Lanark_ a life in 4 books - Alasdair Gray [148]
“Wha’s wrong wi Duncan? Why’s he curled up like that?”
“Shh. He’s breaking with Marjory,” murmured McAlpin.
“Why’re you breaking, Duncan? Can you not get your hole, is ’at it! Will she not give you your hole?”
“No. Partly, mibby. I don’t know.”
“Listen to me, Duncan. Listen. Listen. Holes don’t matter. I’ve had my hole regular since I was seventeen, just because Molly wouldnae look at me don’t think I’ve gone without my hole. I go to Bath Street. I get it twice, three times, four times a week and it doesnae matter that much.”
He snapped his fingers. “Marjory is a nice girl. You stick to her, hole or no hole.”
“She isn’t kind to me,” said Thaw from under the blankets.
“I admit that is depressing. I admit that no hole, with no kindness on top of it, can be depressing.”
On Monday he went to an school and met Marjory on the steps. His mind had split with her so completely that the pretty smiling girl before him was as confusing as a resurrection.
“Hello, Duncan! I’m sorry about Friday. Janet told you why, didn’t she?”
“She told me, yes.”
“There’s a choir practice after lunch today. Are you going to the refectory?”
“I suppose so.”
Her smile was so direct and bright that his face had to reflect it, but in the refectory he sat beside her and Janet Weir without talking and drew on the tabletop. Marjory said, “Janet and I are going to the opera tonight, Duncan.”
“Good.”
“We haven’t booked seats, we’re going to queue for the balcony.”
“Good.”
Janet went to get cigarettes. Marjory said, “Aitken isn’t coming−he hates opera. But you like it, Duncan, don’t you?”
“Yes.”
She moved nearer. “Duncan, you know I’ll pose for you whenever you like.”
“Marjory, we must stop this.” He drew a dark shadow under an eye, pressing hard on the pencil and saying, “We’ll be better rid of each other.”
He glanced sideways. Her quiet profile seemed to examine the drawing. Janet returned saying, “No Gauloise! I wish they’d sell us Gauloise.”
Thaw said, “There’s no satisfaction in the present way of things.”
“Shall we go over to the choir, Duncan?” Marjory asked.
As they crossed the street she said, “I’m sorry, Duncan.”
“It doesn’t matter. I spent the weekend getting used to leaving you and now I’m used to it.”
They paused at the door of the theatre where the choir rehearsed. He said, “So there’s nothing to be done.”
“I see. Oh, Duncan, I’m sorry you’ve liked me so much. And Duncan, I’m sorry I haven’t—”
“Oh, don’t be sorry,” he said, taking her hands and leaning his brow on hers. “Don’t be sorry! You gave me friendship, and for a long time I was grateful.”
“But Duncan, can’t we still be friends? Not now, perhaps, but later?”
They put their cheeks together and he murmured, “Later, mibby, when I have a real girlfriend I can … perhaps….” “Yes. Then.”
She clasped his waist and he caressed her easily, moving his mouth into the soft nook between her neck and shoulder. Janet and two friends went past saying, “Oho!” “Aha!” “Hurry up, you’re late.”
He wondered why his mouth and hands had never done these things before. More footsteps sounded along the corridor and they separated.
“I’m leaving the choir,” he said. “So go through that door, and goodbye.”
She smiled and went quickly through the door. He set out briskly for the studio, meaning to start work at once. Their parting had been so kind that for three minutes he was almost happy, but as time and space widened between them resentment developed. Along Sauchiehall Street the glances of passers-bymade him notice he was chanting aloud, “If you exist let mekill her, if you exist let me kill her.”
At the studio he saw nothing in his picture but a tangle of ugly lines. He sat and stared at them till it was dark.
CHAPTER 26.
Chaos
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