da.solongandthanksforallthefish-第2部分

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　　A　poor　bedraggled　figure；　strangely　attired；　wetter　than　an　otter　in　a　washing　machine；　and　hitching。
　　…　Poor　miserable　sod；　…　thought　Rob　McKeena　to　himself；　realizing　that　here　was　somebody　with　a　better　right　to　feel　hard　done　by　than　himself；　…　must　be　chilled　to　the　bone。　Stupid　to　be　out　hitching　on　a　filthy　night　like　this。　All　you　get　is　cold；　wet；　and　lorries　driving　through　puddles　at　you。
　　He　shook　his　head　grimly；　heaved　another　sigh；　gave　the　wheel　a　turn　and　hit　a　large　sheet　of　water　square　on。
　　…　See　what　I　mean？　…　he　thought　to　himself　as　he　ploughed　swiftly　through　it。　…　You　get　some　right　bastards　on　the　road。
　　Splattered　in　his　rear　mirror　a　couple　of　seconds　later　was　the　reflection　of　the　hitch…hiker；　drenched　by　the　roadside。
　　For　a　moment　he　felt　good　about　this。　A　moment　or　two　later　he　felt　bad　about　feeling　good　about　it。　Then　he　felt　good　about　feeling　bad　about　feeling　good　about　it　and；　satisfied；　drove　on　into　the　night。
　　At　least　it　made　up　for　having　been　finally　overtaken　by　that　Porsche　he　had　been　diligently　blocking　for　the　last　twenty　miles。
　　And　as　he　drove　on；　the　rainclouds　dragged　down　the　sky　after　him；　for；　though　he　did　not　know　it；　Rob　McKeena　was　a　Rain　God。　All　he　knew　was　that　his　working　days　were　miserable　and　he　had　a　succession　of　lousy　holidays。　All　the　clouds　knew　was　that　they　loved　him　and　wanted　to　be　near　him；　to　cherish　him；　and　to　water　him。
　　
　　
　　　Chapter　3
　　
　　The　next　two　lorries　were　not　driven　by　Rain　Gods；　but　they　did　exactly　the　same　thing。
　　The　figure　trudged；　or　rather　sloshed；　onwards　till　the　hill　resumed　and　the　treacherous　sheet　of　water　was　left　behind。
　　After　a　while　the　rain　began　to　ease　and　the　moon　put　in　a　brief　appearance　from　behind　the　clouds。
　　A　Renault　drove　by；　and　its　driver　made　frantic　and　plex　signals　to　the　trudging　figure　to　indicate　that　he　would　have　been　delighted　to　give　the　figure　a　lift；　only　he　couldn't　this　time　because　he　wasn't　going　in　the　direction　that　the　figure　wanted　to　go；　whatever　direction　that　might　be；　and　he　was　sure　the　figure　would　understand。　He　concluded　the　signalling　with　a　cheery　thumbs…up　sign；　as　if　to　say　that　he　hoped　the　figure　felt　really　fine　about　being　cold　and　almost　terminally　wet；　and　he　would　catch　him　the　next　time　around。
　　The　figure　trudged　on。　A　Fiat　passed　and　did　exactly　the　same　as　the　Renault。
　　A　Maxi　passed　on　the　other　side　of　the　road　and　flashed　its　lights　at　the　slowly　plodding　figure；　though　whether　this　was　meant　to　convey　a　〃Hello〃　or　a　〃Sorry　we're　going　the　other　way〃　or　a　〃Hey　look；　there's　someone　in　the　rain；　what　a　jerk〃　was　entirely　unclear。　A　green　strip　across　the　top　of　the　windscreen　indicated　that　whatever　the　message　was；　it　came　from　Steve　and　Carola。
　　The　storm　had　now　definitely　abated；　and　what　thunder　there　was　now　grumbled　over　more　distant　hills；　like　a　man　saying　〃And　another　thing。。。〃　twenty　minutes　after　admitting　he's　lost　the　argument。
　　The　air　was　clearer　now；　the　night　cold。　Sound　travelled　rather　well。　The　lost　figure；　shivering　desperately；　presently　reached　a　junction；　where　a　side　road　turned　off　to　the　left。　Opposite　the　turning　stood　a　signpost　which　the　figure　suddenly　hurried　to　and　studied　with　feverish　curiosity；　only　twisting　away　from　it　as　another　car　passed　suddenly。
