** + + + + +Produced by Greg Weeks, Mary Meehan and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://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. copyright +on 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 usual +speeches by the usual politicians who met him at the airport which had +once been twenty miles outside of Croton, but which the growing city had +since engulfed and placed well within its boundaries. But everything +wasn't usual. The crowd was quiet, and the mayor didn't seem quite as +at-ease as he'd been on his last big welcoming--for Corporal Berringer, +one of the crew of the spaceship _Washington_, first to set Americans +upon Mars. His Honor's handclasp was somewhat moist and cold. His +Honor's eyes held a trace of remoteness. + +Still, he was the honored home-comer, the successful returnee, the +hometown boy who had made good in a big way, and they took the triumphal +tour up Main Street to the new square and the grandstand. There he sat +between the mayor and a nervous young coed chosen as homecoming queen, +and looked out at the police and fire department bands, the National +Guard, the boy scouts and girl scouts, the Elks and Masons. Several of +the churches in town had shown indecision as to how to instruct their +parishioners to treat him. But they had all come around. The tremendous +national interest, the fact that he was the First One, had made them +come around. It was obvious by now that they would have to adjust as +they'd adjusted to 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 with one hand, put the other +arm around him. He kissed her--her neck, her cheek--and all the old +jokes came to mind, the jokes of travel-weary, battle-weary men, the +and-_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 the +difference, and because of this difference he turned with urgency to +Ralphie and picked him up and hugged him and said, because he could +think 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 the +floor, and he didn't look at his father but somewhere beyond him. "I +didn'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, that +everything would loosen up just as his commanding officer, General +Carlisle, had said it would early this morning before he left +Washington. + +"Give it some time," Carlisle had said. "You need the time; they need +the 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 sat +down beside him--but she had hesitated. He _wasn't_ being sensitive; she +had hesitated. His wife had hesitated before sitting down beside him. + +Carlisle had said his position was analogous to Columbus', to Vasco De +Gama's, to Preshoff's when the Russian returned from the Moon--but more +so. Carlisle had said lots of things, but even Carlisle who had worked +with him all the way, who had engineered the entire fantastic +journey--even Carlisle the Nobel prize winner, the multi-degreed genius +in 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 boy +already tall, already widening in the shoulders, already large of +feature. It was like looking into the mirror and seeing himself +twenty-five years ago. But Ralphie's face was drawn, was worried in a +way 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, and +he made top forum the six-month period you went away, Hank." + +He nodded, remembering that, remembering everything, remembering the +warmth of her farewell, the warmth of Ralphie's farewell, their tears as +he left for the experimental flight station in the Aleutians. They had +feared for him, having read of the many launchings gone wrong even in +continent-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 the +long journey. Ralphie suddenly said, "I got to go, Dad. I promised Walt +and the others I'd pitch. It's Inter-Town Little League, you know. It's +Harmon, 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--and +ran from the room and from the house. + +He and Edith sat beside each other, and he wanted badly to take her in +his arms, and yet he didn't want to oppress her. He stood up. "I'm very +tired. I'd like to lie down a while." Which wasn't true, because he'd +been lying down all the months of the way back. + +She said, "Of course. How stupid of me, expecting you to sit around and +make small talk and pick up just where you left off." + +He nodded. But that was exactly what he wanted to do--make small talk +and 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 past +the small guest room to their bedroom. This, too, had changed. It was +newly painted and it had new furniture. He saw twin beds separated by an +ornate little table with an ornate little lamp, and this looked more +ominous a barrier to him than the twelve-foot concrete-and-barbed-wire +fence 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 the +fresh air, the sunshine in the morning. You always said it helped you +to 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 you +were going to go up in it, and that you were going to come down from it +to this bed again." + +"Not this bed," he murmured, and was a little sorry afterward. + +"No, not this bed," she said quickly. "Your lodge donated the bedroom +set and I really didn't know--" She waved her hand, her face white. + +He was sure then that she _had_ known, and that the beds and the barrier +between them were her own choice, if only an unconscious choice. He went +to the