rr.eastofealing-第32部分

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　'What　about　the　spanner？'　Omally　made　turning　motions　with　his　hand。
　'All　in　good　time；　Professor　Slobe　has　the　matter　well　in　hand。　He　will　tell　us　when　the　time　is　right。'
　Omally　made　a　sour　face。　'Much　as　I　love　that　old　man；　I　am　not　altogether　sure　that　his　reasoning　is　quite　as　clear　as　it　once　was。'
　Soap　flapped　his　hands　wildly。　'Do　not　say　such　things。　The　Professor　is　an　Illuminati。　You　must　trust　in　all　he　says。'
　'Perhaps；'　Omally　finished　his　glass。　'But　it　is　all　theories；　theories；　and　there　is　precious　little　of　what　he　says　that　makes　any　sense　to　me。'
　'I　would　have　thought　that　as　a　Catholic　yourself；　the　idea　would　have　held　great　appeal。'
　'What　Armageddon？　The　Twilight　of　the　Gods？　Not　a　lot。'
　'No；　not　that　side　of　it；　I　mean　about　the　garden。'
　'What　garden？'
　'About　the　garden　being　in　Brentford。　That　is　the　whole　point　of　it　all；　surely？'
　'Soap；　in　a　single　sentence　you　have　lost　me　pletely。　What　are　you　talking　about？'
　'Eden；　the　Garden　of　Eden。　Do　you　mean　he　didn't　tell　you？'
　'Hold　on；　hold　on。'　Omally　held　up　his　hands。　'Go　through　this　again　slowly。　What　are　you　talking　about？'
　'The　Garden　of　Eden；'　said　Soap。　'You　know　the　one；　gets　a　big　mention　in　Genesis。'
　'Of　course　I　know。　What　are　you　saying？'
　Soap　shook　his　head；　he　was　clearly　speaking　with　a　half…wit。　'Why　do　you　think　the　walls　have　e　down　about　Brentford？'
　'To　stop　me　spending　my　millions；'　said　Pooley　bitterly。
　'Hardly　that。　To　protect　Eden　against　the　fall　of　Babylon。'
　'I　always　had　Babylon　pegged　as　being　a　little　further　south。'
　'Not　a　bit　of　it；'　said　Soap。　'Chiswick。'
　'Chiswick？'
　'Yes。　You　see；　the　Professor　solved　the　whole　thing　years　ago；　when　he　reorientated　all　the　old　maps。　He　was　under　the　belief　that　the　entire　chronology　and　location　of　Biblical　events　was　wildly　inaccurate。　He　spent　years　piecing　it　all　together　before　he　finally　solved　the　riddle。'
　'That　Babylon　was　in　Chiswick。'
　'Yes；　but　more　importantly；　that　the　Garden　of　Eden　was　planted　right　here。　Upon　the　very　spot　now　enclosed　within　the　Brentford　Triangle。'
　'Madness；'　said　Omally；　'nothing　more；　nothing　less。'
　'Not　a　bit　of　it。　He　showed　me　all　the　reorientated　maps。　All　the　events　chronicled　in　the　Bible　took　place　right　here　in　England。'
　'And　Christ？'
　'And　did　those　feet　in　ancient　times？　Liverpool　born；　crucified　in　Edinburgh。'
　'Blasphemy；'　said　Omally；　'heresy　also。'
　'It　is　as　true　as　I　am　sitting　here。'　Soap　crossed　his　heart　with　a　wet　finger。　'All　the　stories　in　the　Bible　are　based　upon　more　ancient　texts　than　scholars　suppose。　The　events　took　place　in　a　more　northerly　clime。　They　were　transferred　to　their　present　incorrect　locations　upon　far　later　translations　of　the　Holy　Word。　The　dates　are　thousands　of　years　out。　It　all　happened　right　here；　and；　for　that　matter；　it　is　still　happening。　I　would　have　thought　that　matters　above　make　that　patently　obvious。'
　'Blessed　Mary；'　said　John　Omally。
　'Born　in　Penge。'
　'Where　else？'
　'Makes　you　think；　though；'　said　Pooley；　freshening　his　glass。　'After　all；　we　all　knew　that　Brentford　was　the　hub　of　the　universe。　This　simply　confirms　it。'
　'Exactly；'　said　Soap。　'And　we　have　always　known　that　God　is　an　Englishman。'
　'Steady　on；'　said　John　Omally。　'I　will　swallow　a　lot　but　never　that。　British　at　a　pinch。　But　English？　Never。'
　'Ipso　facto；'　said　Soap；　'or　something　like。'
　'I　will　need　to　give　this　matter　a　considerable　amount　of　intense　thought；'　said　John　Omally；　'which　I　believe　might　necessitate　the　consumption　of　a　litre　or　two　more　of　your　claret　to　aid　cogitation。'　'Cogitate　on　me；'　said　Soap　Distant；　drawing　out　race　of　flagons　from　beneath　his　chair。　'You　are　a　gentleman；　sir。'
　
　25
