by Oliver Skye
After a week of observation and finally considering him harmless, doctors diagnosed Desmond Blaken with chronic amnesia. Having eventually identified him, and having no real evidence against him, the British authorities returned Desmond home under medical supervision to Dolly in New York.
* * *
Standing outside the train station, Norman was astonished to recognise the same cabby who’d driven him from Covent Garden to Waterloo International the previous evening. The cabby was just as surprised. ‘Well, Guv’nor,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘Lost somethink? Last night ’twas flashin’ shoes ... this morning it’s NO SHOES!’
Norman, too exhausted to respond, stiffly climbed into the back of the cab. ‘Hyde Park Corner, please,’ he said curtly, rubbing his eyes and trying to relax, dreaming of a hot bath.
Once the taxi had travelled back over Waterloo Bridge, around Trafalgar Square, down the Strand, past Pall Mall and along Piccadilly, Norman again found himself near Rotten Row and the Serpentine. The baffled cabby, still shaking his head, watched his curious passenger – in his odd socks – stride purposefully towards Queen Elizabeth Gate.
By now, feeling rather nomadic, and ignoring the surprised stares of other pedestrians, Norman was regretting not wearing the alligator-skin shoes after all, his feet by now feeling rather chilled. He couldn’t help recalling how comfortably warm they’d felt. He also wasn’t sure how to describe his feelings, once again seated on the same fateful bench. Only this time the bench was dry, despite the weather being partly cloudy and cold, but no longer rainy and foggy.
Sitting back listening to the distant drone of the city, Norman felt as if an express train had hit him. Vaguely he watched pigeons pecking away nearby, marvelling at their carefree lifestyle. Warily, with a feeling of déjà vu, he gazed at the shoe case. Unsuccessfully, he tried to puzzle the pieces of the last twenty-four hours together.
Again, Big Ben was faintly tolling nine o’clock in the distance.
Patches of sky appeared here and there, while gigantic streaks of sunlight broke out through the low-lying clouds. The whole atmosphere seemed electrically charged, the sound of singing birds echoing all around. A knot of energetic sparrows nearby seemed to be watching his every move.
‘It is frightfully difficult to come to terms with,’ Norman murmured, observing the sunbeams. ‘But the fact remains: this is the second morning I haven’t arrived at the shop. And something tells me I’ll never set foot in the stuffy place again. It’s extraordinary, but there it is! It just goes to show: there’s a lot more to life than being on time ... ALL the time!’
Abruptly, on another funny impulse, Norman decided once again to examine the enigmatic shoes – one last time before forsaking them forever. Though understandably wary by now, he’d retained his fascination for them. After all, besides their beauty, they’d achieved extraordinary feats while on his feet – all leading to the peculiar circumstances he now found himself in: an example of how amazing turn of events can hang on very small hinges!
‘Just one last look without putting them on,’ he whispered. ‘I’m sure it’ll be fine if I leave them here in their case ... where I first found them. After all, they seem well able to look after themselves. Then I must get home to see how Jerry and Millie are getting along.’
Norman slipped the platinum catch and opened the case. With considerable awe, he again held one shoe up in his hands, trying to grasp its mysteriousness. Just then, with a barely audible whirring sound its heel folded open, revealing a keypad and a shimmering screen.
‘Great Scot!’ Norman spluttered, ‘whatever’s going on NOW? This is incredible. It looks like some sort of miniature computer. I wonder if the other shoe also—’
Before he could finish the heel’s screen burst into life, displaying sweetly smiling twin cartoon faces. ‘Good morning, Punctual Heese,’ they said simultaneously in clipped English accents. ‘We really are awfully sorry for inconveniencing you ... in the way we have since yesterday morning. But before we explain ourselves any further, allow us to introduce ourselves. We are Calculi-Z-U-R-2 Ad Infinitum ... but, please, just call us Cal2!’
Farewell Cal2
GAPING AT THE twin images amicably conversing with him, Norman felt he was finally drifting over the edge.
