h2g2 The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy: Earth Edition

Right, I have had a great night of prayer and stuff.

Ou boulomai binein en gamei.

to gamos doesn't exist. en twi gamikwi is what you want.

I think the most stunning moment in any movie was in Gandhi where the Hindu guy said Look I killed a Moslem child's parents, or something. And Gandhi said well, take the Moslem child and raise him as your own, and raise him as a Moslem. That was awesome. So awesome.

The Goondas stand. They glance at Suhrawardy; he smiles tautly and
they start to leave, but one (Nahari) lingers. Suddenly he moves violently toward Gandhi,
taking a flat piece of Indian bread (chapati) from his trousers and tossing it
forcefully on Gandhi.


NAHARI: Eat.



Mirabehn and Azad start to move toward him – the man looks
immensely strong and immensely unstable. But Gandhi holds up a shaking hand, stopping
them. Nahari's face is knotted in emotion, half anger, half almost a child's fear –
but there is a wild menace in that instability.


NAHARI: Eat! I am going to hell – but not with
your death on my soul.

GANDHI: Only God decides who goes to hell . . .

NAHARI (stiffening, aggressive): I – I
killed a child . . . (Then an anguished defiance) I smashed his head against a
wall.



Gandhi stares at him, breathless.


GANDHI (in a fearful whisper): Why? Why?



It is as though the man has told him of some terrible self-inflicted
wound.


NAHARI (tears now – and wrath): They
killed my son – my boy!



Almost reflexively he holds his hand out to indicate the height of
his son. He glares at Suhrawardy and then back at Gandhi.


NAHARI: The Muslims killed my son . . . they killed
him.



He is sobbing, but in his anger it seems almost as though he means
to kill Gandhi in retaliation. A long moment, as Gandhi meets his pain and wrath. Then


GANDHI: I know a way out of hell.



Nahari sneers, but there is just a flicker of desperate curiosity.


GANDHI: Find a child – a child whose mother and
father have been killed. A little boy – about this high.



He raises his hand to the height Nahari has indicated as his son's.


GANDHI: . . . and raise him – as your own.



Nahari has listened. His face almost cracks – it is a chink of
light, but it does not illumine his darkness.


GANDHI: Only be sure . . . that he is a Muslim. And
that you raise him as one.



And now the light falls on Nahari. His face stiffens, he swallows,
fighting any show of emotion; then he turns to go. But he takes only a step and he turns
back, going to his knees, the sobs breaking again and again from his heaving body as he
holds his head to Gandhi's feet in the traditional greeting of Hindu son to Hindu father.
A second, and Gandhi reaches out and touches the top of his head.

Mirabehn watches. The Goondas watch. Suhrawardy watches. Finally


GANDHI (gently, exhaustedly): Go – go.
God bless you . . .

I wonder whether the Lord -- well I expect so. He is after all so very wise and lovely. But Sunny had it right, last night. Hey ho.

Anyway. I'm tired really. I am waiting for about nine thirty then I shall be off and probably the M3 and to Mamacos, no not the M3, just down the M4, and to wherever Mamacos is, Retreat I think, and choose a fabric for my curtains. I want dark green, OK really dark green and a soft but thick velveteen basically. I could e'en get the suede again. It needs to be thick and soft, it needs to block out the light but also to feel mmm yummy to the eyes. Want some form of thick velveteen something disastrously decadent. To go with the red carpet and the wallpaper. I think a sober wallpaper.

Don't feel up to going anywhere just at the moment. Something called an "etymological fallacy" I see. That could be levelled very straightly at me! Do I care? No, because if you look even more closely you will see that I have co-ordinated all my writing with a theological mind, which controls everything. But that might be too subtle for some. Those who are quickest to find fallacies are sometimes the dullest of intellects.

I think my policy is just going to be ignore all reviews except opinions I've asked for from people who understand how to do justice to the genre of my work. Which is purely devotional.

OK.

It's been a moderately good day. I enjoyed some fried eggs and fish fingers this evening (burnt) and some Weetbix just now with the last of the milk. Nice to eat a bit more - it's cooler these days. 13 degrees out and I've just put the heating on. It's the second week of May so I've got the heating on, but only just now. I haven't been as profligate with the leccy as I usually was with the gas (I loved my gas ).