Free Raven Summer by David Almond Page B

man at his back leans over him with the knife. The picture goes all blurry. When the picture clears, the man with the knife is lifting the head free of the body. He takes the hood off it. It’s a pig’s head, staring out of the screen. The body beneath is a scarecrow. The men are teenagers, hooting with the thrill of it. They’re teenagers, just like me. Then they’re gone, the screen’s blank.
    I lean back, then I curse.
    “Nattrass.”
    I pause and play, pause and play. I run it in slow motion. I watch closely, to see the boys behind the masks, the scarecrow behind the clothes, the pig behind the hood. Listen to hear the voices within the mumbo jumbo.
    “Nattrass.”

13
    When I am happy I am very happy, Liam. I couldn’t imagine being happier. Can you only be fiercely happy when you can also be fiercely sad? And if you can, why is that? Are you ever fiercely sad, Liam? Are you happy? Do you know what I mean by this?
Cx
    “Yes,” I whisper back towards the screen.
    But do I know? Do I know as deeply as Crystal knows? Do I want to know?

14
    Next time I see Nattrass he’s walking through the village
with a sledgehammer across his shoulder. He doesn’t say anything at first, just stands and looks at me with his head tilted to one side, like he expects me to speak.
    “So?” he says at last.
    I don’t answer. He laughs and spits.
    “No comment, eh? You watched it, though?”
    I shrug.
    “You did,” he says. “You couldn’t stop yourself, could you? You watched it all the way to the end, didn’t you. Just like millions all around the world would do?”
    He grins.
    “It’s funny, isn’t it, brother?”
    “What is?”
    “Well, even them that say they don’t like the violent stuff—like you, for instance …”
    “What about me?”
    “You watch it. You can’t stop. You—”
    “It was stupid,” I say.
    “Stupid? Ah, well. That’s what they say about lots of this modern art, isn’t it?”
    “Art?”
    “Aye, art. They call it stupid, meaningless. Absolutely shocking, man! Shouldn’t be allowed!”
    He swings the hammer down and lets the head thud onto the pavement.
    “Some people took it for real, you know,” he says. “Couldn’t tell the difference. They thought it truly was some barmy terrorist thing, that there was some message in the pig’s head. I knew you wouldn’t be fooled. You, with your background. I knew
you’d
know what’s real and what’s not real. That’s why I was wanting a word with you, Liam. Well, with your mother, really.”
    “My mother?”
    “Aye. I was thinking of them galleries. The ones she puts them pictures in.”
    “What about them?”
    “Well, they do that video art these days, don’t they?”
    He laughs again.
    “And I was thinking. Mebbe I could put some of my stuff in. What do you think?”
    I roll my eyes.
    “Aye,” I say. “Maybe you should. Maybe you’re a brilliant and talented artist.”
    “Exactly what I was thinking, brother. So mebbe I should have a word with her, eh? What do you think she’d say?”
    “I think she’d say piss off, Nattrass.”
    “Get away. She uses language like that, does she? I’m shocked! Ah, well. Mebbe I should talk to somebody else, then. One of that arty lot at the brat’s christening. They look like they’d know the real stuff if they saw it, eh?”
    “Aye,” I say. “Whatever, Nattrass.”
    I move on. His laughter follows me.
    “Hey, Liam!” he shouts. “Watch out for more. There’s shootings, beatings, stonings, lots more stuff we can get to work on. Did you see that Saddam Whatsisname getting hanged? That’d be easy to do, man! That’d be a piece of cake. That’d be a proper work of art!”
    A week later there’s another video. A man walks up some steps in a barn. A hood is put onto his head. A noose is put around his neck. A trapdoor opens and he plummets to his death.
    Then there’s a hand scribbling blood-colored ink onto white paper.

    Then Mum’s calling from downstairs.
    “Liam!