Published: 17 Jan 2022

Past midnight and Travis couldn’t sleep. He had found a number of western novels in an old box along with some clothing that had been left by a previous occupant and although he wasn’t much interested in westerns’ had overtime read most of them under the dazzling glow of his carbide lamp.

Relaxed and lost within the banal telling of death by hanging and declarations of innocence and who shot the sheriff, he heard a shuffling outside the open door to his room. At first Travis believed it to be a bandicoot but the sound was much too loud to be so. He called thinking it may be one of Morris’ dogs off its chain. If so it would be the bitch and not the dog as when the male broke free it would disappear into the scrub for days at a time. The bitch usually hung around the yard, until discovered by Morris and after a kicking would be returned to its tether under the house.

“Sally.” Travis called out the name of the bitch through the open doorway but it didn’t respond. Usually his call would bring her bounding into his room and onto his bed in a flurry of excitement then before Morris had wind of the escape, he would return her back to the chain with a pat and a kind word. Travis remembered the day he arrived. Sally was expecting puppies and had them some days later. There had been five in all and healthy but were taken from her when but a number of days old. Morrison put them in a bag and drowned them in the creek. It was more than a week before Sally gave up looking for her lost pups.

Travis placed his book down and commenced to rise to investigate the noise when Morris’ form filled the doorway. “Travis,” he boomed into the quiet of the room, Travis checked the time, it was a few minutes to one, giving him thought what the man could want at such a late hour.

“Yes Mr. Morris.” Travis answered, attempting to sound as servile as possible.

“Have you been up at the house?” Morris asks.

“Only for dinner Mr. Morris,”

“Were you talking to the boys?” Morris asks, his voice reverberating around the walls of the small cell.

“No I haven’t seen them today,” Travis answered truthfully then remembered the incident with Rodney at the shower block but that was some days previously.

“I have a job for you tomorrow,” Morris quietly informed, his face appeared to lose its anger yet his dark mad eyes still pierced deep into Travis’ psyche and appeared to smoulder in the dazzle of the carbide light.

“I want you to dig a water channel from the creek to the vegetable garden.”

“But that is mostly uphill and there isn’t much water in the creek, besides you have the pump,” Travis protested but Morris wasn’t interested in his complaint. Instead he commenced to talk gibberish as if Travis weren’t in the room at all.

“The pump doesn’t work,” the man eventually admitted.

The pump did work but was attached to the header tank for house use and the shower block. There was a second connection and although it would take but a minute to switch from one to the other Morris had Travis water the vegetable patch by bucket.

Morris restated his demand and left.

“Good night Mr. Morris,” Travis called softly after his boss without response although the man’s mad mumbling could be heard right up to the door of the house.

“Suppose it will keep the old bugger happy and he’s paying me,” Travis grumbled while returning to his novel. He read a few lines and losing interest dog-eared the page and placed the book beside his bed.

“I should think of moving on,” he again thought as he doused the light. The old man was beginning to frighten him, besides his intention was never to stay as long as he had, only being held back by his usual indecision and need of a push to start.

Travis awoke to discover a set of shovels and other digging implements leaning against the wall of his room. Morris had placed them there earlier before travelling up the valley to check on the blacks. Finding them gone he took on a more amenable disposition and returned to the bunk house, where he found Travis dressed and inspecting the digging implements.

“The blacks have gone,” Morris declared with a satisfying smile.

“They were to take the train a couple of days back,” Travis informed wishing he had not, as his affiliation with them only helped to annoy Morris. Travis therefore changed the subject. “I’ll start digging after breakfast.”

“I’m going into Mt. Surprise this morning so you have you breakfast in your room,” Morris demanded, “I’ll have my wife bring it down before I leave.”

‘So we’re onto that one again,’ Travis thought.

“Did you say something?”

“No Mr. Morris,”

“I heard you speak,”

Now the old man was hearing voices and Travis became concerned for what they were telling him.

“I said I’ll get on with it right away,” Travis lied.

“Yes you dig the trench; it should only take a couple of days,”

“Yes Mr. Morris.”

