King Crow

by Michael Stewart

The reason why I’m on the side of the cuckoo is that when a cuckoo puts its egg in another bird’s nest it is usually a much smaller bird and the rest of the eggs are half the size, so it’s the other bird’s fault. When the cuckoo chick hatches, it grows much bigger and looks so different to the other birds, that you’ve got to wonder about how smart the parents of those birds are. It hatches earlier, the chick grows faster, then starts kicking the rest of the chicks out of the nest. How many clues do you want?

  My mum’s brother, not her scary brother Tony, but her youngest brother, my uncle Mark, is a bit of a cuckoo, so my mum says. He used to pop round for a cuppa every now and again. Just pop his head in on the way to the pub, as though five floors up he could just be passing by, and ask if the kettle had just boiled. He’d never say much, used to just sit on the sofa watching telly. Then he’d finish his tea, say it was lovely and he’d be off down the Brown Cow or the Black Horse.

  He came round about four years ago when his wife kicked him out, asked if he could kip for the night. He slept on the sofa in our flat in Ordsall. Then the next night, he somehow persuaded mum to let him stay again. This went on for about three weeks, it wound my sister up so much, she went to stay at her mate’s, so Mark moved into my sister’s bedroom. My mum started shouting at him, but he said that there was no point him sleeping on the sofa when there was a bed going spare. I could see his point but my mum blew her top and kicked him out. He rarely comes round now.

  They say when you hear a cuckoo, that’s when spring starts. For some reason it often lays in the reed warbler’s nest, which is quite funny really. Maybe the reed warbler is a particularly stupid bird and that’s why the cuckoo picks on it. When the female reed warbler lays her eggs, the female cuckoo waits for her to fly off, then she flies into the nest, kicks one of the eggs out and lays her own egg. She can do this in almost no time at all. You have to have some admiration for anything that sneaky. There are a lot of blokes in Salford like that.

  It’s a funny thing with onomatopoeia because it’s a bit of a myth. I mean a dog doesn’t really go woof, does it? It sort of goes ‘rrrrrrrrrrruuuuuuuuuff’. Only the ‘r’ sound sort of darkens as it builds. As though it were taking the ‘r’ sound from the front of its mouth to the back of its throat. I watched a programme about it on daytime TV. They show some good educational programmes on BBC during the day so it makes sense to stay off school and watch television instead. Anyway, apparently in Japan, they say ‘wan wan’ instead of ‘woof’ which isn’t even close. And in France they go ‘ouaf ouaf’ which is just daft. In Spain they go ‘guau guau’, which is even more ridiculous – if I were a dog I’d be insulted by that.

  They sell Rice Krispies on the TV by saying they go ‘snap, crackle and pop’, but they don’t go ‘snap, crackle and pop’ at all, in fact they don’t go anything like that. I know, I’ve listened to them a lot. Now the cuckoo doesn’t really go ‘cuckoo’. I’d say it goes more like ‘wah-hoo, wah-hoo’. But I suppose it’s debatable, and ‘cuckoo’ is certainly closer to its call than ‘chiffchaff’ is to a chiffchaff’s. You get it a lot in comic books – onomatopoeia I’m talking about now, not cuckoos. Wham, biff, smack – stuff like that. My favourite is the sound of Spider-Man’s web shooter in the Marvel comics, which is written as, ‘thwip!’. It always makes me laugh, that.

  Becky is fast asleep beside me. Her hair is a dark chestnut brown, the same colour as a dipper’s belly only with more of a sheen, and her skin is really creamy, almost white, like the dipper’s breast. I can’t sleep at all. Must be all the drugs. I’m just lying here watching her and letting my mind drift from one thought to another. Like a warm bath for your mind. You can just let your mind soak in all those bubbly thoughts. I think about Ashley. I wonder if he’s asleep. He’s probably helping himself to the drinks cabinet. I saw him eyeing it up earlier. Or maybe he is helping himself to some stuff, small ornaments or jewellery – stuff that he can put into his pocket.

  Then I think about Dave. I think about everything that has happened today. It would make for an extended episode of The Met. I went to school, then we met Dave. Then Dave’s brother ripped Ashley’s fingernail off with a pair of long-nose pliers that reminded me of a snipe’s bill. Thinking about it some more, I’d say the truer resemblance was to an oystercatcher’s bill – in shape, not colour. An oystercatcher’s bill is bright orange. Whereas the bill of a pair of long-nose pliers is a sort of dull grey-silver.