　Norman　had　the　door　of　his　shop　well…barred。　Trade　had　fallen　off　to　such　an　alarming　degree　that；　but　for　serving　Old　Pete　with　his　newspaper　and　tobacco；　there　seemed　no　point　whatever　in　opening。　Absolute　panic；　and　the　fear　of　his　duplicate's　return；　or　possibly　the　arrival　of　something　far　worse；　had　prompted　him　this　day；　upon　the　ancient's　departure；　to　barricade　the　premises　against　the　outside　world。　The　counters　now　stood　across　the　front　door；　with　what　few　items　still　remained　stacked　upon　them。　Viewing　the　hole　in　his　ceiling；　Norman　considered　these　moves　to　be　little　more　than　token　opposition。　But　even　token　opposition　was　surely　better　than　no　opposition　at　all。　'Many　hands　make　light　work；'　said　the　shopkeeper；　irrelevantly　recalling　a　faith…healing　session　he　had　once　attended；　where　a　defunct　fuse　box　which　had　thrown　the　place　into　darkness；　had　been　miraculously　restored　to　life。
　Norman　tottered　over　the　newly…laid　linoleum；　wielding　his　screwdriver　Excalibur…fashion。　He　entered　the　kitchenette。　There　wasn't　a　lot　of　room　in　there　at　present。　The　object　of　his　most　recent；　all…consuming　attention　occupied　more　than　a　little　floor　space。
　Norman's　time　machine　was　a　big　filler！
　There　was　very　much　of　the　electric　chair　evident　in　the　overall　design　of　the　thing。　But　also　a　good　deal　of　NASA's　mission　control　and　a　fair　degree　of　Captain　Nemo's　Nautilus。　A　soup？on　of　the　pumping　station　at　Kew　and　Doctor　F's　laboratory　pleted　the　picture。　The　thing　bristled　with　the　banks　of　twinkling　lights　Norman　always　felt　were　so　essential　to　lend　the　necessary　atmosphere　to　such　a　project。　Above　the　driving　seat；　mandeered　from　his　Morris　Minor；　a　slim　brass　wheel　turned　at　precisely　twenty…six　revolutions　per　minute。　From　the　axle…rods；　wires　trailed　to　every　pass　point　like　the　ribbons　of　an　eccentric　electronic　maypole；　enshrouding　the　entire　contraption；　which　rested　upon　a　kind　of　Father　Christmas　sleigh。
　'Now　then。'　Norman　consulted　a　ludicrous　wiring　diagram　scrawled　on　to　the　back　of　a　puter　stock　control　print…out。　It　was　all　something　to　do　with　E　equalling　MC2；　the　parallax　theory；　whatever　that　might　be；　and　the　triangulations　of　Pythagorus。　Oh　yes；　and　the　space…time　continuum；　not　that　that　even　bore　thinking　about。
　Norman　shook　his　head　at　the　wonder　of　it　all。　Scientists　always　did　tend　to　over…plicate　the　issues。　Professional　pride；　he　supposed。　To　him　science　was；　and　always　had　been；　a　pretty　straightforward　affair；　which　required　only　the　minimum　of　writing　down。　Once　you'd　nicked　the　idea；　this　time　from　HG　Wells；　you　simply　went　down　to　Kay's　Electrical　in　the　High　Street　and　purchased　all　the　ponent　parts。　What　you　couldn't　buy　you　hobbled　up　out　of　defunct　wirelesses　and　what　was　left　of　the
　Meccano　set。　Scientists　always　made　such　a　big　deal　out　of　things　and　did　it　all　arse　about　face。　Norman　was　the　happy　exception　to　this　rule。
　Brentford　seemed　to　be　in　a　bit　of　schtuck　at　the　present；　but　the　shopkeeper　considered　that　once　he　had　the　machine　on　the　go　he　would　at　least　be　able　to　set　matters　straight　once　and　for　all。　He　always　liked　to　think　that　he　was　helping　out；　and　seeing　as　how　nobody　had　cared　to　put　him　in　the　picture　he　meant　to　go　it　alone。　Not　being　at　all　silly　he　had　tracked　down　the　root　cause　of　the　Parish's　ills　to　the　dreaded　Lateinos　and　Romiith　concern；　and　it　seemed　but　a　simple　thing　to　him　to　slip　back　into　the　past　and　make　a　few　subtle　changes。　Like　murdering　the　bastards　where　they　slept　in　their　cribs　for　a　first　off。　Then　bending　the　council　records　so　he　got　that　planning　permission　to　do　his　loft　conversion。　And　he　had　always　wanted　to　shake　the　hand　of　that　editor　of　the　Brentford　Mercury　who　had　run　off　with　his　wife。　There　was　quite　a　lot　you　could　achieve　once　you'd　got　time　travel　licked。
　Norman　had　definitely　decided　to　travel　backwards　first；　the　future　looked　anything　but　rosy。　He　dived　forward　with　his　screwdriver　into　an　impenetrable…looking　network　of　wires　and　fuse　boxes　and　twiddled　about　here　and　there。　The　strains　of　the　Rolling　Stones'　legendary　position　'Time　Is　On　My　Side'　sprang　almost　unconsciously　to　his　lips。　The　whole　concept　of　the　enterprise　pleased　Norman　with　its　every　single　detail。　There　was　the　sheer　naked　thrill　of　hurtling　into　the　unknown；　allied　with　the　potential　power　a　man　might　wield　once　able　to　traverse　the　fields　of　time。　Also；　and　by　no　means　the　smallest　part　of　it；　was　the　infinite　variety　of　puns　a