Chapter 3 Chapter One

This is an ordinary house, unremarkable in every way.Perhaps the house had special significance for one person, Arthur Dent, and only because he happened to live in it.Arthur had lived here for three years, ever since he moved out of that haunted place in London that made him nervous and irritable.He was about 30 years old, tall, dark-haired, and he was the kind of guy who couldn't calm down.His biggest anxiety is that people around him always ask him why he looks so anxious.He worked at the local radio station, a job he always told his friends was more fun than they thought.In fact, most of his friends work at the station themselves.

On a Wednesday night, the rain was pouring down from the sky, and the country road was flooded and muddy.But by Thursday morning, the sun was shining brightly on Arthur Dent's house—but, for the last time, too. Unbeknownst to Arthur, the committee had decided to knock down the house and make a passageway. At 8 a.m. on Thursday, Arthur was feeling a little out of sorts.He woke up in a daze, got up, and wandered around the room in a daze. He opened a window and saw a bulldozer. He found his slippers and walked into the bathroom to wash up. Put the toothpaste on your toothbrush—okay, start brushing.

The shaving mirror - actually facing the ceiling.So he began to adjust, and at one point the mirror reflected a second bulldozer passing the bathroom window.Finally adjusted the position, Arthur Dent's beard reflected in the mirror.He shaved, washed, dried, and rushed into the kitchen, looking for something delicious to stuff his mouth. The word "bulldozer" circled in his mind for a while, trying to find something related. That bulldozer outside the kitchen window is a big one. Arthur stared at it. He stood there, thinking.Tavern, he remembered.Oh my God, that tavern.He vaguely remembered getting angry, about something that seemed important.He was telling others about it at the time, detailing what he had just learned about a new passage.This news should have been out for several months, but it seems ridiculous that no one knows.He took a sip of water.This had to be sorted out, he decided, no one wanted this shitty passage, the committee couldn't hold water at all.This matter has to be resolved.

God, this wine is really drunk.He looked at himself in the full-length mirror and stuck out his tongue. "Yellow," he thought.So the word "yellow" circled in his mind, trying to find something related. Fifteen seconds later, he was outside, lying across in front of a giant yellow bulldozer that was driving down his garden path. Mr. Prosser, as they say, is just an ordinary man.In other words, he belongs to a type of biped made mostly of carbon that evolved directly from apes.If anything, he was a fat, shabby 40-year-old who worked for the local committee.Interestingly, although he himself did not know it, he is indeed a direct descendant of Genghis Khan, although too many generations and racial integration have already changed his genes, so that he no longer has the Mongolian appearance. feature.In all probability the only hereditary traits of Mr. Prosser's great ancestry were a pronounced short stature and a penchant for short fur hats.

He's definitely not a great fighter, in fact, he's a nervous, anxious guy.Today, he is particularly nervous and anxious, because he has encountered a lot of trouble at work.His task today was to oversee the bulldozing of Arthur Dent's house in one day. "Get up, Mr. Dent," he said, "you can't hold back, you know that. You can't keep lying in front of the bulldozer." He tried to make his eyes look menacing, but they didn't work. Arthur, lying in the mud, glanced at him. "Well then, let's play a game," he said, "and see who can't stand it first."

"I'm sorry, but I'm afraid you'll have to accept that," said Mr. Prosser, clutching his fur hat and rolling it up to the top of his head. "This passage has to be built, and it's about to be built." !" "This is the first time I've heard of this passage," said Arthur. "Why should it be built?" Mr. Prosser wagged his finger at him, and took a moment to stop and retract it. "What do you mean it has to be built?" he said. "It's a passage. You have to build a passage." A passage is a device that enables people at point A to get to point B quickly, and people at point B to get to point A quickly.People who live at point C between two points usually feel very strange: what’s so good about point A that makes so many people at point B want to go there: what’s so good about point B that makes so many people at point A want to go there? Everyone longs to be there.They generally tend to want people to be able to go wherever they want once and for all.

