"Well, didn't you think of anything? I thought you said you were going to think of something. Perhaps you thought of something and I didn't notice."
"Oh yes, I thought of something," panted Ford.
Arthur looked up expectantly.
"But unfortunately," continued Ford, "it rather involved being on the other side of this airtight hatchway." He kicked the hatch they'd just been thrown through.
"But it was a good idea, was it?"
"Oh yes, very neat."
"What was it?"
"Well, I hadn't worked out the details yet. Not much point now, is there?"
"So . . . er, what happens next?" asked Arthur.
"Oh, er, well, the hatchway in front of us will open automatically in a few moments and we will shoot out into deep space I expect and asphyxiate. If you take a lungful of air with you you can last for up to thirty seconds, of course . . ." said Ford. He stuck his hands behind his back, raised his eyebrows and started to hum an old Betelgeusian battle hymn. To Arthur's eyes he suddenly looked very alien.
"So, this is it," said Arthur, "we are going to die."
"Yes," said Ford, "except . . . no! Wait a minute!" He suddenly lunged across the chamber at something behind Arthur's line of vision. "What's this switch?" he cried.
"What? Where?" cried Arthur, twisting round.
"No, I was only fooling," said Ford, "we are going to die after all."
He slumped against the wall again and carried on the tune from where he left off.
"You know," said Arthur, "it's at times like this, when I'm trapped in a Vogon airlock with a man from Betelgeuse, and about to die of asphyxiation in deep space, that I really wish I'd listened to what my mother told me when I was young."
"Why, what did she tell you?"
"I don't know, I didn't listen."
"Oh," Ford carried on humming.
"This is terrific," Arthur thought to himself. "Nelson's Column has gone, McDonald's has gone, all that's left is me and the words Mostly harmless. Any second now all that will be left is Mostly harmless. And yesterday the planet seemed to be going so well."
A motor whirred.
A slight hiss built into a deafening roar of rushing air as the outer hatchway opened onto an empty blackness studded with tiny, impossibly bright points of light. Ford and Arthur popped into outer space like corks from a toy gun.
A pretty bleak ending to this chapter of Hitchhiker's. Arthur and Ford sucked into the abyss of space, seemingly to their deaths. Of course, since you are all sophisticated readers, I'm sure you realize that this isn't the end of our heroes. After all, this book is a comedy, not a tragedy. Therefore, something utterly preposterous will save their lives in the next chapter. Or the chapter after that. Never fear.
Of course, I'm not in a comedy. I'm not in a tragedy, either. This is simply life, and, sometimes, life is really wonderful, and sometimes it kinda sucks. Recently, the scales have been tipped to the "it kinda sucks" end. I'm waiting for the pendulum to swing back in the other direction. Sorry for the mixed metaphor.
Tonight, I am going to one of my favorite events of the month--an open mic at a place called the Joy Center. I will be surrounded by friends and poets and writers. We will tell stories to each other, read poems, eat fruit, and fill the empty cups of our lives until they are spilling over. At least, that's what always happens for me.
I have been looking forward to this event all week. If you're in my neck of the woods tonight, stop by the Joy Center. Eat a kumquat. Listen to some good writing. If you're brave, stand up and tell us your story. There's plenty of oxygen in this space for everyone.
Saint Marty is taking a deep breath. He's ready . . .
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