Lanark_ a life in 4 books - Alasdair Gray [139]
Drummond and Janet Weir sat on each side of the kitchen range looking at a crate on the hearth rug. The ginger cat sprawled on a sheet of glass covering this and stared down at two white mice among cheese rinds at the bottom. Drummond said, “Hullo, Duncan. Ginger’s at his television set.”
“How did this happen?” said Thaw.
“My mother visited us yesterday. She brought the mice as a present for the cat, since it was his ninth birthday. My father and I took them away from her.”
“And now Ginger sits there, foiled of his rightful prey,” said Mr. Drummond. He lay in the recess bed with spectacles on his craggy nose, a flat cap on his head, an open library book propped on the quilt over his knees. Janet shivered and said,
“Surely it’s cruel, having him on top of them like that.”
Drummond said, “What? Make the tea, Duncan looks tired. These mice are nearly blind, Duncan. If anyone is suffering it’s Ginger.”
Drummond left the room and came back with a picture of himself chalking a cue beside a snooker table. He propped the painting on the sideboard, took paint and brushes and began altering the position and number of the balls. The air was permeated by the pleasant smell of linseed oil and turpentine. At intervals Drummond stood back and said, “How’s that, Duncan?”
Janet handed Thaw a cup of tea and a bacon sandwich, and when he had drunk and eaten he began to draw her. She crouched near the fire with the cat on her lap, copious hair overhanging and surrounding her subtle face. She looked rather like Marjory, but Marjory moved with childish carelessness and Janet seemed to feel eyes watching the secretest parts of her.
“What o’clock is it?” said Thaw.
“I don’t know,” said Drummond. “None of the clocks in this house can be relied on, least of all the ones that go. It’s a pity Ma isn’t here. She could estimate the time by things like passing aeroplanes. Couldn’t she, Dad?”
“What?”
“I said Ma could always tell the time.”
“Oh, aye. She would shake my shoulders in bed in the morning. ‘Hector! Hector! It’s ten past four. There’s Mrs. Stewart going to her work in the bakery—I’d know her step anywhere.’ Or it would be ‘It’s a quarter to eight—I can hear the horse of Eliot’s milk cart two streets away.’”
“Do you know the time, Mr. Drummond?” said Thaw.
Mr. Drummond lifted an alarm clock which lay face down on a pile of books by the bed. He held it to his ear, shook it and put it carefully down saying, “The hands have ceased to go round and round, and no trust whatever can be placed in it.” He closed his eyes, opened his mouth, lay back on the pillow and at last said definitely, “We are in the region of midnight.”
“Then the trams have stopped, you’ll have to stay here tonight,” said Drummond.
“The trams haven’t stopped. I can hear them,” said Janet.
“Can’t you keep your mouth shut?” cried Drummond savagely. “I don’t know why I tolerate you! You’re the epitome of all … of all … Duncan! You aren’t going to let this woman drive you out of my house?”
“No. I’m going home to bed. Goodnight.”
Drummond followed Thaw into the lobby. “Let’s be sensible about this, Duncan. Why should you go to bed?”
“To sleep.”
Drummond stood erect, folded his arms, drew his black eyebrows together at the bridge of his nose and said in a firm quiet voice, “I’m telling you not to go out of that door, Duncan.”
“Heech! You’re in a bad way when you have to resort to commanding,” said Thaw, but lingered. “Why should I not go out that door?” he asked plaintively.
“Because you’d rather not,” said Drummond, ushering him back into the kitchen.
“I’m being weak,” said Thaw, settling into a chair by the fire. “No, damn me!” he cried, jumping up.