by Oliver Skye
‘Of course not!’ Dolly insisted. ‘Even if I stood right next to him, he probably wouldn’t notice. Besides, he lives in his own little scientific world, on cloud nine, ponderin’ the endlessness of space. Anyhow, he ain’t gonna suspect me of spyin’.’
Desmond – whose balding head appeared slightly stoved in on one side and his ears squeezed out of alignment as if by some mysterious force – suddenly perked up. Standing somewhat stooped he rubbed his hands together, watching Dolly with his baboon-like close-set eyes. ‘Swell!’ he drooled, licking his lips. ‘Now listen up, Doll! This is the plan of action. Keep yer eyes skinned and yer purty ears wide open! Mebbe Wacky McBatty does wind up makin’ his crazy shoes. In the meantime, I’ll make some enquiries. I’ve a pal who knows who to contact with any valuable information. If it’s true that the prof’s dreamed up supercomputers that outshine anythang else ... well, we’ll soon be sunbathin’ on our own private little island ... just you wait ’n see!’
So Dolly continued eavesdropping on her elderly employer, hoping to get a glimpse of his new shoes.
She didn’t have long to wait.
* * *
Walking into the laboratory one bright morning a few months later, Dolly saw what she’d been waiting to see. Besides the robot Quigley-8 and other scientific gadgetry next to them, the alligator-skin shoes were the first things she noticed. Just that first glimpse held her spellbound. ‘They sure are beautiful,’ she whispered.
Over the previous weeks Dolly had often peeped round the passageway door to watch her employer, pretending to be busy with her feather duster. Now finally her patience was fully rewarded.
Resplendently, almost majestically, the shoes lay side by side on the workbench.
While gawking at them a sunbeam burst in through the high windows, bathing them in dazzling light. Dolly stood transfixed while the rest of the laboratory seemed to become non-existent. All she saw were the larger-than-life magnificent-looking shoes. Their burnished computerised alligator leather was ablaze, illuminated as if by a spotlight, myriads of dust specs caught in its beam.
Shortly Dolly heard Professor McCrackenbatten approaching with Periwinkle rolling along behind him. Holding her breath, she quickly withdrew behind a large stationary sobor. I’ll get a proper look at ’em while the prof’s makin’ coffee.
When the professor reached the workbench he leaned over the shoes, enthusiastically polishing them. ‘Good morning, my splendid ones,’ he crooned. ‘How utterly desirable you look. And who’d ever guess ... tra-li-da-di-daa ... what’s INSIDE of you!’
Dolly couldn’t remember ever seeing the professor so happy before. Merrily humming he picked the shoes up, turned round and put them on his desk, then lovingly wiped them again. He hadn’t noticed Dolly at all. Realising this she retreated to the passageway, around whose door she continued to observe the unusual proceedings.
Instead of making coffee himself, the professor sent one of his robots to make it for him. Presently, after taking a few sips, he held the left shoe up beneath a special infrared lamp. Illuminated by the soft light, the back part of the shoe’s heel slid open. The cavity revealed rows of blinking lights, whose curious flickering reflected off the scientist’s spectacles. Frowning and using the tip of his Paper Mate, the professor adjusted minute switches within the exposed heel. Once the cavity had slid closed again, he watched as the entire heel folded open sideways.
Dolly noticed that the heel contained something. From a distance, it looked like a screen with multicoloured blips moving up and down on it. Embedded on the opposite side was a touchscreen qwerty keypad. Biting her fingernails she thought it all very mysterious, expecting something out-of-this-world to happen.
Meanwhile, the professor was consulting equations – which all looked like gobbledygook to Dolly – and monitoring the Twins’ immense internal data on the lab’s giant screen. After punching in complex data on the heel’s keypad, the professor watched it fold back to its normal position. ‘My wonderful shoes,’ he murmured, stroking his goatee. ‘And in a few moments, for the first time, I’ll actually try you on! Let’s put on Orff’s O Fortuna to celebrate....’
As the dramatic strains filled the lab, the professor swayed and waved his arms around in time to the music. Once the piece’s climax had subsided, all became silent as if in anticipation. Even the robots were inactive, as if holding their breath.
