rr.eastofealing-第1部分

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　Norman　gave　his　ivory…handled　screwdriver　a　final　twist　and　secured　the　last　screw　into　the　side　panel　of　the　slim　brass　cylinder。　Unclamping　it　from　his　vice；　he　lifted　it　lovingly　by　its　shining　axle；　and　held　it　towards　the　dust…smeared　glass　of　the　kitchenette　window。　It　was　a　work　of　wonder　and　that　was　for　certain。　A　mere　ten　inches　in　diameter　and　another　one　in　thickness；　the　dim　light　painted　a　rainbow　corona　about　its　varnished　circumference。
　Norman　carried　it　carefully　across　to　his　cluttered　kitchen　table　and；　elbowing　aside　a　confusion　of　soiled　crockery；　placed　it　upon　the　twin　bracket　mountings　which　had　been　bolted　through　both　tablecloth　and　table。　The　axle　dropped　into　its　mounts　with　a　satisfying　click　and　Norman；　hardly　daring　to　breathe；　sought　out　his　can　of　Three…in…One　and　applied　a　glistening　bead　of　oil　to　either　end。
　If　all　his　calculations；　allied　to　those　of　a　certain　Johann　Bessler；　later　known　as　Orffyreus；　who　had　first　demonstrated　the　prototype　as　long　ago　as　1712　in　Zittau；　East　Germany；　proved　ultimately　to　be　correct；　he　was　even　now　standing　upon　the　very　threshold　of　yet　another　earth…shattering　scientific　breakthrough。
　And　all　it　needed　was　a　breath。　Norman　leaned　lover　the　brazen　wheel　and　blew　upon　its　edge。　There　was　a　faint　click；　followed　by　another　and　yet　another；　and　with　a　beauty；　which　like　all　of　its　strange　kind　lay　firmly　within　the　eye　of　its　beholder；　the　polished　brass　wheel　began　to　rotate　slowly。　Around　and　around　it　went；　gathering　momentum；　until　at　last　it　reached　a　steady　rate。　Norman　drew　out　his　pocket…watch　and　rattled　it　against　his　ear。　The　second　hand　took　to　once　more　sweeping　the　pitted　face　of　the　granddaddy's　retirement　present。　The　polished　wheel　continued　to　turn；　Norman　counted　beneath　his　breath　and　double…checked　with　his　watch。　Twenty…six　revolutions　per　minute；　exactly　as　old　mad　Bessler　had　predicted。　Around　and　around　and　around　for　ever　and　ever　and　ever。
　A　broad；　if　lopsided；　smile　travelled　where　it　could　over　Norman's　face。　Returning　his　already　failing　watch　to　its　fluff…filled　waistcoat　pocket；　he　clapped　his　hands　together　and　did　a　silly　sort　of　dance　right　there　and　then　upon　the　worn　lino　of　the　grimy　kitchenette。
　The　wheel　spun；　its　former　clicking　now　a　dull　purr；　and　Norman　thrust　a　knuckle　to　his　mouth　and　chuckled　noiselessly。　His　free　hand　hovered　for　a　moment　above　the　spinning　wheel。　If　the　calculations　were　indeed　correct　then　virtually　nothing；　short　of　out　and　out　destruction；　should　actually　be　able　to　halt　the　wheel's　motion。　Tentatively；　he　tapped　a　forefinger　on　to　the　polished　surface。　The　wheel　continued　to　spin。　Gently；　he　plucked　at　it　with　finger　and　thumb。　The　wheel　showed　no　signs　of　easing　up。　Norman　laid　firm　hold　with　both　hands　upon　the　slim　cylinder；　his　grasp　skidded　away；　and　the　wheel　rolled　on　and　on　and　on。
