"Robert Rankin - Brentford 02 - The Brentford Triangle" - читать интересную книгу автора (Rankin Robert)

the school lads for their comics and penny toffees, the old dears for the pints of milk Reg the Milkman
had neglected to leave upon their steps, Old Pete for his half-ounce of tobacco, Pooley and Ornally for
five Woodbines on their weekly accounts. The same old regular morning faces.
Norman shook his head thoughtfully. It wasn't a bad old life if you didn't weaken, was it? And a trouble
shared was definitely a trouble halved, and you had to laugh didn't you?
Retracing his steps to the counter he selected one of the newer brands of bubblegum that the local rep
had persuaded him into stocking. Stripping away the wrapper from the stick of Captain Laser Astrogum
he thrust the


gaudy piece of synthetic sweetmeat into his mouth.
Chewing distractedly he drifted about his shop, flicking without conviction at the dust-filled corners and
blowing the falling residue from the faded coverings of the out-of-date chocolate boxes which lined his
shelves. Here was the Queen smiling sweetly, if somewhat faintly, at her Coronation. Here two stuffed-looking
Scotties peered through the rust from a shortbread biscuit tin, and here was the Pickwickian character still
grinning idiotically at that uneatable coughsweet.
Norman drew a bespittled finger across the old tin's surface in an attempt to bring up the brand-name. Did people
still eat sweeties like this? he wondered. Or had they ever? He couldn't recall ever having sold any. Out of
sudden interest he picked up the old tin and gave it a shake. It was empty, of course. Probably evaporated, he
thought.
Norman shrugged once more; he really ought to sling them all out, they served little purpose and could hardly
be described as decorative. But he knew he would never part with them. They gave his shop character and were
always good for inspiring conversation from the lonely pensioners who happened by, upon some pretext or
another, only really wanting a bit of a chat.
Norman thrust his one-feather duster back into its appointed niche and flexed his shoulders as if in
an attempt to free himself from the strange melancholia which rilled him this morning. Things were
going to change in Brentford and there was little good in crying over spilt milk or whistling down the wind.
Upon the counter lay the small brown package which Small Dave had delivered. Norman knew exactly what
it contained; the American stamps and spidery Gothic lettering told him well enough. This was the last component
he required, the final tiny missing piece of the jigsaw.
This was the make or break. Several years of planning



and many many months of hard and exacting work had gone into this, not to mention the small fortune
spent upon research, preparation and final construction. This experiment was indeed 'The Big One'. It was
a Nobel Prize job this time, and no mistake. Norman had named it 'The Ultimate Quest', and it was indeed a
goody.
Certainly, in the past, Norman's little scientific diversions had not been altogether successful. In fact he had
become something of a figure of fun because of them. But this time he was sure he had cracked it. The
people of Brentford would certainly sit up and take notice of this one. If his calculations, combined with those of
a certain Germanic physicist not altogether unknown for his theory of relativity, proved to be correct, then things
were going to be very different indeed hereabouts.
Norman patted the tiny brown package. If all was present and correct he would begin the first practical working
tests this very early-closing day, then we would see what we would see.
The shop bell rang in a customer. It was Old Pete with his half-terrier Chips as ever upon his heels.
'Morning, Norman,' said the ancient, cheerily, 'a half-ounce of Ships if you will.'
'Grmmph mmmph,' the shopkeeper replied, for the first time becoming aware that the Captain Laser Astrogum
had suddenly set hard in his mouth, welding his upper plate to his lower set.
'Grmmph mmmph?' queried Old Pete, scratching at his snowy head. 'Now what would it be this time?