Lanark (76 page)

Martha said, “It can’t be.”

Solveig said, “You look far too respectable.”

Joy said, “Shall I put your briefcase behind the bar? It’ll be safe there.”

The other Joy said, “My mother is a friend of yours, or says she used to be.”

“Is she called Nancy?” said Lanark glumly, handing over the briefcase and sitting down. “Because if she is I met you when you were a baby.”

“No, she’s called Gay.”

“Don’t remind him of his age,” said Libby. “Be a mother yourself and mix us two white rainbows. (She’s good at white rainbows.)”

Solveig was the largest of the girls and the other Joy was the smallest. They were all about the same age and had the same casually friendly manners. Lanark was not very conscious of them as distinct people but he was soothed by being the only man among them. Libby said, “We’ve got to persuade Lanark that he’s famous.”

They all laughed and the other Joy, who was measuring drops of liquor into a silver canister, said, “But he knows. He must know.”

“What am I famous for?” said Lanark.

“You’re the man who does these weird, weird things for no reason at all,” said Martha. “You smashed Monboddo’s telescreen when he was conducting a string quartet.”

“You fought with him over a dragon-bitch and blocked the whole current of the institute,” said Solveig.

“You told him exactly what you thought of him and walked straight out of the council corridors into an intercalendrical zone. On foot!” said Joy.

“We’re mad keen to see what you do tonight,” said the other Joy. “Monboddo’s terrified of you.”

Lanark started explaining how things had really happened, but the corners of his mouth had risen and were squeezing out his cheeks and narrowing his eyes; he could not help his face being contorted, his tongue gagged by a huge silly grin, and at last he shook his head and laughed. Libby laughed too. She was leaning on the bar, her hip brushing his thigh. Martha told him, “Libby’s using you to make her boyfriend jealous.”

“No I’m not. Well, just a bit, I am.”

“Who’s your boyfriend?” asked Lanark, smiling.

“The man with the glasses down there. The drummer. He’s horrible. When his music isn’t going right for him nothing goes right for him.”

“Make him as jealous of me as you like,” said Lanark, patting her hand. The other Joy gave him a tall glass of clear drink and they all watched him closely as he sipped. The first sip tasted soft and furry, then cool and milky, then thin and piercing like peppermint, then bitter like gin, then thick and warm like chocolate, then sharp like lemon but sweetening like lemonade. He sipped again and the flow of tastes over his tongue was wholly different, for the tip tasted black currant, blending into a pleasant kind of children’s cough mixture in the centre and becoming like clear beef gravy as it entered the throat, with a faint aftertaste of smoked oysters. He said, “The taste of this makes no sense.”

“Don’t you like it?”

“Yes, it’s delicious.”

They laughed as if he’d said something clever. Solveig said, “Will you dance with me when the music starts?”

“Of course.”

“What about me?” said Martha.

“I intend to dance once with everybody—except the other Joy. I’m going to dance twice with the other Joy.”

“Why?”

“Because being unusually kind to someone will give me a feeling of power.”

Everyone laughed again and he sipped the drink feeling worldly and witty. A small man with a large nose arrived and said, “You all seem to be having a good time, do you mind if I join in? I’m Griffith-Powys, Arthur Griffith-Powys of Ynyswitrin. Lanark of Unthank, aren’t you? I only just missed you this morning, but I heard you’d been hard at it. It was good to know somebody was knocking the gelid lark. We’ve had too much of that. You’ll be sounding off loud and clear tomorrow, I hope?”

The gallery was filling with older people who were clearly delegates or delegates’ wives, and others in their thirties who seemed to be secretaries and journalists. There were more red girls too, though few of them now wore the whole red uniform. Groups were forming but the group round Lanark was the largest. Odin, the pink-faced morose man, came over and asked, “Any luck with His Royal Highness?”

“None. In fact he said he wasn’t a king at all but a conjuror.”

“Young people must find the modern world very confusing,” said Powys, patting Martha’s arm paternally. “So many single people have different names and so many different people have the same name. Look at Monboddo. We’ve all known at least two Monboddos and the next one will likely be a woman. Look at me! Last year I was Arch Druid of Camelot and Cadbury. This year, what with ecumenical pressure and regionalization, I’m Proto-Presbyter of Ynyswitrin, yet I’m the same man doing the same job.”

Odin said in a low voice, “Here comes the enemy.”

