Lanark

by Alasdair Gray

  “I see a wall in the distance. We’ll soon be out of here.”

  “Oh, Lanark, how dreary this is! I was excited when we went up to Monboddo. I expected a glamorous new life. Now I don’t know what to expect, except horror and dullness.”

  Lanark felt that too. He said, “It’s just a zone we’ve got to cross. Tomorrow, or the next day, we’ll be in Unthank.”

  “I hope so. At least we’ve friends there.”

  “What friends?”

  “Our friends at the Elite.”

  “I hope we can make better friends than those.”

  “You’re a snob, Lanark. I knew you were insensitive, but I never thought you were a snob.” They forgot their misery in the heat of a small quarrel until the walkway reached a platform before an iron door in a wall of damp-streaked cement. It was the first door they had seen for many days with hinges and a key in the lock. It was stencilled with large red letters:

  EMERGENCY EXIT 3124

  DANGER! DANGER! DANGER! DANGER!

  YOU ARE ABOUT TO ENTER

  AN INTERCALENDRICAL

  ZONE

  Munro turned the key and opened the door. Lanark expected darkness but his eyes were dazzled by an amazingly bright white mist. A road began at the threshold with a yellow stripe down the middle, but it was only visible for five or six feet ahead. He stepped outside and a wave of coldness hit his face and hands making him draw deep breaths of freezing air. They exalted him. He cried, “It’s good to be in the open at last! Surely the sun is up there!”

  “Several suns are up there.”

  “There’s only one sun, Munro.”

  “It’s been shining a long time. The light of many days keeps returning to zones like this.”

  “Then it ought to be even brighter.”

  “No. When light rays meet at certain speeds and angles they negate each other.”

  “I’m not a scientist, that means nothing to me. Come on, Rima.” “Goodbye Lanark. Maybe you’ll trust me when you’re a little older.”

  Lanark didn’t answer. The door slammed behind him.

  They walked into the mist guided by the yellow line on the road between them. Lanark said, “I feel like singing. Do you know any marching songs?”

  “No. This rucksack hurts my back and my hands are freezing.” Lanark peered into the thick whiteness and sniffed the breeze. The landscape was invisible but he could smell sea air and hear waves in the distance. The road seemed to rise steeply for it became difficult to walk fast, so he was surprised to see Rima vanishing into the mist a few paces ahead. With an effort he came beside her. She didn’t seem to be running, but her strides covered great distances. He caught her elbow and gasped, “How can … you go … so quickly?”

  She stopped and stared.

  “It’s easy, downhill.”

  “We’re going uphill.”

  “You’re mad.”

  Each stared at the other’s face for a sign that they were joking until Rima backed away saying fearfully, “Keep off! You’re mad!”

  He stepped after her and felt acutely dizzy. At the same time something shoved him sideways. He staggered but kept his feet and stood swaying a little. He said weakly, “Rima. The road slopes downhill on this side of the line and uphill on the other.”

  “That’s impossible!”

  “I know. But it does. Try it.”

  She came near, put a foot hesitantly across, then withdrew it saying, “All right, I believe you.”

  “But why not test it? Hold my hand.”

  “Since we’re both on the downhill side we may as well keep to it. We’ll travel faster.”

  She began walking and he followed.

  He now had sensations of descending steeply. Each stride covered more and more ground until he shouted, “Rima! Stop! Stop!”

  “I’ll fall if I try to stop!”

  “We’ll fall if we don’t. It’s getting too steep. Give me your hand.”

  They grabbed hands, dug heels in, slithered to a standstill and stood precariously swaying. He said, “We’ll have to take this slowly and carefully. I’ll go first.”

