Lanark_ a life in 4 books - Alasdair Gray [196]
“There’s nothing to worry about, Rima. Listen, when Nan was pregnant she had nobody to help her, but she still wanted a baby and had one without any bother.”
“Stop comparing me with other women. Nan’s a fool. Anyway, she loved Sludden. That makes a difference.”
Lanark stood still, stunned, and said, “Don’t you love me?” She said impatiently, “I like you, Lanark, and of course I depend on you, but you aren’t very inspiring, are you?”
He stared at the air, pressing a clenched fist to his chest and feeling utterly weak and hollow. An excited expression came on her face. She pointed past him and whispered, “Look!”
Fifty yards ahead a tanker stood on the verge with a man beside it, apparently pissing on the grass between the wheels. Rima said, “Ask him for a lift.”
Lanark felt too feeble to move. He said, “I don’t like begging favours from strangers.”
“Don’t you? Then I will.”
She hurried past him, shouting, “Excuse me a minute!”
The driver turned and faced them, buttoning his fly. He wore jeans and a leather jacket. He was a young man with spiky red hair who regarded them blankly. Rima said, “Excuse me, could you give me a lift? I’m terribly tired.”
Lanark said, “We’re trying to get to Unthank.”
The driver said, “I’m going to Imber.”
He was staring at Rima. Her hood had fallen back and the pale golden hair hung to her shoulders, partly curtaining her ardently smiling face. The coat hung open and the bulging stomach raised the short dress far above her knees. The driver said, “Imber isn’t all that far from Unthank, though.”
Rima said, “Then you’ll let us come?”
“Sure, if you like.”
He walked to the cab, opened the door, climbed in and reached down his hand. Lanark muttered, “I’ll help you up,” but she took the driver’s hand, set her foot on the hub of the front wheel and was pulled inside before Lanark could touch her. So he scrambled in after and shut the door behind him. The cabin was hot, oil-smelling, dimly lit and divided in two by a throbbing engine as thick as the body of a horse. A tartan rug lay over this and the driver sat on the far side. Lanark said, “I’ll sit in the middle, Rima.”
She settled astride the rug saying, “No, I’m supposed to sit here.”
“But won’t the vibration … do something?”
She laughed.
“I’m sure it will do nothing nasty. It’s a nice vibration.”
The driver said, “I always sit the birds on the engine. It warms them up.”
He put two cigarettes in his mouth, lit them and gave one to Rima. Lanark settled gloomily into the other seat. The driver said, “Are you happy then?”
Rima said “Oh, yes. It’s very kind of you.”
The driver turned out the light and drove on.
The noise of the engine made it hard to talk without shouting. Lanark heard the driver yell, “In the pudding club, eh?”
“You’re very observant.”
“Queer how some birds can carry a stomach like that without getting less sexy. Why you going to Unthank?”
“My boyfriend wants to work there.”
“What does he do?”
“He’s a painter—an artist.”
Lanark yelled, “I’m not a painter!”
“An artist, eh? Does he paint nudes?”
“I’m not an artist!”
Rima laughed and said, “Oh, yes. He’s very keen on nudes.” “I bet I know who his favourite model is.”
Lanark stared glumly out of the window. Rima’s hysterical despair had changed to a gaiety he found even more disturbing because he couldn’t understand it. On the other hand, it was good to feel that each moment saw them nearer Unthank. The speed of the lorry had changed his view of the moon; its thin crescent stood just above the horizon, apparently motionless, and gave a comforting sense that time was passing more slowly. He heard the driver say, “Go on, give it to him,” and Rima pushed something plump into his hands. The driver shouted, “Count what’s in it—go on count what’s in it!”
The object was a wallet. Lanark thrust it violently back across Rima’s thighs. The driver took it with one hand and yelled, “Two hundred quid. Four days’ work. The overtime’s chronic