“I’ll be better soon.”
“I wonder if I can forgive you for breaking my wings. It’s nice to be human again but they were beautiful wings.” She seemed to fall asleep and he passed into a kind of stupor.
Later she kissed his ear and murmured, “Should we try to leave?”
He roused himself and said, “Dr. Lanark is ready to leave.” The ignition chamber said sternly, “You are allowed to leave but you are no longer a doctor.”
A line appeared dividing the milky dome in two and each half sunk into the floor and left them squatting in a small room with an entrance on each side. Down the low tunnel from the studio ran, stooping, a nurse with a broom, followed by a stretcher pushed by another nurse. The first swept the metal shards to one side while the second brought a plain white nightshirt to Rima and helped her on with it, and all the time they laughed and chattered excitedly.
“Poor Bushy brows looks stunned.”
“He’s found a girlfriend but he needs a wash.”
“Can you stand up, dear? Lie on the stretcher and we’ll take you gently to a lovely, lonely ward together.”
“The Professor is cross with you, Bushybrows. He says you’ve been sabotaging the expansion project.”
They wheeled Rima down the corridor to the ward and Lanark followed. The blind was raised. There was a deep green sky outside with a couple of stars in it and some feathery bloody clouds. The nurses fetched towels and basins and washed Rima in bed. Lanark took his dressing gown and undressed and bathed in the ward lavatory. When he returned the nurses were putting screens round the bed. He said, “Leave an opening so that we can see the window, please.”
They did that, then one patted his cheek, the other said, “Have fun, Bushybrows,” and both pressed fingers to their lips and tiptoed out with exaggerated stealth. Lanark went to the bed. Rima seemed to be sleeping. He slid gently in beside her and fell asleep himself.
Someone seemed to be shining a torch on his eyes so he opened them. The ward was dark but the window through the arches was filled with stars. A nearly full moon had risen, and its clear wan light shone upon the bed and Rima, who leaned on an elbow watching him with a grave small smile, nibbling the tip of a lock of silvery-gold hair. She said, “Were you the only one who could help me, Lanark? Nobody special? Nobody splendid?”
“Have you known many special men?”
“None who weren’t pretenders. But I used to have fantastic dreams.”
“I can imagine nobody more splendid than you.”
“Take care, that makes me stronger. I may not find a better man but I’ll always be able to imagine one.”
“But that makes me stronger.”
“Don’t talk.”
They did not sleep again until he had explored with his body all the sweet crevices of her body.
CHAPTER 11.
Diet and Oracle
They lay in bed for three days for she was weak and he liked to be near her. The window showed azure skies with distant birds in them or sunlit or sullen cloudscapes changing before a wind. Lanark read
The Holy War
and looked at Rima, who slept a lot. He had been near beauty before but had never expected to touch and hold it, and being held and caressed by it was so luxurious that it made his insides feel golden. That she, delighting him, delighted in him was a reflection multiplying delight until it shone round them like a halo. Her clear lovely body glowed, even in sweat, as if the silver once containing her was softly breathing under the skin. When he told her this she smiled sadly and said, “Yes, I suppose good looks and money are alike. They make us confident but we distrust folk who want us for them.”
“Don’t you trust me? I said that as a compliment.”
She stroked his cheek with a fingertip and said absently, “I like making you happy, but how can I trust someone I don’t understand?”
He stared, astonished, and cried, “We love each other! What could understanding add to that? We can’t understand ourselves, how can we understand others? Only maps and mathematics exist to be understood and we’re solider than those, I hope.”
“Take care! You’re getting clever.”
“Rima, which of us came out when that shell cracked? My thoughts are bigger than they used to be, I’m afraid of them. Hold me.”
“I like big men. Hold me instead.”
He refused all food on the first day, saying he had overeaten the day before. When the nurse brought breakfast next morning he cut his pale sausage into thin slices while Rima ate, then tried to hide them by laying her empty plate on his. She said, “Why are you doing that? Are you sick?”
“I’ll be all right in a day or two.”
“We’d better get a doctor.”
“I don’t need one. I’ll be fine when we leave the institute.”
“You’re being mysterious about something. What are you hiding?”
She interrogated him for an hour and a half, pleading, threatening, and at last tugging his hair in exasperation. He fought back and the tussle grew amorous. Later, as he lay quiet and unthinking, she murmured, “Still, you’d better tell me.”
