da.thehitchhikersguidetothegalaxy-第1部分

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laxy　lies　a　small　unregarded　yellow　sun。
　　Orbiting　this　at　a　distance　of　roughly　ninety…two　million　miles　is　an　utterly　insignificant　little　blue　green　planet　whose　ape…descended　life　forms　are　so　amazingly　primitive　that　they　still　think　digital　watches　are　a　pretty　neat　idea。
　　This　planet　has　…　or　rather　had　…　a　problem；　which　was　this：　most　of　the　people　on　it　were　unhappy　for　pretty　much　of　the　time。　Many　solutions　were　suggested　for　this　problem；　but　most　of　these　were　largely　concerned　with　the　movements　of　small　green　pieces　of　paper；　which　is　odd　because　on　the　whole　it　wasn't　the　small　green　pieces　of　paper　that　were　unhappy。
　　And　so　the　problem　remained；　lots　of　the　people　were　mean；　and　most　of　them　were　miserable；　even　the　ones　with　digital　watches。
　　Many　were　increasingly　of　the　opinion　that　they'd　all　made　a　big　mistake　in　ing　down　from　the　trees　in　the　first　place。　And　some　said　that　even　the　trees　had　been　a　bad　move；　and　that　no　one　should　ever　have　left　the　oceans。
　　And　then；　one　Thursday；　nearly　two　thousand　years　after　one　man　had　been　nailed　to　a　tree　for　saying　how　great　it　would　be　to　be　nice　to　people　for　a　change；　one　girl　sitting　on　her　own　in　a　small　cafe　in　Rickmansworth　suddenly　realized　what　it　was　that　had　been　going　wrong　all　this　time；　and　she　finally　knew　how　the　world　could　be　made　a　good　and　happy　place。　This　time　it　was　right；　it　would　work；　and　no　one　would　have　to　get　nailed　to　anything。
　　Sadly；　however；　before　she　could　get　to　a　phone　to　tell　anyone　about　it；　a　terribly　stupid　catastrophe　occurred；　and　the　idea　was　lost　forever。
　　This　is　not　her　story。
　　But　it　is　the　story　of　that　terrible　stupid　catastrophe　and　some　of　its　consequences。
　　It　is　also　the　story　of　a　book；　a　book　called　The　Hitch　Hiker's　Guide　to　the　Galaxy　…　not　an　Earth　book；　never　published　on　Earth；　and　until　the　terrible　catastrophe　occurred；　never　seen　or　heard　of　by　any　Earthman。
　　Nevertheless；　a　wholly　remarkable　book。
　　In　fact　it　was　probably　the　most　remarkable　book　ever　to　e　out　of　the　great　publishing　houses　of　Ursa　Minor　…　of　which　no　Earthman　had　ever　heard　either。
　　Not　only　is　it　a　wholly　remarkable　book；　it　is　also　a　highly　successful　one　…　more　popular　than　the　Celestial　Home　Care　Omnibus；　better　selling　than　Fifty　More　Things　to　do　in　Zero　Gravity；　and　more　controversial　than　Oolon　Colluphid's　trilogy　of　philosophical　blockbusters　Where　God　Went　Wrong；　Some　More　of　God's　Greatest　Mistakes　and　Who　is　this　God　Person　Anyway？
　　In　many　of　the　more　relaxed　civilizations　on　the　Outer　Eastern　Rim　of　the　Galaxy；　The　Hitch　Hiker's　Guide　has　already　supplanted　the　great　Encyclopedia　Galactica　as　the　standard　repository　of　all　knowledge　and　wisdom；　for　though　it　has　many　omissions　and　contains　much　that　is　apocryphal；　or　at　least　wildly　inaccurate；　it　scores　over　the　older；　more　pedestrian　work　in　two　important　respects。
　　First；　it　is　slightly　cheaper；　and　secondly　it　has　the　words　Don't　Panic　inscribed　in　large　friendly　letters　on　its　cover。
　　But　the　story　of　this　terrible；　stupid　Thursday；　the　story　of　its　extraordinary　consequences；　and　the　story　of　how　these　consequences　are　inextricably　intertwined　with　this　remarkable　book　begins　very　simply。
　　It　begins　with　a　house。
　　
　　
　　　Chapter　1
　　
