rr.eastofealing-第4章

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　such　a　prize　for　my　own。　But　my　apartments　are　small　and　I　know　that　yours　could　easily　house　such　a　find。　What　do　you　say？'
　'I'll　want　to　have　a　look　at　the　bugger　first；　five…thirty　p。m。　tonight；　here。'
　Omally　spat　upon　his　palm　and　smacked　it　down　into　the　wrinkled　appendage　of　the　elder。　'Done；'　said　he。
　'I'd　better　not　be；'　said　Old　Pete。
　Omally　drew　his　partner　away　to　a　side…table；　'Now　that　is　what　you　call　business；'　he　told　Jim。　'The　old　bed　is　not　even　dug　out；　yet　it　is　already　sold。'
　Pooley　groaned；　he　could　already　feel　the　blisters　upon　his　palms。　'You　are　on　to　a　wrong'n　there；'　he　said。　'This　venture　has　to　me　the　smell　of　doom　about　it。　That　is　a　bomb　site　you　will　be　digging　on。　There　will　probably　be　a　corpse　asleep　in　that　bed。　Should　bed　it　in　fact　be　and　not　simply　a　shaft　or　two　of　nothing。'
　Omally　crossed　himself　at　the　mention　of　a　corpse。　'Stop　with　such　remarks；'　said　he。　'There　is　a　day's　pay　in　this　and　as　the　digger　you　deserve　half　of　any　thing　I　get。'
　'And　what　about　Norman's　wheel　and　the　many　millions　to　be　made　from　that？'
　'Well；　we　have　no　absolute　proof　that　the　wheel　spins　without　cessation。　This　would　be　a　matter　for　serious　scientific　investigation。　Such　things　take　time。'
　'We　have　no　lack　of　that；　surely？'
　'I　will　tell　you　what；'　Omally　finished　his　pint　and　studied　the　bottom　of　his　glass。　'I　will　chance　your　wheel　if　you　will　chance　my　bedframe。'
　Pooley　looked　doubtful。
　'Now　be　fair；'　said　John。　'There　are　degrees　of　doubt　to　be　weighed　up　on　either　side。　Firstly；　of　course　you　cannot　approach　Norman；　he　knows　that　you　are　on　to　him。　A　third　party　must　act　here。　Someone　with　a　subtlety　of　approach。　Someone　gifted　in　such　matters。'
　'Someone　such　as　yourself？'
　'Good　idea；'　said　John。　'But　time　is　of　the　essence；　we　don't　want　any　opportunists　dipping　in　before　us。　When　we　leave　here　you　collect　a　couple　of　tools　from　my　plot　and　whip　the　bed　out　and　I　will　go　around　to　Norman's。'
　If　Pooley　had　looked　doubtful　before；　it　was　nought　to　the　way　he　looked　now。　'I　do　not　feel　that　I　am　getting　the　better　part　of　this；'　he　said　slowly。
　'Better　part？'　Omally's　face　was　all　outrage。　'We　are　a　business　partnership　are　we　not？　There　are　no　better　parts　involved　here。　Surely　you　are　now　sowing　seeds　of　distrust？'
　'Who；　me？　Perish　the　thought。　The　fact　that　I　will　be　labouring　away　in　a　minefield　digging　up　a　rusty　old　bedframe　while　you　stand　chit…chatting　in　a　cosy　corner…shop　had　not　crossed　my　mind。'
　'So？'
　Jim　folded　his　brow。　'Whose　round　is　it？'
　'Yours；　Jim；'　said　John　Omally；　'most　definitely　yours。'
　
　5
　Norman　had　been　dancing　gaily　through　his　morning's　work。　Between　customers　he　had　skipped　backwards　and　forwards；　turning　the　enamel　door　handle　and　squinting　into　the　gloom　to　assure　himself　that　all　was　as　it　should　be。　The　wheel　had　been　tirelessly　spinning　for　more　than　four　hours　now　and　showed　no　signs　whatever　of　grinding　to　a　halt。　As　the　Memorial　Library　clock　struck　one　in　the　distance　he　turned　his　sign　to　the　'Closed　For　Lunch'　side；　bolted　up；　and　pranced　away　to　his　sanctum　sanctorum。　The　wheel　was　an　undoubted　success　and；　as　such；　meant　that　Phase　One　of　his　latest；　and　in　his　own　humble　opinion　undeniably　greatest；　project　was　plete。
　Norman　slipped　off　his　shopkeeper's　overall　and　donned　a　charred　leather　apron　and　a　pair　of　welder's　goggles。　Dusting　down　his　rubber　gloves　with　a　tube　of　baby　powder；　he　drew　them　over　his　sensitive　fingers　and　flexed　these　magical　appendages。　With　a　flourish；　he　dragged　aside　a　length　of　gingham　tablecloth　which　curtained　off　a　tiny　alcove　in　one　corner　of　the　crowded　room。
　Upon　a　worm…eaten　kitchen　chair　sat　another　Norman！
