Lanark_ a life in 4 books - Alasdair Gray [216]
Lanark laid Alexander in the pram with the bottle beside him and gently rocked the handle.
The man said, “I was ignorant when I was married. I hadnae read Newton, I hadnae read Pavlov, so I kicked the bitch out—pardon the language, I am referring to my wife. I wish now that I’d cut my throat instead. Do me a favour, pal. Give yourself a holiday. Have a drink.”
Lanark glanced at the brown bottle held toward him, then took it and swigged. The taste was horrible. He passed it back, trying to say thank you, but there were tears in his eyes and he could only gulp and pull faces. A warm stupidity began to spread softly through him. He heard the man say, “You have to like women but not care for them: not care what they do, I mean. Nobody can help what they do. We do as things do with us.” “What is for us,” said Lanark, with a feeling of profound understanding, “will not go past us.”
“A hundred years from now,” said the man, “it’ll all be the same.”
Lanark heard Alexander asking sadly, “When will she come?”
“Soon, son. Very soon.”
“When is soon?”
“Near to now but not now.”
“I need her now.”
“Then you need her badly. You must try to need her properly.”
“What is proply?”
“Silently. Silence is always proper. When I understand this better I’ll stop talking. You won’t be able to hear me for miles. I will radiate silence like a dark star shining in the gaps between syllables and conversation.”
“You’re ignoring politics,” said the man aggressively. “Politics depend on noise. All parties subscribe to that opinion, if to no other.”
Alexander screamed, “They’re biting me!”
“Who’s biting you?” said Lanark leaning unsteadily over the pram.
“My teeth.”
Lanark put a finger in the small mouth and felt a tiny bone edge coming through the gum. He said uneasily, “We age quickly in this world.”
“You must remember one important thing,” said the man, “You’ve emptied the bottle. I’m not complaining. I know where to get another, but it costs a coupla dollars. A dollar a skull. Right?”
“I’m sorry. I’ve no money.”
“What’s happening here?” asked Rima, coming angrily in.
“Sandy is teething,” said Lanark.
“I’m just leaving, missus,” said the man, and left.
Rima changed Alexander’s nappy, saying grimly, “I can’t trust you to do a thing.”
“But I’ve fed him. I’ve cared for him.”
“Huh!”
Lanark lay on the bed watching her. He was sober now and some of the ache had returned to his chest, but he was also thankful and relieved. After a while he said, “Did you enjoy the dancing?”
“Dancing?”
“You said you were going dancing with Frankie.”
“Did I? Maybe I did. Anyway I missed Frankie and went househunting with what’s-his-name. The fat soldier. McPake.”
“McPake?”
“He used to hang around the old Elite with us. The Elite has vanished under a motorway now. Nothing there but a great concrete trench. They really are making a mess of this place.”
“Did you find any houses?”
“Hundreds of them, all furnished and all beautiful. But we’ve no money so I was wasting my time. Is that what you’re going to say?”
“Of course not!”
She had settled Alexander in the pram and was sitting despondently with drooping head and arms folded under breasts. He was pricked by tenderness and desire and went to her with arms outstretched, whispering, “Oh, Rima dear, let’s love each other a little….”
She smiled, jumped up and danced toward him with hands outstretched and nipping. “Oh, Rima dear!” she moaned through pursed-out lips. “Oh, lovey-dovey earie-dearie Rima, let’s lovey-dovey an itsy-bitsy little….”
Her nips were painful and he fended them off, laughing until they both fell side by side and breathless on the bed. A moment later he asked sadly, “Do I really seem like that?”
“I’m afraid you do. You’re too nervous and pathetic.”
She sighed, then unfastened her blouse, saying, “However, since you want it, let’s