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 come 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 commit 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 validity of these visions he will triumphantly produce the clogs in question, and that’s as far as you get.
I didn’t realize it was that bad, said Fenchurch quietly. She fiddled listlessly with the tickets.
I phoned Mrs. Watson again, said Arthur. Her name, by the way, and you may wish to know this, is Arcane Jill.
I see.
第28章
“人们在开始谈这事儿了。”那个晚上在他们把她的大提琴拖进去之后芬切琪说。
“不光是谈,”阿瑟说,“而且还印出来,在宾果奖的下面,用很大的黑体字。这就是为什么我想我们最好有这个。”
他给她看飞机票的又长又窄的小册子。
“阿瑟!”她抱着他说,“这是不是表示你已经和他谈过了?”
“我花了一天时间,”阿瑟说,“打电话打得筋疲力尽。我真的给弗利特街(英国伦敦的一条河滨马路。十八至十九世纪以来,成为英国新闻和出版事业的中心)上每家报纸的每个部门都打了电话,最后终于找到了他的号码。”
“你确实花了大力气,你都汗湿透了,可怜的宝贝。”
“不是汗,”阿瑟疲倦地说,“是因为一个摄影记者。我跟他狠狠吵了一架,可是——算了,重要的是,成了。”
“你和他聊过了。”
“我和他妻子聊过了。她说他太怪异了没法听电话,问问能不能晚点再打过去。”
他重重坐下,发现自己忘了什么东西,于是去冰箱那里找。
“要喝点什么?”
“那会死人的。在我的大提琴教师上下打量我并且说‘啊对了,亲爱的,我想今天来点柴可夫斯基吧。’之后我就知道我躲不过一劫了。”
“我又打了回去,”阿瑟说,“她说他离电话有3.2光年远,让我晚点再打。”
“噢。”
“我又打。——她说情况有所改善。他里电话只有2.6光年远了,但是还是太远,喊他听不见。”
“你有没有想过,”芬切琪疑惑地说,“会不会有其他什么人可以谈谈的?”
“那更糟糕,”阿瑟说,“我跟一本科学杂志的一个认识他的什么人谈过了,他说约翰?沃森不仅仅相信,而且的确有实在的证据,认为长着金色胡子和绿色翅膀,穿着爽健牌拖鞋的天使对他说,那个月最流行的愚蠢说法是真的。对于那些质疑这些情景的人,他会得意洋洋地指出疑问中的错误,这就是我得到的全部信息了。”
“我没觉得这有多糟糕。”芬切琪静静地说。她无精打采地揉着那些票。
“我又打给沃森太太,”阿瑟说,“对了,她的名字,你可能想知道,叫作神秘?吉儿。”
“我明白。”
经典科幻文学:《 再见 多谢你们的鱼》第28章1
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