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 “人們在開始談這事兒了。”那個晚上在他們把她的大提琴拖進去之後芬切琪說。 “不光是談，”阿瑟說，“而且還印出來，在賓果獎的下面，用很大的黑體字。這就是爲什麼我想我們最好有這個。” 他給她看飛機票的又長又窄的小冊子。 “阿瑟！”她抱着他說，“這是不是表示你已經和他談過了？” “我花了一天時間，”阿瑟說，“打電話打得筋疲力盡。我真的給弗利特街（英國倫敦的一條河濱馬路。十八至十九世紀以來,成爲英國新聞和出版事業的中心）上每家報紙的每個部門都打了電話，最後終於找到了他的號碼。” “你確實花了大力氣，你都汗溼透了，可憐的寶貝。” “不是汗，”阿瑟疲倦地說，“是因爲一個攝影記者。我跟他狠狠吵了一架，可是——算了，重要的是，成了。” “你和他聊過了。” “我和他妻子聊過了。她說他太怪異了沒法聽電話，問問能不能晚點再打過去。” 他重重坐下，發現自己忘了什麼東西，於是去冰箱那裏找。 “要喝點什麼？” “那會死人的。在我的大提琴教師上下打量我並且說‘啊對了，親愛的，我想今天來點柴可夫斯基吧。’之後我就知道我躲不過一劫了。” “我又打了回去，”阿瑟說，“她說他離電話有3.2光年遠，讓我晚點再打。” “噢。” “我又打。——她說情況有所改善。他裏電話只有2.6光年遠了，但是還是太遠，喊他聽不見。” “你有沒有想過，”芬切琪疑惑地說，“會不會有其他什麼人可以談談的？” “那更糟糕，”阿瑟說，“我跟一本科學雜誌的一個認識他的什麼人談過了，他說約翰?沃森不僅僅相信，而且的確有實在的證據，認爲長着金色鬍子和綠色翅膀，穿着爽健牌拖鞋的天使對他說，那個月最流行的愚蠢說法是真的。對於那些質疑這些情景的人，他會得意洋洋地指出疑問中的錯誤，這就是我得到的全部信息了。” “我沒覺得這有多糟糕。”芬切琪靜靜地說。她無精打采地揉着那些票。 “我又打給沃森太太，”阿瑟說，“對了，她的名字，你可能想知道，叫作神祕?吉兒。” “我明白。”