Mr. Prosser wants to go to point D. Point D is not a specific place, it is just a convenient place away from any of points A, B, and C.There he would have a cozy country cottage with an ax over the door, and he could have a good time at point E, the nearest pub to point D.Of course, his wife would have preferred the growing roses, but he just wanted the axe.He didn't know why - he just liked axes.At this time, he saw the mocking smiles of the bulldozer drivers, and his face turned red all of a sudden. He switched feet for support, but neither was comfortable.Clearly, there was going to be someone who wasn't up to the job here, God forbid, he hoped it wasn't himself.

"You are fully empowered to make suggestions or to protest when appropriate, and you know that," Mr Prosser said. "In due time?" Arthur snorted contemptuously. "In due time? I just heard about it for the first time when a workman came to my house yesterday. I asked him if he came to clean the windows, and he said no, he came to knock down my house. Of course, He didn't tell me this directly. He cleaned two windows for me and charged me $5 before telling me." "But, Mr. Dent, you know, these plans have been sitting in the local planning office for nine months."

"Oh yeah? Well, I tell you, I went straight to the plans as soon as I heard the news, and that was yesterday afternoon. But you seem to have forgotten to keep an eye on them, have you? I mean, like you just said." "However, these plans should be shown to the public..." "Display? I ended up having to go down in the basement and dig them out." "That's our showroom." "So dim lights?" "Oh, that's right, some lights may be broken." "And the stairs are broken." "Okay. But lo and behold, you finally got the notice, didn't you?"

"Yes," said Arthur, "I did see it. It was just the bottom level of a locked filing cabinet lying around in a disused toilet door with 'Watch out for leopards' written on the door." Then a cloud passed overhead, casting a shadow over Arthur Dent, propped on his elbows in the cold mud, and over his house.Mr. Prosser watched and frowned. "It doesn't look like a particularly nice house," he said. "I'm sorry, but I just happen to like it." "You'll like the passage too." "Oh, shut up," said Arthur Dent, "you shut up and get the hell out of here, and take your damned passage. You're no stander, you know."