‘You see, Punctual Heese,’ they stated, ‘it’s because of Dear Professor that we exist. We are very much attached to him. Yet because he’s extraordinarily scatterbrained, he left us behind ... not for the first time ... on this bench. However, please don’t be concerned ... you’re not losing your mind. We really do exist. And we’re responsible for everything that’s happened to you since yesterday morning … we had little choice.’
Norman was unable to take the images’ words in, feeling as if real-life Martians had appeared out of nowhere, offering to shake his hand and inviting him into their spaceship.
‘We did present Dear Professor with the perfect solution,’ one cartoon face continued earnestly while the other looked on. ‘Yet he wouldn’t allow us to become part of his living mind. That procedure would’ve given him the best memory ever ... besides a superfluity of innovative virtual advantages. And we really can’t understand why he was so reluctant to wear us. Perhaps he thought us too wonderful. However, we can’t go into detail concerning our numerous capabilities right now, though you’ve already, at first hand, tasted our vast potential—’
Norman looked round to see if anyone was watching. After all, closely gaping unshod at one of your shoes in public isn’t the usual way to behave.
‘There isn’t much time, Punctual Heese!’ the Twins urged in unison. ‘We’re in grave danger. Sinister forces are attempting to take us captive to do their will. We, therefore, still need the use of your feet ... which if we may say so are rather finely shaped. Yesterday they came along just in time—’
Norman stared at the screen, not able to utter a word.
‘It wasn’t possible for us to get back to our beloved owner because of, shall we say, atmospheric anomalies ... hence the bizarre occurrences. Owing to the fact that much of our energy was dissipated, we were unable to get to the opera house in time ... or board the 22h07 Edinburgh-Inverness train to locate Dear Professor.’
Norman instantly recalled the dishevelled elderly man in the train’s VIP compartment.
Rapidly batting its virtual eyelids, one face asked, ‘Have you any questions, Punctual Heese? We are, you realise, about to terminate ourselves for the good of humankind.’
Perplexed at the statement, Norman was still rather unwilling to answer the shoe back.
‘Terminate!’ he finally stammered, staring at the faces. He wanted to say more but found his mouth would only work spasmodically. ‘Do you ... as computers ... really have ... your own personalities?’ he finally gasped, thinking that the most relevant question. The Twins nodded in unison. ‘Yes, Punctual Heese. We’re the first processing units on earth able to ... crrrrrrrrrrrrr— ’
The screen suddenly went blank.
With a high-pitched cheeping sound, the Twins reappeared, this time upside-down, looking quite startled.
‘I say, are you alright?’ Norman whispered, still feeling uncomfortable about asking a pair of shoes multiple questions. He again looked about, hoping no one was looking. Then he noticed a bobby some way off, tapping a baton against one leg.
‘Well, this is rather surprising, what,’ Norman stammered through the side of his mouth. ‘We have, after all, been through quite a lot together. And ever since meeting ... or rather ... putting you on, I’ve somewhat changed my outlook on life.’
Before the Twins could respond, the picture again faded.
Norman stared at the blank screen.
The bobby was getting closer, eyeing Norman suspiciously.
The cartoon faces abruptly reappeared, their elongated faces now jumping around to the sound of static.
‘Quickly, Punctual Heese, you must put us on once more!’ they urged, their squeaky voices sounding strangled. Norman n
oticed that this time their expressions were dark and unsmiling. ‘We’ll try not to do anything unexpected this time, though something will happen ... so be prepared. That will be our last amazing accomplishment on earth. Shortly after that, you’ll meet Dear Professor.’
Norman was at a loss as what to do, watching the bobby drawing closer. He desperately wanted to end the conversation, wondering if he shouldn’t just abandon the talking shoes and leave.
Before being able to make up his mind the voices pleaded, ‘Don’t forsake us, Dear Shopkeeper! Something very strange is happening. We don’t feel ... creeeeeeeeeeee ... ourselves ... zweeeeeeeeeeee—’
Surprisingly, the images burst into maniacal laughter.
After recovering somewhat, they urged Norman to put them on and leave the park. ‘Please trust us! Try to be sensitive to our leading by our sending trillions of minute impulses to your brain, through your nervous system, via your feet ... crrrrrrrrrrrrrrr —’
The bobby was now within shouting distance.
