Published: 1 Nov 2021

Travis’ return journey to Bullock Creek was as if leaving the darkness of night and entering into the light of day. His weekend in Mareeba had only strengthened his dislike for town life along with his need for his own company, while seeing old friends had not given him the emotional support he would have expected. Travis had been pleased in seeing Evan but Greg left him lacking, realising they had reached a pivot at the end of boyhood and had taken different paths.

Once the train was beyond the town’s limits Travis felt as if a heavy weight had been lifted from him. By Almaden he was adamant he was no longer interested in friendship with Greg, or anyone else from Greg’s so call gang. Yet there was a spark of fondness when he thought of Evan and while he had been in conversation with the lad on the bank of the Barron, Travis had seen sincerity in Evan. A smile came as he thought how hard Evan tried to join him in his enterprise, believing the lad to be true to that vision but with Greg out of the equation, Travis was not ready to share his dream with another.

At Almaden the train had goods for the general store and some mechanical parts for outlying properties. As the many boxes were unloaded there was a commotion alongside the track, bringing Travis to the carriage’s rear platform where he almost bashed into a policeman he did not recognise as local and by the officer’s triple chevron on his khaki shirt he held the rank of sergeant and a most obstructive sergeant at that.

“What’s going on?” Travis requests, being almost forced aside to allow the policeman access into the carriage. The officer didn’t reply, instead he quickly scanned the seating then returned to where Travis was standing.

“Haven’t seen a scrawny black bugger have you?” The policeman demanded.

“No I have been the only one on the train since Mareeba, why?”

As Travis gave his answer a young teenage lad struggled to place his travel bag onto the verandah of the carriage. Travis helped then returned his attention to the policeman as he descended from the carriage.

“What’s he done?” Travis asks without response from the officer.

Satisfied his offender wasn’t hiding on the train the policeman returned to the siding, giving the guard direction to continue, returning Almaden to its sleepy existence.

“Hey kid what’s your name?” Travis requested from the youth who had seated as far away from Travis as the carriage would allow.

“Simon Roberts,” the youth answered without lifting his eyes from the dusty road and a single vehicle parked by the railway siding. A young girl seated in its back of the vehicle gave him a poked face. The lad returned the gesture and smiled as if he knew the girl. He gave a final wave while the vehicle departed.

“What was all that about?” Travis asks in relation to the ill-tempered police officer.

“Dunno’, the cop only mentioned something about a blackfellow.”

Travis caught the attention of the guard as he slowly made his way to the rear, “Who was he after Fred?” he asks believing it may be one of the native stockmen from a local station.

“He wasn’t free with information but I don’t see why they would search the up train from Mareeba as the officer was well out of his territory, he is from out Croydon way.”

Travis returned to the carriage and its new passenger. “Where are you going?” Travis asks in an attempt to extract conversation from the youth if for no other reason but to pass the time of day.

Eventually Simon turned from his window.

“My parents have a property near Forsayth,” he shyly spoke while pushing his long blond hair away from his eyes.

“Don’t you go to school?” Travis asks, realising he was going in the wrong direction for any of the boarding schools.

“Yes but school of the air, I have been visiting my cousins here in Almaden.”

‘School Holidays, I’ve already forgotten about them,’ Travis thought. “Lucky fellow, when I was your age, I was sent of to Herberton and boarding school.”

“I’ll be going there next year, what is it like?” Simon asks apprehensively. Travis was about to declare his dislike for the hostel but realised that such a statement would only cause prolonged concern for the lad, instead he declared it to be alright but the youth’s expression as he broke conversation and returned to his window confirmed he was not convinced.

Bullock Creek arrived with a mid afternoon storm. Short but heavy which quickly broke returning tropical heat, releasing a concoction of earthy aromas from the usually sun baked earth. Travis collected his bag, wished his fellow traveller farewell and stepped from the train to the gravel surface of the raised platform where he was greeted by a very wet Bradley.

“Are you my welcoming party?”

“Not blooming likely, I was at the pub and heard the train’s arrival and got soaked walking over.”

“It stopped now,”

“It would – how was Mareeba?” Bradley enquires and out of character offered the gesture of a handshake.

“To be honest Bradley, I don’t think I would be too worried if I never returned.”

“Now you know how I feel,” Bradley concurred, “did you see Roy?”

“No was I supposed to?”

“I betya’ forgot the scotch.”

