Published: 20 Mar 2023

Chapter 16

Morning comes early in the Queensland Tropics, with every bird conceivable in full song at the first glimpse of eastern light and soon after the sun arrives with the sting of a paper wasp and humidity akin to that of warm bathwater.

There had been rain during the night but had unexpectedly moved further west at sunrise, bringing out warm sun that steamed the camp site as if it was a bubbling cooking pot. Chip was obviously on military time, up long before Owen, with bacon and beans in the pan.

Soon the aroma of cooking brought Owen’s response.

“You’re up early?” Owen stretches and yawns while enjoying the view of Chip’s naked body through the tent’s fly.

“It’s those damn birds don’t they ever sleep?”

“I can smell bacon.”

“That you can and breakfast is almost ready.”

“Bacon will be a change as we have rationing, if you can get it at all.” Owen admits.

“Yes, unlike military supplies.”

“I like what I see.”

“Join me.”

“I’m much too modest; I’ll pull on my shorts.”

“I hope I wasn’t too rough with you last night?”

“No, not at all, funny – ‘tho.”

“Funny you say?”

Owen pulls on his shorts and joins Chip as breakfast cooked on the spirit stove, “Yes that’s the word to describe what I was thinking. Six months back I would have run a mile, yet last night seemed natural.”

“I thought I may have gone too far for your first time,” Chip admits.

“I think I have been leading up to last night since the first time you visited the farm.”

“I had noticed you looking and felt there was a chance.”

“I was under the impression you were making eyes at Winnie.”

“I sort of tried not to give away the game but I believe Winnie may have cottoned onto me, she’s a smart chick your sister.”

“Now I understand some of the remarks she has been making.”

“Right grab a couple of tin plates and I’ll serve this lot.”

“Where did you get the spirit stove?”

“I borrowed it from the base.”

“That I could have done with when we were camping out in the scouts.”

“Likewise, hurry up with the plates, it’s starting to burn.” Chip turns off the heat and holds the pan for delivery to the plates.

With breakfast over and as no one was around, it was time for skinny-dipping into the lake’s refreshing water then to dry by lying about in the warm morning sun.

“You do realize what the hot sun is doing to me,” Chip says.

“No, what is it doing?”

Chip rolls to his back and laughs while pointing at his erect member.

“Also me.”

“Come on back to the tent and I’ll do something about it for you,” Chip takes Owen by the arm and leads him to the tent.

During the late morning Owen is seated by the lake staring into its dark water when Chip comes up from behind, “what are you thinking?” Chip asks and wraps his arms about Owen’s shoulders.

“Oddly I was lost somewhere deep down in the lake’s depths, probably if the truth’s known I was wondering if the part for the tractor has arrived.”

“We’re on a holiday no need for planes or farm machinery.”

“True but can we really control what we think?”

“I guess not.”

“Hey Chip have you a friend in the air force?”

“I have lots of buddies.”

“You know what I mean.”

“No, yet there would be by the law of averages many of likeminded but they, as I do, keep quiet and kill any urge, besides there is an old adage being you never get your meat where you get your bread.”

“It sort of makes sense but when you say likeminded, do you include yourself?”

“Do I have to spell it out Owen?”

“I guess not, although it is much the same with me and I also suppress such thoughts and refuse to give it a name; What about when you are home?”

“Nebraska? It is red-neck territory where many suggest if you aren’t married, or engaged by your eighteenth birthday then you must be a fag.”

“I hate that word,” Owen says.

“Hate it or not it is only a word and back home if someone is singled out as a fag, you soon learn to join in and treat them with equal disdain to save your own skin. It’s much the same in the air force.”

“So nothing goes on in the ranks?”

“Depends what you mean by nothing. It’s called horseplay although no touching, well not with hand but with words and humour and at times the banter can be quite erotic. There are stories, in the navy it’s the golden rivet and the army it’s the soggy biscuit.”

“What’s that?”

“A jack-off circle and last to cum has to eat the biscuit.”

“Do they do what I am thinking?”

“Probably.”

“Yuk.”

“I would think it is more in the talk than the happening and I think the game is in the jacking off and not the eating.”

“What about the air force?”

“Words Owen, simply words and on the occasion a new bloke will be held down and jacked off, or covered in boot polish or grease – or worse.”

“What could be worse than that?”

“One rookie had a tube of toothpaste squeezed up his arse but that was long ago when I first joined the army,” Chip releases a cheeky grin, “the air force is more sophisticated and subtle that that.”

“Was the rookie yourself?”

“Fortunately not.”

“And that is what you call horseplay?”

“Some call it initiation but as in the terminology used by your military and also in my opinion it’s more like bastardisation, yet since I’ve been in the service I’ve seen little of it.”

