The Plains: Text Classics

by Gerald Murnane

7TH LANDOWNER: (Swings his legs over the side of the stretcher; strides to the bar and pours himself a whisky; begins talking as though he has missed none of the conversation so far.) A man can know his place and yet never try to reach it. But what does our petitioner think? The man turned towards me but avoided my eyes. The others stopped talking and refilled their glasses. From somewhere beyond the half-open door a shaft of rich light entered the room. A few mirrors, fortuitously placed, and perhaps a small, neglected window whose blind had been left undrawn, might have marked the route of the afternoon sunlight through the dim halls. The amber ray rested on the floor between the men, and some of them shifted their stools to make room for it. Then I stepped towards the centre of the bar to speak and the light was gone from among them. But for as long as I stood and talked, I felt myself distinguished by the sign of afternoon on my back.