　Clad　in　grey　shopkeeper's　workcoat；　shirt；　tie；　trousers；　and　worn　brown　brogues；　he　was　a　waxen　effigy　of　the　Madame　Tussaud's　variety。　The　scientific　shopkeeper　chuckled　and；　reaching　out　a　rubber…clad　finger；　tickled　his　doppelganger　under　the　chin。　'Afternoon；　Norman；'　he　said。
　The　double　did　not　reply；　but　simply　sat　staring　sightlessly　into　space。　It　was　as　near　a　perfect　representation　of　its　living　counterpart　as　it　was　possible　to　be。　And　so　it　might　well　have　been　considering　the　long　years　of　Norman's　labour。　Countless　thousands　of　hours　had　gone　into　its　every　detail。　Every　joint　in　its　skeletal　frame　was　fully　articulated　with　friction…free　bearings　of　the　shopkeeper's　own　design。　The　cranial　puter　banks　were　loaded　to　the　very　gunwhales　with　all　the　necessary　information；　which　would　enable　it　to　perform　the　mundane　and　tiresome　duties　required　of　a　corner…shopkeeper；　whilst　its　creator　could　dedicate　the　entirety　of　his　precious　time　to　the　more　essential　matters　of　which　Phase　Three　of　the　project　were　posed。　All　it　lacked　was　that　essential　spark　of　life；　and　this　now　ground　away　upon　the　kitchen　table　at　precisely　twenty…six　revolutions　per　minute。
　Norman　chuckled　anew　and　drew　his　masterpiece　erect。　Unbuttoning　the　shirt；　he　exposed　the　rubberised　chest　region　which　housed　the　hydraulic　unit　designed　to　simulate　the　motions　of　breathing。　Tinkering　with　his　screwdriver；　he　removed　the　frontal　plate　and　applied　a　couple　of　squirts　of　Three…in…One　to　the　brace　of　mountings；　identical　in　shape　and　size　to　those　which　now　cradled　the　ever…spinning　wheel。　He　had　sought　far　and　wide　for　a　never…failing　power　supply；　having　previously　nothing　to　hand　save　clumsy　mains　cables　which；　even　when　disguised　by　poking　from　trouser　bottoms；　left　his　progeny　little　scope　for　lootion。　This　pact　unit　would　do　the　job　absolutely。
　Norman　crossed　to　the　table；　and　with　a　set　of　specially　fashioned　tongs　carefully　lifted　the　spinning　wheel　upon　its　polished　axle…rod。　It　turned　through　space　gyroscopically；　if　nothing　else　it　would　certainly　keep　the　robot　standing　upright。　With　a　satisfying　click　the　wheel　fell　into　place；　and　Norman　closed　the　chest　cavity　and　rebuttoned　the　shirt；　straightening　the　tie　and　workcoat　lapels。　The　shopkeeper　stepped　back　to　view　his　mirror　image。　Perfection。　There　was　a　gentle　flutter　of　movement　about　the　chest　region；　a　sudden　blinking　of　eyelids　and　focusing　of　eyes；　a　yawn；　a　stretch。　Clearing　its　throat　with　a　curiously　mechanical　coughing　sound；　the　creature　spoke。
　'Good　afternoon；　sir；'　it　said。
　Norman　clapped　his　hands　together　and　danced　one　of　his　favourite　silly　dances。　'Wonderful；'　he　said　with　glee。　'Wonderful。'
　The　robot　smiled　crookedly。　'I　am　happy　that　you　find　all　to　your　satisfaction；'　said　he。
　'Oh；　indeed；　indeed。　How　are　you　then；　Norman？　Are　you　well？'
　'A　bit　stiff；　sir；　as　it　happens；　but　I　expect　that　I　will　wear　in。　Is　there　anything　in　particular　you　would　like　doing？'
　Norman　clapping　his　hands；　'How　about　a　cup　of　tea；　what　do　you　think？'
　'Certainly；　sir。'　The　robot　rose　unsteadily　to　its　feet；　stretched　himself　again　and　waggled　each　foot　in　turn。
　Norman　watched　in　sheer　exaltation　as　his　other　self　performed　its　first　task。　The　tea　was　exactly　as　he　would　have　made　it　himself。　'You　will　pardon　me　if　I　don't　join　you；　sir；'　said　the　pseudo…shopkeeper；　'but　I　do　not　feel　at　all　thirsty。'
　At　a　little　after　three　p。m。；　Pooley　and　Omally　left　the　Flying　Swan。　As　the　two　friends　strode　off　down　the　Baling　Road；　Neville　the　part…time　barman　shot　home　the　brass　bolts　and　padded　away　to　his　quarters。　The　floor　boards　groaned　suspiciously　beneath　his　tread　but　Neville；　now　buoyed　up　with　a　half…bottle　of　Bells；　closed　his　ears　to　them。