　　And　another。
　　The　first　whisked　by　with　plete　disregard；　the　second　flashed　meaninglessly。　A　Ford　Cortina　passed　and　put　on　its　brakes。
　　Lurching　with　surprise；　the　figure　bundled　his　bag　to　his　chest　and　hurried　forward　towards　the　car；　but　at　the　last　moment　the　Cortina　span　its　wheels　in　the　wet　and　carreered　off　up　the　road　rather　amusingly。
　　The　figure　slowed　to　a　stop　and　stood　there；　lost　and　dejected。
　　As　it　chanced；　the　following　day　the　driver　of　the　Cortina　went　into　hospital　to　have　his　appendix　out；　only　due　to　a　rather　amusing　mix　up　the　surgeon　removed　his　leg　in　error；　and　before　the　appendectomy　could　be　rescheduled；　the　appendicitis　plicated　into　an　entertainingly　serious　case　of　peritonitis　and　justice；　in　its　way；　was　served。
　　The　figure　trudged　on。
　　A　Saab　drew　to　a　halt　beside　him。
　　Its　window　wound　down　and　a　friendly　voice　said；
　　…　Have　you　e　far？
　　The　figure　turned　toward　it。　He　stopped　and　grasped　the　handle　of　the　door。
　　The　figure；　the　car　and　its　door　handle　were　all　on　a　planet　called　the　Earth；　a　world　whose　entire　entry　in　the　Hitch　Hiker's　Guide　to　the　Galaxy　prised　the　two　words　〃Mostly　harmless〃。
　　The　man　who　wrote　this　entry　was　called　Ford　Prefect；　and　he　was　at　this　precise　moment　on　a　far　from　harmless　world；　sitting　in　a　far　from　harmless　bar；　recklessly　causing　trouble。
　　
　　
　　　Chapter　4
　　
　　Whether　it　was　because　he　was　drunk；　ill　or　suicidally　insane　would　not　have　been　apparent　to　a　casual　observer；　and　indeed　there　were　no　casual　observers　in　the　Old　Pink　Dog　Bar　on　the　lower　South　Side　of　Han　Dold　City　because　it　wasn't　the　sort　of　place　you　could　afford　to　do　things　casually　in　if　you　wanted　to　stay　alive。　Any　observers　in　the　place　would　have　been　mean　hawklike　observers；　heavily　armed；　with　painful　throbbings　in　their　heads　which　caused　them　to　do　crazy　things　when　they　observed　things　they　didn't　like。
　　One　of　those　nasty　hushes　had　descended　on　the　place；　a　sort　of　missile　crisis　sort　of　hush。
　　Even　the　evil…looking　bird　perched　on　a　rod　in　the　bar　had　stopped　screeching　out　the　names　and　addresses　of　local　contract　killers；　which　was　a　service　it　provided　for　free。
　　All　eyes　were　on　Ford　Prefect。　Some　of　them　were　on　stalks。
　　The　particular　way　in　which　he　was　choosing　to　dice　recklessly　with　death　today　was　by　trying　to　pay　for　a　drinks　bill　the　size　of　a　small　defence　budget　with　an　American　Express　Card；　which　was　not　acceptable　anywhere　in　the　known　Universe。
　　…　What　are　you　worried　about？　…　he　asked　in　a　cheery　kind　of　voice。　…　The　expiration　date？　Have　you　guys　never　heard　of　Neo…Relativity　out　here？　There's　whole　new　areas　of　physics　which　can　take　care　of　this　sort　of　thing。　Time　dilation　effects；　temporal　relastatics。。。
　　…　We　are　not　worried　about　the　expiration　date；　…　said　the　man　to　whom　he　addressed　these　remarks；　who　was　a　dangerous　barman　in　a　dangerous　city。　His　voice　was　a　low　soft　purr；　like　the　low　soft　purr　made　by　the　opening　of　an　ICBM　silo。　A　hand　like　a　side　of　meat　tapped　on　the　bar　top；　lightly　denting　it。
　　…　Well；　that's　good　then；　…　said　Ford；　packing　his　satchel　and　preparing　to　leave。
　　The　tapping　finger　reached　out　and　rested　lightly　on　the　shoulder　of　Ford　Prefect。　It　prevented　him　from　leaving。
