Lanark
Page 12
He shook his head.
“Then you think I’m hard and brazen?”
He thought of the silver dragon and felt a gush of affection for this girl who had nothing to protect her but abrupt manners and a few defiant expressions. He said, “I know you aren’t.
Tell me your name.”
“Let’s not be personal until afterward.”
He undressed quickly. Sympathy for the girl, and the many movements his actions caused all round, made his lust less greedy. He gently opened her overalls and drew them down to her hips. She whispered, “How should I look?”
“Smile as if you were seeing me after waiting a long time.” She smiled so sweetly that he leaned forward to kiss her shoulders. With her thumbs she pulled his eyes open, saying, “You must look at me, I go blank when I’m not watched.”
A radio sounded: plin-plong, plin-plong, plin-plong, plin-plong! She murmured, “Ignore it.”
“Let me turn it off.”
“You can’t, you can only turn it on.”
The musical braying continued until he stretched and grabbed the radio from his coat pocket. He turned the switch and Ozenfant said cheerfully, “Forgive if I interrupt but I thought you would like to hear that your patient is about to go salamander.” “What?”
“There is nothing to be done, of course, but hurry along if you wish to enjoy the spectacle. Bring your friend.”
Lanark dropped the radio and sat biting his thumb, then stood up and started automatically dressing. The girl stared from the bed. She moaned, “You’re leaving me to watch that?”
“Watch what?” He glanced at her hauntedly and added “I’m sorry” and pulled the shirt over his head. He hurriedly finished dressing, muttering at intervals, “I’m really sorry.” He grabbed the radio from the bed and looked about for the door, but the gleaming glass was perfectly smooth. He said, “Dr. Lanark wants to leave.”
Nothing happened so he shouted it. She said, “This is my home.”
“Please let me out.”
She stared at him stonily. He knelt on the bed, gripped her shoulders and said pleadingly, “You see a friend is—is—is going to burn up; you must let me go.”
She hit him hard on the side of the face. He shook his head impatiently and said, “Yes, yes, that’s all right, but you must let me go.”
She cried out, “Oh, open for him! And slam behind him as hard as you can!”
A door opened and he ran out shouting, “I’m sorry! I’m sorry!”
If the exit slammed behind he did not hear for the noise outside was too great. This hall had a pit in the centre and two vast cables running into it from above and vibrating thunderously. Lanark rushed round the walls looking for a lift, but all the doors had OUT OF ORDER signs on them. At last he found a little tunnel with pulses of warmth and brightness flowing out and forced his way in against the current. This was almost impossible until he lay on the floor and drove forward by shoving with hands and feet against the narrow walls. After several minutes of struggling he advanced about three yards. “Oh, Rima!” he cried and had begun banging his head on the floor and weeping with frustration when the pressure against him stopped. He sat up. Before and behind the tunnel had gone a dim orange which suddenly went completely black. It was cold, and the noise had stopped, though there was a distant twittering and occasional voices called forlornly:
“Dloc ma I ho.”
“Sthgil! Teah dna sthgil!”
“Redloc ylnellus worg I won.”
He got up and ran gladly forward through the dark until prevented by a surface which rumbled at the impact of his body. It was one of the curtains. He drew back to fling himself on it again when it opened and out poured a deafening noise like many flocks of starlings crashing through plate-glass windows. In the door’s bright circle he saw three white-faced men staring at him, two in overalls and one a doctor. They shouted,
“You were going against the current!”
Lanark said, “There was no other way through.”
“But you’ve blacked out the staff clubs! You’ve jammed the suction delvers!”
The doctor said, “I don’t give a damn about those but you’ve caused an epidemic of twittering and God knows how many fractures. If it had happened after the hundred and eightieth you’d have been a murderer! A mass murderer!”
“I’m sorry, but I have to reach Ozenfant’s studio.”
The men in overalls glanced at each other. The doctor said, “Ozenfant may be a big man but if he starts letting his staff block the current he’s in trouble.”
