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Show HOMESICKNESS, perhaps, per-haps, had brought him back. Old Peter Johansen buttoned his threadbare overcoat, over-coat, blew warm breath on his rough hands and jumped to the ground. There was no railroad detective to grab him for riding that freight train, because this was the day before be-fore Christmas. All but the homeless, like himself, seemed busy preparing for the Day of Days. Forty years, Peter reflected, since he last set foot in Clark City. It had been a year after the big earthquake; earth-quake; a year after all hell broke loose, killing his parents and sister sis-ter as they sat at dinner in the little house on Vine street. Peter remembered: How he had come home late that evening; how the earth began quivering like a beast possessed; how he had Peter stood alone for a long time watching the star appear. searched like a madman through the ruiag et that shock-wracked, fire-swept bungalow. Then, as Clark City began rebuilding, he had drifted drift-ed off in a daze to roam up and down the earth a ne'er-do-well, a hobo! But always he remembered Linda, dear little sister Linda. In 40 years her memory always came back stronger than ever on Christmas Eve, for it was then that they used to climb Lookout Hill hand-in-hand at dusk, watching the evening star rise in the heavens. That, perhaps, was why he was back this Christmas Eve. "Almost dusk now," he reflected, trudging along Clark City's busy thoroughfare. Christmas crowds jostled jos-tled him, for he was a hapless wanderer wan-derer with no place to go. No place to go? Not Peterl Soon he found his way to the old residential residen-tial district where Lookout Hill rost like a sentinel. "The same old hill," he told himself. him-self. "Little Linda! If you were only here now to see your big brother! No thank God you're not here, for your big brother is ashamed of himself!!" him-self!!" At the crest Peter stood alone for a long time, watching the star appear ap-pear as it had since that first night over Bethlehem. He didn't notic the old lady until she spoke. "Beautiful, that star, isn't it?" Peter fumbled with his grease-stained grease-stained cap. "Yes'm, it is. Especially from Lookout Hill." "Many years ago," she continued, almost in a trance, "my little brother broth-er and I used to watch that star rise in the heavens each Christmas Eve, until " (she wiped a tear away) "we were separated somehow some-how during the big earthquake. He was killed, they found out later. "Each Christmas Eve ever since I've come back here, just to remember remem-ber him. I hope he's happy up there in Heaven." Peter was staring at her, fairly ready to shriek, for it was Linda! No doubt about it, now! He recognized the tilt of her nose, unchanged by the years; the familiar famil-iar ring of a voice that somehow had failed to grow old. But he held himself back, for Peter was i ashamed of himself. She didn't notice him shuffle off after awhile, for Linda was still watching the star. In the freight yards he found an empty boxcar and bedded down under un-der some straw in a corner. After a while he felt the car move, and somehow he was glad. "Yes, it was Linda," he sobbed to himself, "but I just couldn't tell her. Thank God she's alive and happy. And Thank God she remembers re-members me on Christmas eve as I was, not as I am." After awhile he fell asleep. (Released by Western Newspaper Union.) |