rr.eastofealing-第5部分

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gn　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　given　the　matter　any　thought　as　yet；　sir；'　said　the　robot。　'But　if　you　like　I　will　apply　myself　to　it　whilst　you　are　paying　for　your　purchases。'
　Omally　chewed　upon　his　lip；　he　did　not　like　the　smell　of　this　one　little　bit。　'So　how　goes　the　work　then？'　he　asked；　changing　the　subject　yet　again。
　'Business　is　slack；　as　ever。　The　monthly　returns　are　down　again。'
　'No；　not　the　shop；　I　mean；　your　work；'　Omally　gestured　towards　the　kitchenette　door。　'What　wonders　are　germinating　in　your　little　den？'
　'If　you　will　pardon　me；　sir；'　said　the　robot；　reaching　forward；　'it　is　being　apparent　to　me　that　you　have　no　intention　of　paying　for　your　purchases；　would　you　kindly　hand　them　back？'
　'Norman；　are　you　all　right？'
　The　robot　suddenly　lunged　forward　across　the　counter　and　grasped　Omally　by　a　tweedy　lapel。
　'Be　warned；'　said　the　Irishman。　'I　know　Dimac。'
　Beneath　the　counter；　a　sudden　terror　gripped　the　heart　of　the　hidden　shopkeeper。　He　had　programmed　the　entirety　of　Count　Dante's　Dimac　Manual　of　Marital