“Here it’s basically unspoken and as long as you don’t push it in people’s face, they mostly simply talk about you and leave you alone.”

“Have you been picked on Owen?”

“No never, I’ve seen it and ashamedly have joined with the teasing of others. I guess to avoid suspicion towards me.”

“I’ll tell you a story,” Chip says and appears to become distant beyond the tall trees, the lake’s water and the sound of birds.

He starts his narration:

“There were two guys who worked a farm about a mile or so from my parent’s property, in fact their property was up against the east boundary of my land but it was before I bought it and back then I was still at junior high school. The two mostly kept to themselves and in no way could be considered effeminate. The story spread they were fags and the whispering started. Men would spit on the ground as either passed, children were kept at distance and women tittered. Some shops were even reluctant to serve them and often they would need to drive to another town for their supplies rather than put up with the discrimination.”

“What happened?”

“I’m getting there but you won’t like it:”

Owen holds his quiet.

“It was winter and snow was heavy on the ground. No one had seen either of them for a week and it was decided by some of the caring locals, or more to point out of bios curiosity, they should visit their farm to discover either what they were up to, or what they may have been hiding. When what could only be considered a posse reached the house they found the two tied to chairs facing each other, their privates had been cut away and after being shot to the head each had the other’s privates stuffed into their mouth.”

“That’s horrific, was anyone charged for their murder?”

“Never and I have my doubts if it was even properly investigated.”

“That isn’t right,” Owen gasped

“That is what you have to put up with in red-neck territory and unfortunately I’ve also witnessed red-neck attitude in your country.”

“Do you think it will ever change?”

“I hope so but I have my doubts. Fear is a strong emotion and fear of anything that diverts from what is considered normal even more so.”

“Were they at it?”

“At it!” Chip laughs.

“You know what I mean.”

“Were they fags? That was never known and from what I came to understand, I have my doubts but as they say, where there’s smoke there must be fire, so some decided to snuff it out before it spread to their boys.”

“The most that happens here is mental treatment, although there were a couple of young blokes living together somewhere down south and the locals found out about them. They were charged for performing an obscene act and convicted.”

“Were they imprisoned?”

“For a while and the magistrate issued a decree as a condition of release, they were never to see each other again, stipulating they live at least a hundred miles apart.”

“Did the guys agree to that?” Chip asks.

“Not really, I believe they simply shifted from Queensland to Sydney where it was possible to simply disappear into the crowd and I believe there are places in a big city for people like that to congregate.

“People like that Owen?” Chip is teasing.

“You know what I mean but I’ve only heard of such places without knowing what goes on in them, although I can guess.”

“Are there such places up here?” Chip asks.

“I wouldn’t think so, besides if there were I’m sure the authorities would close them down in an instant. Why Chip, are you interested in searching them out.”

“I have visited such a place in San Francisco. I must admit they aren’t my scene as I am more the homebody, apple pie cooling in the window and the simple life kinda’ fella’.”

“The simple is all I’ve know. Skinny dipping in the farm’s dam is as close as I’ve been too daring,” Owen admits.

“On your own?”

“That would be telling.”

“Go on I won’t tell anyone,” Chip laughs.

“Actually it was with a school mate but it was years ago and we were only kids.”

“I agree that wouldn’t count. Do you still see your buddy?”

“Sometimes.”

“And?”

“No we don’t, although I believe he would like to.”

“I had a buddy while growing up but his family moved to Utah.”

“Skinny-dipping in the dam?” Owen laughs.

“I would say more you show me yours and I will show you mine and mutual tossing, nothing else but enough to give me an inkling where my future was heading.”

Owen laughs.

“What now Owen, have you another memory to share?”

“It is a memory of sorts only this time further back when I was all of six years old.”

“You did start young.”

“No nothing like that. I was hidden away in a corner of the equipment shed with a cousin and we were also doing show and tell when Jim caught us and pimped.”

“Pimped?”

“Told our mothers, we hid under the house and wouldn’t come out as mum and Aunty Betty threatened to cut our little pricks off.”

“It sounds like scary business.”

“Mum and Betty soon forgot the incident and if they didn’t make such a fuss over it, more than likely I would have forgotten about it. Like you it made me realize, even at such a young age, I was interested in boys. As for my cousin he was girl crazy and at fifteen had a neighbour’s girl in the family way, at sixteen he was given special dispensation to marry the girl. They have been hitched for more than three years now and have a kid with another on the way.”

“How did his family accept it?”

“Oddly in the circumstances quite well and there lays a conundrum.”

“Conundrum Owen, now that’s a big word.”

“I borrowed it from Gavin.”

“And what is the conundrum?”