　　Although　the　finger　was　attached　to　a　slablike　hand；　and　the　hand　was　attached　to　a　clublike　forearm；　the　forearm　wasn't　attached　to　anything　at　all；　except　in　the　metaphorical　sense　that　it　was　attached　by　a　fierce　doglike　loyalty　to　the　bar　which　was　its　home。　It　had　previously　been　more　conventionally　attached　to　the　original　owner　of　the　bar；　who　on　his　deathbed　had　unexpectedly　bequeathed　it　to　medical　science。　Medical　science　had　decided　they　didn't　like　the　look　of　it　and　had　bequeathed　it　right　back　to　the　Old　Pink　Dog　Bar。
　　The　new　barman　didn't　believe　in　the　supernatural　or　poltergeists　or　anything　kooky　like　that；　he　just　knew　an　useful　ally　when　he　saw　one。　The　hand　sat　on　the　bar。　It　took　orders；　it　served　drinks；　it　dealt　murderously　with　people　who　behaved　as　if　they　wanted　to　be　murdered。　Ford　Prefect　sat　still。
　　…　We　are　not　worried　about　the　expiration　date；　…　repeated　the　barman；　satisfied　that　he　now　had　Ford　Prefect's　full　attention。　…　We　are　worried　about　the　entire　piece　of　plastic。
　　…　What？　…　said　Ford。　He　seemed　a　little　taken　aback。
　　…　This；　…　said　the　barman；　holding　out　the　card　as　if　it　was　a　small　fish　whose　soul　had　three　weeks　earlier　winged　its　way　to　the　Land　Where　Fish　are　Eternally　Blessed；　…　we　don't　accept　it。
　　Ford　wondered　briefly　whether　to　raise　the　fact　that　he　didn't　have　any　other　means　of　payment　on　him；　but　decided　for　the　moment　to　soldier　on。　The　disembodied　hand　was　now　grasping　his　shoulder　lightly　but　firmly　between　its　finger　and　thumb。
　　…　But　you　don't　understand；　…　said　Ford；　his　expression　slowly　ripening　from　a　little　taken　abackness　into　rank　incredulity。　…　This　is　the　American　Express　Card。　It　is　the　finest　way　of　settling　bills　known　to　man。　Haven't　you　read　their　junk　mail？
　　The　cheery　quality　of　Ford's　voice　was　beginning　to　grate　on　the　barman's　ears。　It　sounded　like　someone　relentlessly　playing　the　kazoo　during　one　of　the　more　sombre　passages　of　a　War　Requiem。
　　One　of　the　bones　in　Ford's　shoulder　began　to　grate　against　another　one　of　the　bones　in　his　shoulder　in　a　way　which　suggested　that　the　hand　had　learnt　the　principles　of　pain　from　a　highly　skilled　chiropracter。　He　hoped　he　could　get　this　business　settled　before　the　hand　started　to　grate　one　of　the　bones　in　his　shoulder　against　any　of　the　bones　in　different　parts　of　his　body。　Luckily；　the　shoulder　it　was　holding　was　not　the　one　he　had　his　satchel　slung　over。
　　The　barman　slid　the　card　back　across　the　bar　at　Ford。
　　…　We　have　never；　…　he　said　with　muted　savagery；　…　heard　of　this　thing。
　　This　was　hardly　surprising。
　　Ford　had　only　acquired　it　through　a　serious　puter　error　towards　the　end　of　the　fifteen　years'　sojourn　he　had　spent　on　the　planet　Earth。　Exactly　how　serious；　the　American　Express　pany　had　got　to　know　very　rapidly；　and　the　increasingly　strident　and　panic…stricken　demands　of　its　debt　collection　department　were　only　silenced　by　the　unexpected　demolition　of　the　entire　planet　by　the　Vogons　to　make　way　for　a　new　hyperspace　bypass。
　　He　had　kept　it　ever　since　because　he　found　it　useful　to　carry　a　form　of　currency　that　no　one　would　accept。
　　…　Credit？　…　he　said。　…　Aaaargggh。。。
　　These　two　words　were　usually　coupled　together　in　the　Old　Pink　Dog　Bar。
　　…　I　thought；　…　gasped　Ford；　…　that　this　was　meant　to　be　a　class　establishment。。。
　　He　glanced　around　at　the　motley　collection　of　thugs；　pimps　and　record　pany　executives　that　skulked　on　the　edges　of　the　dim　pools　of　light　with　which　the　dark　shadows　of　the　bar's　inner　recesses　were　pitted。　They　were　all　very　deliberatel