da.solongandthanksforallthefish-第19部分

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　　There　were；　however；　no　Fuolornis　Fire　Dragons　in　the　clouds　nor　could　there　be　for；　like　the　dinosaurs；　the　dodos；　and　the　Greater　Drubbered　Wintwock　of　Stegbartle　Major　in　the　constellation　Fraz；　and　unlike　the　Boeing　747　which　is　in　plentiful　supply；　they　are　sadly　extinct；　and　the　Universe　shall　never　know　their　like　again。
　　The　reason　that　a　Boeing　747　crops　up　rather　unexpectedly　in　the　above　list　is　not　unconnected　with　the　fact　that　something　very　similar　happened　in　the　lives　of　Arthur　and　Fenchurch　a　moment　or　two　later。
　　They　are　big　things；　terrifyingly　big。　You　know　when　one　is　in　the　air　with　you。　There　is　a　thunderous　attack　of　air；　a　moving　wall　of　screaming　wind；　and　you　get　tossed　aside；　if　you　are　foolish　enough　to　be　doing　anything　remotely　like　what　Arthur　and　Fenchurch　were　doing　in　its　close　vicinity；　like　butterflies　in　the　Blitz。
　　This　time；　however；　there　was　a　heart…sickening　fall　or　loss　of　nerve；　a　re…grouping　moments　later　and　a　wonderful　new　idea　enthusiastically　signalled　through　the　buffeting　noise。
　　Mrs。　E。　Kapelsen　of　Boston；　Massachusetts　was　an　elderly　lady；　indeed；　she　felt　her　life　was　nearly　at　an　end。　She　had　seen　a　lot　of　it；　been　puzzled　by　some；　but；　she　was　a　little　uneasy　to　feel　at　this　late　stage；　bored　by　too　much。　It　had　all　been　very　pleasant；　but　perhaps　a　little　too　explicable；　a　little　too　routine。
　　With　a　sigh　she　flipped　up　the　little　plastic　window　shutter　and　looked　out　over　the　wing。
　　At　first　she　thought　she　ought　to　call　the　stewardess；　but　then　she　thought　no；　damn　it；　definitely　not；　this　was　for　her；　and　her　alone。
　　By　the　time　her　two　inexplicable　people　finally　slipped　back　off　the　wing　and　tumbled　into　the　slipstream　she　had　cheered　up　an　awful　lot。
　　She　was　mostly　immensely　relieved　to　think　that　virtually　everything　that　anybody　had　ever　told　her　was　wrong。
　　The　following　morning　Arthur　and　Fenchurch　slept　very　late　in　the　alley　despite　the　continual　wail　of　furniture　being　restored。
　　The　following　night　they　did　it　all　over　again；　only　this　time　with　Sony　Walkmen。
　　
　　
　　　Chapter　27
　　
　　…　This　is　all　very　wonderful；　…　said　Fenchurch　a　few　days　later。　…　But　I　do　need　to　know　what　has　happened　to　me。　You　see；　there's　this　difference　between　us。　That　you　lost　something　and　found　it　again；　and　I　found　something　and　lost　it。　I　need　to　find　it　again。
　　She　had　to　go　out　for　the　day；　so　Arthur　settled　down　for　a　day　of　telephoning。
　　Murray　Bost　Henson　was　a　journalist　on　one　of　the　papers　with　small　pages　and　big　print。　It　would　be　pleasant　to　be　able　to　say　that　he　was　none　the　worse　for　it；　but　sadly；　this　was　not　the　case。　He　happened　to　be　the　only　journalist　that　Arthur　knew；　so　Arthur　phoned　him　anyway。
　　…　Arthur　my　old　soup　spoon；　my　old　silver　turreen；　how　particularly　stunning　to　hear　from　you。　Someone　told　me　you'd　gone　off　into　space　or　something。
　　Murray　had　his　own　special　kind　of　conversation　language　which　he　had　invented　for　his　own　use；　and　which　no　one　else　was　able　to　speak　or　even　to　follow。　Hardly　any　of　it　meant　anything　at　all。　The　bits　which　did　mean　anything　were　often　so　wonderfully　buried　that　no　one　could　ever　spot　them　slipping　past　in　the　avalanche　of　nonsense。　The　time　when　you　did　find　out；　later；　which　bits　he　did　mean；　was　often　a　bad　time　for　all　concerned。
