excerpt
the shop, usually on the pretext of looking for Hubbard’s early novels, and
we’d argue amiably enough about which of us was more Un-Clear. But they’d
proselytise less amiably if they looked under a pile of cheapo kaftans and found
an unauthorised piece of Dianetic hardware.
Larry shrugged, and glanced at the broken hand of his Mickey-Mouse
watch. “Come on, man. Make me an offer. I’ve got a few connections of my
own to make.”
“It’s going to take me hours to sort this lot out.”
“Listen, for a start the leatherbound stuff seems to be a private library collection
of Aleister Crowley—Magick in Theory and Practice, The Book of Thoth,
The Equinox, quite a selection. You’d get Jimmy Page and Bowie making special
trips here, to the Great British Time Machine itself. Real stars on the shop
floor. Giving you rock’n’roll money. And just look at what else you’re getting
into. A Mystery Train of memorabilia . . .”
He opened one of the notebooks and intoned nasally, “Teachings of the
Order of the Brazen Head!”
I exploded with laughter. On that day, in that remote cube of time and
space—the cramped room, the overheated afternoon, the aromatic smoke,
Willy downstairs imploring a customer not to shoplift—to be taught according
to the Order of the Brazen Head seemed the ultimate comic trip.
Larry’s shoulders were also shaking as he picked up the little brass skull and
raised it in a general benediction over these quaint relics.
“There you go, Squire Nicholas. You can be a Talking Head, and talk
monkish about past and future. Here in your study whereas your bookes be.”
He had a sly cabby’s way with his gobbets of Chaucer. I couldn’t stop laughing.
“All that knowledge, Guv! What’s it worth?” He was afraid my laughter was
a symptom of further procrastination. “Listen, I’ll throw in the Aetheric
Vibrator for good luck. You could become the Great British Sex Machine. A
whole new scene with your Lady Pauline.” He admired Pauline’s jutting
breasts and blazing eyes. The increasingly crazed fault lines in our domesticity
only seemed to make him more sentimental about it.
Still quivering with attacks of nervous laughter, I made a final skip through
the books and files. I actually tweaked the knobs of the Aetheric Visualiser.
This couldn’t be serious business, this caper through surburban arcana. Pauline
was certain to be scathing. She’d told me the previous night that if the
contents of the shop reflected the furnishing of my mind, I was in dire need of
a clearance sale.
Now everything has gone. My special effects were sold for a crazy price. Even
given away to the dustbin men. I was only allowed to keep these side-effects. PP
thinks she’s closed me down permanently. By moving me to these exclusive …
Libros Libertad 