Are you sure she’s all right? he said again. Beyond the fact that she was, to him, heArtthumpingly beautiful, he could make out very little, how tall she was, how old she was, the exact shading of her hair. And nor could he ask her anything about herself because, sadly, she was completely unconscious. She’s just drugged, said her brother, shrugging, not moving his eyes from the road ahead. And that’s all right, is it? said Arthur, in alarm. Suits me, he said. Ah, said Arthur. Er, he added after a moment’s thought. The conversation so far had been going astoundingly badly. After an initial flurry of opening hellos, he and Russell the wonderful girl’s brother’s name was Russell, a name which, to Arthur’s mind, always suggested burly men with blond moustaches and blow-dried hair, who would at the slightest provocation start wearing velvet tuxedos and frilly shirtfronts and would then have to be forcibly restrained from commentating on snooker matches had quickly discovered they didn’t like each other at all. Russell was a burly man. He had a blond moustache. His hair was fine and blow dried. To be fair to him though Arthur didn’t see any necessity for this beyond the sheer mental exercise of it he, Arthur, was looking pretty grim himself. A man can’t cross a hundred thousand light years, mostly in other people’s baggage compartments, without beginning to fray a little, and Arthur had frayed a lot. She’s not a junkie, said Russell suddenly, as if he clearly thought that someone else in the car might be. She’s under sedation. But that’s terrible, said Arthur, twisting round to look at her again. She seemed to stir slightly and her head slipped sideways on her shoulder. Her dark hair fell across her face, obscuring it. What’s the matter with her, is she ill? No, said Russell, merely barking mad. What? said Arthur, horrified. Loopy, completely bananas. I’m taking her back to the hospital and telling them to have another go. They let her out while she still thought she was a hedgehog. A hedgehog? Russell hooted his horn fiercely at the car that came round the corner towards them half-way on to their side of the road, making them swerve. The anger seemed to make him feel better. Well, maybe not a hedgehog, he said after he’d settled down again. Though it would probably be simpler to deal with if she did. If somebody thinks they’re a hedgehog, presumably you just give ‘em a mirror and a few pictures of hedgehogs and tell them to sort it out for themselves, come down again when they feel better. At least medical science could deal with it, that’s the point. Seems that’s no good enough for Fenny, though. Fenny?… You know what I got her for Christmas? Well, no. “您確定她沒事兒？”他再一次問到。 除去她對他有種令人動心的美麗這一事實之外，他對她的身高，年齡，髮型幾乎一無所知。更要命的是，他還不能詢問她任何關於她的事情，因爲，她目前正處於完全昏迷中。 “她只不過是嗑藥嗑多了，”她的兄弟說着，聳了聳肩，沒有把目光從路面上移開。 “那麼就是說她沒事兒，是麼？”阿瑟驚慌地說。 “差不多。”他說。 “啊，”阿瑟說。“呃，”他想了一會又補充了一句。 談話進展得驚人地糟糕。 在例行的尷尬的寒暄之後，他和拉塞爾——那個漂亮女孩的兄弟叫拉塞爾，阿瑟總認爲叫這個名字的人，應當是個留金色小鬍子的魁梧男，有着光亮的頭髮，即便面對最小的挑釁也會穿上天鵝絨燕尾服和鑲邊襯衣，然後別人就不得不把他從斯諾克比賽的評論中拉出來——很快就發現他們完全不喜歡對方。 拉塞爾是個魁梧男。他也有金色小鬍子。而他的頭髮確實整潔光亮。公平地說——雖然對阿瑟並不認爲這已然不再純粹的精神考驗有何必要——他，阿瑟，有些太較真了。一個穿越了十萬光年的人，而且大部分時間都是在別人的行李廂裏度過的人，肯定會有些不冷靜，而阿瑟已經不冷靜很多次了。 “她不是個毒蟲，”拉塞爾突然說到，似乎他覺得車裏還有別的人在聽似的。“她是服用了鎮靜劑。” “但這太糟了，”阿瑟說着，轉過身去又看了一眼那女孩。她看起來有些發抖，頭歪在了肩膀上。深色的頭髮遮蓋了她的面龐。 “她怎麼回事，病了嗎？” “不，”拉塞爾說，“她只是瘋了。” “什麼？”阿瑟驚恐地說。 “腦子進水了，完全不清楚了。我正要把她帶回醫院讓他們再治一次。他們讓她出院時，她仍然認爲自己是隻刺蝟。” “刺蝟？” 拉塞爾猛力地對前面從角落突然衝出來的車摁着喇叭，想讓他們拐過去。這股怒火讓他感覺好多了。 “好吧，也許不是刺蝟，”他平靜下來之後又說到。“雖然如果是這樣的話會更好處理。如果有人覺得自己是隻刺蝟，那麼你只要給他們一面鏡子和一些刺蝟的圖片讓他們自己看着辦，等他們好些之後再說。重點是，至少醫學可以處理這問題。不過看來這對芬妮沒什麼用。” “芬妮......?” “你知道我給她的聖誕禮物是什麼嗎？” “呃，不知道。”
