Lanark_ a life in 4 books - Alasdair Gray [199]
They halted. He said, “I think we’re moving along the side of an open space, a hall of some kind.”
She whispered, “What should we do?”
“Walk straight toward the light. Can’t you button your coat?”
“No.”
“We must get out of this cold as fast as we can. Come on. We’ll go straight across the middle.”
“What if … what if there’s a pit?”
“People don’t build pedestrian subways with pits in the middle. Let go of the rail.”
They faced the light and stepped cautiously out, then Lanark felt himself slipping downward and released Rima’s arm with a yell. Head and shoulder met a dense, metal-like surface with such stunning force that he lay on it for several seconds. The hurts of the fall were far less than the intense freezing cold.
The chill on his hands and face actually had him weeping.
“Rima,” he moaned, “Rima, I’m sorry … I’m sorry. Where are you, please?”
“Here.”
He crawled in a circle, patting at the ground until his hand touched a foot. “Rima … ?”
“Yes.”
“You’re wearing thin sandals and you’re standing on ice. I’m sorry, Rima, I’ve led you onto a frozen lake.”
“I don’t care.”
He stood up, his teeth chattering, and peered about, saying, “Where’s the light?”
“I don’t know.”
“I can’t see it … I can’t see it anywhere. We must find our way back to the handrail.”
“You won’t manage it. We’re lost.” Her body was beside him but her voice, low and dull, seemed to come from a distance. She said, “I’m a witch. I deserve this for killing him.”
Lanark thought she had gone mad and felt terribly weary. He said patiently, “What are you talking about, Rima?”
After a moment she said, “Pregnant, silent, freezing, all dark, lost with you, feet that might fall off, an aching back, I deserve all this. He was driving badly to impress me. He wanted me, you see, and at first I found that fun; then I got tired of him, he was so smug and sure of himself. When he made us get out I wanted him to die, so he went on driving badly and crashed. No wonder you mean to lock me in a hospital. I’m a witch.”
He realized she was weeping desperately and tried to embrace her, saying, “In the first place, the tanker that crashed may not be the one that gave us the lift. In the second place, a man’s bad driving is nobody’s fault but his own. And I’m not going to lock you up anywhere.”
“Don’t touch me.”
“But I love you.”
“Then promise not to leave when the baby comes. Promise you won’t give me to other people and then run away.”
“I promise. Don’t worry.”
“You’re only saying that because we’re freezing to death. If we get away from here you’ll hand me over to a gang of bloody nurses.”
“I won’t! I won’t!”
“You say that now, but you’ll run away when the real pains begin. You won’t be able to stand them.”
“Why shouldn’t I stand them? They’ll be your pains, not mine.” She gasped and shrieked, “You’re glad! You’re glad! You evil beast, you’re glad!”
He shouted, “Everything I say makes you think I’m evil!”
“You are evil! You can’t make me happy. You must be evil!” Lanark stood gasping dumbly. Every comforting phrase which struck him was accompanied by a knowledge of how she would twist it into a hurt. He raised a hand to hit her but she was with child; he turned to run away, but she needed him; he dropped down on his hands and knees and bellowed out a snarling yell which became a howl and then a roar. He heard her say in a cold little voice, “You won’t frighten me that way.”
He yelled out again and heard a distant voice shout, “Coming! Coming!”
He stood up, drawing breath with effort and feeling the chill of the ice on his hands and knees. A light was moving toward them over the ice and a voice could be heard saying, “Sorry I’m late.”
As the light neared they saw it was carried by a dark figure with a strip of whiteness dividing head from shoulders. At last a clergyman stood before them. He may have been middle-aged but had an eager, smooth, young-looking face. He held up the lamp and seemed to peer less at Lanark’s face than at the mark on his brow. There was a similar mark on his own. He said, “Lanark,