Published: 31 Jan 2022

That night as Travis lay on his bed musing on the day’s event, as

Luke’s account returned to him. What had he meant by ‘going bush was a good excuse for not having to date girls?’ Was it Luke’s way of saying, Travis I am of your character? Or was it just one more of Luke’s mysterious anecdotes, which often developed out of a quiet moment in conversation. Yet that final handshake and eye glance told Travis something else, almost swaying him from his venture and part of Travis wished to snuggle into Luke’s comfort. He had felt that need before, masking it by moving on but how many times could he run from his emotions and a truth he could not admit to, not even to himself.

Maybe he wasn’t chasing rainbows but running from the shadows in his mind. As the perception developed it was quickly chased away with the thought of Sergeant Krichauff’s demand for an interview at nine sharp the following morning and the terror the Morris’ boys had endured before their cruel demise. He could still picture Rodney’s pleading expression as he stood naked in the doorway of his room and wished there had been something he could have done to elevate the lad’s distress. There wasn’t other than kidnapping the lad and taking him away from his mental and physical prison. Travis inwardly laughed at the absurdity of such a thought. ‘Take him to where and what of his brother, of their mother.’

As for the tragedy that was Morris, what could he say to help with the investigation into the incident? He had already left the property three days previous, or was he under suspicion? It was true and proven that he was at Mt. Surprise when Morris finally tipped over the precipice into the abyss of total insanity but somehow had he contributed to Morris’ madness by departing, or could he have prevented it by staying.

The image of the Morris boys lying dead in their innocence haunted him long into the night and he wished to leave that instant but the sound of drunken singing coming from the heat of the beer garden removed the horror of youthful death. He laughed at the out of tune revellers and rolled to his side, yet sleep evaded him and when it finally came his dreaming was heavy and disturbed.

Sergeant Krichauff had sent up for his investigation in a corner of the hotel’s dining room and was mulling over a handful of statements as Travis entered.

Travis approached without recognition from the policeman.

“Good morning.” Travis nervously greeted. He had never had chance to be interviewed by the law before and even innocence couldn’t remove some stain of guilt he had developed.

Travis stood by waiting for instruction.

A long and nervous minute passed.

Even more;

Krichauff was a large man who sweated profusely, while his badly fitting khaki shirt had developed age old stains from his sweaty condition as it struggled for decency at the waistband, displaying a fat and hairy belly. He lifted from his scattered statements with searching accusing gaze as if looking for signs of guilt. There was no humour in this man only the need for facts, black and white facts without an inkling of grey to sway his opinion or decision.

“Travis Brown?” Krichauff says.

“Yes Sir,” Travis answered nervously.

“Take a seat,” the big man demanded then returned to his statements.

Travis obeyed and sat silently until the policeman had concluded his reading. The policeman then retrieved a blank sheet and lifting his pen wrote a few words at its heading.

“Mr. Brown you were employed by the Morris family?” the policeman’s voice came low and in monotone while his eyes remained fixed on the paper before him.

“Yes.”

“In what capacity would that have been?”

Travis releases a nervous titter bringing the policeman’s head to rise.

“General duties I guess although I was to believe it was a stockman’s position.

“And for how long were you in the Morris’ employment?”

The policeman jotted down a line.

“Less than three months,” Travis answered nervously.

“Three months,” the policeman repeated and wrote the words.

“That is correct,”

“Why did you leave?” Krichauff questioned.

“I was assaulted.” Travis answered coyly, the last word fading from his voice.

“In what way were you assaulted?” Krichauff roughly enquired.

“I would rather not say,” Travis answered, his face flushing with the memory and being asked to relate the embarrassment and ordeal of being raped to a complete stranger. Krichauff wrote on his page but to Travis’ relief he didn’t press for further expansion on the matter, while being more interested in Charles Morris’ state of mind leading to Travis’ departure.

“How would you describe Charles Morris’ mental ability,” the policeman asks.

“Bordering on insanity I would think,”

The policeman wrote down the words repeating the word insanity.