Five black men of different heights entered, two in business suits, two in military uniform and the tallest in caftan and fez. Martha shivered and said, “I hate the black bloc—they drink nothing stronger than lemonade.”

“Well, I
love
them,” said Libby stoutly. “I think they’re charming. And Senator Sennacherib drinks whisky by the quart.”

“What I can’t take is bloody Multan’s air of superiority,” said Odin. “I know we sold and flogged his ancestors, which proves we’re vicious; but it doesn’t prove he’s much good.”

“Is that Multan?” said Lanark. The blacks had descended to the next floor and were standing at one of the buffets. “Excuse me a minute,” said Lanark. He passed quickly through the other groups, descended three or four steps and approached the black bloc. “Please,” he said to the tall man in the fez, “are you Multan of Zimbabwe?”

“Here is General Multan,” said the tall man, indicating a small man in military uniform. Lanark said, “May I speak to you, General Multan? I’ve been told you … we might be able to help each other.”

Multan regarded Lanark with an expression of polite amusement. He said, “Who told you that, man?”

“Nastler.”

“Don’t know this Nastler. How does he say we be useful?”

“He didn’t, but my own region—Greater Unthank—is having trouble with—well, many things. Almost everything. Is yours?”

“Oh, sure. Our plains are overgrazed, our bush is undercultivated, our minerals are owned by foreigners, the council sends us airplanes, tanks and bulldozers and our revenues go to Algolagnics and Volstat to buy fuel and spare parts to work them. Oh, yes, we got problems.”

“Oh.”

“I don’t expect help from your sort, man, but I listen hard to anything you say.”

Multan held a plate of sweet corn and chopped meat in one hand and ate delicately with the other for a minute or two, closely watching Lanark, who could now hear the dance orchestra playing very loudly, for the nearest groups had fallen silent and an attentive and furtive murmuring came from the rest of the gallery. Lanark felt his face blush hotter and hotter. Multan said, “Why you go on standing there if you got nothing to say?”

“Embarrassment,” said Lanark in a low voice. “I started this conversation and I don’t know how to end it.”

“Let me help you off the hook, man. Come here, Omphale.” A tall elegant black woman approached. Multan said, “Omphale, this delegate needs to talk to a white woman.”

“But I’m black. As black as you are,” said the woman in a clear, hooting voice.

“Sure, but you got a white voice,” said Multan, moving away. Lanark and the woman stared at each other then Lanark said,

“Would you care to dance?”

“No,” said the woman and followed Multan.

Suddenly, on a note of laughter, all the conversations started loudly again. Lanark turned, blushing, and saw the two Joys laughing at him openly. They said “Poor Lanark!” and “Why did he leave the friends who love him?” Each linked an arm with him and led him down steps to a side of the dance floor where Odin, Powys, the other girls and some new arrivals had gathered. They received him so genially that it was easy to smile again.

“I could have told you it was useless talking to that bastard,” said Odin. “Have a cigar.”

“But wasn’t it exciting?” said Libby. “Everybody expected something gigantic to happen. I don’t know what.”

“The opening of a new intercontinental viaduct, perhaps,” said Powys jocularly. “The unrolling across the ocean of a fraternal carpet on which all the human races could meet and sink into one human race and get Utopia delivered by parachute with their morning milk, no?”

“Congratulations! You’ve done something rather fine,” said Wilkins, shaking his hand. “The rebuff doesn’t matter. What counts is that you put the ball fair and square into their arena
and
they know it. One of you girls should get this man a drink.”

“Wilkins, I want to talk to you,” said Lanark.

“Yes, the sooner the better. There are one or two unexpected developments we must discuss. Shall we breakfast together first thing tomorrow at the delegates’ repose village?”

“Certainly.”

“You don’t mind rising early?”

“Not it all.”

“Good. I’ll buzz your room before seven, then.”

“Please, sir,” said Solveig very meekly, “please can I have the dance you promised me earlier, please, please?”

“In a wee while, dearie. Let me finish my drink first,” said Lanark kindly.

