Stream System

by Gerald Murnane

  On most days of their holidays at Little River the owner of the Volkswagen sedan could have driven his car to Melbourne and could have been alone with his girlfriend in the house at the corner of St Kilda Road and Albert Road while her mother was at work in the city of Melbourne. On some days the man could have driven his Volkswagen sedan to Melbourne and could then have brought his girlfriend back to Little River and could have been alone with her in his caravan in the caravan park.

  While the owner of the Volkswagen sedan was travelling to or from Melbourne or was alone with his girlfriend in Melbourne or at Little River, the other man could have walked each day along the west bank of Little River and away from the caravan park. When this man had walked far away from the road and the railway line he could have stepped between a few trees and then down the bank of the river and towards the water. Any person looking out at that moment from a motor car or from a carriage of a railway train and believing that he or she was surrounded only by plains of grass and a few scattered trees might have supposed that the man far out on the plains had knelt or had lain down in the grass between a few trees, but the man would have been approaching a clump of rushes or a pool of water overhung by leaves or a bed of stones with shallow water trickling between them.

  The passenger in the Volkswagen sedan had often looked at pages of his atlas of the world showing maps of regions of the United States of America. The page that he had looked at most often was headed Great Plains. Whenever he had looked at this page he had seen in his mind plains of grass reaching to the horizons of his mind. When the Volkswagen sedan had been travelling on the plains between Werribee and Little River and when the driver had said that the mother of his girlfriend had travelled with her daughter towards Chicago, the passenger had seen in his mind the war bride and her infant daughter travelling across plains of grass that reached to the horizons of his mind. But when the Volkswagen sedan had almost reached Little River the passenger had heard that the young woman and her daughter had gone on travelling until they had reached the State of Minnesota.

  Whenever the passenger in the Volkswagen sedan had looked at the page of his atlas headed Great Plains he had seen from the sides of his eyes that the upper right-hand corner of the page was occupied by part of the State of Minnesota. Whenever the passenger had seen this from the sides of his eyes he had seen far out on the plains of grass in his mind a few trees.

  While the Volkswagen sedan had been crossing the bridge over Little River, the driver had told the passenger that the war bride and her infant daughter had travelled across the State of Minnesota and had rejoined the American husband of the war bride in the city of Duluth.

  Whenever the passenger in the Volkswagen sedan had been looking at the page of his atlas headed Great Plains and had seen far out on the plains of grass in his mind a few trees, he had tried not to notice between the trees the pages of his atlas following the page headed Great Plains. Whenever he had not been able to avoid noticing in his mind the pages following the page in front of his eyes, he had noticed between the trees in his mind the pale-blue water that he had always seen in his mind whenever he had looked at the page of his atlas headed Great Lakes. Whenever he had seen the pale-blue water in his mind he had felt a cold wind blowing from the north-east in his mind and making waves in the pale-blue water and he had heard in his mind the slapping sounds of waves breaking on a shore in his mind.

  After the man who is the chief character in this story had travelled over Little River and after he had heard, during the few moments when he had been looking at a clump of rushes or at a pool of water overhung by leaves or at a bed of stones with shallow water trickling between them, that the war bride had rejoined her American husband and had lived with him in the city of Duluth in the state of Minnesota, the man had seen, instead of the image of a clump of rushes or of a pool overhung by leaves or of a bed of stones with shallow water trickling between them that had appeared in his mind whenever he had played in his mind the last part of Water of the Plains, a few trees at the edge of his mind and between the trees the pale-blue water of the Great Lakes in his mind.

  * * *

  The man who was the new owner of six bottles of beer had put his bottles in the refrigerator in the kitchen of the holiday flat. He and his best friend had then lain on their beds and had slept for eight hours. When the two men had wakened, the owner of the beer had taken a bottle of beer and a bottle-opener and two glasses out onto the balcony. The time was about five o’clock and the afternoon was hot and bright. The owner of the beer had invited his best friend to drink beer and to go on talking about his girlfriend and her mother and the United States of America.

  The best friend of the owner of the beer had said that he would not drink or talk at that time because he wanted to drive his car into the main street of Lorne and to telephone his girlfriend and to buy some fish and chips.

  The owner of the beer had then given his best friend money and had asked him to buy two parcels of fish and chips. The owner of the Volkswagen sedan had then driven his car away from the holiday flats while the owner of the beer had opened the bottle in front of him and had poured some beer into a glass and had tasted the beer.

  * * *

  During the years from 1956 to 1958, when the two men in this story had been young men aged from eighteen to twenty years, they had met beside the lake at Caulfield Racecourse on every fine Sunday morning. In those years the young man who later noticed the girl on the ice at St Moritz was a student for the degree of bachelor of arts with honours in the school of history at the University of Melbourne while the other young man was first a student in the course for the trained primary teacher’s certificate at a teachers’ college conducted by the Education Department of Victoria in a south-eastern suburb of Melbourne and then a teacher in a primary school in an outer south-eastern suburb of Melbourne.

