Lanark_ a life in 4 books - Alasdair Gray [221]
“They’re a horde of stupid, dirty layabouts,” said Pettigrew.
“I know them, I grew up among them. You middle-class liberals like to pet them, but I wouldn’t even let them breed. What we need is an X-ray device under the turnstiles at the football stadiums. Each man going through gets a blast of 900 roentgens right on the testicles. It would be perfectly painless. They wouldn’t know what had happened till they got a wee printed card along with their entrance ticket. ‘Dear Sir,’ it would say. ‘You may now ride your wife in perfect safety.’”
Gilchrist laughed until his coffee spilled into the saucer. “Pettigrew, you’re incorrigible!” he said. “You talk as if a man’s misery was all his own fault. You must admit that poverty, insanity and crime have multiplied since our major industry shut down. That isn’t coincidence.”
“Blame the unions!” said Pettigrew. “Prosperity is made by the bosses struggling with each other for more wealth. If they have to struggle with their workers too, then everybody loses. No wonder the big groups are shifting their factories to the coolie continents. I’m only thankful that the folk who lose most in the end are the envious sods who own the least. Greed isn’t a pretty thing but envy is far, far worse.”
“You’re talking politics. It’s time you shut up for a while,” said Gilchrist amicably. He put down his cup on the window ledge, sat beside Lanark and said quietly, “Don’t let his rough tongue upset you. Pettigrew is something of a saint. He’s helped more widows and orphans than we’ve had good breakfasts.”
“There’s no need for excuses,” said Lanark. “I realize now that nobody does well in this world if they don’t belong to a big strong group. Your group handles the people who don’t have one. I want to be with you, not under you, so tell me what to do.”
“You’re very abrupt,” said Gilchrist. “Please remember we are here to help the unfortunate, and we do help them, as far as we can. Our problem is lack of funds. The recent Greater Unthank reorganization has given us a much larger staff to deal with the increasing number of unfortunates, so we have thousands of experts—planners, architects, engineers, artists, renovators, conservers, blood doctors, bowel doctors, brain doctors—all sitting on their bottoms praying for funds to start working with.”
“So what can I do?”
“You can start as a grade D inquiry clerk. You will sit behind a desk hearing people complain. You must note their names and addresses and tell them they’ll hear from us through the post.”
“That’s easy.”
“It’s the hardest job we have. You must give an appearance of listening closely. You must prod them with questions to keep the words flowing if they look like drying up. You must keep each one talking till they’re exhausted—longer, if possible.”
“And I write a report on what they tell me?”
“No. Just note their name and address and tell them they’ll hear from us through the post.”
“Why?”
“I was afraid you would ask that,” said Gilchrist, sighing slightly. “As I already indicated, there are many whom we cannot help through lack of funds. A lot of these are still strong and vigorous, and it is a dangerous thing to suddenly deprive a man of hope—he can turn violent. It is important to kill hope slowly, so that the loser has time to adjust unconsciously to the loss. We try to keep hope alive till it has burned out the vitality feeding it. Only then is the man allowed to face the truth.”
“So a grade D inquiry clerk does nothing but postpone.”
“Yes.”
Lanark said loudly, “I don’t want—” then hesitated. He thought of the credit card, and a home with three or four rooms, perhaps in walking distance of this great building. Perhaps he would be able to go home for lunch and eat it with Sandy and Rima.
He said feebly, “I don’t want this job.”
“Nobody wants it. As I said, it’s the hardest job we have. But will you take it?”
After a moment Lanark said, “Yes.”
“Excellent. Miss Maheen, come over here. I want you to smile at our new colleague. He’s called Lanark.