So Long, and Thanks for All the Fish - Douglas Adams [51]
The silent thunders of the deep.
And from among it, voices calling, and yet not voices, humming trillings, wordlings, and half-articulated songs of thought.
Greetings, waves of greetings, sliding back down into the inarticulate, words breaking together.
A crash of sorrow on the shores of Earth.
Waves of joy on—where? A world indescribably found, indescribably arrived at, indescribably wet, a song of water.
A fugue of voices now, clamoring explanations, of a disaster unavertable, a world to be destroyed, a surge of helplessness, a spasm of despair, a dying fall, again the break of words.
And then the fling of hope, the finding of a shadow Earth in the implications of enfolded time, submerged dimensions, the pull of parallels, the deep pull, the spin of will, the hurl and split of it, the fight. A new Earth pulled into replacement, the dolphins gone.
Then stunningly a single voice, quite clear.
“This bowl was brought to you by the Campaign to Save the Humans. We bid you farewell.”
And then the sound of long, heavy, perfectly gray bodies rolling away into an unknown fathomless deep, quietly giggling.
Chapter 33
hat night they stayed Outside the Asylum and watched TV from inside it.
“This is what I wanted you to see,” said Wonko the Sane when the news came around again, “an old colleague of mine. He’s over in your country running an investigation. Just watch.”
It was a press conference.
“I’m afraid I can’t comment on the name Rain God at this present time, and we are calling him an example of a Spontaneous Para-Causal Meteorological Phenomenon.”
“Can you tell us what that means?”
“I’m not altogether sure. Let’s be straight here. If we find something we can’t understand we like to call it something you can’t understand, or indeed pronounce. I mean if we just let you go around calling him a Rain God, then that suggests that you know something we don’t, and I’m afraid we couldn’t have that.
“No, first we have to call it something which says it’s ours, not yours, then we set about finding some way of proving it’s not what you said it is, but something we say it is.
“And if it turns out that you’re right, you’ll still be wrong, because we will simply call him a… er, ‘Supernormal’—not paranormal or supernatural because you think you know what those mean now, no, a ‘Supernormal Incremental Precipitation Inducer.’ We’ll probably want to shove a ‘Quasi’ in there somewhere to protect ourselves. Rain God! Huh, never heard such nonsense in my life. Admittedly, you wouldn’t catch me going on holiday with him. Thanks, that’ll be all for now, other than to say ‘Hi!’ to Wonko if he’s watching.”
Chapter 34
n the way home there was a woman sitting next to them on the plane who was looking at them rather oddly.
They talked quietly to themselves.
“I still have to know,” said Fenchurch, “and I strongly feel that you know something that you’re not telling me.”
Arthur sighed and took out a piece of paper.
“Do you have a pencil?” he said.
She dug around and found one.
“What are you doing, sweetheart?” she said, after he had spent twenty minutes frowning, chewing the pencil, scribbling on the paper, crossing things out, scribbling again, chewing the pencil again, and grunting irritably to himself.
“Trying to remember an address someone once gave me.”
“Your life would be an awful lot simpler,” she said, “if you bought yourself an address book.”
Finally he passed the paper to her.
“You look after it,” he said.
She looked at it. Among all the scratchings and crossings out were the words “Quentulus Quazgar Mountains. Sevorbeupstry. Planet of Preliumtarn. Sun-Zarss. Galactic Sector QQ7 Active J Gamma.”
“And what’s there?”
“Apparently,” said Arthur, “it’s God’s Final Message to His Creation.”
“That sounds a bit more like it,” said Fenchurch. “How do we get there?”
“You really…?”
“Yes,” said Fenchurch firmly, “I really want to know.”
Arthur looked out of the little scratchy Plexiglas window at the open sky outside.
“Excuse me,” said the woman who had been