Trash - Andy Mulligan [47]
I didn’t have time to look, though, because I was crashing out into that kitchen, straight into a policeman who was just running in: I went under him, and he tripped, and I slashed with my hook again but missed – and then I crashed out into a yard and over a fence, and I was running.
‘Gardo! Gardo! Gardo!’
It was Rat, right on my heels: I heard two gunshots, but felt no bullets, but someone started to scream – I passed Rat the Bible and we separated, me crossing under a bridge through traffic, people watching but no one reaching for me, even when I jumped up on a taxi which was moving right at me, over the roof and rolled in the street – a moment later I was up and ducking into a fish market, and ditching my shirt – that lovely shirt – and I ran through where it was darkest, where there were boys cleaning fish over the drains, and no one was after me, but I still kept running right through and down to the canal. I swam fast to where the shacks come down to the water, and I hauled up and used my hook again to slash up my jeans and hack them short – my trainers too, I kicked them off and gave them to some kid who was watching me, and I walked along the bank, then in among the huts, praying to God that both my friends were safe, and shaking all over.
3
We were safe, but right away we knew we wouldn’t be for long.
This is Raphael again, but writing it with Rat to get it just right – because the next part of this was my fault, I think. I just about saw Gardo run and Rat streak after him, and then a policeman was shouting at me, so I took off, right across the street, with the buses braking and blasting their horns. I think they must have followed me, and I’m not as quick – and even though I went the back ways, I think they saw the direction I took and made some guesses. Rat thinks maybe they photographed me and Gardo when we arrived at the tea-house.
Anyway, I think we came within an ace of being caught, and why they didn’t just grab us first, I don’t know. Maybe they wanted to be sure it was the Bible we wanted and needed to know why. Maybe they thought a prison guard could take on a little kid like Gardo and they’d have him for sure, cornered in a tea-house. I do not know.
Anyway, I think they must have had photographs because the next morning they were knocking on the door again, right where we lived. Rat reckons they put men out, showing our pictures and showing money, because someone gave us away …
4
Raphael.
We met up again early evening. We slunk in different ways, as planned, and climbed up to our little box of a house, way up the ladders to the top of the pile. We were so pleased to see each other, we just shook hands and hugged and laughed.
Rat went down to get food, as he couldn’t read, and Gardo and I set to straight away, no messing. No messing.
We knew the clock was ticking, so we just drove on – you think we could have slept?
We lit a dozen candles, put them around the Bible and the paper. First we had to argue about what exactly a book-code was, and though he was the one who heard about it from the old man, I can say it was me who saw how it worked – no offence to Gardo, but I’ve got quicker eyes. He says we did it together, and that’s true.
We sat and studied like two little schoolboys. The Bible covers were worn, the pages were dirty. Just inside the front was a column of numbers: 937, 940, 922 … All high numbers like that, ten of them, down in a long column. Now, we’d never been educated in numbers, but to survive you have to add up and take away – none of us were stupid, so we had some ideas.
The pages they marked were all towards the end, and Gardo remembered the old man had been talking about the Gospel.
‘St John,’ he said. ‘It is finished.’
That was where we started looking, and that’s where a lot of fingers had been. All those pages were coloured in and used so well they were even thinner