Дуглас Адамс – The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy / Руководство для путешествующих автостопом по Галактике (страница 3)

“So,” continued Ford Prefect, “now you could come here and lie down…”

“What?” said Mr. Prosser.

“Ah, I’m sorry,” said Ford, “maybe I hadn’t made myself clear. Somebody has to lie in front of the bulldozers, or there won’t be anything to stop them driving into Mr. Dent’s house, right?”

“What?” said Mr. Prosser again.

“It’s very simple,” said Ford, “my client, Mr. Dent, says that he will stop lying here in the mud if you come and lie instead of him.”

“What are you talking about?” said Arthur, but Ford kicked him with his shoe to be quiet.

“You want me,” said Mr. Prosser, “to come and lie there…”

“Yes.”

“In front of the bulldozer?”

“Yes.”

“Instead of Mr. Dent.”

“Yes.”

“In the mud.”

“In, as you say it, the mud.”

Mr. Prosser sighed. This was more like the world as he knew it. “And in return you will[30] take Mr. Dent with you to the pub?”

“That’s it,” said Ford. “That’s it exactly.”

Mr. Prosser took a few nervous steps forward and stopped.

“Promise?” he said.

“Promise,” said Ford. He turned to Arthur. “Come on,” he said to him, “get up and let the man lie down.”

Arthur stood up, feeling as if he was in a dream.

Ford gestured to Prosser who sadly sat down in the mud. He felt that his whole life was some kind of dream and he sometimes wondered whose it was and whether they were enjoying it. The mud was all round his bottom and his arms and even got into his shoes.

Ford looked at him and frowned.

“And no knocking down Mr. Dent’s house while he’s away, all right?” he said.

“The thought about the possibility of it,” said Mr. Prosser, “hadn’t even begun crossing my mind.”

He saw the bulldozer drivers’ representative, let his head sink into the mud and closed his eyes. He was trying to find arguments to prove that he was not now a mental health hazard himself. He wasn’t sure about it though. Mr. Prosser shook slightly and sobbed. What a day!

What a day! Ford Prefect knew that it didn’t matter now if Arthur’s house was knocked down or not.

Arthur was still very worried.

“But can we trust him?” he said.

“I’d trust him to the end of the Earth,” said Ford.

“Oh yes,” said Arthur, “and how far is that?”

“About twelve minutes away,” said Ford, “come on, I need a drink.”

Chapter 2

Here’s what the Encyclopedia Galactica has to say about alcohol. It says that alcohol is a colorless liquid made by the fermentation of sugars that has an intoxicating effect on some life forms.

The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy also mentions alcohol. It says that the best drink ever is the Pan Galactic Gargle Blaster[31]. It says that the effect of a Pan Galactic Gargle Blaster is like your brains are smashed by a slice of lemon wrapped round a large gold brick.

The Guide also tells you on which planets the best Pan Galactic Gargle Blasters are mixed, how much you’ll have to pay for one, and what organizations will help you recover afterwards.

The Guide even tells you how you can mix one yourself.

Take the juice from one bottle of that Janx Spirit, it says. Pour into it some water from the seas of Santraginus V. Add three cubes of Arcturan Mega-gin and four liters of Fallian marsh gas into the mixture. Add a drop of Qualactin Hypermint extract, smelling of all the dark Qualactin Zones, sweet and mystic. Drop in the tooth of an Algolian Suntiger. Watch it dissolve in the drink. Sprinkle it with Zamphuor. Add an olive. Drink… but… very carefully…

Now you see why The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy sells much better than the Encyclopedia Galactica.

“Six pints of beer,” said Ford Prefect to the barman of the Horse and Groom. “And quickly please – the world’s about to end[32].”

The barman of the Horse and Groom was an old man. He pushed his glasses up his nose and looked at Ford Prefect. Ford ignored him and stared out of the window, so the barman looked instead at Arthur who shrugged and said nothing.

So the barman said, “Oh yes, sir? Nice weather for it,” and started pouring pints. Then he tried again, “Going to watch the match this afternoon?”

Ford glanced at him. “No, no point[33],” he said, and looked back out of the window.

“Why is that, sir?” said the barman. “Arsenal[34] has no chance?”

“No, no,” said Ford, “it’s just that the world’s about to end.”

“Oh yes, sir, so you said,” said the barman, looking this time at Arthur. “Lucky escape for Arsenal if it did.”[35]

Ford looked back at him, surprised. “No, not really,” he said and frowned.

The barman sighed. “There you are, sir, six pints,” he said.

Arthur smiled at him and shrugged again. He turned and smiled at the rest of the pub just in case any of them had heard what was going on.

None of them had, and none of them could understand what he was smiling at them for.

A man sitting next to Ford at the bar looked at the two men, looked at the six pints, and grinned a stupid hopeful grin at them.

“Get off[36], they’re ours,” said Ford, giving him a look that would scare an Algolian Suntiger. Ford put a five-pound note on the bar. He said, “Keep the change.[37] You’ve got ten minutes left to spend it.”

The barman simply decided to walk away for a while.

“Ford,” said Arthur, “would you please tell me what the hell is going on?”

“Drink it,” said Ford, “you’ve got three pints.”

“Three pints?” said Arthur. “At lunchtime?”

The man next to Ford grinned again and nodded happily. Ford ignored him. He said, “Time is an illusion, especially lunchtime.”

“Very deep thought,” said Arthur, “you should send it to the Reader’s Digest[38].”

“Drink it.”

“Why three pints?”

“Muscle relaxant.[39] You’ll need it.”

“Muscle relaxant?”

“Muscle relaxant.”

Arthur stared into his beer. “Did I do anything wrong today,” he said, “or has the world always been like this?”

“All right,” said Ford, “I’ll try to explain. How long have we known each other?”

“How long?” Arthur thought. “For about five years, maybe six,” he said. “Most of it seemed to make some sense at the time[40].”