Electric Spaghetti: The Strange Adventures & Sudden Fame of Norman Heese & Professor McCrackenbatten’s Fantastic Computer Shoes Read online

  ELECTRIC SPAGHETTI

  The Strange Adventures & Sudden Fame of Norman Heese & Professor McCrackenbatten’s Fantastic Computer Shoes

  By

  Oliver Skye

  All rights reserved

  No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without prior permission from the publisher or copyright holder

  © Cover – Kerri-Ann Venter 2013

  © Text – Oliver Skye 2013

  The moral right of the author has been asserted

  All characters in this book are fictional and any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental

  This eBook edition published 2013 by Feather-Light Press

  [email protected]

  eBook ISBN 978-0-620-53011-8

  Dedicated to The Four

  And in loving memory of Don, Bill, and Sybil Thiem; Gordon Beach, Stephan Meiring, Les Grainger, and Jonathan Morris

  Every life is many days, day after day. We walk through ourselves, meeting robbers, ghosts, giants, old men, young men, wives, widows, brothers-in-love. But always meeting ourselves.

  —James Joyce, Ulysses

  Part One: Alligator-Skin Shoes

  On a Bench near Rotten Row

  Screeching Ball-Bearings

  Scotland Yard, Coffee & Croissants

  A Cherry-Red Convertible

  Berserk & Topsy-Turvy

  Part Two: Tons of Chocolate-Flavoured Fudge

  Ethereal Celestial Mass

  We Are Calculi-Z-U-R-2

  What Dolly Saw

  Spider Wallpaper & Matchstick-Head Eyes

  Dizzy in a Pickle

  Eureka, Eureka!

  Part Three: Virtual Surfboarding

  Bats in the Belfry

  High Above the City of London

  An Extraterrestrial Uncle?

  Panic at Canterbury Lane

  Jeremy’s Uncle on the Run

  Back at Rotten Row

  Farewell Cal2

  The Ichabod Maze

  What Happened Afterwards

  Epilogue

  Back Cover

  Acknowledgements

  There is one individual I should like to thank in particular, without whose gracious assistance I would have been stumped. That person is Robert Blum (whose mongrel terrier, Smudge, kept me company while incessantly snoring under the desk where I was trying to write). Without his sympathy, encouragement, enthusiasm, endless patience, and inviting me into his home to write and finish this tale, it never would have happened.

  Special thanks to Joshi for his longsuffering editing and proof-reading; Angela Stott and Petronella Becker for their patient editing, and Caleb for brilliant suggestions and lots of laughs. Many thanks also to Timothy (with his sharp young mind and interesting ideas), Abigail (for her speed-reading!), Daniel Vogt (for all the stuff, printing, and concise contributions to the story), and the person at the library (2001) who suggested taking a previous chapter heading and turning it into the story’s title. Finally, thanks a million to Terence Neuhoff, as well as the intrepid gang at Feather-Light Press.

  Part One: Alligator-Skin Shoes

  On a Bench near Rotten Row

  ON THE SORT of morning most Londoners would rather stay in bed, Norman Englebert Heese – for oddly that’s what his name really was – stuck his nose out from 103 Canterbury Lane. 103 was one of a long row of identical-looking houses in the same street: a neat-looking North London double-storey home Norman shared with his explosive spinster sister, Mildred.

  ‘Cheerio Millie, try not to overstrain yourself today!’ Norman called over his shoulder while exiting the cluttered hallway. Thrusting his umbrella open and slamming the front door shut, he headed down the garden path towards his usual destination – his exclusive Knightsbridge outfitter.

  Heese & Sons for Men was just off Kensington Road, taking you past Hyde Park Corner towards Pall Mall and St James’ near Piccadilly Circus – the very heart of London. And drizzly, foggy London Town was a splendid place for Norman Heese to meet the Twins ... the two most powerful matter-manipulating computers on earth!

