Chapter 28 Chapter Twenty Eight

"People are starting to talk about it," Finchitch said that night after they hauled her cello in. "Not just the talk," said Arthur, "but it's printed, under the bingo awards, in big bold letters. That's why I think we'd better have that." He showed her the long, narrow booklet of the plane ticket. "Arthur!" she said, holding him, "does that mean you've talked to him?" "It took me a day," said Arthur, "and I was exhausted on the phone. I really called Fleet Street Center) called every section of every newspaper and finally got his number."

"You did put in a lot of effort and you're drenched in sweat, poor baby." "It wasn't Khan," said Arthur wearily, "it was because of a photojournalist. I had a big fight with him, but—never mind, the important thing is, it worked." "You talked to him." "I spoke to his wife. She said he was too weird to answer the phone and asked if he could call later." He sat down heavily and realized that he had forgotten something, so he went to the refrigerator to look for it. "What do you want to drink?" "That would kill. After my cello teacher looked me up and down and said, 'Oh yeah honey, I want to have some Tchaikovsky today.' Then I knew I was doomed."

"I called back," Arthur said, "and she said he was 3.2 light-years away and told me to call later." "Oh." "I called again. — she said things had improved. He was only 2.6 light-years away from the phone, but still too far away to hear him." "Have you ever wondered," Finchitch said suspiciously, "that there might be someone else to talk to?" "That's worse," said Arthur, "I talked to someone who knew him in a scientific magazine, and he said that John Watson not only believed, but had solid evidence, that a blond beard And the angel with the green wings and the Sonic slippers said to him that the most popular stupid statement of the month was true. For those who questioned these scenarios, he would triumphantly point out the error in the doubt, and that's all I got information."

"I don't think it's that bad," Finchchi said quietly.She rubbed the tickets listlessly. "I called Mrs. Watson again," said Arthur. "By the way, her name, you may want to know, is Mystery Jill." "I see." "Glad you understand. I thought you might not believe this at all, so I recorded it on my answering machine when I called her this time." He walked over to the answering machine and fiddled with all the buttons angrily for a while, because it was "Which?" " (a well-known British consumer magazine) magazine, it is almost impossible for you to use it without going crazy.

"That's it," he said finally, wiping sweat from his brow. The sound of running back and forth on the geostationary satellite was weak and intermittent, but also unforgettablely calm. "Maybe I should explain," said the mysterious Jill Watson voice, "that the phone is actually in a room he never goes in. In a shelter, you know. Solitary don't like to go into shelters , so never go in. I think you need to know this, because it saves you less phone calls. If you want to see him, it is easy to arrange. All you have to do is walk in. He only sees guests outside the shelter .”

Arthur's voice was in the most confused state: "Sorry, I don't understand, where is the shelter?" "Where's the shelter?" repeated the mysterious Jill Watson. "Have you read the directions on the toothpick packet?" Inside the tape, Arthur's voice had to admit that he hadn't read it. "You'll love to read it. You'll find that helps you clear things up a bit. You'll find that tells you where the shelter is. Thanks." The telephone line was hung up.Arthur switched off the answering machine. "Well, I think we can take this as an invitation," he said with a shrug. "I actually got the address from the guy at Science Magazine."

Finchchi looked up at him again, frowning, and then at the ticket. "Do you think it's worth it?" she said. "Well," said Arthur, "everybody I've talked to agrees on one thing, besides the fact that he's talking nonsense, that he knows more about dolphins than any man alive."