Lanark_ a life in 4 books - Alasdair Gray [207]
“I refuse to believe men kill each other just to make their enemies rich.”
“How can men recognize their real enemies when their family, schools and work teach them to struggle with each other and to believe law and decency come from the teachers?”
“My son won’t be taught that,” said Lanark firmly.
“You have a son?”
“Not yet.”
The chapterhouse had filled with chattering groups and Ritchie-Smollet moved among them collecting signatures in a book. There were many young people in bright clothing, old eccentric men in tweeds and a large confusion of in-between people. Lanark decided that if this was the new government of Unthank he was not impressed. Their manners were shrill and vehement or languid and bored. Some had the mark of the council on their brow but nobody displayed the calm, well-contained strength of men like Monboddo, Ozenfant and Munro. Lanark said, “Could you tell me about this committee?”
“I’m getting round to it. The war ended with the creature and its organs more dominant than ever. Naturally there was a lot of damage to repair, but that only took half our time and energy. If industry and government had been commanding us for the common good (as they pretend to do), the continents would have become gardens, gardens of space and light where everyone had time to care for their lovers, children and neighbours without crowding and tormenting them. But these vast bodies only cooperate to kill or crush. Once again the council began feeding the creature by splitting the world in two and preparing a war. But it ran into unexpected trouble—”
“Stop! You’re simplifying,” said Lanark. “You talk as if all government was one thing, but there are many kinds of government, and some are crueller than others.”
“Oh, yes,” said Grant, nodding. “An organization which encloses a globe must split into departments. But you’re a very ordinary victim of council advertising if you think the world is neatly split between good governments and bad.”
“What was the council’s unexpected trouble?”
“The creature supplied it with such vast new weapons that a few of them could poison the world. Most folk are dour and uncomplaining about their own deaths, but the death of their children depresses them. The council tried to pretend the new weapons weren’t weapons at all but homes where everyone could live safely, but for all that an air of protest spread even to the council corridors. Many who had never dreamed of governing themselves began complaining loudly. This committee is made of complainers.”
“Has complaint done any good?”
“Some, perhaps. The creature still puts time and energy into vast weapons and sells them to the council, but recent wars have been fought with smaller weapons and kept to the less industrial continents. Meanwhile the creature has invented peaceful ways of taking our time and energy. It employs us to make essential things badly, so they decay fast and have to be replaced. It bribes the council to destroy cheap things which don’t bring it a profit and replaces them with new expensive things which do. It pays us to make useless things and employs scientists, doctors and artists to persuade us that these are essential.” “Can you give me examples?”
“Yes, but our provost wants to speak to you.”
Lanark stood up. A lean, well-dressed man with bushy grey hair came through the crowd and shook his hand, saying briskly, “Sorry I missed you upstairs, Lanark—you were too quick for me. Don’t worry—she’s all right.” The voice was familiar. Lanark stared into the strange, haggard, bright-eyed face. The provost said reassuringly, “It’s all right—she’s in excellent spirits. I’m glad there was someone dependable like you with her. Frankie will tell us when the contractions start.”
Lanark said, “Sludden.”
“You didn’t recognize me?” asked the provost, chuckling. “Well, none of us are the men we were.”
Lanark