  Each day on the way to his shop, after taking the bus to Marble Arch, Norman walked right through Hyde Park – heading north to south-west – for his morning exercise. On that particular morning, however, he was destined to notice something extraordinary on – though not quite on – a park bench: an unimaginably outlandish sight that would irrevocably turn his customary tightly-scheduled lifestyle completely upside down.

  Under ‘normal’ circumstances, that curious apparition would never have persuaded him to take a closer look; for in his own estimation, just a peek would risk making him late for work. And being late for anything – especially not arriving at his shop on time – was for him unthinkable.

  More strangely, if an elderly American cosmologist and computer scientist, across the Atlantic Ocean, hadn’t recently invented twin super processors which unexpectedly developed minds of their own, and then wanted to become a special pair of shoes, nothing you’re about to read would ever have happened....

  * * *

  Not realising the general state of affairs that morning was far from ordinary Norman hurried to the bus stop on Jupiter Street, trying his best – despite his odd attire – to appear as NORMAL as possible. Usually he waited for only a minute before the A14 appeared. Yet because of the fog that morning, and the bus being thirty-three seconds early, he caught sight of its headlights only when they were almost upon him. Waiting for other passengers to get on first, he cordially greeted the driver and found a seat. Due to his vertigo, when in a double-decker, if there wasn’t any sitting space downstairs, he preferred to remain standing rather than climb to the top deck.

  Once seated, Norman adjusted his bowler hat and leaned his umbrella against one leg. With a sigh he opened his tabloid and while the murky townscape whizzed by, intermittently observed his own reflection in the window. And it was rather pleasing, for he was quite a dashing-looking bachelor. He was slim and well-proportioned and with his open clean-shaven face, shortish well-styled hair, aquiline nose and emerald green eyes, he looked the quintessential Englishman.

  Norman also loved watches and had a number of fine ones he’d collected over the years. The one he wore that morning – for he changed them quite often depending on his mood – was his favourite. It was a perpetual calendar from Geneva. As well as displaying the year, month, day and date, he could also follow the phases of the moon.

  Together with his fondness for complex timepieces, he also liked being punctual. So it made him very happy when the bus halted near Marble Arch at 08h24 on the dot. ‘There’s a jolly good show,’ he whispered, craning his neck to get a better glimpse of the park, ‘we’re on time ... as usual.’

  It had become rather blustery – the drizzle stopping momentarily – when Norman stepped up to the Cumberland Gate entrance to Hyde Park. Briefly standing before its wrought iron gates, he whistled a few cheerful notes. With rust-coloured leaves blowing about his head, he abruptly made his way towards Speakers’ Corner. There he passed a man with one hand thrust inside his overcoat, Napoleon style, haranguing a crowd about introducing crocodiles into the Thames and wild animals into London parks if elected Lord Mayor. But Norman, who was rarely late, was too preoccupied with arriving at his shop exactly on time to take any notice.

  * * *

  Year after year, Norman Heese had
always stepped through Heese & Sons for Men’s entrance just as the hour hand on his watch reached nine o’clock. ‘So sorry! Can’t wag the old chin now, I’m afraid,’ he’d say without pausing if any acquaintances happened to meet him on the way there, ‘must be getting on to the salt mine, you know....’

  Shopkeepers in the vicinity regarded him as a rather curious specimen, and he’d acquired a nickname he knew nothing about: ‘Christmas-Tree-Heese,’ due to the colourful ties, waistcoats, and mauve bowler he always wore – together with his rather tight-fitting wide-pinned pinstriped suits. His favourite shoes were Italian-made with silver buckles, with which he wore odd socks. The reason was that the housekeepers at Canterbury Lane, Jennifer and Doreen, always misplaced them on washday. This drove Mildred up the wall; for no sooner had she bought new pairs than they disappeared again. Had she guessed that Norman-Heese-designer-odd-socks would soon be the rage all over London and the rest of Britain, she wouldn’t have worked herself up about it.