The doctor turned and walked away and Lanark was about to follow when one of the men put a hand on his sleeve and said, “No, no, Mac, you’ve done enough damage. We’ll go the way you came.”
The normal movements of light and air resumed in the tunnel as they went down it, one of the men in front of Lanark, the other behind. When they reached the hall even the noise was normal. The leader opened one of the lifts with a key, led them inside and said, “Professor Ozenfant’s place, then the sink.” He looked accusingly at Lanark and said, “The sink is iced over.”
“I’m sorry.”
The door opened. Lanark was pushed into the studio but the men did not follow.
The quartet sat on chairs before the observation lens chatting and sipping from glasses. Ozenfant looked round smiling and cried, “Aha, so you are in time! There was a temporary power cut which we feared might delay you. But my dear fellow, your brow is bleeding!”
A silver figure glowed in the lens, air faintly trembling above the gaping beak. Looking back from it to the cosy social group, Lanark was gripped by rage. He quickly crossed the studio, passed between Ozenfant and the lady cellist, raised his right leg and struck his heel into the centre of the lens. It cracked and went black. The room was completely silent as he crossed to the wall, lifted the tapestry and entered the tunnel behind.
He leaned into the chamber through the open panel. All her limbs were metal now and she was bigger, head pressing the wall on one side and hooves on the other, the wings spread so that the tips of the plumes touched the walls all round and not an inch of floor was visible. The air was chokingly hot and a white line like cigarette smoke rose from the beak. He said, “Rima.”
The voice answered with a throb of delight. “Is that you, little Thaw? Have you come to say goodbye? I’m not cold now, Thaw, I’m warm and soon I’ll be shining.”
“I am not little and I have not come to say goodbye.”
He climbed in, crawled across the rigidly quivering copper wings, sat astride the silver thorax and gasped breathlessly. The chamber was getting dim with whirling steam. She laughed exultingly and said, “Are you still there? I’m glad you came. I like you now I’m leaving but you mustn’t stay any longer.”
“Listen! listen to me!” he shouted and could think of nothing to add. He lay flat and shoved his head desperately into her jaws. The heat scorched his face and made his hair stream upward. There was a crackling sound and Ozenfant’s voice said sharply, “You have ten seconds to leave, the dome must soon be sealed, it should have been sealed already, you have seven seconds to leave.”
She laughed again and her voice rang directly in his ears. “Are you angry that you’ll have nobody to read to, Thaw? But I’ve spread my wings, I’ll fly everywhere and you can’t come, I will rise with my flaming hair and eat men like air.”
“Soon her jaws will shut,” said Ozenfant. “Listen, you dislike me but I give you five more seconds, five unofficial seconds to leave starting now.”
A moment later there was a faint hiss and such a blast of steam from the mouth that Lanark jerked his head back with a yell. She said, “You’re not here?”
“Yes, I’m here.”
“But I’ll kill you.”
“I don’t care.”
“I don’t want to kill you.”
He felt a wave of heat go through the cool metal under him then the beak shut with a crack like a gunshot. There was a second crack then a
clang. The clouds of steam began clearing, yet he was unable for a moment to see the great beak, for the head had fallen off. There was a black hole between the shoulders from which poured a pale shining stream. It was hair. There was another clang as the thorax split. He fell sideways onto a wing and lay listening to sounds like buckets and kettles falling downstairs. The silver body and limbs cracked and fell apart until they covered the floor like ornate scrap metal.
A naked girl crouched weeping in the middle, rubbing her cheeks with her hands. She was blond and tall but she was Rima for she shook her head at him and said, “You should have taken that coat. I didn’t want you to be cold.”
There was a crackling and Ozenfant said, “What is happening?
What is happening? I can see nothing without the screen.”
