The Incredible Adventures Of Sylvester Merridew and, The Silver Machine16:12 Sep 26 2011
Times Read: 948
The Incredible Adventures Of Sylvester Merridew and, The Silver Machine
Tabbi entered the room, headphones on her ears, a red Walkman held tightly in her left hand.
She was smiling brightly, as she entered the cluttered front-room, most of it bits of memorabilia relating to the seventies, the nineteen seventies.
The curtains were drawn back and sunlight shafted through the trees outside the bay window and into into the room, where her semi-permanent guest Sylvester had slept the night, as he had for many months now.
His wild mane of two-tone hair, one side black the other white, popped up with a hand, from the other side of the sofa and Tabbi asked, “You sleep alright old man?”
It sounded like she was being unkind, yet Sylvester knew that her intention was literal and humorous: after all, he was over a hundred years old.
He grinned sleepily, fisting his eyes.
“Did you stay up to watch the white dot again?” Tabbi asked, slipped off the headphones and turning the Walkman off.
She knew him, too well…
He would do just that, often: watching teevee until the end of transmission and the screen going to black, then to ‘the little white dot’ and a gentle voice saying, “Goodnight, sleep well and, don’t forget to turn off your television set.”
In the past he might have started the morning with callisthenics, but not on these occasions. When he stayed up late Now, he would awake, plod to the kitchen and make a mug of tea, using skills he had learnt since he had met Tabbi.
Electricity still fascinated him: you would flip a switch on and there you had it, power; that flowed through the flex, and allowed him to press another switch and, turn on the kettle, for boiling water.
‘Miraculous,’ he said, almost every time, as he did so often, when out for the day with the young woman, noticing the differences what he had known, way back when.
And, Sylvester would drink his brew, watching teevee, determined to rise; and failing, for an hour or so, as he watched the BBC morning programme.
“So what are you listening to?” Sylvester asked, trying not to notice how she was dressed, or undressed; wearing, an abbreviated grey spaghetti-strap tee-shirt, that exposed much of her flat belly and bird-bone hips and, a miniscule pair of grey cotton panties.
“Hawkwind Sylvester. They’re excellent…” She answered blithely.
“Hawkwind?” He mused, “They do the electric music don’t they?” He asked her.
Sylvester had seen the cardboard sleeves to several of her phonograph, that towered high in the corner of her living-room, his bedroom.
“Electronic is the word Sylvester,” Tabbi corrected smiling.
“Now, how about you make the tea and, I’ll do us bacon butties after my shower?”
She knew Sylvester liked bacon sandwiches, ‘after all, who didn’t?’
“Ideally baked real crispy?” Sylvester suggested.
“Yes Sylvester,” she answered, sitting cross-legged on the armchair near the sofa, where her older friend had blankets sprawled all over.
“Alright Miss…” Sylvester told her, making his way through to the kitchen, far less embarrassed being seen in his long-johns than he would have months ago, in his own time: much had changed for him, since then.
‘For instance,’ he thought idly, ‘I can now make a cup of tea, without nearly burning the house down.’ He was still banned from using the toaster though.
And in less than ten minutes he returned to the front room, where Tabbi was now pouring over her LP collection, ‘looking for something,’ she told him still looking, after he asked, “What are you doing?”
He set her mug of tea down near her armchair, then sat amidst his blankets, watching her fascinated, as she looked at title after title: “The waters on,” he told her.
He had mastered the immersion and, could heat the water, for a bath.
“Thanks,” Tabbi told him as she stood, an LP carefully held in her hands. She sat next to Sylvester, again cross-legged.
She leant down, to pick up her mug of tea and took a sip of the hot brew, then turned to Sylvester, to show him what she’d found.
“See this,” Tabbi began, showing him the front cover: “Well, it’s the last album Bob Calvert was one I think and, it’s illegal really...”
“Howso?” Sylvester queried.
Tabbi flipped the album over, showing an image of a diagram, of plugs insides: “It shows how to wire a plug wrong and, it’s illegal…” She paused and drew a breath, “and, Bob Calvert played on his last tour in seventy eight, as far as I recall. He played with Hawklords on their Twenty Five Years Tour, which was kind of Hawkwinds and, then he was on this…”
She held the album up again, to illustrate the incorrectly wired plug, “And, that was it then. Boy, I’d so liked to have seen that fellow play live…” And Tabbi smiled.
Half an hour later Tabbi busied herself over the stove, preparing their bacon butties.
“You coming down to the basement, after my bath?”
“Why?” He called out.
“I thought you might like to see your machine work properly?” She answered moments later, as she left the kitchenette, two plates in hand.
As they sat eating, he thought about what she had said, unaware that Tabbi was surreptitiously watching him, to gauge his reaction to her news: after all, she knew how wary he was of all technologies, since using it.
Finally he looked up from his empty plate and he asked, “You’ve got it together and ready to work?”
