Mr Johnstone arrived with a double-armload of gifts. Well, he _did_ run my Pa's store, after all, so he could get things wholesale. I took his parcels from him and set them under the tree. Then that dandified sissy actually _kissed_ my Mama on the cheek, lifting a sprig of mistletoe up with one hand. When Pa and Mama stood together, she'd barely come up to his shoulder, while Mr Johnstone had to stand on tiptoe to get the mistletoe over their heads. "Merry Christmas, Ulla," he said. She took his hands and said, "Merry Christmas, James." I wanted to be sick. # Mr Johnstone had a whiskey in our parlour before we ate, sitting in my Pa's chair, smoking a cigar from my Pa's humidor. Mama ordered me to keep him company while she set out the meal. "Do they call you Jimmy?" he asked me, staring down his long, pointy nose. "No, sir. James." "It's a fine name, isn't it? Served me well, man and boy." He made a face that was supposed to be funny, like he'd bit into a lemon. "I like it fine, sir." "Are you having any problems adjusting, now that you're home? Finding it hard to relate to the other fellows?" "No, sir." "You don't find it strange, after seeing 1975?" "No, sir. It's home." "Ha!" he said, as though I'd said something profound. "I guess it is, at that. Say, why don't you come by the store some time? I just got some samples from a new candy company in Oregon, and I need to get an unbiased opinion before I order." He gave me a pinched smile, like he thought he was Santa Claus. "Mama doesn't like me eating sweets," I said, and stared at my reflection in my shoes. Mama rescued me by coming into the parlour then, looking young and pretty in her best dress. "Dinner is served, gentlemen." We followed her into the dining room, and Mr Johnstone took my Pa's seat at the head of the table and carved the goose. Even though the bird was brown and juicy, I found I didn't have any appetite. "I have word from Pondicherry," Mr Johnstone said, as he poured gravy over his second helping of mashed potatoes. "Yes?" Mama said. "Who's he?" I asked. "Your father's successor," Mr Johnstone said. "A British officer from New Delhi. A fat little man, and awfully full of himself." I repressed a snort. For my money Mr Johnstone was as full of himself as one man could be. I couldn't imagine a blacker kettle. "He says that Nussbaum, from 1952 New York, has rolled back relations with extraterrestrials by fifty years. He sold a Centurian half a million defective umbrellas from his brother-in-law's factory. The New Yorkers are all defending him. _Caveat emptor_." "I never could keep track of who was friendly and who wasn't," Mama said. "It was all Greek to me. Politics."