“Nope, I have it.”

The two walked the short distance to the hotel, where Bradley offered to shout a drink. By the time they entered into the bar the sun’s return had almost dried Bradley’s clothing, leaving steam to raise from his shoulders like that from a cooking pot. Once at the bar Travis related the episode that occurred at Almaden but no one knew anymore than what Bunny gleaned from a telephone call from the Almaden hotel, so it was soon deleted from conversation. Instead its place was taken by the late birth of a foal due before Travis left for Mareeba.

Travis asks which mare, as two were foaling.

“Mavis,” Bradley freely offered with a satisfied smirk. He had named all the mares after women he had known and because the said mare had a tinge of discolouring in her mane and a foul temper he thought she resembled a woman he disliked as a kid. The second in foal he called Winnie as she was always snorting and calling for no apparent reason. When asked who Winnie had been he said it was only a play on words and not even a woman could be that noisy.

Bunny Larson, as usual was cleaning already clean glasses while seated at the end of the bar listening to Travis’ conversation as he returned to the excitement at Almaden. Cat like she moved along the bar and leaning towards Travis spoke. “There’s a family of half-casts moved into one of the empty railway houses over the tracks, maybe it’s that lot the cops are after.”

“Any kids?” Travis asks, watching Bunny remove a smear on a glass, she held it to the light, decided it passed inspection then retrieved another.

“Haven’t seen any kids as yet but they look sneaky. I for one wouldn’t trust any of them – and light-fingered.”

“Come on Bunny in the most they are fine people and tell wonderful stories.”

“Whoppers more like it.”

“The town’s turning into a virtual metropolis,” Bradley exclaimed somewhat sarcastically while adding, “and now we have a potential crime wave.”

“No need for you to get cheeky young Bradley, you’ll mark my words when half your property is missing,” Bunny scolded. As she spoke Jack Arnold arrived and spotting Bradley moved in for a chance of a free drink.

“I’ve a problem with cash flow Jack and I haven’t forgotten the bogus information you offered about horse sales, Roy is still smarting about that,” Bradley admitted and patted his shirt pocket to prove its emptiness.

Jack hopefully turned to Travis.

“Sorry Jack I’ve been in Mareeba, the pub there emptied my pockets.”

As Travis spoke Bradley gave a gentle nod to depart, leaving Jack to pay for his own brew but he was clever enough to extract a beer out of Bunny with the pretext he had information on the blacks who moved into the railway house.

“Did you miss me?” Travis joked during a quiet moment, broken only by the sound of their boots as they travelled along the gravel path towards the house.

“As a matter of fact I did.” Bradley answered, “I’ve become accustomed to having you around,” he turned and thumped Travis hard on the arm, “but I’d have to be drunk to admit it,” Bradley’s answer took voice from Travis, as he was under the impression at the best of time Bradley but tolerated him.

“I have dinner ready,” Bradley says and raced up the flight of stairs, tripping halfway he broke into laughter.

“Too much drink mate,” Travis called after the fall.

“More like not enough. Shit I’ve skinned my elbow.”

“Want me to kiss it better?” Travis suggested.

“Get fucked.”

Bradley wiped away a trickle of blood with his shirt, pretending to cry.”

“Anyway what’s for dinner?”

“What do you think – stew?” Bradley answered, forgetting his injured elbow while looking favourable towards the smear of blood on his shirt sleave, thinking it added to its eccentric value.

That evening after their meal the two retired to the front verandah with a pack of cards to watch the spectacle of the returning storm. At first it was a dry storm with countless lightning strikes and thunder, starting far off to the east and slowly banking west until it was overhead and ferocious. A single flash of lightning lit up the country about as if it was daylight, followed by a clap of thunder that caused delay to their game, sending them to scamper to the verandah rail for further advantage, while feeling the thunderous vibration go through the house shaking its ancient timbers to the stumps.

Without further warning the rain commenced and so loud it became necessary to shout to be heard, arriving with such volume that within seconds there was a virtual creek running down the gravel path to the road beyond and shining silver within the flashes. Then as quickly as it had started the spectacle was over, the sky cleared and the frogs commenced their mantra. A dozen species all calling for sex at the same time but oddly their individuality seemed to be in tune and harmonious. Travis felt his body slide into a blissful peace and his stay in Mareeba was no longer tribulation.

“Noisy lot,” Bradley announced

“The frogs?”