Tabbi looked at him, a wide grin on her face as she explained, “Once I got the machine back together, I had to figure out what went wrong….”
“You want to use it for yourself?” He asked, with incredulity sounding in his voice.
Briefly she laughed, “Of course silly… Why else do you think I’ve been with that manual every night for the last few months instead of out with a fella?”
‘Scandalized, Scandalized, I refuse to be scandalized…’
Her straightforward manner still surprised him, even after all this time.
But, he chose to ignore the remark, intent on learning what she had planned for his infernal machine.
“Look,” she told him, “you come on downstairs with me, after my bath and, we’ll see what we see, alright?
Sylvester just nodded, in shock: she had got the machine going?
The date had been chosen and set, prior to his companion inviting him down to the basement, he realized as he took his seat next to her.
Once he did, Tabbi turned to him with a grin on her face: “Are you going to fasten up?”
Sylvester looked at his young friend, bemusement showing on his face.
“The seat-belt silly! Buckle-up…” She instructed, illustrating what to do with her own seatbelt.
“These are new to the specs…”he noted.
“Yes Sylvester,” she responded with mirth in her voice, “after seeing your landing, I’d thought seat-belts might be good idea…”
Sylvester recalled the machine crash-landing onto the canal towpath well, having lain amongst the twisted metal for much of the night and the following morning, until Tabbi had found and rescued him. So, he felt honour-bound, to travel with Tabbi, on her first trip, using his machine.
He ‘buckled-up’, as suggested, idly appraising the outfit his companion wore; faded to white shin tight jeans, with the knees worn out, which hung from her hips, a sleeveless white tee-shirt that actual hid little of her apple-sized perfection; and aside from eighteen-hole combat boots, a heavy black belt hung low, from three of her jeans belt-loops, the heavy belt-buckle hanging down almost to her crotch.
As ever, he was dressed in his maroon frock-coat, dress trousers and Italian-made ankle-boots. With the outfit, he’d chosen to wear a white
The two counters set on the left of what was euphemistically called the steering column; but in reality, was nothing more than something to hold onto, whilst the craft tore apart the very fabric of time itself.
To the right of the column, or the joystick, as Tabbi called it, there was a button, a start button. There had been a switch, with a key input; but the key had been lost in time, so an alternative had to be found. And, a simple switch had been the answer for Tabbi, who liked the sheer simplicity of it,
Briefly she eyed the two sets of numbers, in milled discs, set with a bakelite setting on the console, just to the left of the switch, they were original and, still working.
With her re-build, Tabbi had made only two more changes from the original specification, as shown in the manual, found amongst the wreckage.
A black Walkman, was attached to the base of the console, with two external speakers fastened to the left and right of the well at the base of the console.
And, she had changed the colour of the machine. Originally it had been red and black, with a lot of chrome, on display.
Now, the excess chrome was gone and the machine, sled and disc were a uniform colour, silver. Tabbi had her reasons for that, of course.
“So when are we travelling to Tabbi?” Sylvester asked, turning to looking at his young friend, running his right hand through his mane of wild hair.
“Nineteen seventy-eight, to see Hawkwind…”
“Hawkwind?” He queried, eyebrows raised. Sylvester frowned at the mention of the band: surprised that of all the places she might have thought of, this was it.
“Uh-huh,” she replied absently, checking the controls.
“Well, why then?”
“Why not?” She replied, looking up from the controls a moment, “Bob Calvert was playing his last gig before he severed his ties with the band. Yet, he was on the first album brought out as the newly reformed Hawkwind…”
“And?”
“And we’re going to watch Hawklords play…” She added.
“Hawkwind, Hawklords? You know these names mean…” He was going to say ‘little to me’, when Tabbi interjected.
“Remember that record I showed you this morning?” She asked him.
Sylvester nodded.
“Well nineteen seventy-eight is where we’re going. I want to see Bob Calvert play. After all, much of the bands most influential output came from then and…”
He could hear the enthusiasm in her voice and, he liked it.
“Well, that’s why we’re going to nineteen seventy-eight Sylvester…” she continued, pressing rewind on the cassette machine.
Finally satisfied that she had found the track she was looking for, Tabbi turned to look at Sylvester, a wide-eyed, wild looking broad grin spread across her young face.
“Well old man, are you ready?”
Sylvester wasn’t ready. He never would be ready to travel in time again; yet here he was. He nodded and replied, “Yes.”
Turning to Sylvester, Tabbi grinned, “Ready to rock ‘n roll?” Then she grinned wider still at the look of bemusement on his face.
“You’ll see old man,” Tabbi said with a smile, as she set the lower display for the endpoint destination, then engaged the disc, then she pressed play on the cassette-machine.
And, as Hawkwinds ‘Silver Machine’ came from the speakers, the disc began to whirr round, faster and faster.
Then she pulled a lever back, engaging the machines special awareness, so it would not materialise inside solid matter.