Lanark was too stunned to think or feel but he could not stop gazing at her with open mouth and eyes. Her skin looked drenched and she curled her knees up and hugged them, trembling. Lanark took his coat and jersey off, pushed away some cracked armour and crawled to her side saying, “You’d better put these on.”
“Lay them round me please.”
Ozenfant said, “Stop whispering! I demand to know what has happened!”
Lanark said, “I think we’re all right.”
After a moment Ozenfant said, without expression, “I wash my hands of the pair of you.”
Lanark put the clothes round her shoulders and sat by her side with his arm about her waist. She leaned her head on him and said drowsily, “You look as if you’ve been in a fight, Lanark.”
“I’ll be better soon.”
“I wonder if I can forgive you for breaking my wings. It’s nice to be human again but they were beautiful wings.” She seemed to fall asleep and he passed into a kind of stupor.
Later she kissed his ear and murmured, “Should we try to leave?”
He roused himself and said, “Dr. Lanark is ready to leave.” The ignition chamber said sternly, “You are allowed to leave but you are no longer a doctor.”
A line appeared dividing the milky dome in two and each half sunk into the floor and left them squatting in a small room with an entrance on each side. Down the low tunnel from the studio ran, stooping, a nurse with a broom, followed by a stretcher pushed by another nurse. The first swept the metal shards to one side while the second brought a plain white nightshirt to Rima and helped her on with it, and all the time they laughed and chattered excitedly.
“Poor Bushy brows looks stunned.”
“He’s found a girlfriend but he needs a wash.”
“Can you stand up, dear? Lie on the stretcher and we’ll take you gently to a lovely, lonely ward together.”
“The Professor is cross with you, Bushybrows. He says you’ve been sabotaging the expansion project.”
They wheeled Rima down the corridor to the ward and Lanark followed. The blind was raised. There was a deep green sky outside with a couple of stars in it and some feathery bloody clouds. The nurses fetched towels and basins and washed Rima in bed. Lanark took his dressing gown and undressed and bathed in the ward lavatory. When he returned the nurses were putting screens round the bed. He said, “Leave an opening so that we can see the window, please.”
They did that, then one patted his cheek, the other said, “Have fun, Bushybrows,” and both pressed fingers to their lips and tiptoed out with exaggerated stealth. Lanark went to the bed. Rima seemed to be sleeping. He slid gently in beside her and fell asleep himself.
Someone seemed to be shining a torch on his eyes so he opened them. The ward was dark but the window through the arches was filled with stars. A nearly full moon had risen, and its clear wan light shone upon the bed and Rima, who leaned on an elbow watching him with a grave small smile, nibbling the tip of a lock of silvery-gold hair. She said, “Were you the only one who could help me, Lanark? Nobody special? Nobody splendid?”
“Have you known many special men?”
“None who weren’t pretenders. But I used to have fantastic dreams.”
“I can imagine nobody more splendid than you.”
“Take care, that makes me stronger. I may not find a better man but I’ll always be able to imagine one.”
“But that makes me stronger.”
“Don’t talk.”
They did not sleep again until he had explored with his body all the sweet crevices of her body.
CHAPTER 11.
Diet and Oracle
They lay in bed for three days for she was weak and he liked to be near her. The window showed azure skies with distant birds in them or sunlit or sullen cloudscapes changing before a wind. Lanark read The Holy War and looked at Rima, who slept a lot. He had been near beauty before but had never expected to touch and hold it, and being held and caressed by it was so luxurious that it made his insides feel golden. That she, delighting him, delighted in him was a reflection multiplying delight until it shone round them like a halo. Her clear lovely body glowed, even in sweat, as if the silver once containing her was softly breathing under the skin. When he told her this she smiled sadly and said, “Yes, I suppose good looks and money are alike. They make us confident but we distrust folk who want us for them.”
“Don’t you trust me? I said that as a compliment.”
She stroked his cheek with a fingertip and said absently, “I like making you happy, but how can I trust someone I don’t understand?”
