Read Lanark: a life in 4 books for Free Online Page B

magazine. Rima nodded to him and continued reading but the rest looked surprised and said, “Where have you been?” “What have you been doing?” “We thought you’d disappeared.”
    Lanark dropped the manuscript on the table beside Sludden who raised an eyebrow and asked what it was.
    “Something I’ve written. I took your advice.”
    There was no room near Rima so Lanark squeezed onto the sofa between Sludden and Frankie. Sludden read a couple of pages, flicked through the rest, then handed it back saying, “It’s dead. Perhaps you’re more naturally a painter. I mean, it’s good that you’ve tried to do something, I’m pleased about that, but what you’ve written there is dead.”
    Lanark blushed with anger. He could think of nothing to say which wouldn’t show injured vanity so he pressed his lips into a smile. Sludden said, “I’m afraid I’ve hurt you.”
    “No no. But I wish you had read it carefully before judging.”
    “No need. Two pages showed me that your prose is totally flat, never departing an inch from your dull experiences. If a writer doesn’t enjoy words for their own sake how can the reader enjoy them?”
    “But I do enjoy words—some words—for their own sake! Words like river, and dawn, and daylight, and time. These words seem much richer than our experiences of the things they represent—”
    Frankie cried out, “Sludden, you’re a sadist, leave the mystery man alone! Don’t bother about Sludden, mystery man. He thinks he’s God but he can only prove it by torturing people. Isn’t that true, Sludden?”
    Sludden raised an imaginary hat from his head and bowed, but her wrath was too impressive to seem a joke. She stood up saying, “Anyway, McPake’s taking us to this party, so come on, everybody. Rima, you don’t care about fashion, give up pretending to read that magazine and look after Lanark. Try to stop rotten things happening to him. I can’t do it.”
    She walked off toward the stairs. Toal, McPake and Sludden grinned at each other and pretended to wipe sweat from their brows. Everybody stood up. Sludden said to Lanark, “Come along, it might be fun.”
    “Who’s giving this party?”
    “Gay and I. It’s our engagement party. But the house belongs to a friend and the army is providing the booze.”
    “Why?”
    “Prestige reasons. The army likes to be liked.”
    Outside the cinema a steel-grey truck was parked beside the pavement and they scrambled through the sliding door into the narrow seats. Only McPake, in gauntlets and fleece-lined jacket, was dressed for the intense cold. He gripped the wheel and the truck charged smoothly forward. Sludden hugged Gay to his side with one arm and Frankie with the other. Frankie resisted fretfully until he said, “I need you both, girls. This frost is killing me.”
    Toal and Nan embraced in the seat behind but Rima sat so forbiddingly erect that Lanark (who was beside her) folded arms on chest and clenched his teeth to stop their chattering. Gradually the heater raised a comfortable temperature. The truck nearly had the streets to itself but when passing a tramcar or pedestrian McPake sounded a clanging blast on the horn. Lanark said, “Rima, will there be dancing at this party?”
    “I suppose so.”
    “Will you dance with me?”
    “I suppose so. I’m not selective.”
    Lanark clenched his fist and bit hard on the thumb knuckle. After a moment he felt his arm touched. She said quietly, “I’m sorry I said that—I didn’t mean to be nasty. I’m more nervous than I seem.”
    He almost laughed with relief and drew her gently against him saying, “I’m glad you told me. I was deciding to leave the truck and walk home.”
    “You’re too serious.”
    The truck travelled down broad streets between overgrown gardens, then entered a drive which curved through a shubbery. The headlights made points of frost glisten among the dark leaves. McPake sounded his horn and stopped before a large mansion and everyone got