Clay by David Almond Read Free Book Online Page A

“Mebbe there was a time of beasts and monsters before there came the time of us. Mebbe there’s things like them things walking still. Mebbe there’s things around us that was created by the devil and not by God. Things like the thing that snarled through the door at you. Things like your Mouldy.”
    “Aye,” I said. “Mebbe. Aye.”
    He watched me.
    “Or mebbe,” he said, “the time of beasts and monsters is just about to start. What do you think, Davie?”
    I shrugged, shook my head. I saw a fallen twisted crucifix among the clay. I reached down and tried to stand it up. I pressed it into a lump of soft clay to stop it falling.
    “D’you ever think you might still want to be a priest?” I said.
    “No. That’s all over, Davie. There’s other ways to live a life and serve the Lord.”
    He drew one of the bowls towards himself. He took the wet cloth off. He ripped a little lump of clay away. He started shaping a human body with it. He paused.
    “I wanted to do this last night with you,” he said. “But you saw me and you didn’t come down.” He grinned. “Why not? Too scared to come out in the dark?”
    I twisted my face, turned to go.
    “Don’t be stupid,” I said.
    “Now the thing called Mouldy’s drove you here,” he went on. “It’s nearly like there was a purpose to it….” Hepaused. “Do
you
think there was a purpose to it?”
    “A purpose to what?”
    “To Mouldy driving you here. Do you think there’s a purpose to you and me getting together like this?”
    “No,” I said. I shrugged. “I dunno.”
    I looked away from him. Sometimes Stephen made me feel so stupid and young. I wanted to leave the shed, to get back to Geordie, but I also wanted to stay. Yes, I did feel some sense of purpose. I did feel like I’d been drawn to him, ever since I’d seen him for the first time in the graveyard.
    “Strange, eh?” he said, like he could read my thoughts. “But you’ll not tell nobody.”
    “Eh?”
    “You’ll not tell nobody about me.”
    “What’s there to tell?”
    “Well, there’ll be the tales of what I get up to in here. The secrets.”
    I looked back at him.
    “Aye,” he said. “And the secrets of what you could get up to as well.”
    “Me?”
    “Aye, Davie. You.”
    I watched the dust tumbling through the light, gathering on us. I watched the clay figure taking shape between his hands.
    “Watch this,” he said.
    The figure was tiny, delicate, half formed, not like the other formless soulless lumps, but like a baby, half made. He lifted it to his lips.
    “Move,” he whispered to it. “Move, my little one.”
    He sighed and smiled.
    “There. Did you see, Davie?”
    “See what?”
    He breathed the words again.
    “Move. Live, little one. See?”
    I moved closer, gazed down. There was nothing.
    Stephen held the child in one hand, and stared at me. He passed his other hand before my eyes once, twice, then again.
    “Look again,” he whispered. I looked down into his hands, to the baby lying there. “Move,” he whispered. “Live!”
    He sighed with pleasure.
    “Look, Davie,” he said. “Look deep. Look with the eyes of the spirit, Davie. When I say you’ll see it move, you will see it move.”
    He lifted the child towards me. He passed his hand before my eyes again.
    “Now, Davie,” he whispered. “You will see it move.”
    And I did see, and I nearly cried out with fright, but he stopped it dead. He dropped the child onto the bench, clapped his hand across my mouth.
    “You got to tell nobody, Davie,” he said. “You got to promise me. Promise me now.”
    I goggled back into his eyes. I nodded. I reached out and touched the child. It was cold stiff clay, nothing more.
    “Do you see what we’re capable of?” he whispered. “You and me, Davie? Mebbe this is where the purpose is. Mebbe we’re destined to work together, to make something—”
    Then there were footsteps outside, and he quickly moved back from me.
    “Remember,” he said. “Tell