from
The Restaurant at the End of the Universe
by Douglas Adams
The Restaurant at the End of the Universe
by Douglas Adams
...and his eyes, though open, seemed closed.
The rain pelted
and danced on the corrugated iron roof of the small shack that stood in
the middle of this patch of scrubby land. The noise of the rain on the roof of
the shack was deafening within, but went largely unnoticed by its occupant,
whose attention was otherwise engaged. He was a tall shambling man with rough
straw-coloured hair that was damp from the leaking roof. His clothes were
shabby, his back was hunched, and his eyes, though open, seemed closed.
In his shack was an old beaten-up armchair, an old
scratched table, an old mattress, some cushions and a stove that was small but
warm. He stood up and found a glass that was lying on the floor by the
mattress. He poured in a measure from his whisky bottle. He sat again.
“Perhaps some other people are coming to see me,” he said.
The door opened.
“Hello?” said the man.
“Ah, excuse me,” said Zarniwoop, “I have reason to
believe...”
“Do you rule the Universe?” said Zaphod.
The man smiled at him.
“I try not to,” he said. “Are you wet?”
Zaphod looked at him in astonishment.
“Wet?” he cried. “Doesn’t it look as if we’re wet?”
“That’s how it looks to me,” said the man, “but how you
feel about it might be an altogether different matter. If you feel warmth makes
you dry, you’d better come in.”
They went in.
They looked around the tiny shack, Zarniwoop with slight
distaste, Trillian with interest, Zaphod with delight.
“Hey, er...” said Zaphod, “what’s your name?”
The man looked at them doubtfully.
“I don’t know. Why, do you think I should have one? It
seems very odd to give a bundle of vague sensory perceptions a name.”
He invited Trillian to sit in the chair. He sat on the edge
of the chair, Zarniwoop leaned stiffly against the table and Zaphod lay on the
mattress.
“Wowee!” said Zaphod, “the seat of power!” He tickled the
cat.
“Listen,” said Zarniwoop, “I must ask you some questions.”
“Alright,” said the man kindly, “you can sing to my cat if
you like.”
“Would he like that?” asked Zaphod.
“You’d better ask him,” said the man.
“Does he talk?” said Zaphod.
“I have no memory of him talking,” said the man, “but I am
very unreliable.”
Zarniwoop pulled some notes out of a pocket.
“Now,” he said, “you do rule the Universe, do you?”
“How can I tell?” said the man.
Zarniwoop ticked off a note on the paper.
“How long have you been doing this?”
“Ah,” said the man, “this is a question about the past, is
it?”
Zarniwoop looked at him in puzzlement. This wasn’t exactly
what he had been expecting.
“Yes,” he said.
“How can I tell,” said the man, “that the past isn’t a
fiction designed to account for the discrepancy between my immediate physical
sensations and my state of mind?”
“No, listen to me,” said Zarniwoop, “people come to you do
they? In ships...”
“I think so,” said the man. He handed the bottle to
Trillian.
“And they ask you,” said Zarniwoop, “to make decisions for
them? About people’s lives, about worlds, about economies, about wars, about
everything going on out there in the Universe?”
“Out there?” said the man, “out where?”
“Out there!” said Zarniwoop pointing at the door.
“How can you tell there’s anything out there,” said the man
politely, “the door’s closed.”
“But you know there’s a whole Universe out there!” cried
Zarniwoop. “You can’t dodge your responsibilities by saying they don’t exist!”
The ruler of the Universe thought for a long while whilst
Zarniwoop quivered with anger.
“You’re very sure of your facts,” he said at last, “I
couldn’t trust the thinking of a man who takes the Universe – if there is one –
for granted.”
Zarniwoop still quivered, but was silent.
“I only decide about my Universe,” continued the man
quietly. “My Universe is my eyes and my ears. Anything else is hearsay.”
“But don’t you believe in anything?”
The man shrugged and picked up his cat.
“I don’t understand what you mean,” he said.
“You don’t understand that what you decide in this shack of
yours affects the lives and fates of millions of people? This is all
monstrously wrong!”
“I don’t know. I’ve never met all these people you speak
of. And neither, I suspect, have you. They only exist in words we hear. It is
folly to say you know what is happening to other people. Only they know, if
they exist. They have their own Universes of their own eyes and ears.”
“Do you believe other people exist?” insisted Zarniwoop.
“I have no opinion. How can I say?”
Zarniwoop continued.
“But don’t you understand that people live or die on your
word?”
“It’s nothing to do with me,” he said, “I am not involved
with people. The Lord knows I am not a cruel man.”
“Ah!” barked Zarniwoop, “you say ‘The Lord’. You believe in
something!”
“My cat,” said the man benignly, picking it up and stroking
it, “I call him The Lord. I am kind to him.”
“Alright,” said Zarniwoop, pressing home his point, “How do
you know he exists? How do you know he knows you to be kind, or enjoys what he
thinks of as your kindness?”
“I don’t,” said the man with a smile, “I have no idea. It
merely pleases me to behave in a certain way to what appears to be a cat. Do
you behave any differently? Please, I think I am tired.”
Zarniwoop heaved a thoroughly dissatisfied sigh and looked
about.
“Where are the other two?” he said suddenly.
“What other two?” said the ruler of the Universe, settling
back into his chair and refilling his whisky glass.
“Beeblebrox and the girl! The two who were here!”
“I remember no one. The past is a fiction to account
for...”
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