On a day in 1935, Edgar found himself pondering with a fierce intentness he had not used since 1959, when he built the time machine. Today, August fifth, was his 66th birthday—but it was also the day he was born.
It was impossible not to wonder. Forty-two years ago (or twenty-four from now), he had not bothered to think about possible consequences, so strong and simple had been his urge to go back. But today—would he, the father of one and grandfather of three, be wiped out the instant Edgar Evans was born? Or would no baby of that name be born in the tiny Oklahoma town?
He had been born in the morning and when this particular morning passed like any other, Edgar felt considerably better. Cogito, ergo sum, he thought. "I think, therefore I am—a comforting philosophy. But what about the baby?"
So Edgar, nervous but understandably curious, sent a discreetly worded wire and learned before long that he had indeed been born on schedule. The more he thought about it, the less reason he could see why it should be otherwise. A baby born in another part of the country had been given the same name as his. There was certainly no traceable relationship. And nearly everyone has a namesake somewhere.
Not wishing to be institutionalized, Edgar had never hinted to anyone, not even Marta, the secret of his past. He had invented a convenient and plausible history, but used it only when necessary, and then sparingly. But now he was thinking of his granddaughter, Susan.
Susan carried the gene. At five, she insisted on dressing her dolls in the costumes of forty years ago. She would be 29 and thoroughly unhappy by the time the young Edgar perfected and used his time machine.
So Edgar wrote a letter, sealed it and gave it to his lawyers with instructions that it was to be given to Susan on a certain date in 1959, provided she was still unmarried.
Edgar passed away three years later with a well-bred smile on his face, befitting the first man who ever cheated time. His last statement, phrased as considerately as ever, was the hope that he wasn't causing trouble by dying.