  Sadly, nowadays, bowler hats are a rare sight in London. So besides his flashy ties – which had a lot to do with his young nephew, Jeremy – Norman stuck out as a leg of ham would in a florist shop. Some of the ties he wore had pictures of locomotives, racing cars, rockets, fire engines or tipper trucks on them. Others displayed stars, planets, assorted fruit or various exotic animals. One depicted rows of bookshelves stuffed with books. Another tie even had a scene of Tower Bridge with the moonlight and stars reflecting off the River Thames.

  Over the years, since Jeremy began giving his uncle ties on special occasions, Norman had acquired the habit of selecting one for each day. He came to like them so much that if he spotted one he liked, he bought it ... but only if Jeremy approved. The tie collection at Heese & Sons also became exceedingly colourful, much to the annoyance of the shop’s senior assistant, Roger Winter.

  Norman and Mildred both owned the Knightsbridge shop. They’d inherited it from their father, Bentley Heese. Their elder brother Reginald had also been an active partner, but a few years prior sold his shares to his siblings. He then left England for good – for Outer Mongolia of all places. Some said it was because of Mildred.

  Their younger brother, Raphael, Jeremy’s father, was an artist and didn’t have any interest in retailing. Norman supported him in his artistic endeavours, hanging numerous of his paintings around the house.

  Not being as unassuming as her brother was, Mildred didn’t like the small house they lived in one bit, or her younger brother’s art. She strongly felt it didn’t reflect their social standing and continually nagged Norman about moving to a more affluent area. Though Norman was younger, he owned a larger share in the business. He therefore made all the major decisions himself, though dreadfully henpecked by Mildred concerning other matters.

  Nevertheless, because he was so easy-going he hardly ever stood up to her, except in business matters, where he remained firm. Besides, Mildred didn’t have a business-orientated bone in her body. And the reason Norman used public transport rather than taxies was that he didn’t like cars ... and couldn’t drive. He didn’t mind the tube, trains and buses so much, as they felt a lot more solid to him. Mildred on the other hand enjoyed driving her V8 sports convertible at a frantic pace. Norman flatly refused to get into it with her, and Jeremy wasn’t very keen on the idea either.

  * * *

  Leaving Speakers’ Corner behind, Norman marched erectly along Broad Walk with Hyde Park Hotel directly ahead in the distance. Briefly, he nodded at a squirrel watching him from a tree branch. With his tabloid under one arm he kept muttering to himself, his umbrella swaying in time to his steps. Every so often he would check the time, and if pedestrians could’ve heard him they’d have caught: ‘It really is a terrific-looking watch, there’s no doubt! Oh bother, I’ve forgotten my briefcase. And why didn’t I wear my overcoat? Millie! That’s it ... I’ll just ask her to—

  ‘Rats’ whiskers!’ he exclaimed, ‘that reminds me. I’ve left my mobile phone behind too. Oh, hang on! Here it is ... still can’t believe how small and light they make them. Next thing it’ll be a microchip embedded in an earlobe with a miniature screen protruding from one nostril....

  ‘Sizzling rodents’ pelts! That pigeon flew by at a rate, what? Nearly took my hat off! Fourteen and three-quarter minutes to go! Must make it to the Albert Gate on time ... as always.’

  At ten minutes to nine – his thoughts only on the time and the work that lay ahead – Norman, passing by Nannies Lawn, veered towards Rotten Row near the Serpentine as was his habit. The notion that the events about to take place could ever happen to him was as distant from his thoughts as Pluto’s orbit around the sun. It was extremely unusual therefore when, turning right towards Rotten Row, he halted in the middle of the path, for the first time in two decades breaking his strict daily routine.

  Standing there on the spot for at least twenty seconds, he tried to make sense of what he was seeing.

  It must’ve been an uncommonly bizarre sight to tear his eyes away from his beloved timepiece, which he usually scrutinised while hurrying along, sometimes counting out the seconds to himself. Ultimately, that bit of dilly-dallying was the reason he would be jerked out of his absurd daily routine, leading to the peculiar circumstances he’d soon find himself in.