　　The　house　stood　on　a　slight　rise　just　on　the　edge　of　the　village。　It　stood　on　its　own　and　looked　over　a　broad　spread　of　West　Country　farmland。　Not　a　remarkable　house　by　any　means　…　it　was　about　thirty　years　old；　squattish；　squarish；　made　of　brick；　and　had　four　windows　set　in　the　front　of　a　size　and　proportion　which　more　or　less　exactly　failed　to　please　the　eye。
　　The　only　person　for　whom　the　house　was　in　any　way　special　was　Arthur　Dent；　and　that　was　only　because　it　happened　to　be　the　one　he　lived　in。　He　had　lived　in　it　for　about　three　years；　ever　since　he　had　moved　out　of　London　because　it　made　him　nervous　and　irritable。　He　was　about　thirty　as　well；　dark　haired　and　never　quite　at　ease　with　himself。　The　thing　that　used　to　worry　him　most　was　the　fact　that　people　always　used　to　ask　him　what　he　was　looking　so　worried　about。　He　worked　in　local　radio　which　he　always　used　to　tell　his　friends　was　a　lot　more　interesting　than　they　probably　thought。　It　was；　too　…　most　of　his　friends　worked　in　advertising。
　　It　hadn't　properly　registered　with　Arthur　that　the　council　wanted　to　knock　down　his　house　and　build　an　bypass　instead。
　　At　eight　o'clock　on　Thursday　morning　Arthur　didn't　feel　very　good。　He　woke　up　blearily；　got　up；　wandered　blearily　round　his　room；　opened　a　window；　saw　a　bulldozer；　found　his　slippers；　and　stomped　off　to　the　bathroom　to　wash。
　　Toothpaste　on　the　brush　…　so。　Scrub。
　　Shaving　mirror　…　pointing　at　the　ceiling。　He　adjusted　it。　For　a　moment　it　reflected　a　second　bulldozer　through　the　bathroom　window。　Properly　adjusted；　it　reflected　Arthur　Dent's　bristles。　He　shaved　them　off；　washed；　dried；　and　stomped　off　to　the　kitchen　to　find　something　pleasant　to　put　in　his　mouth。
　　Kettle；　plug；　fridge；　milk；　coffee。　Yawn。
　　The　word　bulldozer　wandered　through　his　mind　for　a　moment　in　search　of　something　to　connect　with。　
　　The　bulldozer　outside　the　kitchen　window　was　quite　a　big　one。
　　He　stared　at　it。
　　〃Yellow；〃　he　thought　and　stomped　off　back　to　his　bedroom　to　get　dressed。
　　Passing　the　bathroom　he　stopped　to　drink　a　large　glass　of　water；　and　another。　He　began　to　suspect　that　he　was　hung　over。　Why　was　he　hung　over？　Had　he　been　drinking　the　night　before？　He　supposed　that　he　must　have　been。　He　caught　a　glint　in　the　shaving　mirror。　〃Yellow；〃　he　thought　and　stomped　on　to　the　bedroom。
　　He　stood　and　thought。　The　pub；　he　thought。　Oh　dear；　the　pub。　He　vaguely　remembered　being　angry；　angry　about　something　that　seemed　important。　He'd　been　telling　people　about　it；　telling　people　about　it　at　great　length；　he　rather　suspected：　his　clearest　visual　recollection　was　of　glazed　looks　on　other　people's　faces。　Something　about　a　new　bypass　he　had　just　found　out　about。　It　had　been　in　the　pipeline　for　months　only　no　one　seemed　to　have　known　about　it。　Ridiculous。　He　took　a　swig　of　water。　It　would　sort　itself　out；　he'd　decided；　no　one　wanted　a　bypass；　the　council　didn't　have　a　leg　to　stand　on。　It　would　sort　itself　out。
　　God　what　a　terrible　hangover　it　had　earned　him　though。　He　looked　at　himself　in　the　wardrobe　mirror。　He　stuck　out　his　tongue。　〃Yellow；〃　he　thought。　The　word　yellow　wandered　through　his　mind　in　search　of　something　to　connect　with。
　　Fifteen　seconds　later　he　was　out　of　the　house　and　lying　in　front　of　a　big　yellow　bulldozer　that　was　advancing　up　his　garden　path。