As he sipped a second white rainbow he looked out at the starry field of the sky where rockets bloomed, tinting thousands of upturned faces in the stadium beneath with purple, white, orange and greenish-gold. He was leaning on a rail guarding the drop to the lowest and narrowest floor and he also saw in the window a dark distinct reflection of himself, the captainish centre of a company standing easily in midair under the flashing fireworks and above the crowd. He nodded down at the people below and thought, ‘Tomorrow I will defend you all.’ He brought the cigar to his lips, turned round and carefully surveyed the gallery. His group was still the largest, though Wilkins had left it and was moving among the others. Lanark even saw him pause for a word with Multan. He thought tolerantly, ‘I must keep my eye on that fellow; he’s a fox, an ecological fox of the first water…. Fox? Ecological? First water? I don’t usually think in words like these but they seem appropriate here. Yes, tomorrow I will talk to Wilkins. There will be some shrewd bargaining but no compromise. No compromise. I’ll play it by ear. I’ll play it hot, gelid, dirty, depending on how he deals the deck. I’ll cash every therm in my suit, and then some, but no compromise! If a region’s to be thrown to the crocodiles it won’t be Unthank; upon that I am resolved. Monboddo is afraid of me: understandably. The hell with the standings, the top rung is up for grabs! All bets are off, the odds are cancelled, it’s anybody’s ballgame! The horses are all drugged, the track is glass … what is happening to my vocabulary? This cigar is intoxicating. Good thing I noticed: stub it out, stay calm, sip your drink…. I know whythis is called a white rainbow. It’s clear like water, yet on the tongue it spreads out into all the tastes on an artist’s peacock palette (badly put). It contains as many tastes as there are colours in the mother of pearly stuff lining an abalone seashell. Poetry. Shall I tell the other Joy? She mixed this drink, she’s standing over there, what a clever attractive little … I used to prefer big women but … oh, if my hand were between her small …’

“I am pleased to encounter you, sir,” said a quiet, bald man with rimless spectacles, shaking Lanark’s hand. “Kodac, Timon Kodac of South Atlantis. God knows why they chose me as a delegate. My true field is research, for Algolagnics. But it’s nice to visit other continents. My mother’s people hailed from Unthank.”

Lanark nodded and thought, ‘She is smiling at me just as Libby smiled. I thought Libby meant to seduce me but she had a boyfriend. All young attractive healthy girls have young attractive healthy boyfriends. I’ve heard that young girls prefer older men, but I’ve never seen it.’

“That’s a very good woman you’ve got,” said Kodac.

Lanark stared at him. Kodac said, “That little old professor. What’s her name? Schtzngrm. That was quite a report she sent to the council. You know, the preliminary report with the Permian deep pollution samples. It made us sit up, in Algolagnics, when we got word of it. Oh, yes, we have our sources.”

Lanark smiled, nodded and sipped. He thought, ‘Surely her face is making me smile at her? It’s so merry and intelligent, so quick to be surprised and amused. I will smile, but not much. A leader should be an audience, not a performer. His crowd should feel he is noticing, assessing, appreciating them, but from a position of strength.’

Kodac said, “Of course what interests us is her
final
report, giving the locations. I believe you are seeing Wilkins tomorrow. He’s a very, very shrewd man, best man the council owns. We have a lot of respect for Wilkins at Algolagnics. So far we’ve always been one or two paces ahead of him, but it’s been a hassle. By the way, a lot of us in Algolagnics feel Unthank has had a pretty raw deal from the council. It doesn’t surprise us that you and Sludden are taking an independent line. More power to you! And speaking unofficially, I know these are also the sentiments of the Tunc-Quidative and Quantum-Cortexin clusters. But I suppose they’ve told you that?”

Lanark nodded gravely and thought, ‘If she knew what her odd, thoroughly alive young face makes me feel, and how I envy the seam in her jeans which goes down over her stomach and over the little mound between the thighs and through and up between behind … if she knew how much less than a leader I am, I would bore her. I must give her the same smile I am giving this bald man who is hinting something: the knowing smile which tells them I know more than they know I know.’

“Hey!” said Kodac chuckling. “See that little tulip watching you over there? Bet you she would go like a bomb. Yes, I’m sure Wilkins is just wild to get his hands on that final report of yours. If he knows it exists. Does he?”

Lanark stared at him. Kodac laughed, patted Lanark’s shoulder and said, “A straight question at last, eh? I’m sorry, but though government and industry are interlocking we ain’t
fully
interlocking. Not yet. We support each other because order is Heaven’s first law, but remember Costaguana? Remember when the Occidental Republic split off from it? That could never have happened without our support. Of course we weren’t called Algolagnics then; that was in the time of the old Material Interests Corporation. Boy, what a gang of pirates
they
were! And the mineral was silver, which doesn’t thrust as hard as a certain other mineral, you follow?”