Lanark_ a life in 4 books - Alasdair Gray [49]
She cried out, “Oh, open for him! And slam behind him as hard as you can!”
A door opened and he ran out shouting, “I’m sorry! I’m sorry!”
If the exit slammed behind he did not hear for the noise outside was too great. This hall had a pit in the centre and two vast cables running into it from above and vibrating thunderously. Lanark rushed round the walls looking for a lift, but all the doors had OUT OF ORDER signs on them. At last he found a little tunnel with pulses of warmth and brightness flowing out and forced his way in against the current. This was almost impossible until he lay on the floor and drove forward by shoving with hands and feet against the narrow walls. After several minutes of struggling he advanced about three yards. “Oh, Rima!” he cried and had begun banging his head on the floor and weeping with frustration when the pressure against him stopped. He sat up. Before and behind the tunnel had gone a dim orange which suddenly went completely black. It was cold, and the noise had stopped, though there was a distant twittering and occasional voices called forlornly:
“Dloc ma I ho.”
“Sthgil! Teah dna sthgil!”
“Redloc ylnellus worg I won.”
He got up and ran gladly forward through the dark until prevented by a surface which rumbled at the impact of his body. It was one of the curtains. He drew back to fling himself on it again when it opened and out poured a deafening noise like many flocks of starlings crashing through plate-glass windows. In the door’s bright circle he saw three white-faced men staring at him, two in overalls and one a doctor. They shouted,
“You were going against the current!”
Lanark said, “There was no other way through.”
“But you’ve blacked out the staff clubs! You’ve jammed the suction delvers!”
The doctor said, “I don’t give a damn about those but you’ve caused an epidemic of twittering and God knows how many fractures. If it had happened after the hundred and eightieth you’d have been a murderer! A mass murderer!”
“I’m sorry, but I have to reach Ozenfant’s studio.”
The men in overalls glanced at each other. The doctor said, “Ozenfant may be a big man but if he starts letting his staff block the current he’s in trouble.”
The doctor turned and walked away and Lanark was about to follow when one of the men put a hand on his sleeve and said, “No, no, Mac, you’ve done enough damage. We’ll go the way you came.”
The normal movements of light and air resumed in the tunnel as they went down it, one of the men in front of Lanark, the other behind. When they reached the hall even the noise was normal. The leader opened one of the lifts with a key, led them inside and said, “Professor Ozenfant’s place, then the sink.” He looked accusingly at Lanark and said, “The sink is iced over.”
“I’m sorry.”
The door opened. Lanark was pushed into the studio but the men did not follow.
The quartet sat on chairs before the observation lens chatting and sipping from glasses. Ozenfant looked round smiling and cried, “Aha, so you are in time! There was a temporary power cut which we feared might delay you. But my dear fellow, your brow is bleeding!”
A silver figure glowed in the lens, air faintly trembling above the gaping beak. Looking back from it to the cosy social group, Lanark was gripped by rage. He quickly crossed the studio, passed between Ozenfant and the lady cellist, raised his right leg and struck his heel into the centre of the lens. It cracked and went black. The room was completely silent as he crossed to the wall, lifted the tapestry and entered the tunnel behind.
He leaned into the chamber through the open panel. All her limbs were metal now and she was bigger, head pressing the wall on one side and hooves on the other, the wings spread so that the tips of the plumes touched the walls all round and not an inch of floor was visible. The air was chokingly hot and a white line like cigarette smoke rose from the beak. He said, “Rima.”
The voice answered with a throb of delight. “Is that you, little Thaw? Have you come to