  That doesn’t really matter. Then we ran away, then we stole a car and knocked Andy down. The car really smashed into him and there was blood everywhere. I wouldn’t say he was alright. I’d say he was dead. That would explain Dave’s look. Then we had a car chase. I tried to shoot Dave. Then we walked into Kendal. Then we nicked a clown, went to a squat party, took lots of drugs and I ended up here and had sex for the first time ever with Becky, who is lovely. Not bad. Thinking about it, you’d probably need to stretch that over three or four episodes of The Met.

  Since meeting Ashley, my life has definitely got more interesting. I’ve done a lot of things I’ve never done before.

  So what is Dave going to do about Andy? What would I do? If someone killed my sister, I don’t think I’d actually do anything. If we still lived in the flat in Ordsall, I would have moved into her bedroom, like my uncle Mark did, because her room was bigger than mine, not that she had any more space though, because she filled her room with blank staring dolls. I need to think like Dave. What would Dave do? What did Dave do? Dave chased us all the way up to Cumbria in a smashed up car with no windscreen. Then he chased us across the ploughed field. This makes me think Dave is not happy. We lost him in the woods, but what’s bothering me is that he would have got to the road eventually, same as us.

  Something else is bothering me. I lost the map out of my back pocket. If Dave picked that map up he will have seen that I drew a line from the motorway we were on all the way across to Kendal. I also drew a big circle round the word, ‘Kendal’. So even a reed warbler would be able to work that one out. We put our school ties in the bin close to the sign that said ‘Welcome to Kendal’. So if he did get to Kendal he’d probably see them and know we are here. This isn’t good.

  He’s more than likely to ring up his mates and get them to drive across here. They are probably prowling the streets now. At least he won’t be able to find Becky’s place. How would he? He’ll prowl around and probably look for boys about our age. Maybe he’ll stop the car and ask them if they’ve seen us. But who will he stop at this time of night? Perhaps a gang coming out of a squat party. Oh dear. What if he stops the white hooded’s gang? But why would they tell him anything? Well, maybe white hooded would because he was pissed off with us. He saw us leave with Becky. But does he know where Becky lives? Course he must do, this place is a palace.

  I’m starting to panic now. My mind is going round and round, my pulse is racing, and I can’t get the image of Dave’s face out of my mind, staring back at me with the body of his brother next to him. Andy’s body, limp and wet with blood. Stop, calm down, try and think calm thoughts. I go through all the warblers. First there’s the swamp warblers: the rather stupid reed warbler, the great reed, marsh, river, Cetti’s, Savi’s. What are the other ones? Sedge, moustached, grasshopper, aquatic, fan-tailed. Then there’s the scrub warblers: the blackcap, the whitethroat, the lesser whitethroat, spectacled, Dartford, barred... Can’t remember the others. Missed quite a few there. Then there’s all the leaf warblers: willow, chiffchaff, arctic, greenish, yellow-browed, wood, olive-tree, garden, melodious... what’s the one I always forget?

  Roadrunners

  Takes a while to remember where I am. Sun streams through the blinded window in shafts of light. I look round but nothing seems familiar. Then I see Becky lying next to me and all the memories of last night come flooding back. I study her features, her unblemished cheek, her ruffled hair, the smooth, sleek skin of her shoulders. The curve of her eyelashes, the soft pink lobe of flesh beneath her ear, the fine, almost invisibl
e hairs on her neck. I look around the room, our clothes lying crumpled on the floor, the red foil wrapper, our drinks on the table by the door, unfinished.

  Now I notice the book shelves for the first time. Becky has loads of books, crammed into the shelves, things you’d expect to find on there like Harry Potter books and Stephen King, but also lots of more interesting material. A book called Dark Music catches my eye and so does one called Meltdown, but they look like novels. Becky opens her eyes and looks over at me. She smiles and sits up.

  —Morning, she says. But it’s actually afternoon. —Did you sleep ok? I nod, and stare out of the window. Now it feels weird being in bed with her. Now I’m aware of how real she is, of how naked she is, and of how naked I am.

  —So what do you want to do today? she says.