It was obvious something had toppled his brain since being in Mt. Surprise some days earlier and it was rare for him to go twice in a week but as he left Travis to ponder over his ditch, Morris mumbled something about banking and owing money. At the house he turned and shouted but his call was directed towards the creek; “It is twelve pound ten and not a penny less.”

Morris again commenced to mumble.

“I demand compensation,” he added to his shout then went inside, moments later Mrs. Morris arrived with a tray carrying Travis breakfast. She put it down on a box beside his room and scurried back to the house without speaking, while Morris stood at the house door watching the farce.

After a quick breakfast Travis advanced to the creek. Morris again came to the door than progressed to the yard fence. For a time Travis stood idly holding a shovel waiting for the man to return and continue his tirade with the creek but for now it had obviously ended. Eventually the man approached and directed where he wanted his trench.

Morris always presented a bent streak but now he was displaying an irrational side that went far beyond anger, or even what could be considered to be eccentric. Travis decided he would humour Morris, collect his next pay packet and leave without notice. He would wait for the correct moment, pack his belongings and ride out under some excuse never to return but for now he had his trench to dig.

The distance from the creek to the house was more than twenty yards, while the grade was so great that if one were capable of digging it with shovels and mattock, by the time it reached the garden it would be a good six foot down to the water level, Travis believed that even a madman would realise that fact but Morris was adamant, the trench must be dug.

Travis commenced his digging under Morris’ supervision at the creek bank, while answering affirmatively to each of Morris’ demands. As he turned the first shovel load of hard baked earth, Travis noticed the commencement of an earlier attempt a short distance from where he stood, bringing the belief he wasn’t the first to be given such a negative task and like the first, his would also remain unfinished. It was only four day’s until payday and with that he would be gone but for now he smiled and eagerly dug.

“Good, I’ll be going now,” Morris declared after Travis had removed the first shovel load of dirt. The man turned and marched proudly up the slight incline towards his truck, started the motor and departed. Some minutes later Morris’ eldest son, Rodney appeared with a mug of tea.

“Mum asked me to give you this,” the lad awkwardly offered as he passed the mug. Travis paused from his futile task and sipped at the brew, while Rodney stood gazing on Travis’ shirtless body.

“Do you go to school?” Travis asks.

The lad shook his head negatively, “mum teaches us,” Rodney answered.

“Do you like you lessons?”

“We’re not aloud to talk to you,” he softly added.

“But you are,” Travis elucidated and continued to sip his brew.

“Dad’s not here. Are you scared of my dad?”

“No.” Travis lied.

“Does he do that to you?” Rodney asks nervously.

“Do what Rod?”

“My names Rodney – it doesn’t matter,” the lad answered while backing away from his question.

“Do what Rodney?” Travis repeated.

“You know,” Rodney comments softly then fell silent.

It was obvious to Travis that no matter how much he tried the lad wasn’t going to utter more on the subject.

He finished his tea.

Rodney accepted the empty mug and returned to the house.

“What the hell is the stupid bastard doing to those kids,” Travis quietly remonstrated while watching Rodney as he walked, head stooped and despondent. Halfway towards the house the lad turned and Travis waved without receiving further acknowledgement.

They weren’t bad kids, nor did Travis believe them to be peculiar. There only fault was they had very little social contact and were obviously maltreated, if not physically than mentally by their father. Alas there was nothing he could do to help them, he could report his suspicions but to who and what proof did he have. Travis sighed, shook his head and returned to his pointless labour, believing he should at least have some trench to display on Morris’ return.

Around midday Rodney once again came by this time with his brother and lunch, corned beef and chutney sandwiches, a slice of rainbow cake and a mug of tea, all set neatly on a large wooden tray covered with a tea towel depicting Australian native animals. Travis smiled at the normality of the tray and its contents. An act that was most probably occurring a thousand times over across the country and here it appeared as a speck of normality in a sea of madness.

Rodney bravely brought the tray up to Travis while his brother James, waited well back from the trench. Travis nodded to James as he accepted Rodney’s tray. The lad didn’t respond, instead moved further away.

“What’s wrong with your brother? Is he shy?” Travis asks.

“He’s scared of you,” Rodney answered.

“Why? I won’t hurt him,” Travis asks without receiving any answer.

