Lanark_ a life in 4 books - Alasdair Gray [268]
“Smattera fact, Gloop,” said Lanark shyly, “sometimes I am a … a … a …”
“Yeah?”
“a … a … an imaginary sadist.”
“Yeah?”
“Not a damaging sadist. Namaginary one. So from standpoint of occasional perverse frolic it would help matters if lady nquestion, along with the other points numerated, which are the ’sential points, make no mistake about that, these other points I numerated are the ’sential ones … where was?”
“Perverse frolic.”
“Good. I’d like her not to be namaginary masochist, because I want to give her imaginary pain, not imaginary pleasure.”
“Yeah. Defeat whole purpose.”
“So I require namaginary weaker sadist than myself.”
“Yeah, difficult, but I might just manage to swing it. Come on, then.”
Gloopy steered him through the dozen Quantum-Cortexin security men who remained outside the gallery and opened a door beside the doors of the lifts. They walked down a paved path between lawns and trees with Chinese lanterns in them. Lanark said, “I thought we were very high up, Gloop.”
“Only on the inside. The stadium is built in an old dock basin, you see. The river’s down here, Narky boy.”
They passed a wharf where small pleasure boats were gently rocking and came to a smooth sheet of water with lamps along the far shore. Lanark stopped and pointed dramatically to the long reflections of the lights in the dark water.
“Gloop!” he cried. “Poem. Listen. ’Magine these lights stars, right? Here goes. Twilit lake, sleek as clean steel—”
“This is a river and it’s nearly dawn, Narky boy.”
“Doninerrupt. You’re not a cricit, Gloop, you’re a chamberlain, like Munro. Know Munro, no? Nindividual who delivers folk from one chamber to nother. Listen. Twilit lake, sleek as clean steel, each star a shining spear in your deep. Pottery. I have been twitted, in my time, with solidity, Gloop. Dull solid man of few words, me. But pottery is lukring in these dethps, Gloop!” said Lanark, thumping his chest. He thumped too hard and started coughing.
“Lean on me, Nark,” said Gloopy.
Lanark leaned on him and they came to a footbridge which crossed the water in one slender white span to a shining arrangement of glass cubes and lantern-hung trees on the other shore. “Olympia,” said Gloopy.
“Nice,” said Lanark. In the middle of the bridge he stopped again saying, “No fireworks now, so we have waterworks, yes? It’s urgent that I piss.”
He did so between two railings and was disappointed to see his urine jet two feet forward and then fall straight down.
“When I was a small-bellied boy!” he cried, “tumbling ninepin over the dolly mixture daisies, my piss had an arc of thirteen feet. A greybeard now, belly flabby from abuse of drink, I cannot squirt past my reflection. Piss. A word which sounds like what it means. A rare word.”
“Police,” muttered Gloopy.
“No, Gloop, you are wrong. Police does not sound like what it means. It is too like polite, please and nice.”
Gloopy was running down the slope of the bridge toward the village. When he reached the shore he turned his head for a moment and yelled, “All right, officers! Just a perverse frolic!” Lanark saw two policemen advancing toward him. He zipped up his trousers and hurried after Gloopy. As he reached the shore two men stepped onto the bridge and stood blocking the way. They wore black suits. One held out a hand and said in a dull voice, “Pass please.”
“I can’t, you’re blocking the way.”
“Show your pass, please.”
“I don’t have one. Or if I do it’s in my briefcase—I’ve left that somewhere. Do I need a pass? I’m a delegate, I have rooms here, please let me through.”
“Identify self.”
“Provost