rr.eastofealing-第7部分

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　Dante　himself？'
　'Close；'　said　Omally；　feeling　at　his　jaw；　which　had　developed　a　most　alarming　click。　'Corner…shopkeeper；　actually。'
　Pooley　hastily　secreted　the　pickaxe　head　behind　his　back；　turned　over　a　handy　bucket；　and　sat　upon　it。　'Not　Norman？　You　jest；　surely？'
　'Look　at　my　shirt…collar。'　Omally　waggled　the　frayed　relic　which　now　hung　over　his　shoulder；　college　scarf　fashion。
　'Aren't　they　supposed　to　be　sewn　on　all　the　way　round？'
　'I　will　punish　him　severely　for　this。'
　'You　fancy　your　chances　at　a　rematch　then？'
　Omally　shook　his　head　painfully　and　whistled。　'Not　I。　Certainly　the　man　has　been　personally　schooled　in　the　brutal；　maiming；　disfiguring　art　of　Dimac　by　none　other　than　that　very　Grand　Master　of　the　craft　to　whom　you　formerly　alluded。'
　'Gosh；'　said　Jim。
　'I　will　have　him　down　from　a　distance　when　he　es　out　to　take　in　his　milk　tomorrow。'
　'The　half…brick？'
　'Nothing　less。　I　feel　that　we　can　forget　all　about　ever…spinning　wheels　for　the　time　being。　Still　all　is　not　yet　lost。　How　did　you　fare　with　the　bed？'　Omally　peered　over　Jim's　shoulder。　'Got　it　locked　away　somewhere　safe　then？'
　Pooley　scraped　his　heels　in　the　dust。
　'What　have　you　done　with　the　bed；　Jim；　and　where　are　the　sleeves　of　your　jacket？'
　'Ah；'　said　Jim；　'ah　now。'
　
　7
　Norman　sat　in　his　kitchenette；　dismally　regarding　the　slim　brass　wheel　spinning　once　more　upon　its　table…top　mountings。　Over　in　the　corner　alcove　his　other　self　sat　lifeless　and　staring；　a　gaping　hole　in　its　chest。　Norman　swung　his　leg　over　the　kitchen　chair　and　leaned　his　arms　upon　its　worm…eaten　back。　The　first　run　had　not　been　altogether　a　roaring　success。　If　Omally's　bike　had　not　chosen　to　intervene　and　trip　the　robot　into　the　street；　there　seemed　little　doubt　that　it　would　have　killed　Omally　there　and　then；　merely　to　retrieve　the　tobacco　from　his　pocket。
　Norman　chewed　upon　his　lip。　It　was　a　regular　Frankenstein's　monster；　that　one。　Not　what　he'd　had　in　mind　at　all。　Placid　pseudo…shopkeeper　he　wanted；　not　psychotic　android　on　the　rampage。　He　would　have　to　disconnect　all　the　Dimac　circuits　and　pep　up　the　old　goodwill…to…mankind　modules。　Possibly　it　was　simply　the　case　that　the　robot　had　been　a　little　over…enthusiastic。　After　all；　it　had　had　his　interests　at　heart。　Norman　shuddered。　Omally　had　got　away　with　the　tobacco；　and　Hairy　Dave　had　charged　him　fifty　quid　to　shore　up　the　front　of　the　shop　and　screw　a　temporary　door　into　the　splintered　frame。　The　robot　had　not　been　in　service　more　than　a　couple　of　hours　and　it　was　already　bankrupting　him。　Fifty　quid　for　a　half…ounce　of　Golden。　And　what　if　Omally　decided　to　sue　or；　more　likely；　to　exact　revenge。　It　didn't　bear　thinking　of。　He　would　have　to　go　round　to　the　Swan　later　and　apologize；　stand　Omally　a　few　pints　of　consolation。　More　expense。　The　harassed　shopkeeper　climbed　from　his　chair　and　sought　out　a　quart　of　home…made　sprout　wine　from　the　bottle…rack　beneath　the　sink。
