Dodger Page 0,52
they come . . . here they come, just as they always come, our glorious heroes, some seeing for those with no eyes, some carrying those with no legs, some screaming for them with no voice . . .’
All the time the razor danced and weaved, hypnotically, back and forth, while Dodger slid slowly towards the sweating man.
‘Not enough bandages, not enough medicines, not enough . . . life . . .’ Sweeney Todd mumbled. ‘I tried. I never pointed the weapon at another man, I just tried to help, when the best help you can give is the gentle knife, and yet still they come . . . they come here now, all the time . . . looking for me . . . And they say they aren’t dead, but I know they are. Dead, but still walking. Oh! The pity of it, the pity . . .’
Now Dodger’s hand, which had been following the twisting flight of the erratic blade, gently gripped the hand that held it, and it seemed to Dodger that he could see those soldiers himself, so hypnotic was the sway of the razor, and he could feel himself being dragged towards some terrible outcome until the inner Dodger, the bit that wanted to survive, woke up, saluted, took control over Dodger’s arm and neatly and carefully lifted the razor out of Sweeney Todd’s hand.
The swaying man didn’t even notice it go. Still staring into a place where Dodger did not want to see, he simply let it go and slumped down over the chair, foam settling around him softly.
Only then did Dodger realize that they weren’t alone, because while he had been half in the dream world of Sweeney Todd, there in the doorway – and being remarkably quiet for their kind – were two peelers, sweating and staring at him and poor Mister Todd. One of the peelers said, ‘Holy Mary, mother of God!’ and both men jumped back as Dodger folded up the razor and shoved it into his pocket out of harm’s way. Then he turned back, smiled cheerfully at the peelers, and said, ‘Can I help you gentlemen?’
After that, the world went mad, or at least more mad than it had been before. Dodger was surrounded by people, and the little shop was lousy with peelers, brushing past him to the back of the shop, and then he could hear the rattle of a lock, the thud of a boot and, in the distance, some terrible swearing. A gust of corruption of graveyard proportions swept through the shop to cries from the crowd, leaving Dodger suddenly feeling rather queasy and, for some reason, a bit annoyed that he hadn’t had his haircut.
There was the sound of police whistles outside and more peelers flooded into the shop, two of them then grasping the recumbent and possibly insensible Mister Sweeney Todd, who had tears running down his face. He was rushed out again, leaving Dodger on a chair in the epicentre of a hubbub that was loud enough to be considered a hubbub with at least an extra hub, not to mention bub. Faces watched him from every direction, and there was a gasp every time he moved, and in his rather troubled state he dimly heard the voice of one of the peelers who had just emerged from the cellar saying, ‘He just stood there. I mean, he just stood there, eyeball to eyeball with the man, not blinking at all, just waiting for a moment to grab the wretched weapon! We didn’t dare say a word, ’cos we saw the malefactor was in some kind of dream, a dream in the mind of a man flourishing a dreadful weapon! What can I say? I beg you, ladies and gentlemen, do not go down into the cellar. Oh no, ’cos if you do, you might see something that you really would not like to see. Stop them, Fred! Calling it dreadful carnage would not do justice to the crimes. You must trust me on this – I was a soldier once. I was at Talavera and that was bad enough. When I went down there I threw up, so I did, all over the place. I mean, well, the stink! No wonder the neighbours had been complaining! Yes, sir, you sir, can I help you?’
Blearily, Dodger saw Charles Dickens arrive on the heels of the peelers. Charlie said, ‘My name is Dickens, and I know young Dodger here to be