A dazzling picture of the Galaxy M51 – one of the professor’s favourites – suddenly took the place of the equations on the screen. Sitting down at his desk, the professor took off his slippers and slipped on the computer shoes. Instantly, the twin cartoon faces replaced the image from outer space. ‘Are we comfortable, Dear Professor?’ Dolly heard the familiar automated voices ask.
‘Yep, extremely so!’ the excited professor exclaimed, looking round at the smiling faces. ‘The most comfortable shoes I’ve ever worn ... to be sure.’
‘As you can feel,’ the Twins continued, ‘we automatically adjust to the size and contours of your feet – which, if you don’t mind us saying so, are a little stumpy – giving the best possible fit. We achieve extra comfort due to our finely engineered suspension system. We also condition your feet to an ideal temperature, as well as sooth them with a continual, barely perceptible gentle massage.’
When the professor heard Cal2 referring to themselves as the shoes, he realised that the Twins had indeed become the alligator-skin shoes! While digesting this fact, a lively Cossack folk dance began pulsating from the quadraphonic speakers situated in the corners of the laboratory. Dolly watched amazed as the professor stood up, and doing all kinds of fitness exercises, whistled along to the animated accordion tune. It looked so comical Dolly had to stifle her laughter. To her astonishment, her employer proceeded to hop around performing what looked like a Cossack sabre dance. On the screen, she noticed the Twins in fits of convulsive giggling.
‘Yee-haa!’ the professor cried, vigorously extending one stubby leg after the other, his arms folded across his chest. ‘I feel so sprightly ... just like thirty years ago.’
Watching him, Dolly’s own senses began distorting in a most peculiar way. With a lurch, she felt the floor give way beneath her. Fiercely, she hung onto the doorpost. Next, she felt an icy breeze and the crunch of snow beneath her feet. She also noticed clouds of mist emerging from her mouth. From her perspective, the entire laboratory dimmed and faded from view. Incredibly, in the middle of the lab, a troop of Cossacks appeared from the gloom, all gathering round a huge bonfire.
The Cossacks – with their distinctive woollen headdress and golden earrings – all loudly singing, were clapping their hands and stomping their boots in the virtual snow. One after the other additional Cossacks joined in the dance, arms linked while thrusting out their legs in time to the wild tempo.
At one point Dolly was sure she saw Professor McCrackenbatten, in his lab coat, among them. On the trampled snow Dolly saw two curved swords glinting in the firelight, over which the men were leaping. In the background, mounted Cossacks held spears and circular shields. Their horses stomped the frozen ground while snorting hot air, their riders’ faces reflecting the glow of the flames.
Without warning, two young Cossacks sporting curved moustaches appeared before Dolly. They held the hilts of their swords hanging from wide leather belts. Their black eyes gleaming, they gave her a cheerful smile. Removing their woollen hats, they bowed courteously. All at once she realised they were twins, resembling the cartoon faces she’d seen on the lab’s screen.
With a start, Dolly abruptly felt herself jerked out of the all too realistic virtual reality.
Instantaneously the laboratory reverted to normal, the floor becoming steady again. Dolly was astonished to see the professor still on his haunches, enthusiastically dancing at a terrific pace. Moments later he stood up at the far end of the laboratory, his shoes generating a gooey radiant orange. Recovered slightly, Dolly stuck her head out further for a better view.
The next insta
nt, with a shout, the professor tilted over backwards, wildly flapping his arms as if trying to regain his balance.
Dolly noticed the shoes were now emitting a low, ever-increasing hum.
When the professor realised his computer shoes were up to something he relaxed, only to find himself gliding horizontally a few feet above the lab floor.
‘Wow-wee!’ he shouted up at the guffawing Twins, ‘this is tremendous. I’m floating on crystal-clear water with a wet sensation, sunshine and a wonderfully detailed palm landscape. It’s almost completely real. And what super graphics and sounds ... all with a virtual sense of climate and smell. Extraordinary!’
Immediately the humming escalated to a high-pitched whining, causing Dolly to stick her fingers in her ears. Nearby, a few windowpanes and test tubes shattered.
While the scientist floated around, his arms and legs outstretched, a silvery aura rapidly enveloped him. As the humming grew even louder, with a soft thud, he completely vanished from sight.