  He released her hand, stepped slowly and carefully forward, his feet slid from under him, he grabbed her for support and pulled her heavily down. They rolled over each other then he was tumbling sideways with a rhythmical bumping each time the rucksack passed under his body. When he came to rest and managed to stand up the ground seemed level and he was alone in the mist. Not even the yellow line was visible. He yelled “Rima! Rima! Rima!” and listened, and heard the distant sea. For a moment he felt utterly lost. He took the torch from his rucksack, switched it on and found the yellow line a yard away from him; then he remembered that if Rima had fallen over the line she would have rolled the opposite way. This was a cheering thought for it made events seem logical. He turned and climbed the hill, torch in hand, and after a lot of effort reached a summit where he heard a sound of weeping. Ten steps farther he found her squatting on the far side of the line, her hands covering her face. He sat down and put an arm round her shoulders.

  After a while she looked up and said, “I’m glad it’s you.” “Who else could it have been?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Her knuckles were bleeding. He brought out the first-aid kit, cleaned the grazes and put on sticking plaster. Then they sat side by side, tired out and waiting for the other to suggest a move. At last Rima said, “What if we walked on different sides of the line but held hands across it? Then when one of us went downhill we’d be steadied by the one going up.”

  Lanark stared at her and cried, “What a clever idea!”

  She smiled and stood up. “Let’s try it. Which way do we go?” “To the left.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes. You slid over the line without noticing.”

  The new way of walking was a strain on the linking arm but worked very well. Eventually the road grew level on both sides and part of a huge rocky wall could be seen through the mists ahead. The yellow line ran up to an iron door painted with these words:

  EMERGENCY EXIT 3124

  NO ADMITTANCE

  Lanark kicked the door moodily. It was like kicking rock. He said “It was me who slid over the yellow line, not you.” They turned round and set off again.

  They had not gone far when they heard a strange wavering sound, a sound Lanark seemed to recognize. Rima said, “Someone’s crying.”

  He took the torch from his pocket and shone it ahead and Rima drew a sudden breath. A tall blond girl, wearing a black coat and a knapsack, squatted on the road with her hands over her face. Rima whispered, “Is it me?”

  Lanark nodded, went to the girl and knelt beside her. Rima gave a little hysterical giggle. “Aren’t you forgetting? You’ve done that already.”

  But the grief of the girl before him made him ignore the one behind. He held her shoulders and said urgently, “I’m here, Rima! It’s all right. I’m here!”

  She paid no attention. The upright Rima walked past him, saying coldly, “Stop living in the past.”

  “But I can’t leave a bit of you sitting on the road like this.” “All right, drag her along. I suppose helpless women make you feel strong and superior, but you’ll find her a bore eventually.”

  Her voice throbbed with such scorn, helplessness and humour that it drew him to his feet. Since the crouching Rima seemed unable to notice him he followed the moving one.

  They joined hands and silently travelled a great distance. Nothing was visible but the pallor of the mist, nothing audible but the sighing sea. The cold air stung their faces; shoulder, elbow and fingers grew sorely cramped and burning, especially in mid-gradient when one was straining downhill to drag the other steeply up. They passed into a stupor in which they knew nothing but the pain in their arms and the ache of their feet on the road. Sometimes they entered a real sleep from which they were wakened by a pang of vertigo as one or the other wandered onto the line. These pangs, as strong as electric shocks, at last condi
tioned them into sleepwalking straight forward because Lanark had been unconscious for a long time when something cut him hard on the knee. He blinked and saw a huge tilted shape in the whiteness ahead. He brought out the torch and shone it down. His knee had struck the rim of a rusty iron wheel, flat on its side and blocking the roadway. He helped Rima onto it, led the way along one of the spokes, climbed over the hub and shone the torch at the shape overhanging them. He expected to see something heavily industrial, like the tower above a derelict mine shaft, so the object confused him. It was made of timber bound with iron into a shape like a tub cut away on one side. Rima said, “It’s a chariot.”

  “But there’s room inside for twenty or thirty men! What beasts could ever pull it? The head of that bolt is bigger than my head.”

  “Maybe you’ve shrunk.”

  “And it’s ancient—look at the rust! Yet it’s lying on top of a modern road. We’ll have to walk round.”

  He jumped down between the chariot and the severed wheel and sank to his knees in dry sand. Rima landed near him, dropped her rucksack and flopped beside it, saying, “Goodnight.” “You can’t sleep here.”

