Lanark_ a life in 4 books - Alasdair Gray [257]
Lanark stared at her, seeing how attractive she was. The sight was a great pain. He knew that if she let him kiss her petulant mouth he would feel no warmth or excitement. He looked inside himself and found only a hungry ungenerous cold, a pained emptiness which could neither give nor take. He thought, ‘I am mostly a dead man. How did this happen?’ He muttered, “Please don’t vanish.”
She took his arm and led him toward the gallery saying slyly, “I bet I know one thing you enjoy.”
“What?”
“Bet you enjoy being famous.”
“I’m not.”
“Modest, eh?”
“No, but I’m not famous either.”
“Think I’d have waited all these hours outside Nastler’s door if you’d been an ordinary delegate?”
Lanark was too confused to answer. He pointed to a silent crowd of black-suited security men on each side of the glass door and said, “What are they doing here?”
“They’re staying outside to make the party less spooky.”
Though nearly empty the gallery throbbed with light rhythmical music. In the night sky outside the window the pink-tipped petals of several great chrysanthemums were spreading out from golden centres among the stars and dipping down toward the floodlit stadium where tiny figures thronged the terraces and crowded upon dance floors, one at each end of the central field. The chrysanthemums faded and a scarlet spark shot through them, drawing a long tail of white and green dazzling feathers. The floor along the window was furnished with piles of huge coloured cushions. The floor above that had a twelve-man orchestra at one end, though at present the only player was a clarinettist blowing a humorous little tune and a drummer softly stroking the cymbals with wire brushes. The floor above that had four well-laden buffets along it, and the top floor had many empty little chairs and tables, and a bar at each end, and four girls sitting on stools by one of the bars. Libby led Lanark over to them and said, “Martha, Solveig, Joy and the other Joy, this is you-know-who from Unthank.”
Martha said, “It can’t be.”
Solveig said, “You look far too respectable.”
Joy said, “Shall I put your briefcase behind the bar? It’ll be safe there.”
The other Joy said, “My mother is a friend of yours, or says she used to be.”
“Is she called Nancy?” said Lanark glumly, handing over the briefcase and sitting down. “Because if she is I met you when you were a baby.”
“No, she’s called Gay.”
“Don’t remind him of his age,” said Libby. “Be a mother yourself and mix us two white rainbows. (She’s good at white rainbows.)”
Solveig was the largest of the girls and the other Joy was the smallest. They were all about the same age and had the same casually friendly manners. Lanark was not very conscious of them as distinct people but he was soothed by being the only man among them. Libby said, “We’ve got to persuade Lanark that he’s famous.”
They all laughed and the other Joy, who was measuring drops of liquor into a silver canister, said, “But he knows. He must know.”
“What am I famous for?” said Lanark.
“You’re the man who does these weird, weird things for no reason at all,” said Martha. “You smashed Monboddo’s telescreen when he was conducting a string quartet.”
“You fought with him over a dragon-bitch and blocked the whole current of the institute,” said Solveig.
“You told him exactly what you thought of him and walked straight out of the council corridors into an intercalendrical zone. On foot!” said Joy.
“We’re mad keen to see what you do