Now, I am the first to appreciate a joke, said Arthur and then had to wait for the others to stop laughing.
I am the first… he stopped again. This time he stopped and listened to the silence. There actually was silence this time, and it had come very suddenly.
Prak was quiet. For days they had lived with constant manical laughter ringing round the ship, only occasionally relieved by short periods of light giggling and sleep. Arthur’s very soul was clenched with paranoia.
This was not the silence of sleep. A buzzer sounded. A glance at a board told them that the buzzer had been sounded by Prak.
He’s not well, said Trillian quietly. The constant laughing is completely wrecking his body.
Arthur’s lips twitched but he said nothing.
We’d better go and see him, said Trillian.
Trillian came out of the cabin wearing her serious face.
He wants you to go in, she said to Arthur, who was wearing his glum and tight-lipped one. He thrust his hands deep into his dressing-gown pockets and tried to think of something to say which wouldn’t sound petty. It seemed terribly unfair, but he couldn’t.
Please, said Trillian.
He shrugged and went in, taking his glum and tight-lipped face with him, despite the reaction this always provoked from Prak.
He looked down at his tormentor, who was lying quietly on the bed, ashen and wasted. His breathing was very shallow. Ford and Zaphod were standing by the bed looking awkward.
You wanted to ask me something, said Prak in a thin voice and coughed slightly.
Just the cough made Arthur stiffen, but it passed and subsided.
How do you know that? he asked.
Prak shrugged weakly.
‘Cos it’s true, he said simply.
Arthur took the point.