　This　time　he　had　cracked　it！　This　time　he　had　most　definitely　cracked　it！　The　ultimate　source　of　power。　Weighing　no　more　than　a　couple　of　pounds；　its　potential　knew　no　bounds。　It　could　charge　up　literally　anything　and；　but　for　the　occasional　squirt　of　Three…in…One；　needed　next　to　no　maintenance。　Without　the　kitchenette；　the　shop　door…bell　suddenly　rang　in　a　customer　and　Norman　dragged　himself　away　from　his　spinning　masterwork　to　answer　the　call　of　business。　As　he　reached　the　door　he　paused　a　moment　and　looked　back。　Twenty…six　revolutions　per　minute；　round　and　around　and　around；　for　ever　and　ever　and　ever。　With　a　final　silent　chuckle　and　a　theatrical　backways　kick；　Norman　passed　through　the　doorway；　leaving　his　world　of　magic　to　emerge　into　the　gloomy　reality　of　his　musty　corner…shop。
　Before　the　counter　stood　one　James　Pooley；　betting　man；　free…thinker；　and　bachelor　of　the　parish。　His　hand；　which　had　even　then　been　snaking　across　towards　the　peppermint　packets；　returned　itself　to　the　tweedy　depths　of　a　bottomless　trouser　pocket。　With　a　cheery；　'Good　morning　to　you；　Norman；'　Pooley　bade　the　shopkeeper　that　very　thing。
　'Same　to　yourself；　Jim；'　said　Norman。　'The　daily；　would　it　be？'
　'The　very　same；　five　Woodys　and　a　Sporting　Life。　I　think　that　today　I　am　a　little　more　than　usually　liable　to　pull　off　〃The　Big　One〃。'
　'Of　course。'　Norman　deftly　drew　out　a　packet　cigarettes　and　the　aforementioned　racing　paper　without　for　a　moment　removing　his　gaze　from　the　approximate　location　of　Pooley's　ever…wandering　hands。　It　was　not　that　Jim　was　by　nature　a　dishonest　man；　but　living　daily　upon　his　wits；　he　dared　never　let　any　opportunity；　no　matter　how　small；　slip　by。
　'You　wear　the　smile　of　a　man　who　has　already　pulled　off　that　ever　elusive　big　fellow；'　said　Jim；　noting　well　the　twisted　smirk　still　firmly　plastered　across　Norman's　face。
　The　shopkeeper　passed　Jim　his　life…support　apparatus　and　nodded　wildly。　'I　have；　I　have；'　said　he；　amidst　a　flurry　of　nose…tapping。　'Although　on　this　occasion；　as　upon　others；　I　cannot　take　full　credit　for　it　all　myself。'
　'No　matter　that。　Many　a　wealthy　man　owes　his　success　in　life　to　the　labours　of　a　deceased　relative。'　Jim　slipped　his　cigarettes　into　his　breast…pocket　and　rolled　his　newspaper。　'So　what　is　it　then？　Something　of　a　scientific　nature　I　have　no　doubt。'
　'The　very　same。'
　'Might　I　hazard　a　guess？'
　'Be　very　pleased　to。'
　Jim　stroked　at　the　stubble　of　his　chin；　which　he　had　been　meaning　to　shave　off　for　at　least　a　day　or　so；　and　cocked　his　head　upon　one　side。　'Now；　if　I　am　not　mistaken；'　said　he；　'your　recent　obsession；　and　I　use　the　word　in　the　kindest　possible　way；　has　been　with　energy。　The　solar　panels　upon　your　roof　do　not　go　unnoticed　hereabouts　and　the　fact　that　you　possess　the　only　Morris　Minor　in　the　neighbourhood　which　runs　upon　coke　has　raised　more　than　the　occasional　eyebrow。　Am　I　right　therefore　in　assuming　that　it　is　towards　energy；　power；　and　things　of　that　nature　that　you　have　turned　your　enormous　intellect？'
　Norman's　head　bobbed　up　and　down　after　the　fashion　of　a　toy　dog　in　a　Cortina　rear　window。
　'Aha；　then　if　I　am　not　mistaken　I　will　hazard　a　guess　that　you　have　rediscovered　the　long　lost　secret　of　perpetual　motion。'
