Lanark_ a life in 4 books - Alasdair Gray [214]
“Who was he?”
“A young bloke. Long hair.”
“What did he want?”
“He didnae say.”
Near the cubicle he heard a strange, steady little song. Sludden lay on the bed singing “Dadadada” and dandling a robust little boy in a blue woollen suit. Rima, in a blouse and skirt, sat knitting beside them. The sight filled Lanark with a large cold rage. Rima gave him an unfriendly glance and Sludden said brightly, “The wanderer returns!”
Lanark went to the tiny sink, washed his hands, then turned to Sludden and said, “Give him to me.”
He took the child, who started wailing. “Oh, put him down!” said Rima impatiently. “He needs a rest and so do I.”
Lanark sat on the bed foot and sang quietly, “Dadadada.” The boy stopped complaining and settled in his arms. The small compact body was warm and comforting and gave such a pleasant feeling of peace that Lanark wondered uneasily if this was a right thing for a father to feel. He laid the boy in a pram by the bed and tucked a soft blanket round him.
Sludden stood up and stretched his arms, saying, “Great! That’s really great. I came here for several reasons, of course, but one is to congratulate you on your performance. Don’t sneer at him, Rima, he’s a good committee man when he accepts discipline. He jostled Gow, and that allowed us to act. The committee is in permanent session now. I don’t mean we’re all in the chapterhouse all the time, but some of us are in the chapterhouse all the time.”
Lanark said, “Listen, Sludden, I want the company of my wife and child. Do you understand me?”
“Of course!” said Sludden cheerily. “I’m just leaving. I’ll come back for you all later.”
“What do you mean?”
“Sludden has offered us room in his house,” said Rima.
“We’re not taking it.”
“I don’t want to force anything on you,” said Sludden. “But this seems a strange place to bring up a child.”
“Unthank is dead and done for, don’t you realize that?” cried Lanark. “The boy and Rima and I are leaving for a much brighter city. Wilkins promised us.”
“Don’t trust your council friends too far,” said Sludden gravely.
“We’ve cleared the motorway, the food trucks are rolling in again. And even if Wilkins did tell the truth, you’re forgetting differences in timescale. The decimal calendar hasn’t been introduced here and what the council calls days can be months—years, where we’re concerned. And remember, Alexander was born here. You have a council passport. He hasn’t.”
“Who is Alexander?”
Sludden pointed to the pram. Rima said, “Ritchie-Smollet christened him that.”
Lanark jumped up shouting, “Christened?”
Alexander started crying. “Shushush,” whispered Rima, reaching for the pram handle and gently rocking it. “Shushushush.” “Why Alexander?” whispered Lanark furiously. “Why couldn’t you wait for me? Why the bloody hurry?”
“We waited as long as we could—why didn’t you come when we called?”
“You never called me!”
“We did. Jack went to the tower when you started your row and shouted up the ladder, but you wouldn’t come down.” “I didn’t know that was Jack shouting,” said Lanark, confused. “Were you drunk?” asked Rima.
“Of course not. You’ve never seen me drunk.”
“Perhaps, but you often act that way. And Ritchie-Smollet says a bottle of cooking sherry has vanished from the kitchen.”
“I’m leaving,” said Sludden with a chuckle. “Outsiders should never mix in a lovers’ quarrel. I’ll see you later.”
“Thank you,” said Lanark. “We’ll manage by ourselves.” Sludden shrugged and left. Alexander gradually fell asleep.
Rima sat with tight-shut lips, knitting hard. Lanark lay on the bed with hands behind his head and said gloomily, “I didn’t want to leave you. And I didn’t think I was long.”
“You were away for hours—ages, it seemed to me. You’ve no sense of time. None at all.”
“Alexander is quite a good name. We can shorten it to Alex. Or Sandy.”
“He’s called Alexander.”
“What are you knitting?”
“Clothes. Children need clothes, hadn’t you noticed? We can’t always live on Ritchie-Smollet’s charity.”
“If Sludden is right about calendars,” Lanark