April showers I hate especially.
However noncommittally Arthur grunted, the man seemed determined to talk to him. He wondered if he should get up and move to another table, but there didn’t seem to be one free in the whole cafeteria. He stirred his coffee fiercely.
Bloody April showers. Hate hate hate.
Arthur stared, frowning, out of the window. A light, sunny spray of rain hung over the motorway. Two months he’d been back now. Slipping back into his old life had in fact been laughably easy. People had such extraordinarily short memories, including him. Eight years of crazed wanderings round the Galaxy now seemed to him not so much like a bad dream as like a film he had videotaped from the TV and now kept in the back of a cupboard without bothering to watch.
One effect that still lingered though, was his joy at being back. Now that the Earth’s atmosphere had closed over his head for good, he thought, wrongly, everything within it gave him extraordinary pleasure. Looking at the silvery sparkle of the raindrops he felt he had to protest.
Well, I like them, he said suddenly, and for all the obvious reasons. They’re light and refreshing. They sparkle and make you feel good.
The man snorted derisively.
That’s what they all say, he said, and glowered darkly from his corner seat.
He was a lorry driver. Arthur knew this because his opening, unprovoked remark had been, I’m a lorry driver. I hate driving in the rain. Ironic isn’t it? Bloody ironic.
If there was a sequitur hidden in this remark, Arthur had not been able to divine it and had merely given a little grunt, affable but not encouraging.
But the man had not been deterred then, and was not deterred now.
They all say that about bloody April showers, he said. So bloody nice, so bloody refreshing, such charming bloody weather.
He leaned forward, screwing his face up as if he was going to say something about the government.
What I want to know is this, he said, if it’s going to be nice weather, why, he almost spat, can’t it be nice without bloody raining?
Arthur gave up. He decided to leave his coffee, which was too hot to drink quickly and too nasty to drink cold.
Well, there you go, he said and instead got up himself. Bye.
He stopped off at the service station shop, then walked back through the car park, making a point of enjoying the fine play of rain on his face. There was even, he noticed, a faint rainbow glistening over the Devon hills. He enjoyed that too.
He climbed into his battered but adored old black Golf GTi, squealed the tires, and headed out past the islands of petrol pumps and on to the slip road back towards the motorway.
He was wrong in thinking that the atmosphere of the Earth had closed finally and for ever above his head.
He was wrong to think that it would ever be possible to put behind him the tangled web of irresolutions into which his galactic travels had dragged him.
He was wrong to think he could now forget that the big, hard, oily, dirty, rainbow-hung Earth on which he lived was a microscopic dot on a microscopic dot lost in the unimaginable infinity of the Universe.
He drove on, humming, being wrong about all these things.
The reason he was wrong was standing by the slip road under a small umbrella.
His jaw sagged. He sprained his ankle against the brake pedal and skidded so hard he very nearly turned the car over.
Fenny! he shouted.
“四月的大雨是我特别讨厌的。”
虽然阿瑟只会含糊地咕哝，但那个人看起来很坚定地要跟他聊聊。他考虑着自己是不是应该站起来换个桌子坐，但整个餐馆里似乎没有别的空桌子了。他用力地搅着自己的咖啡。
“该死的四月大雨。讨厌讨厌讨厌。”
阿瑟皱着眉头望着窗外。轻柔和煦的雨洒在了高速路上。他已经回家两个月了。事实上，突然地过回旧日子相当相当地容易。人类的记忆出奇地短，包括阿瑟的。八年来的银河疯狂之旅对他来说如今只是一场噩梦，就像他从电视上录下来的现在正存在柜子后面的某部百看不厌的电影一样。
但是有一项副作用还遗留着，那就是对于回家的喜悦。现在地球的大气将永久地罩着他了，他错误地想着，地球上的每样东西都给他带来了超凡的乐趣。看着那些闪烁着银色光芒的雨滴，他觉得有必要为这场雨辩护几句。
“怎么说呢，我喜欢这雨，”他突然开口，“理由非常明显。它们又轻柔又清爽。它们闪烁的光芒让你感觉很爽。”
那个人嘲笑地哧了一声。
“他们就会说这个，”他说，从角落的黑暗中怒目而视。
他是一个卡车司机。阿瑟知道这个是因为他无缘无故没头没脑的谈话。“我是个开卡车的。我痛恨在雨里开车。是不是很讽刺？真他娘的讽刺。”
即便这段谈话中早已隐含了这一结论，阿瑟也根本预言不到。现在他只能应和一两声，语气和蔼但并不鼓励他说下去。
但是那个人原先就没有停，现在更不会停下来。
“他们都这么说该死的四月大雨，”他说，“真他妈好，真他妈清爽，多他妈迷人的天气啊。”
他把身子探过去，把脸板起来就好像他打算评论政府一样。
“我想知道的是这个，”他说，“如果这会是个好天气，那么为什么，”他几乎唾沫横飞了，“它就不能不下雨吗？”
阿瑟放弃了。他决定抛下自己的咖啡，那杯咖啡太烫了所以不能快着喝，又太黏了所以不能冷着喝。
“好吧，就这样，”他说着，随后站起来。“再见。”
他在加油站的商店里停留了一会，接着穿过停车场走回去，特别享受着雨打在脸上的感觉。那里甚至——他注意到——有一道暗淡的彩虹闪耀在德文郡小山的那头。
他爬进自己破旧但可爱的黑色Golf GTi ，轮胎尖啸，车子经过油泵开上岔路口，随后回到了高速路上。
他错误地认为地球的大气最终将永远罩在他头顶上。
他错误地认为自己有可能摆脱星际旅行把他拖进的纠结的罗网。
他错误地认为他现在可以忘掉这样一个事实：他居住的这个庞大，坚硬，圆滑，肮脏，挂着彩虹的地球，只是失落在无边无际的宇宙中的一粒尘埃中的尘埃。
他开着车，脑中嗡嗡作响，把所有这些事情都想错了。
而他想错的原因正打着伞，站在岔路口。
他的下巴快惊讶的脱臼了。他猛踩刹车踏板，把脚给扭伤了。而如此之猛的刹车使得车子几乎翻了过去。
“芬妮！”他大喊着。