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A Novel
by Richard Flanagan
The talk had swung to the mandatory detention of
refugees. At first Richard Cody felt compelledalbeit in a
qualified mannerto agree that the governments position
was less than praiseworthy, but the graphic designer didnt
seem to be that interested. Then Richard Cody began putting
the other side of the argument, at first tentatively,
quoting several sources high up in Foreign Affairs.
And when the graphic designer seemed no more interested
than before, Richard Cody began inflating several
stories he had heard of dangerous Islamic types who had
been allowed into the country, playing up a few well-known
names with whom he had, if hed been honest, only the
vaguest connection.
And though the graphic designer still appeared no more
interested than before, slowly the table began to come round
to Richard Codys views, which seemed like so much common
sense from a man who, as a prominent journalist, really
had seen something of the world.
I mean, Richard Cody said, its not as if we are Nazi
Germany.
Thats what I keep saying,Ray, said the Labor Party senator,
who had aioli from the crayfish smeared on his jowl and
Richard Cody mixed up with Ray Martin.Were Australia.
Others murmured their agreement with the senator.
There could be no doubt about it; they were Australia and,
looking around Katie Morettis grand dining room and its
new furniture and its splendid view, it was readily apparent
to them all what Australia was, and all of Australia was as
splendid as it was obviousit was them! It was their success
and their prosperity; their mansions and apartments! Their
Porsches and Bentleys and Beemers! Their getaways in the
tropics! Their yachts and motorcruisers! Their influence, their
privileges, their certainties! Who could doubt it? Who would
question it? Who would wish to change any of it?
The graphic designer finally seemed engaged; she looked
Richard Codys way, smiled briefly, and leant forward.
Richard Cody was relieved. He smiled back.
Say what you like about the Nazis, the graphic designer
said, and Richard Cody noticed that she had an attractive
dark mole on her left breast,but they understood design.
She leant further forward as she spoke, and a heavily ornamented
crucifix she wore teetered out from the cleavage that
Richard Cody found so appealing, then tumbled out of the
pocket between the black lace and her breasts.
Look at that SS uniform, said the graphic designer.
Now, thats sex in black jodhpurs.
For a moment no one spoke. The crucifix swayed like a
talisman in front of them all, beating slow time in that empty
space, and the more the crucifix swung, the more Richard
Cody looked, and the more he looked the more he imagined
her breasts underneath and what her nipples would be like
erect, and the more he felt compelled to agree.The swastika
was great branding, he said, quickly adding that it wasnt a
brand he liked, but that wasnt the point.
Richard Cody was draining another glass of the 97
Moorilla Pinot Noir when the graphic designer got up to
leave, and though everyone protested, none more so than
Richard Cody, she was going, and going with her was her
black lace and her swaying, taunting crucifix and her blackmoled
breast and her now unknowable nipples. Richard
Cody realised that all through that impossibly long lunch
she had been bored with them all, not least him.
Richard Cody refilled his glass, determined to make the
most of the day, but once the graphic designer was gone so
too was whatever small spark had sputtered through the
afternoon.
The table talk slowed, then moved on to how terrorism
when it happened in other countrieshad such a positive
effect on Australian real estate prices. Richard Cody found
himself staring out at the harbour.
Excerpted from The Unknown Terrorist by Richard Flanagan © 2007 by Richard Flanagan. Excerpted by permission of Grove Atlantic. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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