"Robert Rankin - Brentford 01 - The Antipope" - читать интересную книгу автора (Rankin Robert)

to find new furniture and carpets; one day he stuck his head up in the roof and discovered that his loft had been
insulated. Strangely, Archroy was never asked by his wife to contribute to any of these extravagant ventures.
Possibly because he rarely saw the woman, but mainly he suspected, because an alien hand was at work in his
stuccoed semi-detached. He suspected that his wife had a lover, in fact not one lover but many. Archroy had an
inkling that his wife was putting it about a bit.
He had found five minutes one evening just as they were changing shifts to interview his suspect spouse.
Archroy had noticed that his old Morris Minor, which his wife described as 'an eyesore', was no longer upon its
blocks in the garage but seemed to have cried 'horse and hattock' and been carried away by the fairies.

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'Woman,' he addressed his wife, for he had quite forgotten her name, 'woman, where is my car?'
'Gone,' said she, straightening her headscarf in the mock rococo hall mirror. 'I have sold your car and if you
will pardon me saying so I have made a handsome profit.'
Archroy stiffened in his shirtsleeves. 'But I was working on that car, it needed but an engine and a few wheels
and I would have had it working!'
'A truck came and took it away,' said his wife.
Archroy pulled at his hair. 'Where's my car gone to, who took it?'
'It was a gypsy,' said his wife.
'A gypsy, you part with my priceless car to a damned
gyppo?'
'I got a good price.'
Archroy blew tobacco smoke down his nose and made himself cough.
'It's on the mantelpiece in a brown envelope,' said his wife, smearing gaudy red lipstick about her upper lip.
Archroy tore into the front room and tore open the envelope. Pouring the contents into his hand he found five
brown beans. 'What? What?' Archroy began to foam at the mouth. 'Beans?'
'He assured me that they were magic beans,' his wife said, slamming the door behind her.
Thus it was that Archroy sat this particular evening in the doorway of his allotment shed, bewailing his lot
and cursing not only car dealers but untrue wives and all those born of romany extraction. 'Magic beans,' he
grimaced as he turned the offenders over in his palm. 'Magic bloody beans, I'll bet he gave her more than just
magic bloody beans.'
The 6.20 steamed over the viaduct and told Archroy that now would be as good a time as ever to repair to the
Swan to see what the lads were up to. He was about to pocket his magic beans and rise from his orange-box when

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a stark black shadow fell upon him and sent an involuntary shudder up the wee lad's back.
'Might I have a look at those beans you have there mister?' The voice came from a disreputable tramp of
dreadful aspect and sorry footwear. 'Sorry, did I startle you?' asked the creature with what seemed to be a voice of
genuine concern. 'It's a bad habit of mine, I really must control it.'
'What do you want here?' snarled Archroy, outraged at this trespass upon his thoughts and land.
'About the beans?' the tramp said.
Archroy pocketed his beans. 'Clear off!' he said, climbing to his feet. The tramp raised his right hand and
made a strange gesture. Archroy slumped back on to his orange-box, suddenly weak at the knees.
'Those beans,' said the tramp. Archroy felt about in his pocket and handed the tramp the five magic beans.
'Ah.' The tramp held one between thumb and forefinger. 'As I thought, most interesting. You say that your
wife received them in payment for your old Morris Minor?'
Archroy didn't remember saying anything of the kind but he nodded bleakly.
'They are beans of great singularity,' said the tramp. 'I have seen beans and I have seen beans.' He returned
the articles to Archroy's still-extended hand. 'These are beans indeed!'
'But, magic?' said Archroy.
The tramp stroked the stubble of his chin with an ill-washed knuckle. 'Ah,' he said, 'magic is it? Well that is a