Lanark (70 page)
Sometimes he heard a sound like a slow explosion, a huge soft roaring from the city centre, and looking over there he saw tiny bird shapes moving to and fro. A shadow touched him and looking upward he saw, overhead toward the east, a great eagle crossing his course with the sign Z-1 on the underside of the breast. He realized his own craft was following a spiral path aimed at the city centre and getting lower all the time. It soared down the tree-filled gorge of another river, a small one linking parks full of strollers and sunbathers. Children on a grassy slope waved handkerchiefs at him and he thought, ‘Soon I’ll see the university.’ A moment later he looked down on twin quadrangles framed by pinnacled rooftops. He thought, ‘Soon we’ll reach the river with the big dock basin and cranes and warehouses’, but this time he was wrong. The small river entered a mainstream which spread out into arms of quiet water, but these lay among paths and trees surrounding a gigantic sports stadium. Figures were racing and vaulting round the tracks, on the rich green grass of the centre rested athletes in variously coloured suits, from the crowded terraces a dull hubbub of applause welled into a roar. Lanark’s aircraft joined five or six others circling overhead. At intervals one would drop toward a white canvas square spread before the main grandstand with red, blue and black target rings painted on it. A voice over a loudspeaker was saying “… and now Posky, Podgorny, Paleologue and Norn are entering the last lap; and just descending, bang on target, is Premier Kostoglotov of the Scythian People’s Republic; and Norn and Paleologue are passing, yes, passing Podgorny into second place, almost neck and neck, and the gap between them and Posky is closing fast”—here a great roar went up—
“and the Toltec of Tiahuanaco dips toward the target just as Posky falls into third place and now Norn leads, then Paleologue, then Posky with Podgorny a very poor fourth; and here comes the Provost of Unthank—I’m sorry the
Lord
Provost of
Greater
Unthank—dropping toward the target just as Norn, yes, Norn, yes, Norn of Thule breaks the tape, closely followed by Paleologue of Trebizond and Posky of Crim Tartary.”
Lanark’s eagle-machine thumped down on the canvas and stood rocking slightly. Six men in dust coats seized it and carried it a few yards to a row of similar machines standing against a long narrow platform. Lanark gripped his briefcase and was helped onto the platform by a girl in a scarlet skirt and blouse who said hurriedly, “The Unthank delegate, yes?”
“Yes.”
“This way, please, you’re half a minute behind schedule.”
She led him down some steps, through groups of relaxing athletes, across a momentarily bare cinder track and into a doorway under the terracing of the main grandstand. After the wide spaces of the sky it was perplexing to trot up a narrow passage in artificial light. He decided that whatever happened he would remain dour, sceptical and unimpressed. They came to a hall with open lifts along the walls. The girl ushered him into one, saying, “Go up to the executive gallery, they’re expecting you. Leave your luggage with me; I’ll make sure it reaches your room in the delegates’ repose village.”
“No, I’m sorry, these documents are vital,” said Lanark. He saw a row of buttons in a polished metal panel and touched one beside the words
EXECUTIVE GALLERY
. The lift ascended and he watched his reflection in the polished panel with satisfaction. Though older he was even more dignified than in the vestry lavatory. He had grown a pointed, compact, captainish little white beard, his cheeks were smooth and rosy, the effect was of well-groomed efficiency. The lift door opened and Wilkins, looking exactly as Lanark remembered him, shook his hand, saying, “Provost Sludden! Am I right?”
“No, Wilkins. My name is Lanark. We’ve met before.”
Wilkins peered closely and said, “Lanark! My God, so you are. What’s happened to Sludden?”
“He is coping at present with a very dangerous sanitary problem. The Greater Unthank regional committee have judged it wiser for me to represent the city.”
Wilkins smiled crookedly and said, “That man is a fox: a ninth-generation ecological fox. Never mind. Join the queue, join the queue.”
“Wilkins, our sanitary problem is assuming catastrophic dimensions. I have more than one report in this briefcase which shows that people will start dying soon and—”
“This is a social reception, Lanark, public health will be debated on Monday. Just join the queue and say hello to your hosts.”
“Hosts?”
“The Provan executive officer and Lord and Lady Monboddo. Join the queue, join the queue.”
