'I must go back to dinner now,' he said.' I'll come back for the plates
tomorrow.'
Jacques went to the door and picked up the lantern where he had left it on
the floor because Olivier was not allowed a flame. He turned in the rain outside
and bent his hand over the half-door to slide the bolt. In the light of the
lantern he could just make out the shape of his brother in the darkness. He sat
with his back to the wall, his legs spread wide in front of him, his head
nodding expressively as he reasoned with an unseen companion. Two hens fluttered
on the rafter above him. Between the flame outside and the square of darkness
within, were the pinpoints of the tumbling drizzle. Beyond them, Olivier looked
like a prophet from the Old Testament, his hair uncut for more than a year, his
dark beard reaching almost to his chest. The piled bales of straw behind him
made a ragged arch of steps, like the burial place of a minor potentate, hoping
to be gathered up more easily to heaven.Two bridles dangled from a wooden post
like effigies in the church of an obscure religion; and the function of such
things seemed altered, thought Jacques, as though Olivier's experience had
somehow reset the surroundings in the light of its own integrity.
On the other side of the stable wall, the pig grunted and moaned in its sty;
Jacques turned from the door, his eyes wet, aware of something absent from his
understanding of the world as he hurried back towards his father's house.
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