Dolly was just about to scream when she remembered she was supposed to be spying.
Nothing stirred.
The only sound was that of the giggling Twins. Their images, however, quickly faded to reveal a close-up of Saturn with its great, broad rings. Dolly was sure she could see the professor’s minute figure, at a terrific speed, shooting towards the giant planet.
At once, Professor McCrackenbatten unexpectedly reappeared – this time in a burst of sparkling radiance, rapidly spinning round headfirst like a top. Immediately, he flipped back on his feet. ‘Tons of chocolate-flavoured fudge!’ he yelled excitedly, wobbling about banging into things and looking totally disorientated. Regaining his balance, he shouted at the top of his voice: ‘This is utterly stupendous ... sensationally phenomenal ... amazingly thrilling ... staggeringly stunning ... dazzlingly befuddling ... positively mind-boggling!’
Gaping at the scene from around the hallway Dolly was so shocked she flushed hot and cold all over, her knees turning to jelly.
‘I agree with you, Cal2!’ the professor cried, facing the grinning cartoon faces, ‘you definitely MUST remain a secret. But I’ll just have to introduce you to my scientific colleague, Doctor Plato Grammaticus ... we can trust him completely.’
The Twins remained silent while rapidly blinking at each other.
‘He already knows about you and wants to meet you,’ the delighted scientist enthused, ‘although he doesn’t really believe me yet. He thinks I’m pulling his leg ... or assumes I’ve gone senile. Nevertheless, he’ll soon be convinced ... he’ll soon believe! He lives in Scotland near Inverness, you know. I’m planning a trip there in due course, after first visiting the London Science Museum, my number one favourite place in the whole world!’
‘If you must, Dear Professor,’ the Twins said rather solemnly. ‘And this is what we feared. You probably don’t realise it yet, but others already know of our existence. Yet it wouldn’t be beneficial for us to tell, as we’re confident we can thwart any plans against us ... for the time being—’
‘Who in the gaseous Crab nebula could that be?’ the professor retorted. ‘You’ve only recently come into existence ... and I’ve only just put you on. Besides my having told Plato all about your evolving and your shoes’ blueprints, who else—’
While frantically trying to make sense of it all, Dolly didn’t hear the rest of the conversation. Slowly it dawned on her that what she’d witnessed actually occurred, despite not daring to believe it. What had happened to her employer, she realised, and what she herself experienced – like watching a film but at the same time being right inside it – had everything to do with the professor’s new pair of shoes.
Spider Wallpaper & Matchstick-Head Eyes
‘BUT HE REALLY did vanish, Dizzy!’ Dolly cried excitedly. ‘He adjusted somethin’ in one of the shoes’ heels, put ’em on, and did some kinda jig. Then, all of a sardine, he proceeded to ... like ... float around on his back—’
‘Vanished!’ Desmond cut her off, unable to suppress his irritation, ‘as in ... disappeared?’ He’d had another dreary day at the junkyard and wasn’t in the mood for fairytales.
‘Uh-huh ... poof! Just like that,’ Dolly gushed. ‘With a kinda soft thud. A minute later he reappeared only a few feet from where I was hidin’.’ She was speaking in torrents now, expecting an excited reaction from her husband.
Desmond was standing in his usual place by the dirty window, looking down on the now vacant park.
‘Baloney!’ he growled, hardly turning round. ‘Why don’t ya just tell me that a Yankee Doodle Dandy came down from the sky with a magic wand an’ turned the prof into a talkin’ moose?’
Dolly promptly burst into tears.
After recovering slightly, Dolly told Desmond the same story with her usual patient determination, adding that her employer was planning to visit a colleague of his called Plato – Doctor Plato Grammaticus – who lived in Scotland. She also reminded Desmond that after all, he had instructed her to spy on the professor.
It was only then Desmond realised Dolly couldn’t have imagined it all. He knew his wife was quite level-headed, but for the moment refused to accept what she was saying. Yet, after fitting it together with what she’d previously told him, the implications of possessing such fantastic devises didn’t escape him. If it were true, Desmond reasoned, that a pair of computer shoes, together with their wearer, could actually vanish, it followed they could also pass through solid matter! And appliances like that should fetch a handsome sum indeed. Especially from that fraternity who were in the habit of seeing things purely from a criminal point of view. So despite his initial doubts about the whole affair, Desmond resolved to do something about it ... before Prof McBatty travelled to Britain.