“The boy becomes almost a hero while the girl is a slut.”

Chip laughs, “I’m afraid the world is full of conundrums and

contradictions. I guess we simply have to live with them.”

In the cool of the late afternoon it was time for a little exploring of the tracks through the rain forest of which the jeep made short work, managing fallen trees and boulders alike as if they were child’s play.

“I would love a jeep,” Owen suggests.

“If you wait until after the war, that is if it ever ends, they will be all but giving them away.”

“When do you think it will end?”

“There lies that proverbial length of string.”

“Huh!”

“You know, how long is a piece of string? It will end as all wars eventually do but I wouldn’t like to place a number on casualties. The Japs believe it is brave to die for the Emperor and it is shame to be captured, so they fall on their sword, or explode a grenade, as one of our lads come up to secure a prisoner and believe by dying they will be with their ancestors.”

“I don’t even believe in god,” Owen admitted.

“Did you know in New Guinea some natives, who have had none or little contact with us, build deities shaped like aircraft out of tree branches?”

“What good does that do?”

“As we drop supplies from aircraft to our troops, the natives think it is food from the gods and by building their wooden craft, it will attract a drop for them – we call it Cargo Cult.”

“That’s silly.”

“Silly maybe but even we so called sophisticated folk have silly beliefs, like crossing yourself for instance and not eating meat on Friday and a host of others. As for myself I was brought up a Baptist by a father who read the book at breakfast and often used it to literally bash sense into our heads. Now I’m like you I believe religion was invented to control the masses by reminding us of our thanatophobia.”

“Thanatophobia, what is that?”

“Fear of death and dying is the most of it.”

“I guess we all have our share of that, although at our age we think it is decades away therefore put it aside.”

“Possibly, yet many in battle soon take note and it is surprising how quickly a disbeliever comes to god when being fired upon, I guess it is like having a bet both ways.”

“What of you Chip?”

“Let’s say I hope I never have the misfortune.”

Early afternoon as the two were exploring the jungle tracks adjoining the lakes Owen makes a suggestion, “pull up just beyond that large grouping of tree, I want to show you something but it is quite some distance along a rough track.”

“I could do with stretching my legs. What is it?”

“You’ll see; watch out for leaches, the bush around here is infested with the little bloodsucking buggers.”

“We don’t have them in the states, although I’ve seen something similar in seawater in Hawaii.”

It was a somewhat arduous walk along a path that followed a small creek which Owen named as the headwater of the Barron River, then after some distance they came across a waterfall that with the recent rain was fast flowing and sending a cooling spray across the path they travelled.

“That’s Dinner Falls,” Owen describes.

“It is very pretty but how did it get its name?”

“That I don’t know. It’s not far now.”

Further going was most difficult as with the war few had made the trek for some time and the path overgrown, while having to avoid a number of stinging nettles. Eventually they reached Owen’s destination and cautiously approaching up a slight embankment. He paused and pointed ahead.

“Take a look down there,”

“Ooch,” Chip sounded, “what is it?”

“It’s the Mount Hypipamee crater caused by a volcanic eruption believed to have happened ten thousand years back about the same time as the eruption that made the lakes. The natives call it Dyrbal.

“Is the volcano alive?”

“The experts say not, it is what they call a diatreme and caused by an underground gas explosion.”

“How deep is it?”

“To the water two hundred feet or so and the water is said to be about two hundred and fifty deep, so to the bottom it would be about five hundred feet or there about. Some believe it is collected by tunneling to the lakes.”

“Is it?”

“I doubt it but it makes for a good story.”

“I wouldn’t like to fall in,”

“Funny you should say that, as the bloke who discovered it, almost fell in as he hacked his way through the scrub.”

“Then he should have asked the natives.”

“I don’t think they were on talking terms at the time.”

As time comes, time goes and the few days Chip and Owen had spent in each other’s company, exploring not only thoughts but bodies, had to come to an end and with but one day remaining it would be spent at their camping site at Lake Eacham, once again enjoying the serenity and the refreshing water.

During that last afternoon a truck load of American soldiers billeted at a camp near Wondecla arrived on a hunting expedition, as it was known there were many feral pigs in the area and fresh pork would be a welcome change to army hash. With the six would-be hunters came enough weaponry to start a small war, three boxes of beer and a thirst that could dry a small lake.

As the group set up a day camp Chip saunters across the clearing to where they had settled and made introduction.”

“Have you seen any pigs?” One, a tall lean solder lacking a single whisker to denote adulthood asked.

“Not one.”

“Can you swim in the lake?” A second asked nodding to the water of Eacham.

“You certainly can. I had a dip earlier but be careful, as it is quite deep.”