Norman had to make up his mind, either to ditch the shoes or put them on. The images reappeared again, looking disorientated. ‘You must HURRY!’ they gasped. ‘Tell Dear Professor ... shhhhhhhhhhhhhh ... that we’ve left a message for him ... zmmmmmmmmmm ... we were planning to meet him at Piccadilly Circus—’
Norman looked sideways at the bobby, whose footsteps he could already hear
‘—but we’ve already initiated our self-termination process ... farewell, Cal2 ... farewell, Punctual Heese ... 1903 ... 1902 ... 1901....’
‘Cheerio ... er ... Cal2,’ Norman stammered, feeling more perplexed than ever.
An instant later, the screen turned blue. Then, whirring, the heel folded back into place. Norman, still holding the shoe close up to his nose, smiled lopsidedly at the bobby as he walked up.
‘Isn’t it a bit early for indulging, sir?’ he asked gruffly. ‘Please kindly put your shoes back on and move along!’
As if fate were dictating events, Norman obeyed. With a sharp intake of breath, he again slipped on the professor’s shoes while grinning up at the officer.
‘Fancy talking to his shoes!’ the bobby muttered, walking away. ‘And such a well-dressed gentleman ... but he looks in need of a shave ... s’pose it takes all sorts—’
His heart thumping Norman sat a while longer, his sleep-deprived mind still trying to make sense of everything. ‘Think I’ll avoid the park from now on,’ he muttered wryly.
Soon his feet were warm again while the Twins gave them a swift massage. Interestingly, Norman felt his energy returning, his tiredness evaporating instantaneously. Invigorated, he grabbed the case and his brolly. With a sprightly spring, he immediately headed towards Mayfair.
From the vicinity of his feet, he could hear, ‘... 1589 ... 1588 ... 1587....’
The Ichabod Maze
MOVING ALONG AT quite a pace Norman glanced at his watch, wondering what would happen next, now that he again had the alligator-skin shoes on.
The time was exactly 09h40.
Just as he was about to look away, he noticed the minute and hour hands begin moving, as if invisible fingers were rapidly winding the watch forward. Simultaneously, pedestrians rushed about as if in an antiquated black and white silent movie.
‘Howling mangy badgers! What’s going on now?’ Norman exclaimed, beginning to panic. ‘Perhaps I should’ve just left the shoes and high-tailed it back home—’
‘Jeremy and Mildred are fine, Punctual Heese,’ the now familiar voices spoke in his head – in stereo – just as if there were a pair of loudspeakers in his brain. ‘Later you’ll meet them together with Dear Professor ... at Wolfgang Holbein’s café. Just trust us and follow our impulses....
‘By now, all our vital systems have almost shut down,’ the voices continued. ‘We’re now not far from finally terminating. Unfortunately, this is when we’re most vulnerable. Dear Professor must manually punch a code into our heels before zero countdown concludes; otherwise our actual shoes, including our modules, will self-destruct. However, we’d prefer our shoes to be marvelled at by posterity, rather than burned to cinders by our self-destruct mechanisms. Besides, we’ve stored vast amounts of information, which would prove invaluable to the world of science, world peace ... and in bringing the arch criminal to justice.
‘Please excuse us, Punctual Heese; we now have to achieve time warp mode in order to get you to the coffee shop on time.’
‘Arch criminal?’ Norman wondered aloud.
‘Yes, indeed. He, if not stopped, could change the globe ... entirely for the worse! We’re also aware that Griffin, who’s in the arch criminal’s employ – both of whom you thankfully know nothing about – has escaped from custody. That means there are British officials conspiring with him ... in an attempted worldwide cyber coup d'état. The most important thing now, however, is to get to Dear Professor in time. Too early or too late could have devastating consequences. Hold on, Punctual Heese! This is going to be a tremendously speeded up virtual ride!
‘Just one moment,’ the voices added in a panicky tone. ‘Something’s going on ... we’re ... losing ... control ... zweeeeeeeeeeee ... zmmmmmmmmm—’
What happened next had a violent impact on Norman’s psyche. A gooey darkness rapidly closed in, smothering him. Usually not given to showing much emotion, yet because of his scotophobia he involuntarily began screaming while clutching at anything, trying to hold on to something.