bed near the window, stripped off his Air Force blue jacket, +began to take off his shirt, but then remembered that some arm scars +still showed. He waited for her to leave the room. + +She said, "Well then, rest up, dear," and went out. + +He took off his shirt and saw himself in the mirror on the opposite +wall; and then took off his under-shirt. The body scars were faint, the +scars running in long lines, one dissecting his chest, the other slicing +diagonally across his upper abdomen to disappear under his trousers. +There were several more on his back, and one on his right thigh. They'd +been treated properly and would soon disappear. But she had never seen +them. + +Perhaps she never would. Perhaps pajamas and robes and dark rooms would +keep them from her until they were gone. + +Which was not what he'd considered at all important on leaving Walter +Reed Hospital early this morning; which was something he found +distasteful, something he felt beneath them both. And, at the same time, +he began to understand that there would be many things, previously +beneath them both, which would have to be considered. She had changed; +Ralphie had changed; all the people he knew had probably +changed--because they thought _he_ had changed. + +He was tired of thinking. He lay down and closed his eyes. He let +himself taste bitterness, unhappiness, a loneliness he had never known +before. + +But sometime later, as he was dozing off, a sense of reassurance began +filtering into his mind. After all, he was still Henry Devers, the same +man who had left home eleven months ago, with a love for family and +friends which was, if anything, stronger than before. Once he could +communicate this, the strangeness would disappear and the First One +would again become good old Hank. It was little enough to ask for--a +return to old values, old relationships, the normalcies of the backwash +instead of the freneticisms of the lime-light. It would certainly be +granted to him. + +He slept. + + * * * * * + +Dinner was at seven P.M. His mother came; his Uncle Joe and Aunt Lucille +came. Together with Edith, Ralphie and himself, they made six, and ate +in the dining room at the big table. + +Before he'd become the First One, it would have been a noisy affair. His +family had never been noted for a lack of ebullience, a lack of +talkativeness, and Ralphie had always chosen mealtimes--especially with +company present--to describe everything and anything that had happened +to him during the day. And Edith herself had always chatted, especially +with his mother, though they didn't agree about much. Still, it had been +good-natured; the general tone of their lives had been good-natured. + +This wasn't good-natured. Exactly what it was he wasn't sure. "Stiff" +was perhaps the word. + +They began with grapefruit, Edith and Mother serving quickly, +efficiently from the kitchen, then sitting down at the table. He looked +at Mother as he raised his first spoonful of chilled fruit, and said, +"Younger than ever." It was nothing new; he'd said it many many times +before, but his mother had always reacted with a bright smile and a quip +something like, "Young for the Golden Age Center, you mean." This time +she burst into tears. It shocked him. But what shocked him even more was +the fact that no one looked up, commented, made any attempt to comfort +her; no one indicated in any way that a woman was sobbing at the table. + +He was sitting directly across from Mother, and reached out and touched +her left hand which lay limply beside the silverware. She didn't move +it--she hadn't touched him once beyond that first, quick, strangely-cool +embrace at the door--then a few seconds later she withdrew it and let it +drop out of sight. + +So there he was, Henry Devers, at home with the family. So there he was, +the hero returned, waiting to be treated as a human being. + +The grapefruit shells were cleaned away and the soup served. Uncle Joe +began to talk. "The greatest little development of circular uniform +houses you ever did see," he boomed in his powerful salesman's voice. +"Still going like sixty. We'll sell out before--" At that point he +looked at Hank, and Hank nodded encouragement, desperately interested in +this normalcy, and Joe's voice died away. He looked down at his plate, +mumbled, "Soup's getting cold," and began to eat. His hand shook a +little; his ruddy face was not quite as ruddy as Hank remembered it. + +Aunt Lucille made a few quavering statements about the Ladies' Tuesday +Garden Club, and Hank looked across the table to where she sat between +Joe and Mother--his wife and son bracketed him, and yet he felt +alone--and said, "I've missed fooling around with the lawn and the rose +bushes. Here it is August and I haven't had my hand to a mower or +trowel." + +Aunt Lucille smiled, if you could call it that--a pitiful twitching of +the lips--and nodded. She threw her eyes in his direction, and past him, +and then down to her plate. Mother, who was still sniffling, said, "I +have a dismal headache. I'm going to lie down in the guest room a +while." She touched his shoulder in passing--his affectionate, effusive +mother who would kiss stray dogs and strange children, who had often +irritated him with an excess of physical and verbal caresses--she barely +touched his shoulder and fled. + +So now five of them sat at the table. The