“Are you scared of me?” Travis questions.

“No,” Rodney answered then adjusted his response, “a little.”

“No need to be, I won’t hurt you.” Travis repeated from a mouth full of sandwich.

With his meal break over Travis returned the tray to Rodney and thanked him. The boys headed back to the house as their father drove into the yard and seeing his sons obviously associating with Travis, he hit the brake allowing the truck to skid clumsily too a stop. Jumping down from the door-less vehicle he met his sons beside the white picket fence. Moments later the angry man commenced to shout at the boys. Travis listened but could not make out what was being said and once inside the shouting intensified.

It was almost an hour before Morris decided to evaluate Travis’ trench. The man appeared to be in pleasant mood and was whistling as he approached. ‘Now that could be ominous,’ Travis thought of Morris’ happy tune while he waited for consideration on his work.

Pausing at the side of the trench Morris leaned in and appeared satisfied with its progress. Travis braced himself for abuse because of his contact with the boys. It didn’t eventuate.

“Good job,” Morris declared on his inspection of the trench using the shovel handle to measure its depth, “one foot,” he says and made a guttural sound as in agreement with whatever was bouncing around inside his troubled head, then intentionally he pointed the shovel at Travis his expression puzzling before gently placing it down as if was fragile.

Travis returned the smile and silently nodded.

“It won’t take you long,” Morris assumed standing like some colossus above the narrow pitiful excuse for a trench, his large meaty hands now firmly placed on hips while nodding in agreement to his own statement.

Travis didn’t answer.

If he agreed and it wasn’t completed in the length of time Morris had in his mind, he believed he would receive the man’s tirade and if he didn’t agree then the abuse could be instantaneous. All he could hope for was Morris would either forget about his trench or Travis would have packed his belongings and gone before any negative comment on his progress occurred.

Travis continued with the trench until late in the afternoon. He packed away the tools and headed for the shower block. As he passed the house yard he spied both boys as naked as the day they were born attending to their allotted chores, while both appeared to be most unhappy with their lot but unaware of their naked state. “Strange,” Travis uttered and continued towards his ablutions without acknowledging the boys.

As Travis was undressing he again heard Morris truck start and soon the sound of its misfiring cylinder was lost to the silence of the dusk. During his dinner that night Mrs. Morris was quiet and served Travis’ meal without expression or usual comment on the weather, also there wasn’t any sound of merriment from the boys. Travis felt most uneasy and decided he would definitely leave once he had been paid and once back in his room commenced to store away belongings he wouldn’t need in the near future.

Travis lay back on his bunk reading the last of the western novels, realising the plot was the same as the previous, only the names of towns and cowboys had changed, when the form of Rodney appeared at his open door. Again the lad was naked but oblivious to the fact. He stood watching but didn’t speak.

“What’s wrong Rodney?” Travis asks while attempting to disregard the lad’s state of undress.

“Nothing,”

“Where are your clothes?” Travis placed his book down, his vision drawn towards the lad’s nakedness. It didn’t offend him but did confuse.

“Dad’s locked them away because we were talking to you,” Rodney answered, his head down turned but lacking any shame.

“Why would he do that?”

“To stop us leaving the house,” Rodney answered softly.

“But it hasn’t,” Travis commented.

“Never does, we just go naked.”

“What does you mother say?” Travis asks.

“Nothing.”

“Doesn’t it worry you running around without your clothes?” Travis asks.

“Used to it I suppose – but.” Rodney’s simple preposition appeared to be bursting with expressions of maltreatment, fear and phobias Travis could not comprehend.

Travis scratched at his head. What was he to do? He could give the lad some of his own clothes. Rodney was about his size, maybe a little thinner, even less tall. If he did then he would be in more trouble with Morris on the man’s return. Or he could continue in pretence that the lad’s nakedness didn’t exist. That he could not as the sight of Rodney was stirring something within him he had not felt since watching Bradley at the water-hole. He controlled his thoughts, realising that Rodney, although passing through his teenage years, was in reality only a child.

“What can I do for you?” Travis softly asks.

No reply.

“Rodney what do you want?”

“I like you – can I stay here for a while?”

The lad’s request came as a plea, reaching out for the simplest act of affection but one that Travis could not oblige.