　　Mr。　L。　Prosser　was；　as　they　say；　only　human。　In　other　words　he　was　a　carbon…based　life　form　descended　from　an　ape。　More　specifically　he　was　forty；　fat　and　shabby　and　worked　for　the　local　council。　Curiously　enough；　though　he　didn't　know　it；　he　was　also　a　direct　male…line　descendant　of　Genghis　Khan；　though　intervening　generations　and　racial　mixing　had　so　juggled　his　genes　that　he　had　no　discernible　Mongoloid　characteristics；　and　the　only　vestiges　left　in　Mr。　L。　Prosser　of　his　mighty　ancestry　were　a　pronounced　stoutness　about　the　tum　and　a　predilection　for　little　fur　hats。
　　He　was　by　no　means　a　great　warrior：　in　fact　he　was　a　nervous　worried　man。　Today　he　was　particularly　nervous　and　worried　because　something　had　gone　seriously　wrong　with　his　job　…　which　was　to　see　that　Arthur　Dent's　house　got　cleared　out　of　the　way　before　the　day　was　out。
　　〃e　off　it；　Mr。　Dent；〃；　he　said；　〃you　can't　win　you　know。　You　can't　lie　in　front　of　the　bulldozer　indefinitely。〃　He　tried　to　make　his　eyes　blaze　fiercely　but　they　just　wouldn't　do　it。
　　Arthur　lay　in　the　mud　and　squelched　at　him。
　　〃I'm　game；〃　he　said；　〃we'll　see　who　rusts　first。〃
　　〃I'm　afraid　you're　going　to　have　to　accept　it；〃　said　Mr。　Prosser　gripping　his　fur　hat　and　rolling　it　round　the　top　of　his　head；　〃this　bypass　has　got　to　be　built　and　it's　going　to　be　built！〃
　　〃First　I've　heard　of　it；〃　said　Arthur；　〃why's　it　going　to　be　built？〃
　　Mr。　Prosser　shook　his　finger　at　him　for　a　bit；　then　stopped　and　put　it　away　again。
　　〃What　do　you　mean；　why's　it　got　to　be　built？〃　he　said。　〃It's　a　bypass。　You've　got　to　build　bypasses。〃
　　Bypasses　are　devices　which　allow　some　people　to　drive　from　point　A　to　point　B　very　fast　whilst　other　people　dash　from　point　B　to　point　A　very　fast。　People　living　at　point　C；　being　a　point　directly　in　between；　are　often　given　to　wonder　what's　so　great　about　point　A　that　so　many　people　of　point　B　are　so　keen　to　get　there；　and　what's　so　great　about　point　B　that　so　many　people　of　point　A　are　so　keen　to　get　there。　They　often　wish　that　people　would　just　once　and　for　all　work　out　where　the　hell　they　wanted　to　be。
　　Mr。　Prosser　wanted　to　be　at　point　D。　Point　D　wasn't　anywhere　in　particular；　it　was　just　any　convenient　point　a　very　long　way　from　points　A；　B　and　C。　He　would　have　a　nice　little　cottage　at　point　D；　with　axes　over　the　door；　and　spend　a　pleasant　amount　of　time　at　point　E；　which　would　be　the　nearest　pub　to　point　D。　His　wife　of　course　wanted　climbing　roses；　but　he　wanted　axes。　He　didn't　know　why　…　he　just　liked　axes。　He　flushed　hotly　under　the　derisive　grins　of　the　bulldozer　drivers。
　　He　shifted　his　weight　from　foot　to　foot；　but　it　was　equally　unfortable　on　each。　Obviously　somebody　had　been　appallingly　inpetent　and　he　hoped　to　God　it　wasn't　him。
　　Mr。　Prosser　said：　〃You　were　quite　entitled　to　make　any　suggestions　or　protests　at　the　appropriate　time　you　know。〃
　　〃Appropriate　time？〃　hooted　Arthur。　〃Appropriate　time？　The　first　I　knew　about　it　was　when　a　workman　arrived　at　my　home　yesterday。　I　asked　him　if　he'd　e　to　clean　the　windows　and　he　said　no　he'd　e　to　demolish　the　house。　He　didn't　tell　me　straight　away　of　course。　Oh　no。　First　he　wiped　a　couple　of　windows　and　charged　me　a　fiver。　Then　he　told　me。〃
　　〃But　Mr。　Dent；　the　plans　have　been　available　in　the　local　planning　office　for　the　last　nine　month。〃
　　〃Oh　yes；　well　as　soon　as　I　heard　I　went　straight　round　to　see　them；　yesterday　afternoon。　You　hadn't　exactly　gone　out　of　your　way　to　call　attention　to　them　had　you？　I　mean　like　actually　telling　anybody　or　anything。〃
　　〃But　the　plans　were　on　display。。。〃
　　〃On　display？　I　event