  To this day, Norman still can’t explain why he behaved in the way he did. When on the rare occasion he talks about what happened that fateful morning, he says he felt COMPELLED to stop: as though something, somewhere, was influencing his will. For as soon as he paused in mid-stride, a sense of urgency coupled with enormous curiosity overwhelmed him.

  Just then, all he had eyes for were the two airborne objects directly in front of him.

  ‘By Jove!’ he whispered, putting a finger to his thin lips, ‘just look at that splendid pair of shoes hovering above that bench over there! If the fog were any denser, I’d have missed them altogether....’

  Yet it wasn’t that pairs of shoes don’t usually float on thin air that first caught his attention. It was their dazzling beauty.

  So he slowly walked up to take a closer look.

  Screeching Ball-Bearings

  SHORTLY AFTER Norman stopped to gawk at the unexpected mystifying sight – the shoes now resting side by side on the bench – it started to drizzle again. As he opened his umbrella, a gust of wind blew it inside out.

  Thwump!

  Grabbing his bowler, Norman turned to see if anyone was looking. Due to the fog, he didn’t notice someone else without an umbrella sitting on a park bench nearby, closely watching him. If he’d known why a befuddled, sleep-deprived New Yorker from Brooklyn happened to be skulking around in a London park, in the fog, he’d have felt rather sorry for him.

  Managing to get his chequered brolly back in order, Norman sat down on the wet bench beside the strange shoes. With his head cocked to one side, he curiously regarded them from every angle. It certainly was an odd way for such a time-conscious person to behave. Mildred wouldn’t have approved one bit had she known what her brother was up to. Especially if she realised it would all lead to him never arriving at their shop ... ever again.

  All this illustrates how attractively the shoes managed to present themselves to and persuade the waylaid Knightsbridge shopkeeper to take a definite interest in them, despite his usual frantic exertions to arrive at work punctually. ‘Goodness gracious,’ he gasped, ‘I must be hallucinating. For a moment it looked as if they were....’

  Rejecting the absurd thought while sitting there in a semi-daze, Norman realised the drizzle had stopped. He still had his umbrella open, while passing pedestrians all had theirs closed. He quickly closed his, conscious that sitting there any longer would make him late for the first time in years. Nevertheless, he couldn’t help taking another squiz at the shoes, which appeared finely crafted from alligator leather.

  Just as he was about to dismiss the whole affair, get up and hurry along, Norman hesitated. Unknown to him, in that very act of vacillation – the significance of w
hich would only occur to him a few days later – and secretly spurred on by the shoes, he’d be doing Great Britain and the entire world an enormous service, by unwittingly preventing them from falling into the wrong hands. And why a pair of computerised alligator-skin shoes left behind by an elderly scatty professor could possibly put the world in jeopardy is something Norman was still to find out.

  Sitting there feeling flummoxed Norman found one hand, almost entirely against his will, moving towards the shoes. He sensed that once he touched them, inevitably, he wouldn’t be able to resist putting them on. And by doing so, he somehow knew his life would change forever ... for better or for worse.

  ‘Shouldn’t I be on the way to the shop?’ he asked himself stealing a glance at his watch, hardly able to tear his eyes away from the beautiful objects lying next to him. ‘And what would Mildred think if she could see me now? Surely she’d presume I’ve taken complete leave of my senses....’

  Yet the premonition that something incredible was about to happen left Norman almost breathless with excitement. So with all misgivings put aside, and with a tingling sensation in his fingertips, he gingerly picked up the shoes. ‘Screeching ball-bearings!’ he cried, holding them up in front of his nose, ‘these must be the most magnificent things I’ve ever handled—’

  Norman had good reason to be so enthusiastic, for the shoes really did look splendid. They were of the slip-on variety and uncommonly elegantly styled, as well as appearing softly luminous. He found he couldn’t help caressing them as they looked superior to any shoes he’d ever seen. What surprised him most, however, was that they remained bone dry, despite the recent drizzle.