　'Right　then；'　said　Omally；　'to　business；　it　is　yet　three　p。m。　and　we　have　not　earned　a　penny。'
　'I　have　missed　the　bookies；'　said　Jim。　'I　am　a　hundred　thousand　pounds　down　already。'
　'The　day　may　yet　be　saved；　positive　thinking　is　your　man。　To　work　then。'
　Pooley　shook　his　head　and　departed　gloomily　down　Albany　Road；　en　route　for　the　allotment。　Omally　squared　up　his　shoulders　and　entered　Norman's　corner　shop。　Behind　the　counter　stood　Norman；　idly　thumbing　through　a　copy　of　Wet　Girls　In　The　Raw。　Beneath　the　counter　crouched　another　Norman；　chuckling　silently　into　his　hands。
　'Afternoon；　Norman；'　said　Omally。　'Packet　of　reds　if　you　please；　and　a　half…ounce　of　Golden。'
　The　mechanical　confectioner　cleared　his　throat　with　a　curiously　mechanical　coughing　sound。　'Certainly；　sir；'　said　he；　turning　away　to　seek　out　these　articles　from　their　niches。　Below　the　counter　Norman　clicked　his　tongue　in　silent　displeasure。　Above　the　counter　Omally's　hand　had　snaked　into　the　peppermint　rack　and　drew　a　packet　away　to　his　trouser　pocket。　Norman　would　have　to　chalk　that　one　up　to　experience　and　punch　a　few　more　defence　mechanisms　into　the　machine's　puter　banks。　He　scribbled　a　hurried　note　on　to　a　discarded　ice…cream　wrapper　and　awaited　developments。　He　did　not　have　to　wait　long。
　'Stick　them　on　my　slate　please；　Norm；'　said　Omally。
　'Pardon　me；　sir？'
　'On　my　slate；　I'll　settle　up　with　you　later。'
　'I　regret；　sir；　that　I　cannot　allow　you　to　leave　the　premises　without　having　first　paid　for　the　goods。　Such　is　the　way　with　merce；　you　understand。'　Below　the　counter；　Norman　chewed　upon　his　knuckles。　This　was　much　better。　He　patted　his　creation　upon　the　trouser　knee　and　gave　it　the　old　thumbs　up。　'Please　do　not　ask　for　credit；　sir；'　said　the　robot；　'as　a　smack　in　the　mouth　so　often　offends。'
　'What？'　Omally　surveyed　the　shopkeeper　with　open　horror；　this　was　not　the　way　business　was　done。　Not　the　way　it　had　been　done　for　the　last　fifteen　years。　He　did　not　expect　to　actually　leave　the　shop　without　paying；　unless；　of　course；　he　caught　Norman　on　one　of　those　occasions　when　he　had　been　testing　his　home…made　sprout　beer。　But　this？　Omally　pushed　back　his　flat　cap　and　tugged　at　his　curly　forelock。
　Was　this　simply　some　new　ploy　perhaps？　Maybe　Norman　had　been　reading　some　American　magazine　about　self…assertion　or　the　like？　He　would　play　it　along。　'My　knees　ache　something　wicked；'　he　said；　changing　the　subject。
　A　mystified　look　appeared　upon　the　robot…Norman's　face。　'I　am　sorry　to　hear　that；　sir；'　said　he；　sympathetically。
　'It　is　the　cycling　I　believe；'　John　continued；　'constantly　forcing　the　pedals　round　and　around　and　around。　I　would　be　lost　without　the　bike　of　course；　as　it　is　my　only　means　of　transport；　but　I　do　believe　that　the　physical　effort　required　by　the　cycling　is　slowly　crippling　me。'
　The　robot…Norman　shook　his　head　sadly。　'That　is　a　pity；'　he　sighed。
　'Yes；　if　only　there　was　some　alternative　to　be　had　for　the　eternal　pedalling。　Around　and　around　and　around。'　Omally's　hand　made　the　appropriate　movements　in　the　air。　'If　you　know　what　I　mean。'
　The　sub…counter　Norman　nodded；　he　was　already　way　ahead　of　him。　The　duplicate；　however；　seemed　not　to　have　grasped　it　as　yet。　'Could　you　not　possibly　trade　in　the　bike　for　a　car　or　something？'　he　suggested。
　'A　car？'　Omally　looked　askance　at　the　shopkeeper。　'A　car？　How　long　have　you　known　me；　Norman？'
　The　Irishman　did　not　hear　the　purring　of　cogs　and　the　meshing　of　puter　mechanisms　as　the　robot　sought　out　the　answer　to　this　question。
　'Precisely　fifteen　years　two　months　and　nine　days；　he　said。　'You　were；　if　I　recall；　wearing　the　same　cap　and　trousers。'
　'And　do　you　suppose　that　a　man　who　is　still　wearing　this　cap　and　trousers　is　the　sort　of　man　who　could　afford　to　buy　a　car？'
　'I　have　not