　Norman　clapped　his　hands　together。　'You　got　it；'　he　crowed。　'Got　it　in　one。　I　am　glad　that　I　did　not　lay　money　upon　it。　You　got　it　in　one。'
　'Naturally；'　said　Jim；　blowing　on　his　fingernails。　'But　I　feel　you　knew　that　I　would。'
　Norman　nodded　again。　'True；'　he　said。　'I　must　admit　that　I　had　been　somewhat　puzzled　by　the　ever…increasing　number　of　little　bright　patches　appearing　upon　the　window　of　my　kitchenette。　However；　noticing　of　late　that　each　corresponds　exactly　in　size　and　shape　to　the　blot　of　dirt　upon　the　end　of　your　nose；　all　would　seem　to　be　revealed。　But　what　do　you　think；　Jim？　The　marvel　of　the　age　would　you　say？　Feel　free　to　offer　criticism；　my　shoulders　although　physically　bowed　are　metaphorically　broad。'
　Jim　thrust　his　rolled…up　paper　into　a　jacket　pocket。　'If　you　will　pardon　me　saying　this；　Norman；　I　have　never　myself　had　a　lot　of　truck　with　the　concept　of　perpetual　motion。　You　will　recall；　no　doubt；　me　saying　that　the　chap　in　Chiswick　who　gave　all　those　lectures　at　the　Memorial　Library　propounding　the　theory　of　reincarnation　has　died　yet　again。'
　Norman　nodded　yet　again。
　'And　you　will　also　recall　my　brilliant　ban　mot　made　upon　the　news　of　his　passing；　that　the　trouble　with　those　fellows　is　that　they　are　here　today　and　here　tomorrow？'
　Norman　winced。
　'Well；　such　it　is　with　perpetual　motion。　A　fine　thing　it　might　be　in　itself；　and　a　pleasure　to　the　inventor　thereof；　but　to　the　general　public；　in　particular　to　the　man　of　limited　reason　with　no　care　for　the　higher　truth；　it　presents　but　one　thing　only。'
　'Which　is？'
　'Absolute　monotony；'　said　Pooley　in　a　leaden　tone。　'All…consuming；　soul…destroying；　absolute　monotony。'
　With　these　few　words　he　turned　upon　his　heel　and　strode　from　the　shop；　leaving　Norman　to　ponder　upon　not　one　but　two　eternal　problems。　The　first　being　how　a　man　such　as　Pooley　could　have　the　sheer　gall　to　write　off　the　greatest　scientific　discovery　of　the　age　with　a　few　poorly　chosen　words。　And　the　second；　how　he　had　managed；　once　more；　to　escape　from　the　shop　without　having　paid　for　either　Woodbines　or　Sporting　Life。
　'The　wheels　of　God　grind　slowly；'　thought　Norman　to　himself。　'But　they　do　grind　at　twenty…six　revolutions　per　minute。'
　
　2
　Neville　the　part…time　barman　flip…flopped　across　the　deserted　saloon…bar　of　the　Flying　Swan；　his　monogrammed　carpet…slippers　raising　small　clouds　of　dust　from　the　faded　carpet。　Rooting　with　a　will；　he　sought　his　newspaper　which　lay　upon　the　pub's　wele　mat　beneath　a　pile　of　final　demands；　gaudy　circulars；　and　rolled　posters　advertising　the　forthing　Festival　of　Brentford。
　Shaking　it　free　of　these　postal　impediments；　Neville　unfolded　the　local　tabloid　and　perused　the　front　page。　More　good　good　news。　Earthquakes　and　tidal　waves；　wars　and　rumours　of　wars。　Jolly　stuff。　And　on　the　home　front？　Well；　there　was　the　plague　of　black　fly　currently　decimating　the　allotment　crops。　A　rival　brewery　had　just　put　its　beer　up　a　penny　a　pint　and　its　petition；　ever　happy　to　accept　a　challenge；　were　hinting　at　rises　of　two　pence　or　more。
　One　particular　gem　caught　the　part…time　barman's　good　eye：　the　local　banks；　in　keeping　wit