“Beer first,” a third suggests and turned to Chip, “do you and your buddy want a beer?”

“We’ve run out I suppose we could do with a top-up,” Chip agreed and waved Owen over to join the party.

“What’s your name buddy,” asks the young soldier without whisks.

“Owen Parker,” Owen offers his hand and it is accepted.

“Wilson Tucker.”

“An Aussie, what are you doing with this fly-boy,” another asks.

“Tourist guide.”

“Nice piece of real-estate you have here Aussie,” the first admits, “where will we find a few pigs to shoot.”

“Wrong area, I don’t think you will find any around the lakes, you need to try the swampy land further on towards Malanda.”

“Where’s Malanda?’ another asks.

“A little further west but be careful where you do your shooting, it is mostly dairy farming and the farmers get pretty upset when their girls are disturbed.”

“No matter the beers good,” Tucker admits and holds up his bottle as if to verify his statement.

“One beer before they took a dip turned into many and then one of the interlopers, who would have been twenty going on seventeen, stood and spoke, “Swim,” he loudly exclaims. As one the soldiers stripped then as naked as the day of birth they hurried to the water whooping it up like school kids at a picnic.”

“They have nice lean bodies,” Chip whispers to Owen.

Owen gives an agreeing titter.

“More so than us airmen.”

“They have but I wouldn’t complain about yours.”

“It is all that marching, I guess it keeps them fit and lean but I don’t think any of them has yet reached their twentieth year and I believe one has been using the razor in places it was designed for.”

“Do you fancy any of them?” Owen asked.

“I fancy you Owen.”

“Now I’m embarrassed.”

“Don’t be you should learn how to take a complement.”

After even more hollowing, whooping and splashing the soldiers returned to their drinking but remained naked without the slightest notion of coy as the late afternoon’s sun dried their bodies and the alcohol depleted their sensibility.

Eventually Owen and Chip wished them well with their hunting and returned to their camp. Then as the beer run out the party stopped and the soldiers became quiet and as quickly as they had arrived they piled back into their vehicle and departed, leaving a pile of beer bottles scattered about.

“I better do something about that,” Owen suggested as he approached the scattering of bottles. Collecting them he placed them in a forty-four gallon drum left by the shire for such purposes.

“I should apologize for my fellow countrymen,” Chip offers.

“They were fine; if it was my lot they would have shot most of the wildlife and smashed the bottles for extra entertainment.”

“We should also be thinking of leaving soon, I’m due back at base by ten tonight and they don’t take kindly to those who are late.”

“I wish the last few days could last forever,” Owen gives a long sadden sigh.

“I must agree it has been fun.”

“What now?”

“Are you referring to us?”

“Yes, what is the sum of us?”

“I can’t answer that question Owen. My wishes are not my own, the air force owns me for the duration and your country has only invited me in.”

“Funny,” Owen says.

“Continue.”

“I feel like a little boy who has been taken to a lolly shop, or for you I should say candy store and allowed five minutes inside, then had the door closed on him, only permitted to look at it all through the glass of the window.”

“Profoundly spoken.”

Owen lightens and laughs; “possibly I could break the glass.”

“Sometimes things work out, so let us enjoy what we have and allow time to take its course.”

“Yes let’s do that.”

It was quite late by the time Chip dropped Owen back to the farm but only to the gate, as if he lingered longer he would miss the curfew at the base.

“Thank you for a wonderful time,” Chip says.

“I should be thanking you.”

“Then we will thank each other – come here,” Chip drags Owen close. For an instant Owen freezes but with the darkness realized their solitude and settles.

“Sorry,” Chip says.

“I was thinking we could be seen.”

“I would think not – but.”

“But nothing,” Owen then returns the embrace. Moments later the outside house light ignites and May is seen at the door.

“Do you think she saw us?” Owen gasps.

“How could she through the grime on the windscreen, besides the canopy is up.”

“I suppose I better make a move.”

“Yes get going or you will make me late,” Chip laughs.

Before departing, Chip promised to meet again soon and would telephone when he had opportunity. For Owen it was a long sad walk from the gate to the house and slowly taken. Once Inside there would be questions, he would need to appear happy, he then remembered the adage he had as a boy and once again repeated those words loudly into the gathering darkness, “It doesn’t matter;”

“It doesn’t matter:”

“It doesn’t matter.”

But it did matter and no amount of words, or ancient adages would dislodge Chip from his thoughts.

One thing that did matter was Chips promise as he departed and that was to do something about Winnie’s unwanted predicament.

Gary’s stories are about life for gay men in Australia’s past and present. Your emails to him are the only payment he receives. Email Gary to let him know you are reading: Conder 333 at Hotmail dot Com

17,432 views