The Best Horror of the Year - Volume One - читать онлайн бесплатно полную версию книги . Страница 16

Sweeney Among the Straight Razors by JoSelle Vanderhooft

(after T. S. Eliot)

Switchblade Sweeney sweeps his floors-grey curls and stubbly foam, stray molars'snaggle roots, their pitted tops decayeddown to the stringing pulp. He humsballadeer;Scarborough Fair, Greensleeves,lampblack hair bound back to scrub and scour,lips summer-chapped, eyes sleepless-rubbed, but clear.The nightingales are singing in the eavesand from the shop below, the swirl of starchthe onion sting and clink of ale, the chopchop chop of carrot, shell of peas.The unmistakable waft of oregano.On palm and knee he pigeon-picks each hair,each fleck of flesh, each shred of cuticle,a writhing leech replaced in her glass bowl.So much work to be done with surgeon's carehe near forgets the bigger mess-the manash-cheeked, exsanguinate, distressedupon the chair. His fingers cramped to clawseven in death. The blood spreads everywhere.Straight-edged Sweeney sighs like bakehouse smokeand dips his rag into the lavabo.The water drizzles gristle-like the pulpthat Mrs. Lovett folds into her pies.Hair, teeth and surgery; the little thingsschool one in patience and respect. The waythe razor pares the flesh, the fallow bonesblasted from age and bodily neglect;musculature of thorax, thigh and back;mucous-machinery of myelin;gut avenues beneath the stomach trap;ghost lungs that in their silence lielike lovers in dread of discovery.The steel-jawed barber wonders, what is man,(steadily as he carves), but sallow skingilding all this gross anatomyas truth is buttered up in flatteryand crust covers Mrs. Lovett's pies?How easy, then, it is to slice the meat,drop it down the shaft, fetch broom and sweep?His work almost complete, serrated Sweeneymagpie-picks the leavings for the gruel.The day is done, and cruel things still are cruel.The day is done, and smoke churns from the chimney.From bone to skin, men are monstrosities.The nightingales sing in the laurel trees.