Mr. Prosser opened and closed his mouth several times when his mind was suddenly occupied by an inexplicable but alluring scene: Arthur Dent's house was on fire, and Arthur Dent's house was on fire. Thur himself was running screaming from the burning ruins, with at least three thick spears protruding from the back of his chest.Mr. Prosser was often haunted by scenes like this, which made him very nervous.He faltered for a while before he came to his senses. "Mr. Dent," he said. "Huh? What's the matter?" said Arthur. "There are some very realistic situations you have to understand. Have you ever thought about what will happen if I let this bulldozer run over you?" "What kind?" Arthur asked. "Nothing," said Mr. Prosser.He was even more tense now, because he couldn't figure out why it seemed like thousands of longhaired horsemen were roaring at him in his mind. In a curious coincidence, "nothing" represents exactly how much the ape-evolved Arthur Dent doubted the fact that one of his closest friends did not likewise evolve from an ape, and that man was actually from the constellation Orion An asteroid near Betelgeuse, not from Guildford as he usually claimed. Arthur Dent never doubted his words. His friend, who first came to this planet called Earth 15 Earth years ago, had worked his ass off to fit into Earth society - and at this point, it must be admitted, he had been quite successful.For example, he spent 15 years playing an out-of-work actor, and that was more or less enough. But he still made an inadvertent mistake because he was a little lazy in his preparations.Based on the information gathered, he chose the name "Ford Prefect" so as not to draw attention to himself. Sometimes he would be gripped by a strange distraught mood, staring straight up at the sky, as if hypnotized, until someone came to ask him what he was doing.Only then did he relax, grinning and said: "Oh, nothing, just looking for a flying saucer in the sky." Hearing his jokes, everyone would laugh and ask him what kind of flying saucer he was looking for. "They're green!" he'd always reply with a smirk, and then, after a wild laugh, he'd burst into the nearest bar for a round of drinks. In fact, as he stared restlessly at the sky, he was looking for any kind of flying saucer.And the reason he answered green was because green was the traditional uniform color of Betelgeuse trade inspectors. Ford Prefect was desperate for any imminent arrival of flying saucers, because 15 years was enough time to trap a person anywhere, especially on an incredibly dull planet like Earth. Ford hoped that a flying saucer would arrive soon, because he knew how to land it with semaphores, and a ladder stretched out from it to pick him up.He knows how to see the wonders of the universe for less than 30 Altair dollars a day. In fact, Ford Prefect was an interstellar wanderer who specialized in that absolutely remarkable book, . Humans are excellent adaptants, and by lunchtime the dispute at Arthur's house had settled into a stable routine.Arthur had accepted the role of lying in the mud, making impromptu requests, like seeing his lawyer and his mother, or reading a good book or something: and Mr Prosser had accepted such role: to deal with Arthur with temporary new strategies, like telling him about the public interest, about the progress of the project, telling him that his house has been demolished, and he has never looked back, and various Other sweet words and malicious threats: the role of the bulldozer driver is to sit on the sidelines, drink coffee, and quietly watch how the two people steer the situation to the side that suits their interests. The earth continues to rotate slowly according to its own daily rhythm. The sun had begun to dry the mud where Arthur lay. A shadow covered Arthur again. "How are you, Arthur," said Shadow. Arthur looked up and was startled to see Ford Prefect standing just above him. "Ford! Hey, how are you?" "It's all right," said Ford. "Hey, are you busy?" "Can I not be busy?" Arthur yelled. "I'm here alone to stop these goddam bulldozers, or they'll knock down my house. But then... oh no, it's not too busy. What, is there something wrong?" Arthur never laughed at Betelgeuse when they were together (unless he was concentrating, which Ford Prefect never noticed).He said, "Well, is there somewhere we can talk here?" "What?" Arthur Dent didn't respond for a moment. For a few seconds, Ford seemed to ignore him entirely, staring blankly at the sky like a rabbit trying to dodge a car.Then suddenly he crouched down beside Arthur. "We have to talk," he said eagerly. "Well," said Arthur, "talk." "Got to drink more," said Ford. "Talking and drinking are very important. Oh, we'll go to the village pub." He looked up at the sky again, nervous and expectant. "Hey, don't you understand?" cried Arthur.He pointed to Prosser and said, "This guy wants to bulldoze my house!" Ford looked at him, confused. "Well, if you leave, won't he be able to do this?" He asked. "But I don't want him to do that!" "Oh." "Hey, what's the matter with you, Ford?" said Arthur. "Nothing. Nothing really. You listen to me—I have to tell you something, and it's probably the most important thing you'll ever hear. In the saloon bar." "why?" "Because you're going to need a strong drink then." Ford stared at Arthur, who was surprised to see his will begin to weaken.Little did he realize that this was due to Ford's trick of an old drinking game that Ford had learned in the hyperspace ports that served the mining regions of the Orion Beta system. The game, similar to what is known on Earth as Indian wrestling, is played as follows: Two contestants sit on opposite sides of a table, each with a glass in front of them. A bottle of Jakes sits in the middle of the table. Competitors need to concentrate their mental energy on the bottle, try to tilt the