Lanark_ a life in 4 books - Alasdair Gray [31]
“What words?”
“If I lose my way I will shut my eyes and turn my head.”
“If I lose my way I will shut my eyes and turn my head.”
Munro raised the blind.
It was a view of mistily moving distances with the sun shining through them. Snowy ranges of cloud divided snowy ranges of mountain and silvery skies lay so near to sparkling oceans that they were hard to tell apart. The institute seemed drifting toward the sun between the precipices of a canyon and he peered forward and down, trying to catch sight of the bottom, but when the mist below the window thinned and parted he saw a dark violet space containing stars and a sickle moon. Feeling dizzy he looked back at the sun for reassurance, for though dimmed by haze it shone solidly in the centre of the scene, illuminating and uniting it; but now he wondered if the sun was maybe far overhead and this a reflection in the sea, or perhaps it was behind him and he was seeing it mirrored in a glacier among the mountains in front. Nothing was visible now but sunlight and milky cloud with a single peak rising from it. Streams like silver threads poured through gullies in the lower slopes and white lines of waterfalls fell from cliff tops into the clouds. He saw this peak was not a simple cone but a cluster of summits with valleys between them. One valley was full of lakes and pasture, another was shaggy with forests, through a third lay a golden-green ocean with a sun setting behind it. The act of seeing became an act of flight. He raised his eyes to the horizon but above the level lines of every sea and plain lay islands, mountains, storm clouds, cities, and setting or ascending suns. He tried to escape this recession by staring at a village on a little hill in a shaft of morning light. A cloud passed overhead and he only saw the village by the light sparkling on windows and roofs, then the sparkles shifted and drifted sideways like snowflakes into silvery blueness where they circled like gulls above a steamship, then changed colour and became black specks circling like aeroplanes in a flashing red glow above a bombed city. So Lanark clapped a hand over his eyes, turned round and returned soberly to the room.
The body of his neighbour, swathed in blankets, was wheeled past on a stretcher by a male nurse. Lanark put the slippers and gown in the locker, climbed into bed and pulled the covers to his chin. Dr. Munro had lowered the blind and gone to the locker beside the dead man’s bed. He took out a pistol and stood examining it thoughtfully. He said, “This is why he died, you know. He wore it on the way down.”
“Yes, he told me.”
“Still, he came head first, which not many do.”
“Where is this institute?”
“We occupy a system of galleries under a mountain with several peaks and several cities on top. I believe you come from one of these cities.”
“Under a mountain?”
“Yes. That screen isn’t a window. It shows images caught by a reflector on one of the peaks. This ward has one because patients of your kind sometimes do feel enclosed. If I showed that view to other patients they would curl up like watch-springs.”
“How deep down are we?”
“I don’t know. I’m a doctor, not a geologist.”
Lanark had received more than he could consciously absorb. He fell asleep.
CHAPTER 8.
Doctors
He wakened next morning feeling tired and sick, but the nurses brought a bland omelette which restored vitality. On a chair by the bed they laid clothes with the same soft glazed texture as the food: underwear, socks, shirt, dark trousers, a pullover and a white coat. They said, “You’re joining us today, Bushybrows.”
“What do you mean?”
“You’re a doctor now. I hope you aren’t going to bully us poor nurses.”
“I am not a doctor!”
“Oh, don’t refuse! The ones who refuse at first always bully us worst.”
When they left Lanark