  “Tell me when you find somewhere better.”

  He hesitated but the narrow space shielded them from the cold air and the sand was very soft. He dropped his own rucksack and lay beside Rima, saying, “Rest your head on my arm.” “Thanks. I will.”

  They wriggled to make the sand fit their bodies and lay still for a while. Lanark said, “Last night I lay on a goosefeather bed with the sheets turned down so bravely. Tonight I’ll sleep in a cold open field along with the raggle-taggle gypsy.”

  “What’s that?”

  “A song I remember. Are you sorry we left the institute?” “I’m too exhausted to feel sorry about anything.”

  A little later her voice seemed to reach him from a distance. “I’m glad I’m exhausted. I couldn’t sleep here if I wasn’t exhausted.”

  He was wakened by musical whirring which came from far away, passed overhead and faded into silence. Rima stirred and sat up, spilling sand from her shoulders, then stretched her arms and yawned. “Ooyah, how fat and sticky and stale I feel.”

  “Fat?”

  “Yes, my stomach’s swollen.”

  “It must be wind. You’d better eat.”

  “I’m not hungry.”

  “Could you drink hot coffee? There’s a flask of it in your rucksack.”

  “Oh, I could drink that, yes.”

  She unbuckled the rucksack, put her hand in and drew out, with a disgusted look, the red thermos flask which tinkled and shed a stream of brown droplets. She tossed it away and began brushing sand from her hair with her hands. Lanark said, “You must have smashed it when you fell. You’d better take your food out, the damp will spoil it.”

  Nothing he said would persuade her to touch the food so he removed it himself, peeled off the sodden wrappings and repacked it in his own rucksack along with the brandy flask. Then they rose, walked around the chariot and saw the shadowy prow of another chariot. The road was hidden by a wilderness of broken chariots which loomed in the mist like a fleet of sunk battleships, the shafts, axles, broken rims and naked spokes sticking up between sand-logged hulls like masts, anchors and titanic paddlewheels. It was impossible to climb through so they trudged round, often stopping at first to pour sand from their shoes but soon tiring of this and plodding uncomfortably on. Many hours seemed to pass before they stepped onto asphalt again. They sat and had a nip of brandy before emptying their shoes for the last time, then they joined hands over the yellow line and resumed walking.

  New freshness filled them. There was little or no strain on their arms, the mist grew warm as if the sun was about to come through and they were soothed by pleasant sounds: first larksong overhead, then the crooning of pigeons and a swishing as if heavy rain were falling in a forest. Once they heard such a loud gurgling and creaking of oars that Lanark groped with his torch to the roadside, expecting to see the bank of a wide river, but though the water noise grew louder he saw nothing but sand. Farther on they were passed by footsteps and voices going the opposite way. The voices travelled in clusters of two and three and spoke quietly and indistinctly except for a couple who seemed to be arguing.

  “… a form of life like you or me.”

  “… here’s ferns and grass….”

  “What’s wonderful about grass?”

  As they passed through an invisible crowd of chattering children some real raindrops dashed in their faces and the mist turned golden and lifted. The straight road, embanked in places, ran without undulation across undulating sand to a mountain on the horizon. Tiny farms, fields and woodlands covered foothills which glittered in the rain as though dusted with silver: the summit was split into many snowy peaks with clouds drifting down between them, and all this was seen under a rainbow, a three-quarter violet blue green yellow orange red arc shining sweetly in a shining sky. Rima smiled at the distance and gripped both his hands. She said, “It was good of you to bring me out of that place. You’re very wise sometimes.”

  They kissed and walked onward. The mist descended and the strange gravities of the road strained their arms once more. Again they avoided the strain by walking in a half-conscious daze. At last Rima said, “We’re nearly there.”

  Lanark jerked awake and saw a rocky wall above them in the mist. He switched on the torch and an iron door appeared with these words on it:

  EMERGENCY EXIT 3124

  NO ADMITTANCE

  Rima sat down with her back to the door and folded her arms. Lanark stood staring at the words, trying not to believe what he saw. Rima said, “Give me something to eat.”