  Each young man had told the other early in 1956 that he no longer believed in the teachings of the Catholic Church, but the young man who was a student at the university still lived with his parents and was afraid to tell them that he no longer wanted to go to mass on Sundays, while the other young man still lived with his mother, who was a widow, and was afraid to tell her that he no longer wanted to go to mass on Sundays. On each Sunday morning from early 1956 until the end of 1958 each young man would ride his bicycle away from his parents’ house as though he intended to go to mass. If rain was falling the two young men would meet in a milk bar in a street near the Caulfield Racecourse and would sit on stools and would talk about football or racing while customers came and went. If the weather was fine the two young men would meet beside the lake and would sit on the grass and would talk about young women while they stared at the water.

  On every fine Sunday morning the young men had talked about some of the young women that they had seen during the previous week at the university or at the teachers’ college or at the primary school. On fine Sunday mornings during the early months of each year each young man would tell the other that they would rent a holiday house at Lorne during the last two weeks of that year and the first week of the following year and would approach young women on the beach and in the streets of Lorne, but during the week before Christmas Day in each year the young man who is the chief character of this story would leave Melbourne and would travel alone by railway train to the district of Allansford in order to spend three weeks with the unmarried brother and the unmarried sisters of his father. During the same week the parents of the other young man would leave Melbourne for Hepburn Springs while their son stayed with his older sister in their parents’ house in the suburb adjoining the southern boundary of Caulfield Racecourse.

  During the years from 1956 to 1958 neither of the young men in this story had a girlfriend. The young man who was a student at a university had never asked any girl or young woman to go with him to any of the places where young persons went together when they were on the way to becoming girlfriend and boyfriend. The other young man had asked one young woman to go w
ith him to a picture theatre but she had told him that she could not go.

  The young man who had once asked a young woman to go with him to a picture theatre had never been alone with a girl or a young woman. The other young man had been alone with a young woman among trees near Spring Creek at Hepburn Springs during the last hour of daylight on an evening during the last week of 1955.

  The chief character of this story had asked a young woman to go with him to a picture theatre in May 1957, when he had been aged nineteen years. The young man had first met the young woman in February 1957, when he and she had been in the same class at a teachers’ college. The young man had fallen in love with the young woman when he had first met her but he had tried not to appear to have fallen in love.

  The chief character of this story had fallen in love continually with girls and with young women since he had first been a schoolboy in the second-last year of the Second World War, but in February 1957 he had no longer believed that most young men fell in love continually with young women and that most young women consented to be loved by young men. By February 1957 he had come to believe that most young men of the south-eastern suburbs of Melbourne took care not to fall in love with young women and that most young women approved of the young men’s taking care.

  The chief character of this story had decided in February 1957 to ask the young woman that he had fallen in love with to go with him to a picture theatre but he had not wanted to ask her as though he had fallen in love with her and had been preparing for some time to ask her. He had decided to ask the young woman on a Thursday in the future to go with him to a picture theatre on the Friday evening following the Thursday. He wanted the young woman to suppose on the Thursday in the future that he had decided only on that day to go to a picture theatre on the following evening and to take a young woman as a companion.

  During the four months while the chief character of this story was preparing to ask the young woman to go with him to a picture theatre in the future, he had decided soon after he had wakened on every Thursday morning that he would ask the young woman on that day. As soon as he had decided this the young man had become afraid that he was about to vomit. Instead of eating breakfast on each of those Thursday mornings, the young man had drunk a few mouthfuls of black tea. Yet even with only a few mouthfuls of black tea in his stomach, the young man had been afraid that he was about to vomit while he travelled in the electric train from the suburb where he lived to the suburb where the teachers’ college was.

  As soon as the young man had stepped inside the compartment of the train on each Thursday morning, he had become afraid that he would vomit on the clothes of the men and women crowded around him. After one or two minutes the young man had become so afraid that he had decided not to ask the young woman on that Thursday morning to go with him to a picture theatre. After the young man had decided this, he had no longer been afraid that he would vomit in the compartment of the train on that Thursday morning but he had been afraid that he would vomit in the train on the following Thursday morning after he had decided to approach the young woman on that day.

  Between Glenhuntly station and Caulfield station the train passed close beside the eastern boundary of Caulfield Racecourse. On each Thursday morning, during the time when the young man was no longer afraid of vomiting on that morning but was afraid of vomiting on the following Thursday morning, he had stared through the window of the compartment at the high dark-green fence along the boundary of the racecourse and had seen in his mind the small lake surrounded by grass near the centre of the racecourse where he would sit with his best friend on the next fine Sunday morning. The young man had then heard in his mind himself confiding to his best friend beside the lake that he, the chief character of this story, no longer intended to ask the young woman at the teachers’ college to go with him to a picture theatre in the future. As soon as the young man in the compartment of the train had heard these words in his mind he had no longer been afraid that he would vomit in the train on any Thursday morning in the future but he had been afraid that he would vomit on the beach or in the streets of Lorne during his holidays in the following summer.