　At　length　the　Memorial　Library　clock　chimed　five…thirty　p。m。　in　the　distance；　and　upon　the　Swan's　doorstep　stood　two　bedraggled　figures　who；　like　Norman；　had　the　drowning　of　their　sorrows　very　much　to　the　forefronts　of　their　respective　minds。　Neville　the　part…time　barman　drew　the　polished　bolts　and　swung　open　the　famous　door。
　'By　Magog！'　said　the　pagan　barkeep。　'Whatever　has　happened　to　you　two？　Should　I　call　an　ambulance？'
　Pooley　shook　his　head。　'Merely　draw　the　ales。'
　With　many　a　backwards　glance；　Neville　lumbered　heavily　away　to　the　pumps。　'But　what　has　happened　to　you　both？　Your　eye；　John？　And　Jim；　your　sleeves？'　Neville　pushed　two　brimming　pints　across　the　counter　towards　the　straining　hands　of　his　two　patrons。
　'We　were　mugged；'　said　Omally；　who　was　finding　it　hard　to　e　to　terms　with　the　concept　of　defeat　at　the　hands　of　a　humble　shopkeeper。
　'Ten　of　them；'　Pooley　added。　He　had　once　read　of　a　mugger's　victim　being　carried　into　a　pub　and　revived　with　free　ale。
　Neville　had　also　read　of　it　and　took　up　a　glass　to　polish。　'We　live　in　troubled　times；'　he　said　profoundly。　'Ten　and　six　please。'
　Omally　drew　his　boot　away　from　his　bruised　ankle　and　pulled　out　several　pound　notes。　Neville；　who　had　never　before　seen　the　Irishman　handling　paper　money　in　public；　was　anxious　to　see　if　they　were　the　real　McCoy。　The　wrinkled　relic　John　handed　him　smelt　a　bit　pony；　but　it　did　have　a　watermark。　Neville　rang　up　'No　Sale'　and　obligingly　short…changed　his　customer。　Omally　slung　the　pennies　into　his　trouser　pocket　without　even　checking　them。
　'Mugged　then　is　it？'　Neville　almost　felt　guilty。　'Did　you　best　the　villains？'
　'Did　we？'　Pooley　raised　his　scorched　palm　and　made　chopping　movements。　'The　blackguards　will　think　twice　about　molesting　the　folk　of　Brentford　again　I　can　tell　you。'
　'I　see　Norman　is　having　his　shopfront　done　up；'　said　Old　Pete；　who　had　sneaked　in　hard　upon　the　heels　of　the　two　warriors。
　Omally　spluttered　into　his　beer。　'Is　that　a　fact？'　said　he。
　'Had　his　shopfront　mugged　so　I　hear。'
　'Give　that　gentleman　a　large　dark　rum；'　said　Omally。
　The　ancient　accepted　his　prize　and　slunk　away　to　a　side…table　with　much　malicious　chuckling。　Omally　grudgingly　paid　up　and　joined　Pooley；　who　had　taken　to　hiding　in　a　suitably　darkened　corner。
　'I　shan't　be　able　to　live　with　this；'　said　John；　seating　himself。　'That　old　one　knows　already；　it　will　be　all　over　the　parish　by　morning。'
　'But　Norman？'　said　Pooley。　'I　still　can't　quite　believe　it。　Norman　wouldn't　hurt　a　spider；　and　by　God　his　shop　gives　lodging　to　enough。'
　'A　lover　of　the　insect　kingdom　he　may　be；　but　let　humankind　beware。　The　shopkeeper　has　finally　lost　his　marbles。　He　took　it　out　on　me　as　though　violence　was　going　out　of　fashion。'
　Jim　sighed。　'This　is　a　day　I　should　certainly　choose　to　forget。　We　have　both　paid　dearly　for　our　greed。'
　John　nodded　thoughtfully。　'I　suppose　there　are　lessons　to　be　learned　from　it。　We　have　certainly　learned　ours　the　hard　way。'
　'Talking　of　lessons；　I　think　your　homework　has　just　arrived。'　Jim　pointed　over　Omally's　shoulder　to　where　Norman　now　stood　squinting　about　the　bar。
　John　sank　low　in　his　high…backed　chair。　'Has　he　seen　me？'　he　whispered。