He stared, astonished, and cried, “We love each other! What could understanding add to that? We can’t understand ourselves, how can we understand others? Only maps and mathematics exist to be understood and we’re solider than those, I hope.”
“Take care! You’re getting clever.”
“Rima, which of us came out when that shell cracked? My thoughts are bigger than they used to be, I’m afraid of them. Hold me.”
“I like big men. Hold me instead.”
He refused all food on the first day, saying he had overeaten the day before. When the nurse brought breakfast next morning he cut his pale sausage into thin slices while Rima ate, then tried to hide them by laying her empty plate on his. She said, “Why are you doing that? Are you sick?”
“I’ll be all right in a day or two.”
“We’d better get a doctor.”
“I don’t need one. I’ll be fine when we leave the institute.”
“You’re being mysterious about something. What are you hiding?”
She interrogated him for an hour and a half, pleading, threatening, and at last tugging his hair in exasperation. He fought back and the tussle grew amorous. Later, as he lay quiet and unthinking, she murmured, “Still, you’d better tell me.”
He saw the argument like a ponderous boulder about to roll over him again. He said, “I’ll tell you if you promise to keep eating.”
“Of course I’ll keep eating.”
“You know that the institute gets light and heat from people with our kind of sickness. Well, the food is made from people with a different sickness.”
He watched her anxiously, dreading an outcry. She looked thoughtful and said, “These people aren’t deliberately killed, are they?”
He remembered the catalyst but decided not to mention her.
“No, but the staff don’t cure people as often as they pretend.”
“But without the staff they would go bad anyway.”
“Perhaps. I suppose so.”
“Anyway, if I stop eating I’ll die, and nobody extra is going to be cured. Why shouldn’t I eat?”
“I want you to eat! I made you promise to eat.”
“Why won’t you eat?”
“No logical reason. I have instincts, prejudices, that stop me. But don’t worry, I’m fit enough to go without food for two or three days.”
She glared at him and cried, “I’m not!”
“But I want you to eat.”
“And then you’ll despise me.”
Lanark grew confused and uneasy. He said, “No, I won’t exactly despise you ….”
She neither moved nor spoke for many hours, and when the nurse brought lunch she ordered it away.
That afternoon the window showed pearly fog and a tiny hard white sun. He could sense that Rima wasn’t sleeping.
He tried to embrace her but she shook him off. He said abruptly, “You know that if I eat this food you’ll have defeated me in a way I’ll always remember?”
She said nothing. He took the radio and said to it “Dr. Lanark needs to speak to Dr. Munro.”
“I’m sorry. There is no doctor called Lanark on the staff register.”
“But Dr. Munro delivered me. I desperately need his advice.” “I’m sorry Mr. Lanark, the doctor is off duty just now, but we’ll give him your message first thing after breakfast tomorrow.”
Lanark put down the radio and bit his thumb knuckle. When the nurse brought the evening meal he tried to persuade Rima to eat without him, but again she told the nurse to remove it. He rose and walked up and down the ward for a long time, then returned to bed, lay down wearily with his back to her and said, “Don’t worry. I’ll eat.”
A little later her arm slid round his waist. She kissed him comfortingly between the shoulderblades, pressed her breasts to his back, stomach to his bum, and knees to the backs of his knees. They lay like that till morning, fitted together like a couple of spoons in a drawer.
They were wakened by the nurse, who tidied the bed and helped Rima wash. Lanark shaved and washed in the lavatory, feeling relieved and happy. He had been foodless for two days and ached with hunger and was glad to have a reason for breaking his promise to himself, especially as Rima was not triumphant about it but gentle and grateful. When he returned to the freshly made bed the nurse brought in breakfast and placed on his knees a plate holding a small transparent pink dome. He stared at it, gripped the knife and fork, then looked at Rima, who waited, watching steadily. Feeling cold and lonely he handed the plate back, saying, “I can’t. I meant to eat, I want to, but I can’t.”