  —I don’t know, I finally manage.

  —I thought you wanted to find those ravens?

  —Maybe.

  —Show me the map.

  I look over to where my clothes are, my boxers entangled where I threw them last night. I try to appear casual as I hop out of bed, grabbing my boxers and pulling them on. I find my jacket and reach into the pocket. I take out the book on ravens and sit on the bed. She takes the book. She opens it at the back where the maps of breeding pair nesting sites are. I’ve ringed the one of Helvellyn.

  —Is this the place?

  —Yeah.

  She looks through the book some more and as she does the photograph of me and my dad with the stuffed raven falls on to the bed. She picks it up.

  —Is that your dad? I nod. —Where is he now? I shrug. —Don’t you know?

  I don’t manage to say anything for a long time. My mouth goes dry. Then I answer her, —That’s all I have.

  She goes to turn the photograph over but I snatch it off her before she has chance to do this.

  —What’s the matter?

  I put the photograph back in the book and close the book over it. I’m aware of Becky staring at me, then she strokes my cheek and gives me a hug.

  —We’ll find these birds, she says.

  —Are you coming then?

  —They’re away for a few days she says, meaning her parents. —It’s a bit boring round here. Why not?

  She goes over to her wardrobe and takes out some binoculars – a pair of Viking 10 x 42 Navigators. They cost nearly two hundred pounds. They’re nitrogen-filled to prevent condensation and are one hundred percent waterproof. She tells me her dad gave them her, but she’s hardly ever used them.

  —Can I try them? She hands them to me. They feel lovely. I hold them to my eyes and bring the world outside into focus, blurring the blinds in the foreground. I hand them back. She takes out a black rucksack and packs a few things, make-up, clothes, she throws in the binoculars, as though they were any pair of binoculars. We both get dressed. I’m fully dressed now and Becky is putting on a clean vest top from a drawer and putting it on over her bra. She goes into the bathroom. I can hear the clack of glass on tiles, then the sound of water running. There’s a bang on the door. I open it.

  Ashley’s in a bit of a state. I ask him what the matter is. When he woke up he felt a bit groggy, he says, so he went downstairs and found some headache tablets in the kitchen. He poured himself a glass of water and went outside to get some fresh air. That’s when he saw it, a blue car with Dave, and some other boys. Ashley knew the boy who was driving, someone called Sean, and he’s bad news according to Ashley.

  —Did they see you?

  He shakes his head, he doesn’t think so, but we need to go. If they’ve been given our address by the white hooded or some of the others, they’ll be here soon. He goes back downstairs and I decide to follow him. We go outside and have a walk round the garden, keeping close to the hedges. We peep at the road, but there’s just a few parked cars. A chaffinch hops about, nest building, with a bit of dried grass in his mouth. The men with the strimmers have been and all the grass verges between the pavement and the road have been cut. A paper boy passes with a fluorescent bag and disturbs the bird – it flies off

  —Come on, Ashley says, and we edge round the back. There’s a driveway covered with trees and bushes. Ashley scans the cars. He finds one he can manage, but then says, —You have a go. At first I think, no way, but then, why not?

  I leave Ashley in the back of the car, keeping an eye out. I go back to Becky. I find Ashley’s blazer, I’m about to pick it up, but think it’s better if he doesn’t wear it. I reach into the inside pocket though and take out the bag of drugs, don’t want to be leaving that behind. I go up the stairs and into Becky’s bedroom. She wants to know where I’ve been. I think about telling her about the trouble we’re in but decide against it. As far as Becky’s concerned we are just going raven spotting, best to keep it at that. She has her bag packed. We go down into the kitchen and she takes out a bottle of juice, sliced meat and cheese. She goes to the cupboard and takes out a small loaf of bread, chocolate and crisps. She throws all this into the rucksack.

  —Can you drive? Becky says.

  —I’ve got us a car. We go outside and I lead her to where I’ve parked up in a secluded spot. I start the engine and give it some revs. I think about telling Becky about Dave again, but I look at Ashley through the rear-view mirror and he is shaking his head.