The lever, the special regulator, adjusted the shield, that began to form around the machine, as the as the disc began to gain speed.
And the shield shimmered around the machine and, as a wild wind emanated from the machine as time reversed outside the crafts protective sphere.
Meanwhile, a panicky Sylvester thought back to the beginning of the day and, clutching the edges of the bench seat till his knuckles showed white, he closed his eyes hard, just as Tabbi turned the sound up and, synthesised lyrical sound filled the ball of energy:
I, I just took a ride on a silver machine and still feeling mean
Oh, do you want to ride, see yourself going by
The other side of the sky? You gotta know where I've been
And it flies sideways through time, it's an electric line
To all the zodiac signs
I got a silver machine (Silver machine)
I got a silver machine (Silver machine)
I got a silver machine (Silver machine)
In my silver machine
It flies out of a dream, it's antiseptically clean
You gotta know what I mean
Oh, do you want to ride, see yourself going by
The other side of the sky in a silver machine?
I got a silver machine (Silver machine)
I got a silver machine
(Silver machine)
I got a silver machine
(Silver machine)
In my silver machine
I just took a ride on a silver machine and still feeling mean
Oh, do you want to ride, see yourself going by
The other side of the sky? You gotta know where I've been
I got a silver machine (Silver machine)
I got a silver machine (Silver machine)
I got a silver machine (Silver machine)
In my silver machine
Silver machine
Silver machine
Silver machine
Silver machine
I, I just took a ride on a silver machine and still feeling mean
Oh, do you want to ride, see yourself going by
The other side of the sky? You gotta know where I've been...
And, as the music peaked, they rematerialized, in nineteen-seventeen eight. Tabbi had timed the track well.
Tabbi looked round, as the energy sphere diminished; "An alleyway. That's useful..."
She scrambled to the floor and went round the Sylvesters side.
"Here," she said to Sylvester, reaching out a hand, "let me help you."
Sylvester blinked twice, then opened his right eyes first and grinned.
“Well I’ll be… It worked!” He exclaimed, clapping his hands together.
“What did you expect?” Tabbi asked, scowling.
“So what did you expect?” She added, helping him undo his seatbelt.
“No, don’t answer that…” she told him, before he could think of an answer.
“Just, c’mon…” Tabbi told him, grabbing hold of his left hand in her right.
“Where to?” He asked.
“The Empire theatre, of course…”
And time passed, finally a couple of hours later: As the milling crowd left The Empire theatre, Sylvester glanced toward his young friend a light smile playing on his face.
“I mean, the set was different than I expected and, Dave Brock was as good, or better than I’ve heard on an LP, but when they played Silver Machine’, I was a little disappointed. They played it shorter and well, it sounded … different.”
It was evident from the radiant expression on her face and her rapidfire speech that she’d enjoyed the concert: although, for him, concert was hardly the right word to use. ‘After all, where was the Schubert, or the Mozart?”
“But, you’re glad you came?” He asked her, grinning.
Tabbi stopped walking, turned and looked at her companion, “Oh-Boy, am I? I’m really dead pleased with what I saw and heard. I mean, it was a one-off opportunity and a chance to see Hawklord with Bob Calvert, who was well Bob Calvert; and all just before Hawkwind reformed proper… and…”
As they dodged people in the street, walking back to their very own silver machine, a piece of paper blew and straight onto Sylvester’s face. He removed it, looking at what was written on it.
“Tabbi?” He asked after a few moments.
“Yes?” She responded curiously.
“With all your vast knowledge of the music scene in Liverpool, do you know where Erics is?” He asked, recalling some terms of reference he had heard over the previous several months.
“I have an idea where it is, but why?” She queried.
“Well, can we go there on…?
“Why?”
“Tabbi, Debbie Harry are playing then…. And, I would like to go see her perform…” He answered quietly, almost as if he were in confession.
“What!” She exclaimed, “How’d you know of Debbie Harry?”
Wringing his hands behind his back and blushing somewhat, Sylvester looked to Tabbi and told her, “I saw her on Top Of The Pops….”
And, with a wide grin on her face, Tabbi admonished, “You watch Top Of The Pops!”
Sylvester started walking again, with Tabbi rushing after him, “Well, I like watching Pans People… Maybe Babs isn’t the best at dancing, boy does she have lovely legs!”
“So we know you like seventies…” She said with a smile. Then taking his left hand in her right she added, “Now it’s time to head home Sylvester…”
“Good,” he retorted, “I want to relax with a cup of tea, after all that…”
“So it’s back to the Eighties, alright?” Tabbi exclaimed with a clap of her hands.
“Uhuh…” Sylvester responded, then went quiet a moment, before asking: “Tabbi, where did we leave the machine?”
*
COMMENTS
-
OccamsRazor
12:17 Oct 01 2011
Very cute :)
Where did they leave the machine and why did he not go hear Debbie Harry?