“They are all after a good root,” Bradley pumped the primus lamp into white light, it hissed loudly from its hook on a high rafter.

“Huh,” Travis simply answered for no other reason than he thought one was necessary.

“What you don’t like rooting?”

“Get out with ya’.”

“Well?” Bradley displayed a rare grin.

“What do you think?” Travis coyly answered.

“I think you spend too much time on the hand trolley.”

“Are you feeling toey Bradley, it’s not like you to be so forward,” Travis teased.

“Incidentally,” Bradley broke from the theme, “that last mob of horses Roy got from the Wallace place has a mare trained for harness,” Bradley declared becoming somewhat bored with the beauty of the now star-filled sky and the frogs.

“What a trotter?”

“Yes, it was used in harness racing down in Cairns but didn’t come up to scratch.”

“Where is this leading?” Travis quizzically enquired, while still tuned into the night’s chorus and not wishing to loose its embrace.

“There’s an old buggy in the shed and I thought we could do it up,” Bradley suggested as the frogs ended their singing and the insects arrived to gather around the lamp to singe against the hot glass, falling dead across their card table below.

“What and drive it to church on Sundays?” Travis responded somewhat whimsically.

“It was just a thought seeing we have so much time on our hands,” Bradley’s tone appeared hurt as he left the verandah to relax on the top step. It was damp from the rain, “aw shit!”

“What’s the problem?”

“I’ve sat in a puddle,” Bradley remained as the dampness took the night’s heat from that portion of him but soon it turned to humidity as body heat transferred to the wet material.

Travis realised his negativity and admitted working on the buggy would be a good idea but for the moment it had gone from Bradley’s list of importance. “When are you moving on?” he asks with a yawn.

“Soon but I don’t think I’ll go for as long as I once thought.”

Travis’ intentions were becoming confused and he no longer had confidence in his ability, besides he was becoming somewhat sedentary with his stay at Bullock Creek. Yet he still felt the need to explore not only his persona but the great empty expanse of Queensland’s Gulf country. There was another factor, much greater than Travis’ exploration of self and country being, although Roy’s kindness was appreciated, he could not continue to accept payment for doing virtually nothing.

“I better check how that new born foal is going,” Bradley quietly suggested, thinking that coming into the world was frightening enough but arriving during such a storm as if at the gates of hell may overwhelm the foal and mare into frenzy. Bradley was gone a good half hour and returned satisfied with the foal’s safety.

“Bloody hot and sticky eh!” he complained wiping the sweat from his brow with the sleave of his blue checked shirt and returned to his seat on the steps. It had now lost its dampness.

Travis agreed but it was obvious he was down in mood.

“What’s got you thinking?” Bradley asked.

“I was recalling a meet-up with a mate over the weekend.”

“So you don’t believe you could live back home?” Bradley continued his earlier conversation.

Travis shifted from the verandah rail to join Bradley.

“Mate all you hear back there is negativity. Who isn’t talking, who owes money, whose up who or wanting to be,” Travis paused and opened that night’s final beer then thinking of Warwick continued, “You try to do someone a good turn and it ends back in your face.”

“Now you know why I’m out here,” Bradley concurred.

Travis finished his beer and placed the empty bottle on the step next to that of Bradley. Reaching out he unconsciously touched the lip of Bradley’s empty bottle and ran his finger slowly around the circle then as quickly and obviously withdrew his finger.

Bradley softly laughed.

“What’s so funny?”

“You,”

“Don’t get ya’,” Travis immediately thought of his action with the bottle lip realising it could have connotation.

“Doesn’t matter so what’s got your bother about town other than all that?”

“You think you are friends with someone and they treat you like crap.” Travis took a deep breath then slowly released it, “must be the grog talking,” he concluded with a nervous chortle as he felt embarrassment flush for placing his private heart on a public sleave.

“So who has been causing you grief?”

“Not grief as such. I have a mate, Greg Stanley, possibly you know him?’

“I’ve seen him about but don’t like him much. I am surprised you were kicking around with him.”

“At school mostly as we were in the same year,”

“There is a saying, no matter how you attempt to befriend a snake it will eventually bite you,” Bradley declared.

Travis was ready to defend Greg’s character but realised he had been doing so for long enough, allowing Bradley’s portrayal of Greg to pass without further comment. “It was his suggestion for us to go bush but once the time approached he reneged on the idea and he damn nearly killed himself on his old man’s motorbike.”

