Lanark_ a life in 4 books - Alasdair Gray [53]
The radio went dead. The craving in Lanark’s stomach had vanished while he surveyed the food but now it came back harder and stronger. It mixed with the woe of Rima’s weeping and filled him with dense, concrete misery. He folded his arms on his chest and said loudly, “We must stay like this until things improve or deteriorate further.”
Rima turned on him, shouting, “Oh, what a fool you are!” and scratched at his face with her hands. He slipped out of bed and said fiercely, “I’d better leave, you’ll be able to eat then! Just say the word and I’ll clear out for good!”
She pulled the coverlet over her head. He put on his dressing gown, went out through the screens and walked aimlessly up and down the ward. At last he returned and said soberly, “Rima, I’m sorry I yelled. I was being selfish and brutal. All the same, you would probably eat if I wasn’t here. Should I go away for a couple of days? I promise I’ll come back.”
She lay below the cover, giving no sign of hearing. He slipped in beside her and dozed.
He was wakened by having a shin kicked. Her head was still covered but a tall figure in a black cassock sat stiffly by the bed. Lanark sat up. It was Monsignor Noakes, who sucked his lower lip and said, “I apologize if I intrude, but I believe the matter is urgent.”
His voice was listless and quiet and he seemed to be talking to a brown suitcase on his knees. Lanark was wondering what to say when Noakes went on.
“A certain person (I name no names) has certainly told you of the very considerable powers I once wielded here. I was director of this institute once, though not called that, for in those days the titles were different. Never mind. The only relic of my ancient status is the privilege of attending ecclesiastical conferences in continents where the connection between feeding and killing folk is less obvious. This has enabled me to stock a small larder of delicacies which you may find useful. I hear you are refusing our meals.”
Rima sat up and leaned on Lanark’s shoulder and they stared while Noakes unpacked his case and laid upon the coverlet:
a carton of cheese with red cows and green fields on the label a big block of chocolate wrapped in gilt foil
a date-pack a salami sausage over two feet long
a tin of ravioli four squat black bottles of stout
a tin of sliced apricots a small bottle of cherry brandy
a tin of condensed milk a tin of smoked oysters
a big paper poke of dried figs cutlery,
plates,
a tin-opener
Rima cried, “Oh how kind you are!” and began eating figs. Lanark said passionately, “You are a decent man,” and opened the carton of cheese. Noakes sat watching them with a faint wistful smile. He said, “Cannibalism has always been the main human problem. When the Church was a power we tried to discourage the voracious classes by feeding everyone regularly on the blood and body of God. I won’t pretend the clergy were never gluttons, but many of us did, for a while, eat only what was willingly given. Since the institute joined with the council it seems that half the continents are feeding on the other half. Man is the pie that bakes and eats himself and the recipe is separation.”
Lanark said, “You’re very good to us. I wish I could do something in return.”
“You can. I asked you, once, and you weren’t interested.”
“You wanted me to warn people against the institute.”
“I want you to warn everyone against the institute.”
“But Monsignor Noakes, I can’t, I’m too weak. When I leave the institute I’ll certainly denounce it in conversation and I’ll certainly vote for parties opposing it, but I won’t have time to work against it. I’ll be working to earn a living. I’m sorry.” Noakes said drearily, “Don’t apologize. A priest must always urge people to be better than himself.”
Rima stopped munching and asked, “What’s wrong with the institute? I got better here, don’t others?”
Lanark said abruptly, “You were cured against the instructions of my department. The institute is a murder machine.