　Pooley　nodded。　'I'm　afraid　so；　he's　ing　over。'
　'When　you　hit　him　go　for　his　beak；　ignore　the　groin。'
　'I'm　not　going　to　hit　him；　this　is　nothing　to　do　with　me。'
　'Nothing　to　do　with　you？　You　started　it；　you　and　your　money…making　wheel。。。'
　'Evening　gents；'　said　Norman。
　'Evening　to　you；　old　friend；'　said　Pooley；　smiling　sweetly。
　Omally　f　ummaged　in　his　pockets　and　brought　out　a　crumpled　packet　of　cigarette　papers　and　a　somewhat　banjoed　half…ounce　of　tobacco。　'I　never　smoked　it；'　he　said。　'You　can　have　it　back　if　you　still　want　it。'
　Norman　held　up　his　hand；　which　made　Omally　flinch　painfully。　'No；　no；　I　have　e　to　apologize。　I　really　don't　know　what　came　over　me；　to　lose　my　temper　like　that。　I　have　been　working　too　hard　lately；　I　have　a　lot　of　worries。　There　is　no　permanent　damage　done；　I　trust？'
　'I　am　still　in　a　state　of　shock。'　Omally　sensed　possibilities。　'Numb　all　over。　I　suspect　a　fracture　here　and　there；　though。　I'll　be　off　work　a　good　while　I　shouldn't　wonder。'
　Norman　nodded　good…naturedly。　Omally　would　be　wanting　his　pound　of　flesh；　better　get　it　over　with　in　one　go。　'Might　I　buy　you　a　drink？'　he　asked。
　'You　might；'　said　Omally；　'and　we　will　see　where　it　leads。　If　you　could　manage　one　for　my　panion　also　it　would　not　go　unappreciated。'
　Norman　smiled。　He　wondered　whether　or　not　to　ask　Pooley　where　the　sleeves　of　his　jacket　were；　but　he　presupposed　the　answer　to　be　of　a　somewhat　poignant　nature；　evoking　images　of　such　hardship　and　tragedy　as　to　morally　oblige　the　asker　to　purchase　many　further　pints。　'I'll　get　the　round　in　then；'　said　Norman；　departing　to　the　bar。
　'One　pint　and　one　half…ounce　up；'　said　John　bleakly。　'What　profit　the　day；　I　ask　you？'
　'Perk　up；　John；　it　can　only　get　better；　surely。'　Pooley　now　sighted　Old　Pete　hobbling　purposefully　towards　them。　'Or　possibly　not。'
　'Where's　my　bed　then？'　the　ancient　asked；　prodding　Omally's　bruised　shoulderblade　with　his　stick。　'I've　brought　the　money。'
　'Money？'　John　did　not　recall　mentioning　a　figure。　'How　much　did　you　bring？'
　'Twenty　quid。'
　'Twenty　quid。'　Omally　buried　his　face　in　his　hands。
　'It's　enough；　isn't　it？　You　said　it　was　an　antique。　I　think　twenty　quid's　a　fair　price　if　it's　a　good　one。　So　where's　my　bed？'
　'What　bed？'　asked　Norman；　who　was　bringing　up　the　drinks。
　'Omally　said　he　had　an　antique　bedstead　to　sell　me；　I　want　to　see　it。'
　'The　muggers　took　it；'　said　Jim　Pooley　helpfully。　Omally；　who　was　just　ing　to　terms　with　a　ten　pound　down　payment　for　an　antique　bedstead　at　present　being　refurbished　by　mythical　upholsterers；　looked　up　at　him　in　horror。　'Sorry；'　said　Jim；　shrugging　innocently。
　'What　muggers？'　asked　Norman。
　'The　ten　who　blacked　his　eye；　or　did　you　say　there　were　twelve；　John？'
　'Ah；'　said　Norman　stroking　his　chin。　'e　to　think　of　it；　I　did　see　a　gang　of　bully　boys　pushing　an　antique　bed　along　down　by　the　half…acre。　Thought　it　odd　at　the　time。　A　right　evil…looking　bunch　they　were；　wouldn't　have　dared　tackle　them　myself。　No　fighter　me。'
　'Bah；'　snarled　Old　Pete。　'You're　all　bloody　mad。'　Turning　upon　his　heel；　he　muttered　a　few