经典科幻文学:《银河系漫游指南》第1章Part 1

Chapter 1
The only person for whom the house was in any way special was Arthur Dent, and that was only because it happened to be the one he lived in. He had lived in it for about three years, ever since he had moved out of London because it made him nervous and irritable. He was about thirty as well, dark haired and never quite at ease with himself. The thing that used to worry him most was the fact that people always used to ask him what he was looking so worried about. He worked in local radio which he always used to tell his friends was a lot more interesting than they probably thought. It was, too — most of his friends worked in advertising.
It hadn't properly registered with Arthur that the council wanted to knock down his house and build an bypass instead.
At eight o'clock on Thursday morning Arthur didn't feel very good. He woke up blearily, got up, wandered blearily round his room, opened a window, saw a bulldozer, found his slippers, and stomped off to the bathroom to wash.
Toothpaste on the brush — so. Scrub.
Shaving mirror — pointing at the ceiling. He adjusted it. For a moment it reflected a second bulldozer through the bathroom window. Properly adjusted, it reflected Arthur Dent's bristles. He shaved them off, washed, dried, and stomped off to the kitchen to find something pleasant to put in his mouth.
The word bulldozer wandered through his mind for a moment in search of something to connect with.
The bulldozer outside the kitchen window was quite a big one.
He stared at it.
He stood and thought. The pub, he thought. Oh dear, the pub. He vaguely remembered being angry, angry about something that seemed important. He'd been telling people about it, telling people about it at great length, he rather suspected: his clearest visual recollection was of glazed looks on other people's faces. Something about a new bypass he had just found out about. It had been in the pipeline for months only no one seemed to have known about it. Ridiculous. He took a swig of water. It would sort itself out, he'd decided, no one wanted a bypass, the council didn't have a leg to stand on. It would sort itself out.
God what a terrible hangover it had earned him though. He looked at himself in the wardrobe mirror. He stuck out his tongue. "Yellow," he thought. The word yellow wandered through his mind in search of something to connect with.
Fifteen seconds later he was out of the house and lying in front of a big yellow bulldozer that was advancing up his garden path.
Mr L Prosser was, as they say, only human. In other words he was a carbon-based life form descended from an ape. More specifically he was forty, fat and shabby and worked for the local council. Curiously enough, though he didn't know it, he was also a direct male-line descendant of Genghis Khan, though intervening generations and racial mixing had so juggled his genes that he had no discernible Mongoloid characteristics, and the only vestiges left in Mr L Prosser of his mighty ancestry were a pronounced stoutness about the tum and a predilection for little fur hats.
He was by no means a great warrior: in fact he was a nervous worried man. Today he was particularly nervous and worried because something had gone seriously wrong with his job — which was to see that Arthur Dent's house got cleared out of the way before the day was out.
"Come off it, Mr Dent,", he said, "you can't win you know. You can't lie in front of the bulldozer indefinitely." He tried to make his eyes blaze fiercely but they just wouldn't do it.
Arthur lay in the mud and squelched at him.
"I'm game," he said, "we'll see who rusts first."
"I'm afraid you're going to have to accept it," said Mr Prosser gripping his fur hat and rolling it round the top of his head, "this bypass has got to be built and it's going to be built!"
"First I've heard of it," said Arthur, "why's it going to be built?"
Mr Prosser shook his finger at him for a bit, then stopped and put it away again.

第一章
这是一所普通的房子，无论从哪个方面来看都毫不起眼。也许这所房子只对惟一一个人有着特殊的意义，那就是阿瑟·邓特，而这也仅仅只因为他碰巧是住在里面的人而已。自从搬出伦敦那个让他紧张和急躁的鬼地方，阿瑟住在这儿已经3年了。他大概30岁上下，高个子，深色头发，属于那种总也平静不下来的家伙。他最大的焦虑就是，周围的人总是问他为什么看上去这么焦虑。他在当地的广播电台工作，他总是告诉自己的朋友们这份工作比他们想像中的有趣得多。而实际上，他的大部分朋友本身就是在这家电台工作的。
阿瑟并不知道，委员会已经决定要推倒这所房子，修成一条通道。
星期四早上8点，阿瑟感觉有点儿不舒服。他迷迷糊糊地醒来，起床，又迷迷糊糊地在房间里转悠，他推开一扇窗户，看见了一辆推土机，他找到自己的拖鞋，咕咚咕咚走进卫生间洗漱。
把牙膏涂在牙刷上——好，开始刷牙。
刮胡镜——居然对着天花板。于是他开始调整，在某一个角度上，镜子正好映出第二辆推土机驶过卫生间的窗户。终于调整好位置了，镜中映出了阿瑟·邓特的胡子。他刮干净胡子，清洗，擦干，又咕咚咕咚冲进厨房，想找点儿好吃的东西填进嘴巴。
“推土机”这个词儿一度在他脑海中盘旋着，想找到什么相关联的东西。
厨房窗外的那台推土机可真是个大家伙。
阿瑟盯着它。
他站在那儿，回想着。酒馆，他想起来了。噢，天啊，那家酒馆。他模糊地记得自己当时发了火，是为了某件似乎很重要的事发火。他当时正在向别人讲述这件事，不厌其烦地详细讲述着，那是他刚刚知道的关于一条新通道的消息。这个消息应该已经传出来好几个月了，但看上去居然没有谁知道，真够荒谬的。他喝了口水。这事儿得去解决掉，他决定了，没有人想要这条破通道，委员会根本就站不住脚。这事儿得去解决去。
天啊，这酒还真醉得不轻。他望着穿衣镜中的自己，伸了伸舌头。“黄色。”他想。于是“黄色”这个词儿在他脑海中盘旋着，想找到什么相关联的东西。
15秒钟过后，他来到屋外，横躺在一辆巨型的黄色推土机前面，这辆推土机正向他的花园小径开过去。
普洛塞先生，按照人们的说法，只是一个普通人。换句话说，他属于一种主要由碳元素构成的两足动物，直接从猿进化而来。如果要再多介绍几句的话，那么，他40岁，是个胖子，衣着破旧，为本地的委员会工作。有趣的是，虽然他本人并不知道，但他确确实实是成吉思汗的直系后代，尽管过多的代系和种族的融合早已经改变了他的基因，使他不再具有蒙古人外貌上的特征。说起来，普洛塞先生那伟大的祖先留给他的惟一遗传特征也许就是明显的矮壮身材，以及对短毛皮帽子的偏爱了。
他绝对不是一个伟大的战士，实际上，他是一个紧张、焦虑的人。今天，他尤其紧张，尤其焦虑，因为他的工作遇到了不小的麻烦。他今天的任务就是，监督阿瑟·邓特的房子在一天之内给铲平。
“起来吧，邓特先生，”他说，“你拗不过的，这你知道。你总不能老躺在推土机前面吧。”他极力让自己的眼神看起来恶狠狠的，但是眼睛却不听使唤。
阿瑟躺在泥浆里，瞟了他一眼。
“那好吧，就让咱们来玩个游戏。”他说，“瞧瞧究竟是谁先熬不住。”
“我很抱歉，不过恐怕你还是得接受这个现实。”普洛塞先生说，一边用手抓住自己的毛皮帽子，一直卷到头顶上，“这条通道必须得建，它就快要建了！”
“我可是第一次听说这个什么通道。”阿瑟说，“凭什么它就一定得建呢？”
普洛塞先生冲他晃动着手指，好一会儿才停下来，收了回去。