　　…　What？　…　said　Arthur。
　　…　Just　a　rumour　my　old　elephant　tusk；　my　little　green　baize　card　table；　just　a　rumour。　Probably　means　nothing　at　all；　but　I　may　need　a　quote　from　you。
　　…　Nothing　to　say；　just　pub　talk。
　　…　We　thrive　on　it；　my　old　prosthetic　limb；　we　thrive　on　it。　Plus　it　would　fit　like　a　whatsit　in　one　of　those　other　things　with　the　other　stories　of　the　week；　so　it　could　be　just　to　have　you　denying　it。　Excuse　me；　something　has　just　fallen　out　of　my　ear。
　　There　was　a　slight　pause；　at　the　end　of　which　Murray　Bost　Henson　came　back　on　the　line　sounding　genuinely　shaken。
　　…　Just　remembered；　…　he　said；　…　what　an　odd　evening　I　had　last　night。　Anyway　my　old；　I　won't　say　what；　how　do　you　feel　about　having　ridden　on　Halley's　et？
　　…　I　haven't；　…　said　Arthur　with　a　suppressed　sigh；　…　ridden　on　Halley's　et。
　　…　OK；　How　do　you　feel　about　not　having　ridden　on　Halley's　et？
　　…　Pretty　relaxed；　Murray。
　　There　was　a　pause　while　Murray　wrote　this　down。
　　…　Good　enough　for　me；　Arthur；　good　enough　for　Ethel　and　me　and　the　chickens。　Fits　in　with　the　general　weirdness　of　the　week。　Week　of　the　Weirdos；　we're　thinking　of　calling　it。　Good；　eh？
　　…　Very　good。
　　…　Got　a　ring　to　it。　First　we　have　this　man　it　always　rains　on。
　　…　What？
　　…　It's　the　absolute　stocking　top　truth。　All　documented　in　his　little　black　book；　it　all　checks　out　at　every　single　funloving　level。　The　Met　Office　is　going　ice　cold　thick　banana　whips；　and　funny　little　men　in　white　coats　are　flying　in　from　all　over　the　world　with　their　little　rulers　and　boxes　and　drip　feeds。　This　man　is　the　bee's　knees；　Arthur；　he　is　the　wasp's　nipples。　He　is；　I　would　go　so　far　as　to　say；　the　entire　set　of　erogenous　zones　of　every　major　flying　insect　of　the　Western　world。　We're　calling　him　the　Rain　God。　Nice；　eh？
　　…　I　think　I've　met　him。
　　…　Good　ring　to　it。　What　did　you　say？
　　…　I　may　have　met　him。　plains　all　the　time；　yes？
　　…　Incredible！　You　met　the　Rain　God？
　　…　If　it's　the　same　guy。　I　told　him　to　stop　plaining　and　show　someone　his　book。
　　There　was　an　impressed　pause　from　Murray　Bost　Henson's　end　of　the　phone。
　　…　Well；　you　did　a　bundle。　An　absolute　bundle　has　absolutely　been　done　by　you。　Listen；　do　you　know　how　much　a　tour　operator　is　paying　that　guy　not　to　go　to　Malaga　this　year？　I　mean　forget　irrigating　the　Sahara　and　boring　stuff　like　that；　this　guy　has　a　whole　new　career　ahead　of　him；　just　avoiding　places　for　money。　The　man's　turning　into　a　monster；　Arthur；　we　might　even　have　to　make　him　win　the　bingo。
　　…　Listen；　we　may　want　to　do　a　feature　on　you；　Arthur；　the　Man　Who　Made　the　Rain　God　Rain。　Got　a　ring　to　it；　eh？
　　…　A　nice　one；　but。。。
　　…　We　may　need　to　photograph　you　under　a　garden　shower；　but　that'll　be　OK。　Where　are　you？
　　…　Er；　I'm　in　Islington。　Listen；　Murray。。。
　　…　Islington！
　　…　Yes。。。
　　…　Well；　what　about　the　real　weirdness　of　the　week；　the　real　seriously　loopy　stuff。　You　know　anything　about　these　flying　people？
　　…　No。
　　…　You　must　have。　This　is　the　real　seethingly　crazy　one。　This　is　the　real　meatballs　in　the　batter。　Locals　are　phoning　in　all　the　time　to　say　there's　this　couple　who　go　flying　nights。　We've　got　guys　down　in　our　photo　labs　working　through　the　night　to　put　together　a　genuine　photograph。　You　must　have　heard。
　　…　No。
