Lanark_ a life in 4 books - Alasdair Gray [189]
Farther down the page his eye was caught by a name he knew.
OZENFANT RAMPANT
When presenting the energy department’s quinquennial audit yesterday, Professor Ozenfant roundly condemned the council’s adoption of decimal time. The old duodecimal time scale (declared the fiery Professor) had been more than an arbitrary subdivision of the erratic and unstable solar day. The duodecimal second had allowed more accurate readings of the human heartbeat than decimal seconds. Predictions of deterioration on the decimal scale had a 1.063 greater liability to error, which accounted for the recent reduction in the energy surplus. Sabotage by a rogue element in the intake had also been responsible, but the main culprit was the new time scale. Professor Ozenfant insisted that his words must not be taken as a criticism of Lord Monboddo. In committing us to decimal time the lord president director had simply ratified the findings of the expansion project committee. It was unfortunate that nobody in that committee had first-hand experience of the lonely, difficult and dangerous work of sublimating dragons. The whole business was one more example of a council rule undermining an institute process.
Lanark folded the paper into his pocket and peered upward again. The party still leaned upon the balcony wall, and the gestures of the man in the centre had a familiar, mocking, flamboyant quality. Rima had accepted a cigarette from Munro who was holding a lighter to the tip. Lanark said sharply, “Is that Ozenfant watching us? There, on the balcony?”
Munro looked upward.
“Ozenfant? I don’t know. It’s hardly likely; he isn’t popular on the eighth floor. It might be one of his imitators.”
“Why do people imitate him if he isn’t popular?”
“He’s successful.”
The waiter placed a full glass of wine before each of them and a plate of something like an omelette. Rima took her fork and began eating. After a gloomy pause Lanark was about to follow her example when there came a sound of booing, laughter and ironical cheers. Along the space between the tables and the monument marched a procession of shaggy young men and women holding placards with slogans:
EAT RICE, NOT PEOPLE
EATING PEOPLE IS WRONG
FUCK MONBODDO
MONBODDO CAN’T FUCK
A policeman marched on either side and behind them slid a platform loaded with men and filming equipment.
“Protestants,” said Munro without looking up. “They march every day to the barrier about this time.”
“Who are they?”
“Council employees or children of council employees.” “What do they eat?”
“The same as everyone else, though that doesn’t stop their denouncing us. Their arguments are ludicrous, of course. We don’t eat people. We eat the processed parts of certain life forms which can no longer claim to be people.”
Lanark saw Rima push her plate away. There was a tearful look on her face, and when he reached out and grasped her hand she grasped his in turn. He said sternly, “You were going to give us advice about our journey.”
Munro looked at them, sighed and laid down his fork. “Very well. You will walk to Unthank across the intercalendrical zone. This means the time you take is unpredictable. The road is fairly distinct, so keep to it and trust nothing you can’t test with your own feet or hands. The light in this zone travels at different speeds, so all sizes and distances are deceptive. Even the gravity varies.”
“Then the journey could take months?”
“I repeat, you will cross an intercalendrical zone. A month is as meaningless there as a minute or a century. The journey will simply be easy or strenuous or a combination of both.” “What if our supplies give out?”
“Some reports suggest that people who find the journey difficult reach the other side in the moment of final despair.”
Rima said faintly, “Thank you. That’s very encouraging.”
“Better put your coats on. It’s cold down there.”
The coats were ankle-length with hoods and a thick fleecy lining. They