That evening, Desmond contacted an acquaintance from Giddy’s Junkyard, who gave him an odd-looking phone number. Desmond had never seen a number like it before. It contained fifteen digits and he wondered if it would work. That night – walking up and down the apartment block’s adjacent alley lined with garbage cans and skew street lamps – he decided to dial the number from a nearby payphone. At last – after someone had kept him on hold for a while – a distant-sounding voice arranged a time for him to make a second call. This second call, on another special number, would put him in contact with someone called The Walrus. The Walrus, the voice assured him, would be willing to listen to what he had to offer. The rasping voice warned Desmond, however, that he’d be in a lot of trouble if he wasted The Walrus’s time: he shouldn’t even bother talking to him unless he had information of real value.
Before terminating the call, the voice scheduled the second call for 23h00 the following night. ‘An’ make sure yer not late, mister. The Walrus don’t take kindly to folks keepin’ him waitin’ ... yer follow?’
‘Yeah ... sure!’ Desmond spluttered. ‘I understand. I won’t be late ... late—’
Desmond slept very little that night. When he did fall asleep, he dreamed of a crowd of elderly ladies attacking him, brandishing umbrellas with walrus-tooth-shaped handles. Meanwhile, gulls soared overhead screeching mathematical terms in Hindustani, giving Desmond the impression a rogue comet was about to smash into Staten Island.
* * *
The following crescent-moonlit night, Desmond again visited the payphone round the corner from their shabby apartment block. Making his way into the ill-lit alley, he could hear a clowder of cats loudly raiding a row of garbage cans. Throwing stones and yelling, Desmond chased them away.
His heart pounding in his ears, he looked at his watch. At exactly 22h59, he dialled the fifteen-digit number. Surprisingly, it worked.
‘Yeah?’ an unenthusiastic-sounding, sandpapery voice answered.
‘This is ... um ... Blaken,’ Desmond stammered. ‘I wanna speak to ... er ... The Walrus.’
The request sounded so absurd, Desmond wondered if he’d be taken seriously,
‘What about, mister?’ the voice demanded.
‘A pair of ... er ... s
hoes.’ Desmond said, expecting the voice to burst out laughing.
‘Huh? Whatcha mean by ... shoes?’
‘Very special computerised ’gator skin shoes. Super-shoes that can make ya disappear, y’know ... like ... right outta sight. I know someone who works for the dude who invented ’em ... an’ actually saw him vanish while wearin’ ’em.’
‘For real?’ the voice demanded.
Before Desmond could say, ‘Uh-huh, for real,’ he heard a muffled banging sound, followed by what sounded like howling, then a lengthy silence.
‘Hello!’ he shouted, feeling a bit foolish. ‘I bet they ain’t gonna believe me,’ he whispered dejectedly. ‘And I’m just gonna wind up in a whole lotta trouble.’
Desmond was about to hang up when another, far more menacing-sounding voice said, ‘Tell me more about yer magic fairy boots, mister ... and make it snappy!’
Desmond obliged, hurriedly gushing out his story. When he repeated what Dolly – without mentioning her name – had seen in her employer’s laboratory, he was surprised to receive detailed instructions.
‘Where are yuh situated?’ the voice demanded.
‘Brooklyn.’
‘Swell! Tomorrow night ya’ll go to Hell’s Kitchen on Manhattan Island. Find the Black Swan Inn near the docks off 12th Avenue. Be there at nine o’ clock. When yuh get there, ask for The Walrus and repeat this code: ESTUS VEITCH NOSTRUM REX!
‘An’ keep yer trap shut about the whole business, Blaken, if y’know what’s good for yuh!’ the voice rasped. ‘If you can get us them wonder shoes, ya’ll become a rich fella.’
Suddenly emboldened, Desmond shouted into the phone, ‘Well, I want one million dollars in cash! I ain’t gonna do nothin’ about them lousy shoes unless—’