“People do change, you can’t blame him for growing up; possibly you haven’t.”

“That’s a little unfair.”

“Maybe that isn’t exactly what I mean,” Bradley recoiled from his analyses but only to a point, “possibly grow up isn’t the right language but people do change and you need to accept them for doing so,” Bradley released a smug grin and continued, “like yourself when you arrived here, with your chest full of wind and hope, you were going to head bush for life, now you say only for a short time.”

“I suppose you have a point but with Greg he has done full circle and is heading for another crash,” Travis concurred.

“I’ll tell you one thing. Greg Stanley was always heading for grief and no number of concerning friends could ever change that fact,” Bradley’s tone rose slightly then lowered.

“So you do know Greg?”

“I said I’ve seen him around and hear things – and see things,” Bradley admitted.

“What have you heard?”

“Travis you were only a minute ago steering away from friendship with Greg Stanley, now your heading back.”

“What was all that about?”

“I was if anything agreeing with you.”

“Oh well,” Travis simply expressed without any following reason.

“To change the subject, what about girl friends you must have had a few?” Bradley asks.

“I haven’t had much of an opportunity,” Travis answered wondering if his account was factual or a form of protection against something deep down inside he didn’t understand and could never discuss with anyone.

“I had one once,” Bradley disclosed somewhat capriciously.

“Did you -?” Travis prevented himself from completing his question.

“Did I what?!”

“You know.” Travis replied coyly.

“Did I root her?”

“Yes.”

“Nope like you I’m still a virgin,” Bradley admitted.

“How do you know I’m a virgin?” Travis protested.

“It’s written all over your ugly dial.”

“Has Roy got a girlfriend?” Travis asks taking his own lack of sexual activities out of the equation.

“May have – I don’t rightly know but I don’t think he’s the marrying kind, he’s too interested in business and making money.” Bradley answered in a somewhat guarded tone, “don’t get me wrong, Roy would give away the shirt of his back but he does like to bargain and create profit and has a real gift for doing so,” Bradley quickly added to shield away any criticism that Travis may offer. “You went to that hostel in Herberton, what went on there?” Bradley’s conversation u-bend took Travis by surprise.

“What do you mean with girls?”

“Were there girls boarding at the hostel?”

“They had their own building and except at mealtimes were segregated.”

“What did you do for entertainment?”

“Not a lot, most of the time you were left to your own devices and often management didn’t have a clue where anyone was. Once away from town it’s pretty wild country,” Travis answered.

“That’s not what I was inferring towards.”

“What do you mean?” Travis asks knowing full well where the conversation was heading but didn’t know how to prevent its destination.

“You know after dark.”

“Sleep.”

“Shit Travis do I have to spell it out.”

“That’s all a little private,” Travis complained.

“Just interested that’s all.”

“Well if you must know, I suppose there was some horseplay among some of the older boys.”

“Horseplay?!” Bradley repeated not being accustomed to the terminology but fully understanding its inference.

“Yea experimenting: mutual wanking: a quick hand job behind the study block or in the lantana bushes.”

Travis’ answer made Bradley smile.

“Did you join in?” Bradley implies while still wearing his supercilious grin he kept for such occasions.

“A couple of times,” Travis admitted without realising he had disclosed information he had not wished to relate. “Maybe so,” he quickly attached in defence.

“Does that make you a poofter,” Bradley suggests, his words sounding more an accusation than a question.

“Christ Bradley I was only a kid,” Travis protested.

“In some ways you are still a kid but I suppose I can’t talk, I let a cousin pull me once – do you wank?”

“Ow we are getting up close and personal tonight; I’ve never seen this side of you before.” Travis admitted.

“As you say it is probably the grog.”

“Put it this way Bradley, an old cattleman back on Cumberland Downs once told me. He who says he doesn’t is a bloody liar, while he who says he does is a dirty bugger.”

“Good answer but I wasn’t interested in you doing so, I was teasing and trying to drag you out of the mood you are sinking into,”

“No mood only thinking out loudly,”

“Good,”

“I do like your idea of fixing the buggy,”

“Maybe – I’m going to bed, see you in the morning.” Bradley concluded as he left the verandah.

Gary’s stories are about life in Australia as a gay man. Your emails to him are the only payment he receives. Email Gary to let him know you are reading: Gary dot Conder at CastleRoland dot Net

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