Lanark_ a life in 4 books - Alasdair Gray [269]
“There is no Provost Lanark of Greater Unthank.” Lanark noticed that the man’s eyes and mouth were shut and the voice came from a neatly folded white handkerchief in his breast pocket. His companion was staring at Lanark with eyes and mouth wide open. A metal ring with a black centre poked out between his teeth. With great relief Lanark heard the voice of an ordinary human policeman behind him: “Just what’s happening here?”
“There is no Provost Lanark of Greater Unthank,” said the security man again.
“There is!” said Lanark querulously, “I know the programme says the Unthank delegate is Sludden but it’s wrong, there was an unexpected last-minute change, I am the delegate!”
“Identify self.”
“How can I without my briefcase? Where’s Gloopy? He’ll vouch for me, he’s a very important pimp, you’ve just let him through. Or Wilkins, send for Wilkins. Or Monboddo! Yes, contact the bloody Lord Monboddo, he knows me better than anyone.”
In his own ears the words seemed shrill and unconvincing. The voice from the security man’s pocket sounded like a record slowing to a stop: “Proof-burden property of putative prover.”
“What the hell does that mean?”
“It means, Jimmy, that you’d better come quietly with us,” said a policeman, and Lanark felt a hand grip each shoulder.
He said feebly, “My name is Lanark.”
“Don’t let it worry you, Jimmy.”
The security men stepped back. The policemen pushed Lanark forward, then sideways and down to a landing stage. Lanark said, “Aren’t you taking me to the repose village?”
They pushed him onto the deck of a motor launch, then down into a cabin. He said, “What about Nastler? He’s your king, isn’t he? He knows me.”
They pushed him down on a bench and sat on a bench opposite. He felt the launch move out into the river and was suddenly so tired that he had to concentrate to keep from falling down.
Later he saw the planks of another landing stage, and a pavement which continued for a long time, then a few stone steps, a doormat and some square rubber tiles fitted edge to edge. He was allowed to lean on a flat surface. A voice said,
“Name?”
“Lanark.”
“Christian or surname?”
“Both.”
“Are you telling me your name is Lanark Lanark?”
“If you like. I mean yes yes yes yes yes.”
“Age?”
“Ndtermate. I mean indeterminate. Past halfway.”
Someone sighed and said “Address?”
“Nthank cathedral. No,’ Lympia. Olympia.”
There was some muttering. He noticed the words “bridge” and “security” and “six fifty.” That jerked him awake. He stared across a counter at a police sergeant with a grey moustache who was writing in a ledger. He saw a room full of desks where two policewomen were typing and the number 6.94 very big and black was framed upon the wall. With a click it charged to 6.95. He realized that a decimal clock had a hundred minutes an hour and licked his lips and tried to talk quickly and clearly.
“Sergeant, this is urgent! An important phone call is probably going through just now to my rooms in the delegates’ repose village; can it be diverted here? It’s from Wilkins, Monboddo’s secretary. I’ve been drunk and foolish, I’m sorry, but there may be a public disaster if I can’t speak to Wilkins!”
The sergeant stared at him hard. Lanark had flung out his hands appealingly and now saw they were filthy. His waistcoat was unbuttoned, his suit crumpled. There was a bad smell in the room and he noticed, with a shudder, that it came from a brown crusted stain on his trouser leg. He said, “I know I look detestable but politicians can’t always be wise! Please! I’m not asking for myself but for the people I represent. Put me on to Wilkins!”
The sergeant sighed. He took an assembly programme from under the counter and studied a back page printed in small type. He said, “Is Wilkins a surname or a Christian name?” “Surname, I think. Does it matter?”
The sergeant pushed the programme over the counter saying, “Which?”
A list of names headed COUNCIL STAFF filled ten pages. In the first four Lanark found Wilkins Staple-Stewart, the Acting Secretary for Internal-External Liaison, Peleus