Lanark_ a life in 4 books - Alasdair Gray [168]
“Good God, there’s a diver in it.”
“The tree looks best from above.”
“But I see a dung beetle you can’t see.”
Macbeth sat heavily beside Thaw saying, “They’ve got their diplomas. They can laugh.”
They came down at last and Drummond said soberly “It’s all right, Duncan, you’ve nothing to worry about.”
“You like it?”
“We’re envious,” said McAlpin. “At least I am. Come for a drink.”
“Gladly! Where to?”
“Remember I’ve only half a crown,” said Drummond.
“I’ve twenty-six pounds,” said Thaw. “But it has to last till my next mural.”
Drummond said, “This is clearly a Wine 64 night.”
“What is Wine 64?”
“Not a drop of it is drunk before it’s sixty-four days old, yet a tumblerful costs only fourpence. It’s so strong I only drink it once a year. Twice would damage the health. The only pub selling it is in Grove Street, but we’ll be safe because there’s three of us.”
“Four,” said Macbeth, standing up firmly.
Sliding patches of evening sunshine mingled with flurries of so warm a rain that nobody thought of sheltering from it. Drummond led them round Sighthill cemetery, across some football pitches and up a wilderness of slag bings called Jack’s Mountain. From the top they saw the yellow-scummed lake called the Stinky Ocean, then came down near a slaughterhouse behind Pinkston power station, along the canal towpath, between bonded warehouses, across Garscube Road and into a public house. The customers sat on benches against the wall, staring at each other across the narrow floor like passengers in a train. They were all older than forty with very creased faces and clothes. An old lady sitting beside Thaw said quietly, “All God’s people, sonny.”
He nodded.
“And he loves every one of us.”
Thaw frowned. She said, “You neednae be afraid to speak to a granny, son.”
“I’m not afraid. I was wondering about what you said.”
She took his hand. “Listen, son, God was the humblest man who ever walked the earth. He didn’t care who you were or what you did, he still sat with you and drank with you and loved you.”
Thaw was astonished. He imagined the creator as an erratically generous host, not as a friendly fellow guest, but the old woman’s faith had been tested by more life than his so he said gently, “He drank with you?”
She nodded and smiled at a sherry on the table before her and squeezed his hand, saying, “Yes, he did, because it lifts the heart. I was reading the Sunday Post, and a doctor writing in it said a lot of people died of drink but more died of worry. Now I can come in here on a Saturday night and have a half or two, and I hear folk talking and I feel I love everyone in the room.”
Macbeth leaned toward her. “If God loves us why are we in such a mess?”
He smiled at her as if she was a joke, but she was not offended and not only reached out to squeeze his hand but stroked his hair.
“Because we don’t love God, we mock and despise him. But he still loves us, no matter what we do.”
“Even if we kill someone?”
“Even if we kill someone.”
“Even if you’re a Communist?”
“It doesn’t matter who you are. When God meets you at the gates of pearl and asks who you are and you say to him, ‘God forgive me,’ then it’s ‘Come in. You’re welcome.’”
Thaw had never before met a religious person who thought God’s love an easy thing. He said abruptly, “What if we can’t forgive ourselves?”
She didn’t understand the question and he repeated it. She said, “Of course you can’t forgive yourself! Only God can forgive you.”
“Tell me this,” said Macbeth. “Are you a Catholic?”
“I come from Ireland—I’m Irish through and through.”
“But are you a Catholic?”
“It doesn’t matter who you are….”
Thaw sipped Wine 64 which tasted like watered strawberry jam. In leaning forward to speak Macbeth left a gap through which McAlpin was visible. Thaw told him quietly, “I left the church tonight for a complete change of air and the first stranger I meet is a friend of God.”
“Ah!” said McAlpin cheerfully, setting down his glass. “Shall I tell you about God?