Chapter 27 Chapter Twenty Seven

"It's been wonderful," Fenchurch said a few days later, "but I still need to know what's going on with me. You see, we're not the same. You lose something and you find it , and I found something and lost it. I have to get it back." She had to go out to work during the day, so Arthur stayed inside and made calls all day. Murray Post Hansen was a reporter for a large circulation tabloid.It would be nice to say that it had no effect on him in any way, but unfortunately it didn't.He happened to be the only reporter Arthur knew, so Arthur called him anyway. "Arthur, my old spoon, my old soupbowl, it's good to hear from you. Someone told me you went into space or something."

When Murray talked, he had his own idiosyncratic vocabulary, which he had invented for himself, and which no one else could speak or learn.These terms basically mean nothing.The little bits of meaning are often so subtly hidden that no one notices them slipping by amidst the mass of nonsense.By the time you find out later which part of him makes sense, you've often missed the moment. "What?" said Arthur. "It's just a rumour. My old ivory, my little green baize card table. It's just a rumour. It probably doesn't mean anything, but I need you to tell me."

"There's nothing to say, just chatting in the bar." "That's what we make of it, my old prosthetics, that's what we make of it. Plus it fits like a week in other stories and stuff, so it's best you deny it. I'm sorry , something just fell out of my ear." There was a brief pause, and then Murray Post Hansen came back on the line, sounding genuinely shivering. "Just remembered," he said, "what a strange night I had yesterday. But my old man, I won't say anything. How did you feel when you were riding Halley's Comet?" "I haven't," Arthur sighed lowly, "I've been on Halley's Comet."

"Well, how do you feel about not riding Halley's Comet?" "It's easy, Murray." Murray paused to write this down. "Good enough for me, Arthur, good enough for Ethel and me and the chickens. Fits right in the middle of a week of weirdo. Weird week, we wanted to call it that. Nice. Huh? " "very good." "There's a bang. First we had this guy who's always raining on his head." "what?" "Absolutely the best news. All the records in his little black book will make everyone happy. The weather bureau will go to the cold heavy banana whip, those funny little men in white coats All flying in from all over the world with their little rulers and boxes and drip feed. This guy is the bee's knees, Arthur, he's the wasp's nipple. He's, I might even say, every major flyer in the western world A complete set of erogenous zones for insects. We call him the Rain God. Nice. Huh?"

"I think I've met him." "What a noise. What did you say?" "I might have met him. Always complaining, right?" "Unbelievable! Have you met the Rain God?" "If it's that person. I'll tell him to stop complaining and show his book to others." There was an emotional pause on the other end of the line from Murray Post Hansen. "Okay! You made a bundle! Absolutely a bundle you made. Listen, do you know how much money a tourism official paid this guy to keep him from going to Malaga this year? I mean , even if you don't count the tedious work of irrigated the Sahara, this guy will have a whole new job in the future, as long as he doesn't go anywhere, he can get paid. This man has become a monster, Arthur, we should even probably Use him to win bets. Look, we might have to do a column for you, "Arthur, the Man Who Made the Rain God Rain." Make a noise, huh?"

"It's good, but..." "We might have to take a picture of you in the garden sprinkler, but that's all right. Where are you?" "Well, I'm in Islington. Listen, Murray..." "Islington!" "right……" "Okay, what about the really weird stuff this week, the really really crazy stuff. What do you know about people who can fly?" "have no idea." "You sure know. This is the real crazy thing. It's real meatballs in the batter. The locals keep calling and saying that this couple is flying out at night. We've got people in our studio working all night , so I can get a real picture. You must have heard."

"No." "Arthur, where have you been? Oh, space, yes, I've got your own testimony. But that was a few months ago. Listen, it's been happening every night this week , my old cheese grater is right there with you. The pair just fly around in the sky and start doing all sorts of things. And I'm not talking see through walls and pretending to call box girder bridges. You have everything have no idea?" "have no idea." "Arthur, it's indescribably delicious to have a chat with you, but I've got to go. I'll send someone with a camera and a hose. Give me the address and I'll be ready to write."

"Listen, Murray, I'm calling to ask you something." "I have a lot of things to do." "I just wanted to ask about dolphins." "Not anymore. Last year's news. Forget about them. They're gone." "It's important." "Listen, no one cares about that. You can't keep a story going, you know, if the only news is that everything about it is gone. At least not here, try the Sunday papers. Maybe in a few years Probably in August, they'll come up with something like "Whatever happened to "Whatever happened to the dolphin" or something. But what do you want people to do now? "The dolphin is still missing"? "The dolphin continues to disappear"? "The dolphin— —The days of leaving them go on"? The report is over, Arthur. It's lying down and kicking, and it's a planet in the sky now, my old flying fox."

"Murray, I'm not interested in making that a story. I just want to know how I can get in touch with the guy in California who claims to know something about it. I thought you might."