bottle towards the opponent, pour the wine into the opponent's glass, and the opponent must drink the wine. Then, the bottle is refilled.The game continues.Then go on. Once you start losing, you are likely to keep losing, because one of the effects of Jakes is to weaken people's mental strength.After the pre-determined amount of alcohol has been poured down, the last loser must be punished, and these punishments are usually debauchery. Ford Prefect was usually among the losers. Ford stared at Arthur, and Arthur began to think that perhaps he really wanted to go to "Horse and Groom". "But what about my house?" he asked sadly. Ford looked at Mr. Prosser, and suddenly a bad idea popped into his head. "Is he the one who's going to knock your house down?" "Yes, he wants to cultivate..." "You're laying in front of his bulldozer so he can't get away?" "Yes, and..." "I promise we can get this sorted out," Ford said. "Excuse me!" he yelled. Mr. Prosser looked around (he was arguing with a representative of the bulldozer drivers whether Arthur Dent was out of his mind and, if so, how much they should be paid).When he found out that Arthur still had a companion, he was startled and a little wary. "Huh? What's the matter?" he asked. "Has Mr. Dent regained his senses?" "Can we just temporarily—" said Ford, "assume he hasn't?" "Really?" Mr. Prosser sighed. "And can we suppose—" said Ford, "that he's going to lie here all day?" "So what?" "Then that means your people will have to wait here all day without getting anything done." "It's possible, it's possible..." "Well, if you're going to let that happen anyway, you don't actually need him lying here all the time." "what?" "You don't actually need to," said Ford patiently. "He's here." Mr. Prosser began to think about this question. "Oh, no, not really..." he said, "It's really not necessary." Prosser was worried.He believes that only one word is not enough to express his meaning. Ford said, "Okay, if you don't think he really needs to be here, he and I can sneak out to the bar for half an hour. What do you think?" Mr Prosser thought it sounded pretty crazy. "Sounds reasonable..." he said in a calm tone, but he didn't even know who he was trying to appease. "If you suddenly want to leave at that time," Ford said, "we will always come back to replace you at any time." "Thank you so much," said Mr. Prosser, who didn't know exactly how to do it. "Thank you very much, really, you're very kind..." He frowned, smiled, and thought for a moment Do both expressions at the same time, the result is of course failure.He clutched his fur hat tightly in his hands and turned it around on his head, trying to find the right place to put it on.He could only assume that he was victorious. "Then," continued Ford Prefect, "will you come here and lie down..." "What?" asked Mr. Prosser. "Oh, I'm sorry," said Ford, "maybe I didn't get my point across. Someone has got to be lying in front of the bulldozer, isn't it? Otherwise there's nothing here to keep them from driving into Mr. Dent's house, Isn't it?" "What?" asked Mr. Prosser again. "Very simply," said Ford, "my client, Mr. Dent, has indicated that he will stop lying here if you come and take his place." "What are you talking about?" Arthur asked, but Ford stomped on him to signal him to be quiet. "You want me," said Prosser, articulating this new thought to himself, "to come and lie down..." "yes." "In front of these bulldozers?" "yes." "Instead of Mr. Dent?" "yes." "In the mud." "Yes, as you said, mud." Once Mr. Prosser realized that he was ultimately a loser, it seemed that a huge burden was lifted from his shoulders: after all, this was more in line with the world he knew.He sighed. "If you can actually take Mr. Dent to the bar, what do you want in return?" "Nothing," said Ford, "yes, nothing." Mr. Prosser moved forward nervously, and stopped again. "You promise?" he asked. "I promise," said Ford, and turned to Arthur. "Go," he said to Arthur, "get up, and let this fellow lie down and take your place." Arthur stood up, feeling as if in a dream. Ford beckoned to Prosser again, and he sat awkwardly in the mud, looking dejected.At this moment, Prosser felt that his whole life was like a dream, and sometimes he was not sure whose dream it was, and whether they could take pleasure in it.Mud covered his lower body and arms and seeped into his shoes. Ford looked at him sternly. "You're not going to disturb Mr. Dent's house while he's gone, are you?" he said. "Such a thought," complained Mr. Prosser, "has never occurred to me," he continued, sitting back. "It's not in my head anyway." At this moment, he saw a representative of the bulldozer driver group approaching, so he simply threw his head back and closed his eyes.He wanted to organize the debate language to prove that he hadn't just had a sudden nervous breakdown.But that seemed unlikely—his head seemed to be filled with the smell of noise, horses, smoke, and blood.It happened whenever he felt miserable or victimized, and he couldn't explain it himself.In some space of which we know nothing, the great Khan growled with rage, but Mr. Prosser trembled and whimpered slightly.He began to feel tears coming from behind his eyelids.A bureaucratic mess, angry people lying in the mud, unidentified strangers delivering unexplained humiliations, and out of nowhere a troop of cavalry laughing at themselves in their heads - oh my god, this What the hell is it. what a hell day.Ford Prefect knew that the question of whether Arthur's house had now been knocked down was not worth even the loins of a pair of dingoes. Arthur was still worried. "Can we trust him?" he asked. "For myself, I believed him until the end of the earth," Ford said. "Oh, really," said Arthur, "how close are we to the destruction of the Earth?" "About twelve minutes," said Ford. "Come on, I need a drink."