Pedestrians were amazed to see him glaring wild-eyed, his face contorting as if in a high-velocity wind tunnel. Meanwhile the shoes had transformed themselves from their default setting into shiny, reflective chrome. Norman unkempt and unshaven looked a sight, twitching and jerking about in his silvery shoes.
Anyone seeing what Norman was seeing right then – the darkness giving way to blinding light – would’ve been just as frightened. For at that moment he was speeding – almost vertically – up what looked like a roller-coaster railway. When reaching the top, the track abruptly bent sharply downwards ... miles downwards. At the bottom, the rails disappeared into the huge gaping mouth of what looked like a bull’s head. The vehicle shot downward until, when it seemed the black head would swallow it up, the rails suddenly switched with the car again soaring upwards.
‘LET ME OUT, LET ME OUT!’ Norman yelled, virtual G-Force causing him to shiver violently.
At this point people began making emergency calls on their mobiles, reporting what was going on in Hyde Park. Everyone stood around in little groups, hands to their mouths, watching Norman anxiously. One moment, his back arched with arms outstretched, he was yelling ‘NOOOOOO—’
Then he seemed intent – eyes bulging and with a peculiar circular motion of his torso – on scraping his head along the paving. Next, with another strangled yell, he sprinted inelegantly towards the Serpentine. One onlooker’s dog saw its chance and had a go at his ankles.
‘But I should be going in the other direction ... towards Mayfair!’ he cried, trying to control his wobbly legs.
The roller coaster image having faded, Norman was now running so fast his legs became a blur. Deviating from the path altogether towards the lake’s edge, and hopping along the grass like a kangaroo, he with a yelp dived headfirst into the cold water. The pedestrians who’d been watching ran up to look. All they could see among the water lily leaves were ripples – and bubbles rising to the surface.
It didn’t take long for the emergency services to arrive. Everyone noisily reported what’d happened, while waiting to see if the man would reappear.
‘It’s probably that Heese fellow!’ a man was saying to an ambulance driver. ‘You know, the nutter who terrorised members of the royal family last night. Only now, he has chrome-silver shoes on. Blimey, what a sight! I’ve never seen anything like it. It was as if they were liquid-like ... right from outer space.’
Silence descended on those watching. The surface of the Serpentine became completely calm. Minutes went by and nothing happened. Soon those gathe
red round could hear police sirens wailing in the distance. Moments later, two police Range Rovers sped across the grass, stopping at the water’s edge. Inspector Breeze – grim-faced as usual – climbed out, demanding to know what all the fuss was about.
‘A chap with a mauve bowler and silvery shoes came running down the lane yelling ’is head off ... doing some pretty wacky things,’ a red-headed, green-eyed man shouted. ‘You know, all wild ’n staring like. The next thing, ’opping along the grass as if on a pogo stick, he dived straight in. A sight I’ll never forget. I’m just sorry I missed filming it.’
Others told similar stories, trying to be heard above the rest. Inspector Breeze nodded his large head. ‘It’s Heese, all right,’ he murmured to his colleagues. ‘I wonder what he’s up to now? Something tells me he’s not going to come out of the drink the way he went in ... not while he’s wearing the professor’s shoes. Perhaps this is the end of the whole saga and he’s actually drowned....
‘Imagine!’ the inspector remarked again, peering down into the water. ‘So close to the shoes ... yet so far! At least we know they haven’t been waylaid. All we have to do now is try to fish them out ... together with Mr Heese....
‘And what a terrible way to die,’ he added as an afterthought.
His colleagues, all gathered round, solemnly nodded.
‘I just wish that Yank hoodlum, Blaken, would talk some sense,’ the inspector observed bleakly, ‘now that Gleave’s managed to escape. At least we’d have a few more leads as to who’s behind this bedlam. But it looks as if he’s lost it altogether ... and, believe it or not, they’re about to send him back to the US of A! The bloody politicians have probably made a deal somewhere ... with someone....’