“If so why did you remain in his employment for so long a time?”

“It didn’t show at first, I believed he was but impulsive, possibly excentric.”

The policeman released a cruel chuckle while appearing to enjoy the word excentric.

With each question Krichauff would pause and write until after a second page had been filled then from a deep breath he spoke. “Yes,” the policeman says and placing his pen down he commenced to slowly rap the tabletop with his knuckles. Each strike sent an echo around the empty dining room, reverberating through Travis causing further tension. If the man’s action was to unnerve Travis it was surely working, he thought a culpable man would but be glad to utter his guilt.

“Umm,” The policeman declared then once again fell silent.

Travis coughed nervously and wiped the palms of his hands on his jeans.

“That seems to be the lot,” Krichauff declared and offered Travis the report for his signature. Travis signed the document without reading it.

“Read the bloody thing first kid.” Krichauff demanded.

Travis did and was satisfied.

“One more thing Mr. Brown, did you have any suspicions Morris was molesting his boys?” Krichauff asks, his voice as incidental as one asking what they would like for their breakfast, or did you put the cat out.

“Not until the final days and when Luke Miles from Christmas Creek suggested it possible and something the older boy mentioned came to mind.”

“Yes Mr. Miles has stated that; well I don’t think I need to delay you further. Will you be staying around town?” Krichauff finalised.

“No sir I’m heading out in the next day or so,” Travis answered.

“Well I believe we can wrap this up and I won’t need to speak to you again.”Krichauff collected his papers and tapped them to straight on the table top, giving Travis much relief while removing most of his guilt.

“One last thing, June Morris, what kind of woman was she?”

“I never knew her first name,” Travis admitted with a smile, she was a frail woman and appeared to be under much stress but with it all her kindness was apparent.”

“Umm, I only ask as she was a cousin to my wife and the family hadn’t heard from her since marrying.”

“It was a tragedy,” Travis gravely admitted.

“That will be all,” and with a rare display of graciousness Krichauff says thank you.

The following morning Travis attended to his supplies and looked in on Titch, while his thoughts alternated between the occurrence of Morris and his visit to the lagoon with Luke. Fortunately as time progressed the Morris incident no matter how heinous, was overwhelmed by his desire to be with Luke but as he laid his provisions across his hotel bed his thoughts diverted to his intended travel. There was tea, sugar, flour and powdered milk, dried meat, tinned bully-beef, baked beans and a pound of dried peas. What more would he need and how long would they last. Lack of space prevented more, while the fear of not having enough encouraged him to increase his lot. “I can buy top-up at Einasleigh, or Forsayth or Georgetown,” he spoke aloud to the empty room but remained unsatisfied. “I have my rifle and there is plenty of wildlife,” he continued in an attempt to convince and sighed; “maybe I’m doing the wrong thing.” This came from the more sensible portion of his mind; not that part that had not yet fully developed and would not for some time to come. Even with such doubts he remained driven towards his adventure and as he packed the supplies into the saddlebags Travis imagined his future would be filled with spring flowers and sunshine, now gone his concern for any lack of ability.

Once all had been readied Travis attended to his final correspondence. He received a letter that morning from his mother, in answer to the one he wrote only the previous week and thought best to quickly reply, as it may be sometime before he again had chance to do so. Her writing mostly pressed towards his return and somehow she had seen through his assurance on his wellbeing in his previous correspondence and stressed her concern, or possibly it was only a mother’s concern for one outside her sphere of influence.

After posting his letter and arranging to hold any future mail which he would collect when passing for supplies, Travis felt need to contact Luke and asked if he could make a call using the hotel’s telephone.

“Christmas Creek, one moment please,”

The telephonist’s words crackled along the miles of copper wiring, followed by a bevy of switching sounds, until a female’s voice answered through the miracle of not so modern convenience.

“Fay Millicent – Christmas Creek,” The voice was fresh and sweat, while an octave change raised the last syllable of each word at sentence’s end.