They were in a broad curving corridor with glass double-doors on one side and a queue moving steadily through. Lanark noticed a woman in a silver sari and a brown man in a white toga but most people wore sober uniforms or business suits and had the wary look of important people who, without showing friendship, are prepared to respond judiciously to it in others. They were an easy crowd to join. At the glass door a loud voice announced the arrivals to a company beyond: “Senator Sennacherib of New Alabama. Brian de Bois Guilbert, Grand Templar of Languedoc and Apulia. Governor Vonnegut of West Atlantis….”
He reached the door and heard the satisfying cry, “Lord Provost Lanark of Greater Unthank,” and shook hands with a hollow-cheeked man who said, “Trevor Weems of Provan. Glad you could come.”
A stately woman in a blue tweed gown shook his hand and said, “Had you a nice trip?”
Lanark stared at her and said, “Catalyst.”
“Call her Lady Monboddo,” said Ozenfant, who was standing beside her. He shook Lanark’s hand briskly. “Time changes all the labels, as you yourself are proving also.”
A girl in a scarlet skirt and blouse took Lanark’s arm and led him down some steps saying, “Hello, I’m called Libby. I expect you need some refreshment. Shall I get you a snack from the buffet? Pâté de something? Breast of something? Locusts and honey?”
“Was Ozenfant …? Is Ozenfant …?”
“The new lord president director, yes hadn’t you heard? Doesn’t he look tremendously fit? I wonder why his wife is wearing that hairy frock? Perhaps you aren’t hungry. Neith
e
r am I. Let’s tuck into the booze instead, there’s heaps of it. Just sit there a minute.”
He sat down at the end of a long leather sofa and looked perplexedly around.
He was on the highest and largest of four floors which descended like steps to a wall of window overlooking the stadium. Half the people standing around seemed to be delegates and stood talking in quiet little groups. Girls in scarlet lent some liveliness to the company by carrying trays between the groups with flirtatious quickness, but they were balanced by silent, robust men who stood watchfully by the walls wearing black suits and holding glasses of whisky which they did not sip. On a glass-topped table near the sofa lay a sheaf of pamphlets entitled
ASSEMBLY PROGRAMME
. Lanark lifted and opened one. He read a printed letter from Trevor Weems welcoming the delegates on behalf of the people of Provan and trusting their stay would be a happy one. There was no possibility of danger to life or limb, as the newest sort of security staff had been rented from the Quantum-Cortexin group; the Red Girls, however, were human and anxious to help with any difficulty the delegates could bring to them. Then came six pages of region names listed alphabetically from Armorica to Zimbabwe. Lanark saw that the Greater Unthank delegate was given as Provost Sludden. Then came a page headed:
FIRST DAY
HOUR 11. Arrival and reception of delegates by Lord
and Lady Monboddo
After this a press conference was listed, a lunch, an “opportunity for social and informal lobbying,” a sheepdog trial, a pipe band contest, a dinner with speeches, a performance by the Erse Opera Company of Purser’s
Misfortunes of Elphin
, a firework display and a party. Lanark turned a page impatiently and found something less frivolous.
SECOND DAY
HOUR 8.50. Breakfast. Lobbying
.
HOUR 10. World Education Debate
.
Chairman, Lord Monboddo.
Opening speech: “Logos into Chaos.” The Erse delegate and sociosophist Odin Mac Tok analyzes the disastrous impact of literacy on the underedu-cated.
Speeches. Motions. Voting.
HOUR 15. Lunch. Lobbying
.
HOUR 17. World Food Debate
.
Chairman, Lord Monboddo.
Opening speech: “Excrement into Aliment.” The Bohemian delegate and Volstat research scholar Dick Otoman explains how organic pollutions can be pre-processed to revitalize each other within the human body.
Speeches. Motions. Voting.
HOUR 22. Dinner. Lobbying
.
THIRD DAY
HOUR 8.50. Breakfast. Lobbying
.
HOUR 10. Public Order Debate
.
Chairman, Lord Monboddo.
Opening speech: “Revolutionary Stasis.” Kado Motnic, sociometrist and delegate of the People’s Republic of Paphlogonia describes the application of short-nerve-circuitry to libido-canalization in the infra-supra-25-40 spectrum.
Speeches. Motions. Voting.
HOUR 15. Lunch. Lobbying
.
HOUR 17. World Energy Debate
.
Chairman, Lord Monboddo.
Opening speech: “Biowarp.” South Atlantis delegate and Algolagnics director Timon Kodac presents gene-warping as the solution to the fossil-fuel failure.
