Mostly Harmless - Douglas Adams [45]
Or, not quite everybody. The pikka birds tended to be amazed by completely different things. A perfectly ordinary leaf lying unexpectedly on a stone would cause them to skitter off in paroxysms of confusion; sunrise always took them completely by surprise every morning, but the arrival of an alien craft from another world simply failed to engage any part of their attention. They continued to kar and rit and huk as they pecked for seeds on the ground; the river continued with its quiet, spacious burbling.
Also, the noise of loud and tuneless singing from the last hut on the left continued unabated.
Suddenly, with a slight click and a hum, a door folded itself outward and downward from the spaceship. Then, for a minute or two, nothing further seemed to happen, other than the loud singing from the last hut on the left, and the thing just sat there.
Some of the villagers, particularly the boys, began to edge forward a little bit to have a closer look. Old Thrashbarg tried to shoo them back. This was exactly the sort of thing that Old Thrashbarg didn’t like to have happening. He hadn’t foretold it, not even slightly, and even though he would be able to wrestle the whole thing into his continuing story somehow or other, it really was all getting a bit much to deal with.
He strode forward, pushed the boys back and raised his arms and his ancient knobbly staff into the air. The long warm light of the evening sun caught him nicely. He prepared to welcome whatever gods these were as if he had been expecting them all along.
Still nothing happened.
Gradually it became clear that there was some kind of argument going on inside the craft. Time went by and Old Thrashbarg’s arms were beginning to ache.
Suddenly the ramp folded itself back up again.
That made it easy for Thrashbarg. They were demons and he had repulsed them. The reason he hadn’t foretold it was that prudence and modesty forbade.
Almost immediately a different ramp folded itself out on the other side of the craft from where Thrashbarg was standing, and two figures at last emerged on it, still arguing with each other and ignoring everybody, even Thrashbarg, whom they wouldn’t even have noticed from where they were standing.
Old Thrashbarg chewed angrily on his beard.
To continue to stand there with his arms upraised? To kneel with his head bowed forward and his staff held out pointing at them? To fall backward as if overcome in some titanic inner struggle? Perhaps just to go off to the woods and live in a tree for a year without speaking to anyone?
He opted just to drop his arms smartly as if he had done what he meant to do. They were really hurting, so he didn’t have much choice. He made a small, secret sign he had just invented toward the ramp, which had closed, and then made three and a half steps backward, so he could at least get a good look at whoever these people were and then decide what to do next.
The taller one was a very good-looking woman wearing soft and crumply clothes. Old Thrashbarg didn’t know this, but they were made of Rymplon™, a new synthetic fabric which was terrific for space travel because it looked its absolute best when it was all creased and sweaty.
The shorter one was a girl. She was awkward and sullen looking and was wearing clothes which looked their absolute worst when they were all creased and sweaty, and what was more, she almost certainly knew it.
All eyes watched them, except for the pikka birds, which had their own things to watch.
The woman stood and looked around her. She had a purposeful air about her. There was obviously something in particular she wanted, but she didn’t know exactly where to find it. She glanced from face to face among the villagers assembled curiously around her without apparently seeing what she was looking for.
Thrashbarg had no idea how to play this at all and decided to resort to chanting. He threw back his head and began to wail, but was instantly interrupted by a fresh outbreak of song from