Lanark_ a life in 4 books - Alasdair Gray [135]
Thaw said, “Ah. A budgerigar.”
“Yes indeed. We call him Joey. I’m sure I’ve seen you around the university.”
“I sometimes sketch in the medical building.”
“Why?”
“To see the insides of people. And death too, of course.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s stupid to share the world with something you’re afraid to look at. You see I want to like the world, life, God, nature, et cetera, but I can’t because of pain.”
“Pain poses no problem. It warns individuals that they’re defective.”
“Oh, I know pain is usually good for us,” said Thaw, “but what good is it to a woman who bears a limbless baby with a face on top of its head? What good is it to the baby?”
“I deal with life at a cellular level,” said the professor.
A little later he and Thaw said simultaneously, “How is Marjory−” “Tell me about golf—”
“I beg your pardon,” said Thaw. “How is Marjory?”
“Getting on at school.”
“I … I don’t know. What year is she in?”
“The second, I think.”
“Then she’s probably doing quite well,” said Thaw. “Hardly anyone fails their second year,” he added.
“I thought you were in her class,” said the professor, faintly hostile.
“Indeed no,” said Thaw coldly.
Marjory came in with her mother. She wore a flower-pat-terned dress and long earrings and her breasts seemed more prominent than usual. The budgerigar fluttered to her shoulder twittering, “Hurry, hurry up, Marjory! Good old Mr. Churchill!”
She blushed and smiled.
“Naughty Joey’s giving away secrets,” said Mrs. Laidlaw.
“I’m sorry I kept you waiting, Duncan.”
“I was very late myself,” said Thaw.
“Off the pair of you go now,” said Mrs. Laidlaw kindly. She stood in the doorway watching them go down the path. Thaw felt like a child going to school with his sister. On the pavement Marjory hesitated and said nervously, “Duncan—I hope you won’t be annoyed about this—when I said I could go out with you tonight I’d forgotten I’d arranged to see a friend…. She’s very nice…. Would it be all right if she came with us? She lives quite near.”
“Of course!” said Thaw, and talked heartily to cover the stoical adjustments happening inside him. They reached a gate in a thick hedge and Marjory whispered that she wouldn’t be long and left him outside. The night was chilly and glints of frost shone in the pavement under the street lamp. He heard a door open and the light murmur of Marjory’s voice, then the darker tones of someone else. Eventually the door shut and Marjory joined him with a slight vertical crease between her eyebrows.
“I’m sorry, Duncan—she wasn’t able to come. I think maybe she has a cold.”
“Don’t worry about it.”
She gave a quick polite smile. He was disturbed by the strained lines it made near the corners of her mouth. If she often smiled like that a wrinkle would come there in ten or twelve years.
They were late for the film. It had love scenes which made him very conscious of Marjory beside him. He leaned toward her but she sat so upright and stared so straight ahead that he dispiritedly brought out the chocolates and resignedly popped one at intervals into her mouth. After the film the nearby cafés had queues outside so they boarded the bus home. He sat on the upper deck watching the pure line of her face and throat against the black window. They filled him with delight and terror for he would need to cross over to them and he hadn’t much time. He stared desperately, trying to learn what to do by intensity of vision. Her eyes were downcast under a brown feathery brow, her mouth had a lost remote look but the chin was strong, her brown hair was drawn into a flat coil at the back of her skull and the tip of an ear peeped through like a delicate section of seashell. The head turned and faced him enquiringly. Sweat trickled down his brow.
“Can I … hold your hand?”
“Of course, Duncan.”
“It’s queer. When I ask for something I’m usually sure you’ll give it, but I sweat as if I’d no chance at all.”
Her throat was shaken by a note of bitten-back laughter.