  While the young man in the train had been afraid that he would vomit at Lorne in the following summer, he had seen in his mind a body of water surrounded by grassy paddocks in the district of Allansford in the south-west of Victoria. The body of water was called Lake Gillear although it had always seemed to the young man a large swamp rather than a lake. The young man and the youngest brother of his father had walked beside the body of water on one afternoon of every January since January 1950, when the young man had been a boy aged eleven years and eight months and when his father had been dead for four months. As soon as the young man in the train had seen Lake Gillear in his mind he had seen in his mind also himself and his unmarried uncle walking beside the water during January of the following year. When the young man had seen this in his mind he had no longer been afraid that he would vomit anywhere in the future.

  * * *

  On a fine Sunday morning in May 1956, beside the lake at Caulfield Racecourse, the chief character of this story had confided to his best friend that he had asked a young woman at the teachers’ college on the previous Thursday to go with him to a picture theatre on the Friday following the Thursday but that the young woman had said that she could not go. The chief character of this story had said beside the lake that he had been afraid while he had approached the young woman that he would vomit on the concrete path where he and she were walking. He had then said beside the lake that he had kept himself from vomiting on the path while he had approached the young woman by hearing in his mind the young woman saying that she could not go with him to a picture theatre.

  The chief character of this story had said beside the lake that he believed the young woman had not wanted to go with him to a picture theatre because he had seemed to have fallen in love with her. He had then said beside the lake that he believed he had seemed to have fallen in love with the young woman while he had spoken to her because he had seen in his mind while he had spoken to her himself sitting beside the young woman in a picture theatre and vomiting between his knees onto the floor of the picture theatre.

  * * *

  During 1959, when the two men in this story had each become twenty-one years of age, they had no longer met beside the lake at Caulfield Racecourse. During that year the chief character of this story had left his mother’s house and had become a boarder in a boarding house in the suburb of Malvern, about one mile north-west of Caulfield Racecourse, and had no longer had to pretend to be going to mass on Sunday mornings. During that year also the other young man had told his parents that he no longer believed in the teachings of the Catholic Church and had no longer had to pretend to be going to mass on Sunday mornings. During that year the two men met each week on Saturday evening at St Moritz ice-skating rink. On each Saturday evening the two men skated on the ice and looked at the girls and the young women around them, or the two men sat beside the ice while the man who still lived with his parents talked with some of the men who played ice hockey with him on Friday evenings.

  During 1960, when the two men in this story had each become twenty-two years of age, they had no longer met at weekends or at other times. During that year the man who had noticed the girl with the blonde hair that looked almost white skating on the ice on a Saturday evening in March of the previous year had visited his girlfriend on every Friday and Saturday and Sunday and sometimes on other days as well. Sometimes the man stayed for an afternoon or an evening in the house at the corner of St Kilda Road and Albert Road, watching American films and other programs on a television set or talking to his girlfriend or her mother; sometimes the man took his girlfriend to a picture theatre; sometimes the man and his girlfriend skated together on the ice at St Moritz; sometimes the man played ice-hockey at St Moritz while his girlfriend sat beside the ice and watched him; sometimes the man took his girlfriend in his Volkswagen sedan to the beach beside the Low
er Esplanade at St Kilda or to some other beach beside Port Phillip Bay. During that year also the other man had become a boarder in the house of a widow aged about forty years in the suburb of Elsternwick, about one mile west of Caulfield Racecourse.

  The man who is the chief character of this story had thought when he had left his mother’s house early in 1959 that he would be free to live as he pleased in the boarding house in Malvern. He had been free in the boarding house not to go to mass on Sunday mornings, but at other times some of the men in the boarding house had knocked on his door and had pressed him to play cards when he had wanted to read and to write in his room.

  The man had thought when he had left the boarding house early in 1960 that he would be free to live as he pleased in the widow’s house in Elsternwick. He had been free not to go to mass on Sunday morning in the widow’s house, but on most evenings when he had gone to his room after the evening meal he had not been free to read and to write as he had wanted to do.

  The man’s room was next to the lounge room, and during the first two weeks after he had moved into the widow’s house the man had heard through the wall while he had been trying to read or to write sounds of music or of men and women shouting at one another or of guns being fired or of cars being driven fast. On every evening during the third and the fourth weeks after he had moved into the widow’s house the man had heard, after the sounds from the other side of his wall had been especially loud, the sound of the widow’s knocking on the door of his room. After the man had opened his door the widow had told him that something especially interesting was happening on television and that she had thought he might like to watch it.