  “But—but—but this is impossible! Impossible!”

  “You led us right round these chariots and back along the road.”

  “I’m sure it’s a different door. It’s rustier.”

  “The same number’s on it. Give me that rucksack.”

  “But Munro said the road was clearly marked!”

  “Are you deaf? I’m starving! Pass the bloody rucksack!”

  He sat down and laid the rucksack between them. She opened it and began eating with tears flowing down her cheeks. He laid a hand on her shoulder. She shook it off so he started eating too. Hunger and thirst hadn’t troubled him much since entering the zone and now he found the food so tasteless that he returned it to the rucksack, but Rima chewed as fast and savagely as if eating were a sort of revenge. She devoured dates, figs, beef, oatmeal and chocolate and all the time the tears poured down her cheeks. Lanark stared in awe and at last said timidly, “You’ve eaten more than half the food.”

  “Well?”

  “We’ve still a long way to travel.”

  She made a noise between a howl and a laugh and went on eating till nothing was left, then she uncorked the brandy flask, drank two mouthfuls and got up and staggered into the mist. He dimly saw her kneel at the roadside and heard vomiting sounds. She returned looking pale, lay down with her head in his lap and fell asleep at once.

  The weight on his lap was comforting at first. Her face, childish in sleep, filled him with the tender, sad superiority we usually feel for the sleeping; but the road was hard, his position uncomfortable and he began to feel trapped. His thoughts kept exploring the road ahead, wondering how to escape from it. His muscles ached with the effort of keeping still. At last he kissed her eyelids until she raised them and asked “What’s wrong?”

  “Rima, we must get away from here.”

  She sat up and pressed her hair back with her hands.

  “If you don’t mind I’ll just stay and wait for you to come wandering back.”

  “You may wait a long time. I refuse to die at the door of a place where I’ve acted wickedly.”

  “Wickedly? Wickedly? You use more meaningless words than anyone I’ve ever met.”

  He wondered how to be soothing and said experimentally, “I love you.”

  “Shut up.”

  His anger
rose to the surface. “I love the reckless way you abandon courage and intelligence whenever things get really difficult.”

  “Shut up! Shut up!”

  “Since we’re determined to behave badly, please pass the brandy.”

  “No, I need it.”

  He got to his feet and said, “Are you coming, then?”

  She folded her arms. He said sharply, “If you need the first-aid box, you’ll find it in the rucksack.”

  She didn’t move. He said humbly, “Please come with me.” She didn’t move.

  “If you knock the door hard enough, somebody might open it.”

  She didn’t move. He laid the torch beside her, said quickly, “Goodbye,” and walked away. He was descending the first hill in great strides when something punched his back. He turned and saw her, tearstained and breathless. She cried, “You’d have left me! You’d have left me alone in the fog!”

  “I thought you wanted that.”

  “You’re a cruel nasty idiot.”

  He said awkwardly, “Anyway, give me your hand.”

  They joined hands and all at once his body felt aching-feeble. He even lacked strength to hold her fingers. It was Rima who kept them together and moving along the road. He loathed her. He wanted to lie down and sleep so he disguised his staggers as a carefree way of walking and thought malignantly, ‘She’ll soon tire of dragging me along,’ but Rima continued for a great distance without complaining. At last, feeling lightheaded, he pretended to hum a tune to himself. She stopped and cried, “Oh, Lanark, let’s be friends! Please, please, why can’t we be friends?”

  “I’m too tired to be friendly. I want to sleep.”

  She stared at him, then her face relaxed into a smile. “I thought you hated me and wanted to get away.”

  “At the moment that is perfectly true.”

  She said cheerfully, “Let’s sit down. I’m tired too,” and sat on the road. He would have preferred the sand at the roadside but was too tired to say so. He lay beside her. She stroked his hair and he was almost sleeping when he felt something strange and sat up.