meat was served--thin, rare +slices of beef, the pink blood-juice oozing warmly from the center. He +cut into it and raised a forkful to his mouth, then glanced at Ralphie +and said, "Looks fresh enough to have been killed in the back yard." +Ralphie said, "Yeah, Dad." Aunt Lucille put down her knife and fork and +murmured something to her husband. Joe cleared his throat and said +Lucille was rapidly becoming a vegetarian and he guessed she was going +into the living room for a while. "She'll be back for dessert, of +course," he said, his laugh sounding forced. + +Hank looked at Edith; Edith was busy with her plate. Hank looked at +Ralphie; Ralphie was busy with his plate. Hank looked at Joe; Joe was +chewing, gazing out over their heads to the kitchen. Hank looked at +Lucille; she was disappearing into the living room. + +He brought his fist down on the table. The settings jumped; a glass +overturned, spilling water. He brought it down again and again. They +were all standing now. He sat there and pounded the table with his big +right fist--Henry Devers, who would never have thought of making such a +scene before, but who was now so sick and tired of being treated as the +First One, of being stood back from, looked at in awe of, felt in fear +of, that he could have smashed more than a table. + +Edith said, "Hank!" + +He said, voice hoarse, "Shut up. Go away. Let me eat alone. I'm sick of +the lot of you." + + * * * * * + +Mother and Joe returned a few minutes later where he sat forcing food +down his throat. Mother said, "Henry dear--" He didn't answer. She began +to cry, and he was glad she left the house then. He had never said +anything really bad to his mother. He was afraid this would have been +the time. Joe merely cleared his throat and mumbled something about +getting together again soon and "drop out and see the new development" +and he, too, was gone. Lucille never did manage to speak to him. + +He finished his beef and waited. Soon Edith came in with the special +dessert she'd been preparing half the day--a magnificent English trifle. +She served him, and spooned out a portion for herself and Ralphie. She +hesitated near his chair, and when he made no comment she called the +boy. Then the three of them were sitting, facing the empty side of the +table. They ate the trifle. Ralphie finished first and got up and said, +"Hey, I promised--" + +"You promised the boys you'd play baseball or football or handball or +something; anything to get away from your father." + +Ralphie's head dropped and he muttered, "Aw, no, Dad." + +Edith said, "He'll stay home, Hank. We'll spend an evening +together--talking, watching TV, playing Monopoly." + +Ralphie said, "Gee, sure, Dad, if you want to." + +Hank stood up. "The question is not whether I want to. You both know I +want to. The question is whether _you_ want to." + +They answered together that of course they wanted to. But their +eyes--his wife's and son's eyes--could not meet his, and so he said he +was going to his room because he was, after all, very tired and would in +all probability continue to be very tired for a long, long time and that +they shouldn't count on him for normal social life. + +He fell asleep quickly, lying there in his clothes. + +But he didn't sleep long. Edith shook him and he opened his eyes to a +lighted room. "Phil and Rhona are here." He blinked at her. She smiled, +and it seemed her old smile. "They're so anxious to see you, Hank. I +could barely keep Phil from coming up and waking you himself. They want +to go out and do the town. Please, Hank, say you will." + +He sat up. "Phil," he muttered. "Phil and Rhona." They'd had wonderful +times together, from grammar school on. Phil and Rhona, their oldest and +closest friends. Perhaps this would begin his real homecoming. + +Do the town? They'd paint it and then tear it down! + + * * * * * + +It didn't turn out that way. He was disappointed; but then again, he'd +also expected it. This entire first day at home had conditioned him to +expect nothing good. They went to the bowling alleys, and Phil sounded +very much the way he always had--soft spoken and full of laughter and +full of jokes. He patted Edith on the head the way he always had, and +clapped Hank on the shoulder (but not the way he always had--so much +more gently, almost remotely), and insisted they all drink more than was +good for them as he always had. And for once, Hank was ready to go along +on the drinking. For once, he matched Phil shot for shot, beer for beer. + +They didn't bowl very long. At ten o'clock they crossed the road to +Manfred's Tavern, where Phil and the girls ordered sandwiches and coffee +and Hank went right on drinking. Edith said something to him, but he +merely smiled and waved his hand and gulped another ounce of nirvana. + +There was dancing to a juke box in Manfred's Tavern. He'd been there +many times before, and he was sure several of the couples recognized +him. But except for a few abortive glances in his direction, it was as +if he were a stranger in a city halfway around the world. + +At midnight, he was still drinking. The others wanted to leave, but he +said, "I haven't danced with my girl Rhona." His tongue was thick, his +mind was blurred, and yet he could read the strange expression on her +face--pretty Rhona, who'd always flirted with him, who'd made a ritual +of