So Long, and Thanks for All the Fish - Douglas Adams [33]
“Well, you could…” Fenchurch thought about it. “I must say I’m not sure what I would have done either. So what happened?”
“I stared furiously at the crossword,” said Arthur, “couldn’t do a single clue, took a sip of coffee, it was too hot to drink, so there was nothing for it, I braced myself. I took a biscuit, trying very hard not to notice,” he added, “that the packet was already mysteriously open….”
“But you’re fighting back, taking a tough line.”
“After my fashion, yes. I ate the biscuit. I ate it very deliberately and visibly, so that he would have no doubt as to what it was I was doing. When I eat a biscuit,” said Arthur, “it stays eaten.”
“So what did he do?”
“Took another one. Honestly,” insisted Arthur, “this is exactly what happened. He took another biscuit, he ate it. Clear as daylight. Certain as we are sitting on the ground.”
Fenchurch stirred uncomfortably.
“And the problem was,” said Arthur, “that having not said anything the first time, it was somehow even more difficult to broach the subject the second time around. What do you say? ‘Excuse me … I couldn’t help noticing, er…’ Doesn’t work. No, I ignored it with, if anything, even more vigor than previously.”
“My man …”
“Stared at the crossword again, still couldn’t budge a bit of it, so showing some of the spirit that Henry V did on St. Crispin’s Day …”
“What?”
“I went into the breach again. I took,” said Arthur, “another biscuit. And for an instant our eyes met.”
“Like this?”
“Yes, well, no, not quite like that. But they met. Just for an instant. And we both looked away. But I am here to tell you,” said Arthur, “that there was a little electricity in the air. There was a little tension building up over the table. At about this time.”
“I can imagine.”
“We went through the whole packet like this. Him, me, him, me …”
“The whole packet?”
“Well, it was only eight biscuits, but it seemed like a lifetime of biscuits we were getting through at this point. Gladiators could hardly have had a tougher time.”
“Gladiators,” said Fenchurch, “would have had to do it in the sun. More physically grueling.”
“There is that. So. When the empty packet was lying dead between us the man at last got up, having done his worst, and left. I heaved a sigh of relief, of course.
“As it happened, my train was announced a moment or two later, so I finished my coffee, stood up, picked up the newspaper, and underneath the newspaper…”
“Yes?”
“Were my biscuits.”
“What?” said Fenchurch. “What?”
“True.”
“No!” She gasped and tossed herself back on the grass laughing.
She sat up again.
“You complete nitwit,” she hooted, “you almost completely and utterly foolish person.”
She pushed him backward, rolled over him, kissed him, and rolled off again. He was surprised at how light she was.
“Now you tell me a story.”
“I thought,” she said, putting on a low husky voice, “that you were very keen to get back.”
“No hurry,” he said airily, “I want you to tell me a story.”
She looked out over the lake and pondered.
“All right,” she said, “it’s only a short one. And not funny like yours, but… anyway.”
She looked down. Arthur could feel that it was one of those sorts of moments. The air seemed to stand still around them, waiting. Arthur wished that the air would go away and mind its own business.
“When I was a kid…” she said. “These sorts of stories always start like this, don’t they? ‘When I was a kid…’ Anyway. This is the bit when the girl suddenly says, ‘When I was a kid…’ and starts to unburden herself. We have got to that bit. When I was a kid I had this picture hanging over the foot of my bed…. What do you think of it so far?”
“I like it. I think it’s moving well. You’re getting the bedroom interest in nice and early. We could probably do with some development with the