“Fay, I have Travis Brown wishing to speak with young Luke,” the telephonist advised.

“Gladys, how’s the weather over there?” Fay enquired, knowing it would be the same as it was at Christmas Creek; hot and sticky, with the promise of a storm.

“You don’t want to know,” Gladys Buchan answered and huffed loudly into the mouthpiece to enforce her grievance and with Gladys Buchan there was many and continuously shared with anyone who made connection through her telephone exchange, sometimes a caller would be left waiting for their connection for more than endurance allowed, while the woman battled on with her numerous complaints.

“Luke was here a moment ago. Hang on – Walter is Luke with you, he’s wanted on the telephone.” The voice of Fay Millicent came faint over the line along with background conversation then a quiet pause until the voice of Luke Miles came clearly over the line.

“Hello, whose there?” Luke asks; his voice strong and curious.

“It’s Travis, Luke.”

“Oh hello, is everything alright?”

“No worries, I’m about to head out and I thought I would give you a call.”

“Great, don’t forget to keep in touch. Did the police talk to you?”

“Yes and they were happy with my statement,”

“Told you so; how do you feel about the other?” Luke asks, choosing his words carefully.

“I’m not happy about it but have to get on with life, besides it was the death of the boys that worried me most,” Travis admitted.

“I feel for you mate,” Luke says empathetically.

“I’ll be alright.”

“I know you will – you take care,” Luke added.

“I enjoyed our swim in the lagoon, will have to do it again some day.”

“Anytime,” Luke answers and laughs.

“What’s so funny?”

“You embarrassed,” Luke’s voice softened as if not wishing to be heard by others. “Suppose I better not hold the line for too long, besides Gladys will be listening.”

With Luke’s words there was the click of disconnection from the exchange.

Luke gave a knowing chortle. “Okay but keep in touch and look after yourself;” followed by a silence that left Travis wanting but for what. He had felt a strong need to contact Luke, now there was an empty hole in his stomach and a longing for something he didn’t understand.

Travis was in the saddle before sun up. The morning air was cool for that time of the year and with the first light casting long shadows the country appeared new and mysterious. Travis felt alive and had the world ahead with no one to answer too. As for the Morris family, that would remain with him for the rest of his life but he had the mental strength to accept the episode as one of life’s unfortunate mishaps one must endure. He thought of Bradley, now with his own property and how he would be bossing Evan.

With the thought came a tinge of jealousy. Another thought, this time of Evan. The feeling was deep and emotional and similar to that he had once felt for Rodney Harrison while at the hostel. It was also similar to that he once held for Greg but Greg was the sun and Travis like Icarus, would have more than melted emotions and singed feathers if he continued with their friendship. He smiled and lost the feeling to one of comfort and knew that sometime in the future he would once again become associated with both Bradley and Evan.

At the outskirts of town Travis paused and again checked his saddlebags, removing two sheets of paper wrapped in a waterproof oilcloth, he unfolded the first. It was a page from an old school atlas. Page twenty-five, displaying the towns, rivers and roads of the country west of the Atherton Tablelands. It was somewhat rudimentary, most probably inaccurate but at least it gave Travis some idea of direction also a feeling of false security with the map attempting to depict an area of more than eighty thousand square miles into a page no bigger than A4.

The second was Luke’s rough hand drawn map showing where to find permanent water and grazing for his horse. Replacing his precious pages Travis gently patted Titch on the neck then turned south west towards Luke’s lagoon. This would be a good place to start his solitude. A place he already knew and treasured with fond memory as the naked form of Luke returned to his thoughts, flavoured with Luke’s laconic brand of humour.

Once at Luke’s Lagoon as Travis aptly gave it title, he set up a temporary camp and surveyed the surrounding area. Alone he began to see things he had not during his last visit. There was plenty of feed for Titch and the wildlife was abundant, with wallabies coming down for water and a host of birds serenading the vastness with their calls. He breathed deeply from the rich eucalyptus scented air and felt intoxicated, so much that the afternoon heat had evaporated from his thoughts.

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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