  I tell Becky that Helvellyn will be a good place to find the ravens and she shuffles through the pages of a road atlas that was crammed into the passenger seat back pocket. We drive up to Helvellyn. Becky wants to know where we’re going to stay. It’s a good question and I look to Ashley for an answer but he just shrugs his shoulders. I drive the car around for a while, keeping an eye out. I take Ashley’s silence for worry. He’s worried about Dave, but I can’t reassure him without giving the game away to Becky. But there’s no way Dave will know where we are. I want to tell Becky about Dave, it’s not nice to keep things from her, but it’s the best way. In any case, this is fun, driving around. The thing about The Met is that it’s set in London, which is boring. The scenery around here is more dramatic. Perhaps I should write to them and suggest changing location.

  All this running away from Dave reminds me of the Road Runner cartoon. I used to watch it a lot on Cartoon Network when we had Sky, before they cut us off. Now we’ve just got freeview, which is rubbish for cartoons. You can watch it on YouTube but I got my computer taken off me. Some men came one day, just before we left Ordsall, and took my Xbox, my computer and some of my mum’s jewellery, including her wedding ring, which she said she was glad to get rid of. But she was crying, so maybe she didn’t mean that. What I liked about Road Runner was the Wile E. Coyote character. Coyotes sometimes get mistaken for wolves, but they are really more like a jackal. I don’t think they actually eat roadrunners in reality, although Wile E. Coyote never actually catches the roadrunner either, so this is true to life.

  I don’t mind so much that cartoons always anthropomorphise animals. It’s understandable. It’s just when they put human emotions onto real animals, like Morgan Freeman does in March of the Penguins – I don’t like that because they were real penguins. No one thinks Mickey Mouse is a real mouse, and no one thinks Road Runner is a real roadrunner. A roadrunner can outrun a rattlesnake – and will eat one if it gets the chance. There can’t be many animals hard enough to eat rattlesnakes. They can run up to 17mph, which is pretty good for a bird. They prefer running to flying and are actually in the same family as cuckoos. Like cuckoos, some roadrunners like to lay their eggs in other birds’ nests. Warner Bros were right to portray them as outsmarting the coyote because, like cuckoos, they are incredibly sneaky. Wile E. Coyote should give up and catch squirrels or voles – something he’s actually got a chance of catching.

  But I like that. I like the fact that he never gives up and I like the fact he is trying to catch something he will never catch. We can all relate to that. In our case, Dave is Wile E. Coyote and we are the roadrunner, although I don’t think we are as smart as the roadrunner and this concerns me. There is a cl
ip on YouTube where the roadrunner finally gets caught by Wile E. Coyote. He shakes him, kicks him, then stamps on him, then he lets a truck drive over him and then finally he straps him to a large stick of dynamite and fires him off into the sky. But I don’t think this is an official clip – I think someone has done a pirate version because the drawing isn’t quite right.

  It’s important for some reason that the roadrunner is never caught, so whoever did the pirate version should be ashamed of themselves. The Warner Bros cartoon characters were always more interesting than Disney. Warner Bros invented Wile E. Coyote, Road Runner, Bugs Bunny, Daffy Duck and Sylvester the cat. Disney invented Mickey Mouse, Pluto, Donald Duck and Goofy. If you put Warner Bros characters against Disney cartoon characters in a fight, Warner Bros would win every time. Similarly, if you wanted to have a laugh, you wouldn’t hang around with Mickey and his gang of feeble dimwits, you’d go straight to Bugs Bunny or Daffy Duck.

  Like the roadrunner bird in the cartoon, it’s important that we don’t get caught, as Dave and this Sean are sure to find their own way of kicking us, stamping on us, driving over us and finally blowing us to pieces. I just hope we are Warner Bros characters and not a set of feeble Disney characters.

  We’ve been driving around for several hours now. Becky suggested we stay in a B and B but Ashley doesn’t like this idea. I’m actually able to talk to Ashley now without using my voice, so we can discuss Becky without her knowing, which seems a bit mean, but it’s for her own good. I try to convince Ashley that we should tell Becky what’s happened, but he says I’m not to. We have parked up by a wood and Ashley has gone for a walk to see if he can find somewhere. I can’t talk to him from this distance, so I tell Becky to wait in the car a moment while I have a look for him.

  I find him scrambling up a bit of loose scree. We have to use the roots of trees to climb the slope.

  —I can tell Becky exactly what happened, I say. —I think she’d be ok with it. She’s been ok with the drugs and nicking a car so I think she’d be ok with Dave.