“I don’t think so, not without your clothes, beside your dad would kill me if he found you here,” Travis explained.

“Where has he gone?” Travis asks.

“Don’t know he walked out of the house without saying anything, he does so all the time,” Rodney answered as he ventured further into Travis’ room.

“Look Rodney I would love to help you but I can’t, I’m going to bed now, so I think you should as well,” Travis says to dissuade the lad from continuing.

“Okay,” Rodney sadly agreed and as quickly as he had arrived was gone.

Moments later Travis could hear the lad’s soft voice as he spoke with his brother.

Then crying, followed by whispering and the sound of Rodney comforting his brother.

Travis came to the door and peered out into the moonlight but the boys had gone, then the sound of their mother’s voice, soothing and calm. The light came on in the boy’s bedroom and as quickly extinguished. Travis stood for some time in the shadows of the kitchen but all was silent. He thought he heard the sound of a radio, soft singing but soon realised it was Mrs. Morris, her voice as sweet as a nightingale.

“Well,” Travis spoke as he returned to his room.

“This is a strange state of affair you’ve got yourself into,” he spoke to the stale air of the room and laughed realising how many times he had spoken or thought those words but remained. Collecting his novel he attempted to read but couldn’t concentrate as his mind remained on Rodney’s plea for company.Travis left his room and again approached the house. From his distance he could see the woman seated at the kitchen table. Rodney, still naked, was also at the table and appeared to be drawing on some wastepaper. The woman appeared to be gazing through the window but seeing nothing. Rodney showed his mother his work but she appeared disinterested. She spoke and Rodney left the room. The woman returned to her vacant gaze as Travis moved away from the sorry sight.

Morris didn’t return that night nor did he the following day. Travis continued with his digging but at a slower pace, while feeling somewhat silly for doing so, while the boys went about their daily chore still as naked as the day of their birth. The only time Travis saw their mother was at meal time and then she remained silent because of embarrassment for the state of her children and the hopelessness she felt towards their wellbeing. Travis wished to comment but thought better of doing so. He asked about the weather and the water level in the creek. Even then the woman shied from conversation but could be heard crying in the privacy of her kitchen.

It was three days before Morris returned, his truck roared across the cattlegrid at full throttle and hurried towards the house like some insane monster, skidding to stop beside the yard gate. The man’s arrival was for the second time somewhat unfortunate for Rodney as he was once again delivering Travis his lunch and still naked. Possibly Morris had timed it so, even as far as watching from distance as Travis thought he had earlier heard the sound of an approaching vehicle. Seeing his father return Rodney dropped the tray and with haste hurried back to the house, only to be met halfway by his enraged father.

“Rodney!” Morris bellowed as he alighted from the truck.

Reaching the picket fence Rodney paused and lowered his head without answering; he appeared to be quivering with emotion and would not turn to face his father.

“Get into the fucken’ house! Now!” Morris was furious and forcefully clipped his son across the back of his head while directing a well aimed boot into the lad’s unprotected backside as he travelled.

“I’ll deal with you later,” Morris shouted after his disappearing son, then without approaching Travis he stood in silence watching his progress from distance, hands placed firmly on his hips, his breathing heavy while mumbling gibberish.

Travis had never seen such a mood in the old man and it frightened him more than any previous raving. He then decided it was the right time to depart and that very night although his wages were overdue. He smiled and waved towards Morris, regretting the gesture as it may only help to infuriate him further. Morris didn’t respond instead he returned to the house.

“Tonight,” Travis quietly reflected.

“I’ll have tea, a shower and quietly move out. He can keep my wages.”

Travis lifted his head in time to see Morris leave the house and strut with exaggerated purpose towards the bunk house. Minutes later he was back but remained watching at the yard gate, his arms folded across his barrel chest. Then without word he went back inside. It was obvious something was bothering the man’s madness and that he had not approached to inspect the trench was puzzling.

Travis continued digging but at a slower pace, while occasionally lifting his eyes towards the house. Morris had once again come outside and stood watching from the shadows.

‘Should I wave to him?’ Travis thought.

‘It may work,’

Travis lifted his arm and with a smile gave a weak greeting.

