"An awesome prospect, Phouchg," agreed the first man, and Arthur suddenly realized he was watching a recording with subtitles.
"We are the ones who will hear," said Phouchg, "the answer to the great question of Life . . .!"
"The Universe . . .!" said Loonquawl.
"And Everything . . .!"
"Shhh," said Loonquawl with a slight gesture, "I think Deep Thought is preparing to speak!"
There was a moment's expectant pause while panels slowly came to life on the front of the console. Lights flashed on and off experimentally and settled down into a businesslike pattern. A soft low hum came from the communication channel.
"Good morning," said Deep Thought at last.
"Er . . . good morning, O Deep Thought," said Loonquawl nervously, "do you have . . . er, that is . . ."
"An answer for you?" interrupted Deep Thought majestically. "Yes, I have."
The two men shivered with expectancy. Their waiting had not been in vain.
"There really is one?" breathed Phouchg.
"There really is one," confirmed Deep thought.
"To Everything? To the great Question of Life, the Universe and Everything?"
"Yes."
Both of the men had been trained for this moment, their lives had been a preparation for it, they had been selected at birth as those who would witness the answer, but even so they found themselves gasping and squirming like excited children.
"And you're ready to give it to us?" urged Loonquawl.
"I am."
"Now?"
"Now," said Deep Thought.
They both licked their dry lips.
"Though I don't think," added Deep Thought, "that you're going to like it."
"Doesn't matter!" said Phouchg. "We must know it! Now!"
"Now?" inquired Deep Thought.
"Yes! Now . . ."
"All right," said the computer, and settled into silence again. The two men fidgeted. The tension was unbearable.
"You're really not going to like it," observed Deep Thought.
"Tell us!"
"All right," said Deep Thought. "The Answer to the Great Question . . ."
"Yes . . .!"
"Of Life, the Universe and Everything . . ." said Deep Thought.
"Yes . . .!"
"Is . . ." said Deep Thought, and paused.
"Yes . . .!"
"Is . . ."
"Yes . . .!!! . . .?"
"Forty-two," said Deep Thought, with infinite majesty and calm.
There you go. That is the answer to the great question of life, the universe, and everything. Forty-two. 42. Six times seven. Or two times three times seven. 6 X 7. 2 X 3 X 7. It took Deep Thought seven and a half million years to come up with that answer. Of course, nobody really asked what the big question really was, did they?
I wish that all the big problems in life had such simple solutions. My wife has mental illness, how can I help her? 42. My friend's significant other is an out-of-control alcoholic, what can she do? Forty-two. My child has leukemia, how can I get her well? Six times seven. Donald Trump is President of the United States, what should I do? Two times three times seven. (Actually, the 42nd President of the United States was Bill Clinton. I'd take him over Donald Trump any day.)
I know that, when I was studying computer science and math as an undergraduate, some of the most complex problems had the simplest, most elegant solutions. There was a clear, black-and-white path to that answer, and it involved logic and objectivity.
Of course, big life questions are not algebraic or geometric. Rather, they are huge and hairy and mysterious. They're Bigfoot. When I think about it like this, I've been hunting for Bigfoot my whole life. In fact, we're all Bigfoot hunters, trying to capture and tame the wild questions/problems/issues that plague us. Love and sickness and mental health and alcoholism and . . . well, you get the idea.
It has been a Bigfoot summer for me. The hairy guy has been with me, in the shadows, since the beginning of May. I can smell him sometimes. Spy him darting into the darkness of my backyard at night. A couple of times, I've caught him in stark light. Huge. Looming. Terrifying. Of course, charging at Bigfoot with a metal pipe in my hand is going to end with me being heart-wounded, soul-dead, or physically incapacitated. I know that as a fact.
Bigfoot hunting takes time. You need to understand him. His habits and habitats. His favorite foods. Nocturnal wanderings. You need to find Bigfoot support groups and friends. People who know and have been hunting Bigfoot longer than you. People with Bigfoot experience. If you're going out, hunting Bigfoot by yourself, you will not know what to do when he comes charging through the woods at you, roaring like a jet engine.
So, the answer may be simple. Forty-two. But the question is feral, skunky, beasty. It buries its dead in the woods, and the bodies are never found. I know that I'm in for a lifetime of Bigfoot hunting. So is everybody else. Bigfoot will never be caught. Or tamed. Or killed. Rather, if we're lucky, he will stay where he belongs. In the woods. On his side of the lake. Happily hunting for grubs, scooping salmon out of the water. Co-existing peacefully with us. I won't intrude on his life. He won't intrude on mine.
For now, however, Saint Marty is going to sleep with a metal pipe under his pillow.
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