Speeches. Motions. Voting.
HOUR 22. Dinner. Lobbying
.
FOURTH DAY
HOUR 8.50. Breakfast. Lobbying
.
HOUR 10. World Health Debate
.
Chairman, Lord Monboddo.
Opening speech: “Kindness, Kin and Capacity.” Hanseatic delegate and sociopathist Moo Dackin explains why healthy norms must be preserved by destroying other healthy norms.
Speeches. Motions. Voting.
HOUR 15. Lunch, social and informal
.
HOUR 17. The Subcommittees report. Voting
.
HOUR 21. Press conference
.
HOUR 22. Dinner. Speeches
.
Master of Ceremonies, Trevor Weems.
Opening speech: “Then, Now and Tomorrow.” Six millennia of achievement will be outlined by the Chairman of the Assembly, Moderator of the Expansion Project Director of the Institute and President of the Council, the Lord Monboddo. Trevor Weems, Chief Executive Officer of the Provan Basin, will propose a vote of thanks. Toadi Monk, Satrap of Troy and Trebizond, will move the vote of thanks to the hosts.
HOUR 25. The delegates depart.
Before reading all this Lanark had been gripped by a large undirected excitement. Since wakening to sunlight in his aircraft that morning he had felt himself nearing the centre of a great event, approaching a place where he would utter, publicly, a word that would change the world. The sight of Wilkins, the catalyst and Ozenfant-Monboddo had not damaged this feeling. He had been startled, but so had they, which was satisfying. But the assembly programme disconcerted him. It was like seeing the plans of a vast engine he meant to drive and finding he knew nothing about engineering. What did “Speeches. Motions. Voting” mean? What was “Lobbying” and why did it happen at mealtimes? Did the other delegates understand these things?
The gallery was very crowded now and two men sat at the other end of the sofa sipping pint glasses of black beer and gazing at the active little figures on the sunlit sports field below. One of them said cheerfully, “It’s great to see all this happening in Provan.”
“Is it?”
“Oh, come now, Odin, you’ve worked as hard as anyone to bring the assembly here.”
The other said morosely, “Bread and circuses. Bread and circuses. A short spell of reasonable wages and long holidays while they plunder us and then
wham!
The chopper. Provan will be turned into another Greater Unmentionable Region.”
Lanark said eagerly, “Excuse me, are you complaining about the condition of this city?”
The morose man had thick white hair, a body like a wrestler’s and a pinkish battered face like a boxer’s. He looked at Lanark balefully for a moment, then said, “I think I’ve a right to do that. I live here.”
“Then you don’t know how lucky you are! I’m from a region with an unusually dangerous sanitary problem, and Provan strikes me as the most splendidly situated—”
“Are you a delegate?”
“Yes.”
“So you’ve just arrived by air.”
“Yes.”
“Then don’t talk to me about Provan. You’re in the early stages of a Gulliver complex.”
Lanark said coldly, “I don’t understand you.”
“The first recorded aerial survey happened when Lemuel Gulliver, a plain, reasonable man, was allowed to stand on his feet beside the capital of Lilliput. He saw well-cultivated farms surrounding the homes, streets, and public buildings of a very busy little people. He was struck by the obvious ingenuity and enterprise of the rulers, the officials and the workmen. It took him two or three months to discover their stupidity, greed, corruption, envy, cruelty.”
“You pessimists always fall into the disillusion trap,” said the cheerful man cheerfully. “From one distance a thing looks bright. From another it looks dark. You think you’ve found the truth when you’ve replaced the cheerful view by the opposite, but true profundity blends all possible views, bright as well as dark.”
The morose man grinned and said, “Since nearly everyone clings to the cloud-cuckoo view it’s lucky one or two of us aren’t afraid to look at the state of the sewers.”
“Sorry I took so long,” said the Red Girl, placing a tray on the table. “I thought it might be fun to try a gaelic coffee.” “I’m glad you mentioned sewers,” said Lanark eagerly, “I come from Unthank, which is having trouble with its sewers. In fact the future of the whole region is being menaced—I mean, decided—by this assembly, and I’ve been sent here as advocate for the defence. But the programme”—he waved it—“tells me nothing about where and when to speak. Can you advise me?” “There’s no need to be so serious on the first day,” said the Red Girl.