Morris ignored the wave and moved away a number of paces but remained watching from the shadows.

‘Shit I’ve done it now,’ Travis thought.

On lifting his head again he discovered Morris had gone.

Travis worked at his trench for the rest of the day and before going in for the night’s meal, he packed the remainder of his belongings in readiness for departure. He would forgo his pay, ride into Mt. Surprise that night and book a room at the hotel from there he would decide his next move.

On entering the men’s dining room Travis found his meal set out but no sign of any of the Morris family. During his meal he saw no one nor heard any sound coming from the house. His concern increased with each passing minute until finally he heard Mrs. Morris’ voice which didn’t appear distressed.

After finishing his evening meal Travis showered and wearing nothing but underwear, returned to the bunkhouse to complete his packing, when the figure of Morris loomed in the doorway.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Morris demanded spying Travis’ packed saddlebags.

“It’s about time I moved on Mr. Morris,” Travis answered nervously.

“You haven’t finished the trench,” Morris bellowed.

Travis didn’t answer.

“I’m not going to pay you,” Morris hissed blocking Travis’ exit from the room.

“Fair enough Mr. Morris.” Travis answered attempting to mask the fear that was building.

“You molested my boys!” Morris accused loudly. Leaving Travis dumfounded by the accusation.

“No Mr. Morris, I haven’t been anywhere near your boys,” Travis pleaded but Morris had the proof, he had belted Rodney so hard the lad was prepared to admit to anything and did so. Morris gave him the words and Rodney agreed to save himself from further harm.

“Don’t lie; Rodney had admitted everything,” Morris shouted.

Travis was lost for an answer. Whatever defence he offered the raging bull before him was in no mood to listen. He lowered his gaze away from Morris hoping like a savage dog, it was best not to look into the eyes. It didn’t work, only added to Morris’ belief that Travis was guilty. Travis’ submissive attitude proved it to be so.

Morris moved into the room and took control of Travis with vice like strength. Travis attempted to escape but could not, he fell face down onto his bunk with Morris holding his arms behind his back. “You fucked my boys!” Morris bellowed close to Travis’ ear. Travis remained silent he was too terrified to answer, besides there would be nothing he could say in his defence to convince the madness of Morris. His heart pounded within his chest, thinking any moment he would be snuffed from life. He perceived movement behind as Morris held his arms with one powerful hand. Travis heard the removal of Morris’ belt as the metal buckle clipped the concrete floor. ‘He’s going to belt me,’ Travis contemplated within his held breath as his body tightened for the blows.

“You fucked my boy now see how you like it!” Morris howled as he tore the flimsy underwear from Travis’ body. Travis struggled against the onslaught but Morris’ size and crazed strength held him fast. He felt the fire of the man’s hate push into him, bringing forth a scream of pain and panic. The ordeal was over in seconds. Morris extracted himself from Travis and released his vice like grip; Travis laid face down, his breath held while waiting for worse.

Heavy breathing from Morris as he rearranged his clothing then moments later the thick leather of Morris’ belt came heavy across Travis’ naked buttocks a second strike a third then no more, the man’s rage was lessening.

The heavy breathing stopped.

“Get out and if you come back I’ll fucken’ kill you!” the voice was guttural but now lacked the raving he displayed moments earlier. Morris stood back still blocking the door as Travis remained prostrate across his bed, his face buried in the bedding and afraid to move, afraid to breathe.

“Get out now and don’t come back,” Morris shouted loudly while frothing with spittle at the mouth.

He turned and was gone back into the quiet of the night.

Travis lay shaking on his bunk long after Morris had left his room. He was hurt and frightened and felt degraded. Silence was all about and believing Morris had returned to the house he rose and again showered. The cold water felt hot on his flesh but not as hot as the burning he felt from Morris’ invasion. He hated the man and knew he must be away as quickly as possible. He hurriedly dress, saddled Titch and was gone.

Leading Titch past the house he paused before mounting. There was a light shining through Morris’ bedroom window but nothing could be heard. The vision could have been that of any family house in any town. Serene and peaceful but as he mounted Travis knew there could never be peace while the madness of Morris prevailed.

And it would.

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

24,438 views