Lanark_ a life in 4 books - Alasdair Gray [283]
“Lanark.”
“A common name in these parts. We had a provost called that once. He wasn’t much good.”
Lanark slept and wakened to screams and shouting. He was sweating and sticky. The air was very hot and the ward was empty except for a bed in a far corner; an old woman sat in it crying, “They shouldn’t leave us here, it isn’t right.” A soldier came in, looking carefully round, avoided the old woman’s eye and edged toward Lanark between the empty beds. He was a tall man with a sullen, handsome, slightly babyish face and did not seem to be carrying a weapon. His only insignia was a badge on his beret shaped like a hand with an eye in the palm. He stood looking down at Lanark, then sat on the edge of the bed and said, after a moment, “Hullo, Dad.”
Lanark whispered “Sandy?” and smiled and touched his hand. He felt very happy. The soldier said, “We’ve got to get out of here. The foundation is cracked.”
He opened the bedside locker, took out trousers, jacket and shoes and helped Lanark into them, saying, “I wish you’d kept in touch with us.”
“I didn’t know how.”
“You could have written or phoned.”
“I never seemed to have time. Yet I did no good, Sandy. I changed nothing.”
“Of course you changed nothing. The world is only improved by people who do ordinary jobs and refuse to be bullied. Nobody can persuade owners to share with makers when makers won’t shift for themselves.”
“I could never understand politics. How do you live, Sandy?”
“I report for movers and menders.”
“What kind of work is that?”
“We have to hurry, Dad. Are you able to stand?”
Lanark managed to stand, though his knees trembled. The old woman in the corner bed wailed, “Son, could you help me too, son?”
“Wait here! Help is coming!” shouted Alexander fiercely. He took Lanark’s right arm over his shoulder, gripped him round the waist and moved him toward the door, cursing below his breath. They were labouring uphill for the slope of the floor was against them. The screams and yelling grew louder. Alexander halted and said, “Listen, you used to be a sentimental man in some ways, so shut your eyes when you get out of here. Some things are happening which we just can’t help.”
“Anything you say son,” said Lanark, closing his eyes. The arm round his waist gave such a strong feeling of happiness and safety that he started chuckling.
He was helped down many stairs amid loud crying and across a space where his ankles brushed past fingertips and then, though the air was no cooler, an uproar of voices and running feet suggested they were outside. He opened his eyes. The sight threw him off balance and he lost more balance trying to recover it. Alexander held him up, saying, “Steady, Dad.” A great loose crowd, much of it children shepherded by women, slid and stumbled down a hillside toward a wide-open gate. But the hillside was a city square. The slanting lamp-standards lighting the scene, the slanting buildings on each side, the slanting spire of the nearby cathedral showed the whole landscape was tilted like a board.
“What happened?” cried Lanark.
“Subsidence,” said Alexander, carrying him with the crowd. “There’s going to be another soon, a bad one. Hurry.”
Whenever Lanark’s feet touched the ground he felt a vibration like a continuous electric shock. It seemed to strengthen his legs. He began moving almost briskly, chuckling and saying, “I like this.”
“Jesus Christ,” muttered Alexander.
“Do I sound senile, Sandy? I’m not. This gate leads to the graveyard, the Necropolis, doesn’t it?”
“We’ll be safer away from the buildings.”
“I know this graveyard well, Sandy. So did your mother. I could tell you a lot about it. This bridge we’re coming to, for instance, had a tributary of the river flowing under it once.” “Shut up and keep moving, Dad.”
In the dim cemetery folk crouched on the grass plots or dispersed up the many little paths. From the height of the hill a loudspeaker was telling people to keep