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Board cut him off without fail every time he paid his bill； it seemed only reasonable that they should leave him connected when he didn't。 Sending them money obviously only drew attention to yourself。
The room was much as he had left it； i。e。 festeringly untidy； though the effect was muted a little by a thick layer of dust。 Half…read books and magazines nestled amongst piles of half…used towels。 Half pairs of socks reclined in half…drunk cups of coffee。 What was once a half…eaten sandwich had now half…turned into something that Arthur entirely didn't want to know about。 Bung a fork of lightning through this lot； he thought to himself； and you'd start the evolution of life all over again。
There was only one thing in the room that was different。
For a moment or so he couldn't see what the one thing that was different was； because it too was covered in a film of disgusting dust。 Then his eyes caught it and stopped。
It was next to a battered old television on which it was only possible to watch Open University Study Courses； because if it tried to show anything more exciting it would break down。
It was a box。
Arthur pushed himself up on his elbows and peered at it。
It was a grey box； with a kind of dull lustre to it。 It was a cubic grey box； just over a foot on a side。 It was tied with a single grey ribbon； knotted into a neat bow on the top。
He got up； walked over and touched it in surprise。 Whatever it was was clearly gift…wrapped； neatly and beautifully； and was waiting for him to open it。
Cautiously； he picked it up and carried it back to the bed。 He brushed the dust off the top and loosened the ribbon。 The top of the box was a lid； with a flap tucked into the body of the box。
He untucked it and looked into the box。 In it was a glass globe； nestling in fine grey tissue paper。 He drew it out； carefully。 It wasn't a proper globe because it was open at the bottom； or； as Arthur realized turning it over； at the top； with a thick rim。 It was a bowl。 A fish bowl。
It was made of the most wonderful glass perfectly transparent； yet with an extraordinary silver…grey quality as if crystal and slate had gone into its making。
Arthur slowly turned it over and over in his hands。 It was one of the most beautiful objects he had ever seen； but he was entirely perplexed by it。 He looked into the box； but other than the tissue paper there was nothing。 On the outside of the box there was nothing。
He turned the bowl round again。 It was wonderful。 It was exquisite。 But it was a fish bowl。
He tapped it with his thumbnail and it rang with a deep and glorious chime which was sustained for longer than seemed possible； and when at last it faded seemed not to die away but to drift off into other worlds； as into a deep sea dream。
Entranced； Arthur turned it round yet again； and this time the light from the dusty little bedside lamp caught it at a different angle and glittered on some fine abrasions on the fish bowl's surface。 He held it up； adjusting the angle to the light； and suddenly saw clearly the finely engraved shapes of words shadowed on the glass。
… So Long； … they said； … and Thanks。。。
And that was all。 He blinked； and understood nothing。
For fully five more minutes he turned the object round and around； held it to the light at different angles； tapped it for its mesmerizing chime and pondered on the meaning of the shadowy letters but could find none。 Finally he stood up； filled the bowl with water from the tap and put it back on the table next to the television。 He shook the little Babel fish from his ear and dropped it； wriggling； into the bowl。 He wouldn't be needing it any more； except for watching foreign movies。
He returned to lie on his bed； and turned out the light。
He lay still and quiet。 He absorbed the enveloping darkness； slowly relaxed his limbs from end to end； eased and regulated his breathing； gradually cleared his mind of all thought； closed his eyes and was pletely incapable of getting to sleep。
The night was uneasy with rain。 The rain clouds themselves had now moved on and were currently concentrating their attention on a small transport cafe just outside Bournemouth； but the sky through which they had passed had been disturbed by them and now wore a damply ruffled air； as if it didn't know what else it might not do it further provoked。
The moon was out in a watery way。 It looked like a ball of paper from the back pocket of jeans that have just e out of the washing machine； and which only time and ironing would tell if it was an old shopping list or a five pound note。
The wind flicked about a little； like the tail of a horse that's trying to decide what sort of mood it's in tonight； and a bell somewhere chimed midnight。
A skylight creaked open。
It was stiff and had to be jiggled and persuaded a little because the frame was slightly rotten and the hinges had at some time in its life been rather sensibly painted over； but eventually it was open。
A strut was found to prop it and a figure struggled out into the narrow gully between the opposing pitches of the roof。
It stood and watched the sky in silence。
The figure was pletely unrecognizable as the wild…looking creature who had burst crazily into the cottage a little over an hour ago。 Gone was the ragged threadbare dressing gown； smeared with the mud of a hundred worlds； stained with junk food condiment from a hundred grimy spaceports； gone was the tangled mane of hair； gone the long and knotted beard； flourishing ecosystem and all。
Instead； there was Arthur Dent the smooth and casual； in corduroys and a chunky sweater。 His hair was cropped and washed； his chin clean shaven。 Only the eyes still said that whatever it was the Universe thought it was doing to him； he would still like it please to stop。
They were not the same eyes with which he had last looked out at this particular scene； and the brain which interpreted the images the eyes resolved was not the same brain。 There had been no surgery involved； just the continual wrenching of experience。
The night seemed like an alive thing to him at this moment； the dark earth around him a being in which he was rooted。
He could feel like a tingle on distant nerve ends the flood of a far river； the roll of invisible hills； the knot of heavy rainclouds parked somewhere away to the south。
He could sense； too； the thrill of being a tree； which was something he hadn't expected。 He knew that it felt good to curl your toes in the earth； but he'd never realized it could feel quite as good as that。 He could sense an almost unseemly wave of pleasure reaching out to him all the way from the New Forest。 He must try this summer； he thought； and see what having leaves felt like。
From another direction he felt the sensation of being a sheep startled by a flying saucer； but it was virtually indistinguishable from the feeling of being a sheep startled by anything else it ever encountered； for they were creatures who learned very little on their journey through life； and would be startled to see the sun rising in the morning； and astonished by all the green stuff in the fields。
He was s