He saw the argument like a ponderous boulder about to roll over him again. He said, “I’ll tell you if you promise to keep eating.”
“Of course I’ll keep eating.”
“You know that the institute gets light and heat from people with our kind of sickness. Well, the food is made from people with a different sickness.”
He watched her anxiously, dreading an outcry. She looked thoughtful and said, “These people aren’t deliberately killed, are they?”
He remembered the catalyst but decided not to mention her.
“No, but the staff don’t cure people as often as they pretend.”
“But without the staff they would go bad anyway.”
“Perhaps. I suppose so.”
“Anyway, if I stop eating I’ll die, and nobody extra is going to be cured. Why shouldn’t I eat?”
“I want you to eat! I made you promise to eat.”
“Why won’t you eat?”
“No logical reason. I have instincts, prejudices, that stop me. But don’t worry, I’m fit enough to go without food for two or three days.”
She glared at him and cried, “I’m not!”
“But I want you to eat.”
“And then you’ll despise me.”
Lanark grew confused and uneasy. He said, “No, I won’t exactly
despise
you ….”
She turned her back to him and said coldly, “Right. I won’t eat either.”
She neither moved nor spoke for many hours, and when the nurse brought lunch she ordered it away.
That afternoon the window showed pearly fog and a tiny hard white sun. He could sense that Rima wasn’t sleeping.
He tried to embrace her but she shook him off. He said abruptly, “You know that if I eat this food you’ll have defeated me in a way I’ll always remember?”
She said nothing. He took the radio and said to it “Dr. Lanark needs to speak to Dr. Munro.”
“I’m sorry. There is no doctor called Lanark on the staff register.”
“But Dr. Munro delivered me. I desperately need his advice.” “I’m sorry Mr. Lanark, the doctor is off duty just now, but we’ll give him your message first thing after breakfast tomorrow.”
Lanark put down the radio and bit his thumb knuckle. When the nurse brought the evening meal he tried to persuade Rima to eat without him, but again she told the nurse to remove it. He rose and walked up and down the ward for a long time, then returned to bed, lay down wearily with his back to her and said, “Don’t worry. I’ll eat.”
A little later her arm slid round his waist. She kissed him comfortingly between the shoulderblades, pressed her breasts to his back, stomach to his bum, and knees to the backs of his knees. They lay like that till morning, fitted together like a couple of spoons in a drawer.
They were wakened by the nurse, who tidied the bed and helped Rima wash. Lanark shaved and washed in the lavatory, feeling relieved and happy. He had been foodless for two days and ached with hunger and was glad to have a reason for breaking his promise to himself, especially as Rima was not triumphant about it but gentle and grateful. When he returned to the freshly made bed the nurse brought in breakfast and placed on his knees a plate holding a small transparent pink dome. He stared at it, gripped the knife and fork, then looked at Rima, who waited, watching steadily. Feeling cold and lonely he handed the plate back, saying, “I can’t. I meant to eat, I want to, but I can’t.”
Rima handed back her own plate, then turned away from him and started weeping. The nurse said, “You’re nothing but a couple of babies. How can you get well if you won’t eat?”
She pushed the trolley out and the radio
plin-plonged
. Lanark switched it on. Munro said briskly, “Are you there, Lanark?”
“Yes. When can we leave, Dr. Munro?”
“As soon as your partner is strong enough to walk. Four days of rest and proper feeding will put her on her feet. Do I hear someone sobbing?”
“Yes, you see we can’t eat the food. Or I can’t and she won’t.”
“That’s unfortunate. What are you going to do?”
“Is there no way of getting decent food?”
Munro sounded angry.
“Why should you demand a superior diet to the rest of us? The Lord Director eats nothing better. As I told you, the institute is isolated.”
“Yet a certain creature is sending in tons of expensive machinery.”
“That’s different, that is for the expansion project. Stop talking about what you don’t understand. If you and your partner want to leave you must eat what you’re given and not fight the current.”
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.” Noakes shook his head and sighed.
“Ah, it could be easily destroyed if it was a simple murder machine. But it is like all machines, it profits those who own it, and nowadays many sections are owned by gentle, powerless people who don’t know they are cannibals and wouldn’t believe if you told them. It is also amazingly tolerant of anyone it considers human, and cures more people than you realize. Even the societies who denounce it would (most of them) collapse if it vanished, for it is an important source of knowledge and energy. That is why the director of the institute is also president of the council, though two thirds of the council detest him.”