Lanark_ a life in 4 books - Alasdair Gray [261]
Lanark stared at him. Kodac laughed, patted Lanark’s shoulder and said, “A straight question at last, eh? I’m sorry, but though government and industry are interlocking we ain’t fully interlocking. Not yet. We support each other because order is Heaven’s first law, but remember Costaguana? Remember when the Occidental Republic split off from it? That could never have happened without our support. Of course we weren’t called Algolagnics then; that was in the time of the old Material Interests Corporation. Boy, what a gang of pirates they were! And the mineral was silver, which doesn’t thrust as hard as a certain other mineral, you follow?”
Lanark smiled bitterly and thought, ‘The only feeling she gives me is stony pain, the pain of being slightly alive in a pot-bellied old body with thinning hair. But leaders need to be mostly dead. People want solid monuments to cling to, not confused men like themselves. Sludden was wise to send me. I can never melt.’
“Your glass is empty,” said Kodac, taking it. “I’ll find a girl to fill it; I need a drink myself.”
“Don’t be nasty to me, Lanark,” said the other Joy, smiling in front of him. “You promised me two dances, remember? Surely you can give me one?”
Without waiting for a reply she drew him out among the dancers.
Bitterness fell from him. The firm bracelet of her fingers round his wrist gave lightness and freedom. He laughed and held her waist, saying, “And Gay is your mother? Has the wound in her hand healed?”
“Was she ever wounded? She never tells me anything.”
“What does she do nowadays?”
“She’s a journalist. Let’s not talk about her; surely I’m enough for you?”
Holding her was hard, at first, for the music was so quick and jerky that the other men and women danced without touching each other. Lanark danced to the slower sound of the whole room, whose main noise was conversation. Heard all together the conversations sounded like a waterfall blattering into a pool and made the orchestra seem the chirping of excited insects. At first the other dancers collided with him but later they moved to the side of the floor and stood cheering and clapping. The orchestra lapsed raggedly into silence and the other Joy broke away and ran into the crowd. He followed her through laughter to his group and found her talking vigorously to the other girls. She faced him and asked, “Was that not nearly incest?”
He stared at her. She said, “You are my father, aren’t you?”
“Oh, no! Sludden is. Probably.”
“Sludden? My mother never tells me anything. Who is Sludden? Is he successful? Is he good-looking?”
Lanark said gently, “Sludden is a very successful man, and women find him very attractive. Or used to. But I don’t want to talk about him tonight.”
He turned sadly away and looked at the crowded gallery where the dancing had resumed. On the faces of all these strangers he saw such familiar expressions of worry, courage, happiness, resignation, hope and failure that he felt he had known them all his life, yet they had surprising variety. Each seemed a world with its own age, climate and landscape. One was fresh and springlike, another rich, hot and summery. Some were mildly or stormily autumnal, some tragically bleak and frozen. Someone was standing by his side and her company let him admire these worlds peacefully, without wanting to conquer or enter them. He heard her sigh and say, “I wish you were more careful,” and he turned and saw Lady Monboddo. Her face looked younger, more solemn and lonely than he remembered. Her breasts were bigger and a floor-length gown of stiff tapestry patterned with lions and unicorns gave her a pillar-like look. Lanark said gladly, “Catalyst!”
“That was my job, not my name. I think you should leave this place and go to bed, Lanark.”
“I would, if I could go with you,” said Lanark, placing an arm round her waist. She frowned at him as though his face