　　…　Arthur；　where　have　you　been？　Oh；　space；　right；　I　got　your　quote。　But　that　was　months　ago。　Listen；　it's　night　after　night　this　week；　my　old　cheesegrater；　right　on　your　patch。　This　couple　just　fly　around　the　sky　and　start　doing　all　kinds　of　stuff。　And　I　don't　mean　looking　through　walls　or　pretending　to　be　box　girder　bridges。　You　don't　know　anything？
　　…　No。
　　…　Arthur；　it's　been　almost　inexpressibly　delicious　conversing　with　you；　chumbum；　but　I　have　to　go。　I'll　send　the　guy　with　the　camera　and　the　hose。　Give　me　the　address；　I'm　ready　and　writing。
　　…　Listen；　Murray；　I　called　to　ask　you　something。
　　…　I　have　a　lot　to　do。
　　…　I　just　wanted　to　find　out　something　about　the　dolphins。
　　…　No　story。　Last　year's　news。　Forget　'em。　They're　gone。
　　…　It's　important。
　　…　Listen；　no　one　will　touch　it。　You　can't　sustain　a　story；　you　know；　when　the　only　news　is　the　continuing　absence　of　whatever　the　story's　about。　Not　our　territory　anyway；　try　the　Sundays。　Maybe　they'll　run　a　little　〃Whatever　Happened　to　〃Whatever　Happened　to　the　Dolphins〃〃　story　in　a　couple　of　years；　around　August。　But　what's　anybody　going　to　do　now？　〃Dolphins　still　gone〃？　〃Continuing　Dolphin　Absence〃？　〃Dolphins　…　Further　Days　Without　Them〃？　The　story　dies；　Arthur。　It　lies　down　and　kicks　its　little　feet　in　the　air　and　presently　goes　to　the　great　golden　spike　in　the　sky；　my　old　fruitbat。
　　…　Murray；　I'm　not　interested　in　whether　it's　a　story。　I　just　want　to　find　out　how　I　can　get　in　touch　with　that　guy　in　California　who　claims　to　know　something　about　it。　I　thought　you　might　know。
　　
　　
　　　Chapter　28
　　
　　…　People　are　beginning　to　talk；　…　said　Fenchurch　that　evening；　after　they　had　hauled　her　'cello　in。
　　…　Not　only　talk；　…　said　Arthur；　…　but　print；　in　big　bold　letters　under　the　bingo　prizes。　Which　is　why　I　thought　I'd　better　get　these。
　　He　showed　her　the　long　narrow　booklets　of　airline　tickets。
　　…　Arthur！　…　she　said；　hugging　him。　…　Does　that　mean　you　managed　to　talk　to　him？
　　…　I　have　had　a　day；　…　said　Arthur；　…　of　extreme　telephonic　exhaustion。　I　have　spoken　to　virtually　every　department　of　virtually　every　paper　in　Fleet　street；　and　I　finally　tracked　his　number　down。
　　…　You've　obviously　been　working　hard；　you're　drenched　with　sweat　poor　darling。
　　…　Not　with　sweat；　…　said　Arthur　wearily。　…　A　photographer's　just　been。　I　tried　to　argue；　but　…　never　mind；　the　point　is；　yes。
　　…　You　spoke　to　him。
　　…　I　spoke　to　his　wife。　She　said　he　was　too　weird　to　e　to　the　phone　right　now　and　could　I　call　back。
　　He　sat　down　heavily；　realized　he　was　missing　something　and　went　to　the　fridge　to　find　it。
　　…　Want　a　drink？
　　…　Would　mit　murder　to　get　one。　I　always　know　I'm　in　for　a　tough　time　when　my　'cello　teacher　looks　me　up　and　down　and　says；　〃Ah　yes；　my　dear；　I　think　a　little　Tchaikovsky　today〃。
　　…　I　called　again；　…　said　Arthur；　…　and　she　said　that　he　was　3。2　light　years　from　the　phone　and　I　should　call　back。
　　…　Ah。
　　…　I　called　again。　…　She　said　the　situation　had　improved。　He　was　now　a　mere　2。6　light　years　from　the　phone　but　it　was　still　a　long　way　to　shout。
　　…　You　don't　suppose；　…　said　Fenchurch；　doubtfully；　…　that　there's　anyone　else　we　can　talk　to？
　　…　It　gets　worse；　…　said　Arthur；　…　I　spoke　to　someone　on　a　science　magazine　who　actually　knows　him；　and　he　said　that　John　Watson　will　not　only　believe；　but　will　actually　have　absolute　proof；　often　dictated　to　him　by　angels　with　golden　beards　and　green　wings　and　Doctor　Scholl　footwear；　that　the　month's　most　fashionable　silly　theory　is　true。　For　people　who　question　the