Lanark_ a life in 4 books - Alasdair Gray [5]
“What work could I do?”
“Have you visited Galloway’s Tearoom?”
“Yes.”
“Did you speak to anyone there?”
“No.”
“Then you can’t be a businessman. I’m afraid you’ll have to take up art. Art is the only work open to people who can’t get along with others and still want to be special.”
“I could never be an artist. I’ve nothing to tell people.”
Sludden started laughing. “You haven’t understood a word I’ve spoken.”
Lanark had an inner restraint which stopped him displaying much resentment or anger. He pressed his lips together and frowned at the coffee cup. Sludden said, “An artist doesn’t tell people things, he expresses himself. If the self is unusual his work shocks or excites people. Anyway, it forces his personality on them. Here comes Gay at last. Would you mind making room for her?”
A thin, tired-looking, pretty girl approached them between the crowded tables. She smiled shyly at Lanark and sat beside Sludden, saying anxiously, “Am I late? I came as soon as—” He said coldly, “You kept me waiting.”
“Oh, I’m sorry, I really am sorry. I came as fast as I could. I didn’t mean to—”
“Get me cigarettes.”
Lanark looked embarrassedly at the tabletop. When Gay had gone to the counter he said, “What do you do?”
“Eh?”
“Are you a businessman? Or an artist?”
“Oh, I do nothing, with fantastic ability.”
Lanark looked hard at Sludden’s face for some trace of a smile. Sludden said, “Occupations are ways of imposing yourself on others. I can impose myself without doing a thing. I’m not boasting. It just happens to be the truth.”
“It’s modest of you to say so,” said Lanark, “but you’re wrong to say you do nothing. You talk very well.”
Sludden smiled and received a cigarette from Gay, who had returned meekly to his side. He said, “I don’t often talk as frankly as this; my ideas would be wasted on most people. But I think I can help you. Do you know any women here?”
“None.”
“I’ll introduce you to some.”
Sludden turned to Gay and lightly pinched the lobe of her ear, asking amiably, “Who will we give to him? Frankie?”
Gay laughed and at once looked happy. She said, “Oh no Sludden, Frankie’s noisy and vulgar and Lanark’s the thoughtful type. Not Frankie.”
“What about Nan, then? She’s quiet, in a will-’oo-be-my-daddy sort of way.”
“But Nan’s crazy about you!”
“I know, and it’s a nuisance. I’m tired of seeing her weep in the corner whenever you touch my knee. Let’s give her to Lanark. No. I’ve a better idea. I’ll take Nan and Lanark can have you. How would you like that?”
Gay leaned toward Sludden and kissed him daintily on the cheek. He said, “No. We’ll give him Rima.”
Gay frowned and said, “I don’t like Rima. She’s sly.”
“Not sly. Self-contained.”
“But Toal is keen on her. They go around together.”
“That means nothing. He has a sister fixation on her and she has a brother fixation on him. Their relationship is purely incestuous. Anyway, she despises him. We’ll give her to Lanark.”
Lanark smiled and said, “You’re very kind.”
He had heard somewhere that Gay and Sludden were engaged. A fur gauntlet on Gay’s left hand stopped him seeing if she wore a ring, but she and Sludden exhibited the sort of public intimacy proper to an engaged couple. Lanark had been impressed unwillingly by Sludden but now Gay had come he felt comfortable with him. In spite of the talk about “independent love” he seemed to practise a firmer sort than was usual in the Elite.
Sludden’s clique arrived from the cinema. Frankie was plump and vivacious and wore a tight pale-blue skirt and had pale-blue hair bunched round her head. Nan was a small shy uncombed blonde of about sixteen. Rima had an interesting, not pretty face with black hair drawn smoothly from her brow and fixed in a ponytail at the back. Toal was small, haggard, and pleasant, with a young pointed red beard, and there was a large stout pale boy called McPake in the uniform of a first lieutenant. Sludden, an arm round Gay’s waist, neither paused nor glanced at his friends but continued talking to Lanark as they sat down on each side