flirting with him. Pretty Rhona, who now looked as if she were going +to be sick. + +"So let's rock," he said and stood up. + +They were on the dance floor. He held her close, and hummed and chatted. +And through the alcoholic haze saw she was a stiff-smiled, stiff-bodied, +mechanical dancing doll. + +The number finished; they walked back to the booth. Phil said, +"Beddy-bye time." + +Hank said, "First one dance with my loving wife." + +He and Edith danced. He didn't hold her close as he had Rhona. He waited +for her to come close on her own, and she did, and yet she didn't. +Because while she put herself against him, there was something in her +face--no, in her eyes; it always showed in the eyes--that made him know +she was trying to be the old Edith and not succeeding. This time when +the music ended, he was ready to go home. + +They rode back to town along Route Nine, he and Edith in the rear of +Phil's car, Rhona driving because Phil had drunk just a little too much, +Phil singing and telling an occasional bad joke, and somehow not his old +self. No one was his old self. No one would ever be his old self with +the First One. + +They turned left, to take the short cut along Hallowed Hill Road, and +Phil finished a story about a Martian and a Hollywood sex queen and +looked at his wife and then past her at the long, cast-iron fence +paralleling the road. "Hey," he said, pointing, "do you know why that's +the most popular place on earth?" + +Rhona glanced to the left, and so did Hank and Edith. Rhona made a +little sound, and Edith seemed to stop breathing, but Phil went on a +while longer, not yet aware of his supposed _faux pas_. + +"You know why?" he repeated, turning to the back seat, the laughter +rumbling up from his chest. "You know why, folks?" + +Rhona said, "Did you notice Carl Braken and his wife at--" + +Hank said, "No, Phil, why is it the most popular place on earth?" + +Phil said, "Because people are--" And then he caught himself and waved +his hand and muttered, "I forgot the punch line." + +"Because people are dying to get in," Hank said, and looked through the +window, past the iron fence, into the large cemetery at the fleeting +tombstones. + +The car was filled with horrified silence when there should have been +nothing but laughter, or irritation at a too-old joke. "Maybe you should +let me out right here," Hank said. "I'm home--or that's what everyone +seems to think. Maybe I should lie down in an open grave. Maybe that +would satisfy people. Maybe that's the only way to act, like Dracula or +another monster from the movies." + +Edith said, "Oh, Hank, don't, don't!" + +The car raced along the road, crossed a macadam highway, went four +blocks and pulled to a stop. He didn't bother saying good night. He +didn't wait for Edith. He just got out and walked up the flagstone path +and entered the house. + + * * * * * + +"Hank," Edith whispered from the guest room doorway, "I'm so sorry--" + +"There's nothing to be sorry about. It's just a matter of time. It'll +all work out in time." + +"Yes," she said quickly, "that's it. I need a little time. We all need a +little time. Because it's so strange, Hank. Because it's so frightening. +I should have told you that the moment you walked in. I think I've hurt +you terribly, we've all hurt you terribly, by trying to hide that we're +frightened." + +"I'm going to stay in the guest room," he said, "for as long as +necessary. For good if need be." + +"How could it be for good? How, Hank?" + +That question was perhaps the first firm basis for hope he'd had since +returning. And there was something else; what Carlisle had told him, +even as Carlisle himself had reacted as all men did. + +"There are others coming, Edith. Eight that I know of in the tanks right +now. My superior, Captain Davidson, who died at the same moment I +did--seven months ago next Wednesday--he's going to be next. He was +smashed up worse than I was, so it took a little longer, but he's almost +ready. And there'll be many more, Edith. The government is going to save +all they possibly can from now on. Every time a young and healthy man +loses his life by accident, by violence, and his body can be recovered, +he'll go into the tanks and they'll start the regenerative brain and +organ process--the process that made it all possible. So people have to +get used to us. And the old stories, the old terrors, the ugly old +superstitions have to die, because in time each place will have some of +us; because in time it'll be an ordinary thing." + +Edith said, "Yes, and I'm so grateful that you're here, Hank. Please +believe that. Please be patient with me and Ralphie and--" She paused. +"There's one question." + +He knew what the question was. It had been the first asked him by +everyone from the president of the United States on down. + +"I saw nothing," he said. "It was as if I slept those six and a half +months--slept without dreaming." + +She came to him and touched his face with her lips, and he was +satisfied. + +Later, half asleep, he heard a dog howling, and remembered stories of +how they announced death and the presence of monsters. He shivered and +pulled the covers closer to him and luxuriated in being safe in his own +home. + + +THE END + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The First One, by Herbert D. 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