Published: 2 Oct 2025
True to his word Ben chose a suitable spot in a shallow hollow by the river and with a number of dusty hessian sacks he found in the kitchen he fashions what could be considered a bed, then as nature commenced to draw its dark curtain across the land Ben tests his creation.
“You do realise,” Tate says from his advantage close by.
Tate is smiling broadly as if he is about to become profound.
“What do I realise?”
“Things crawl about in the night.”
Tate pauses allowing his suggestion to have effect on Ben’s nervous disposition.
“What is your point?”
“You will find more snakes out here than in the house.”
“Shut-it!” Ben growls while testing his makeshift bed, finding the grassy underneath suitable, “anyway don’t snakes go to sleep at night?”
“I don’t rightly know.”
“I’ll chance it.”
“And scorpions.”
“Your chatter isn’t working kid, you won’t get me into that house until I can be certain there aren’t any more snakes and that is final.” Ben reclines and wriggles about, “perfect,” he comments, followed by more wriggling to enhance his satisfaction.
“Suit yourself.”
“I will.”
“Tomorrow,” Tate softly says.
“You often say that?”
“What do I say?”
“You often mention tomorrow without continuing.”
“If we are to stay here for any time we should get supplies.”
Ben laughs loudly, “what are we going to use for money, I buggered off before collection my pay.”
“You do realise you have just proved your innocence.”
“How?”
“If you stole the payroll you would put your hand in your pocket and offer up a fist full of money.”
“True yet except for doing odd jobs and with the threat of being discovered that wouldn’t be advisable, how else could we get money?”
“I still have a little coin from some work I did helping my brother Wilson with a carting job.”
“One thing I have noticed, you are always a couple of steps ahead of any situation.”
“With such a large family I needed to be, or that last slice of bread would have been lost to my hungry brothers.”
“Do you get grief from your brothers?”
“No more than any in a large family, although being the youngest they have the habit of passing grief down the line and I was always the one at the end of the line.”
A large dark cloud moves away allowing the moon to appear, the reflection on the water ripples into distorted shapes. It is a calm evening without the slightest suggestion of a breeze. On the far river bank a number of wallabies come down to drink, they appear anxious as they take short gulps of water before lifting heads to gaze about for danger, their ears twitching at the slightest sound.
“If I had a gun,” Ben whispers while stretching an arm towards the wallabies using his thumb as an imaginary trigger, “Bang,” he loudly cries.
The wallabies quickly bounce back into the protection of the scrub.
“I have eaten wallaby,” Tate admits.
“How do you catch them without shooting?”
“My friend Tolga used a throwing stick but that was further west, they don’t like living in the forest, except for those that climb trees.”
“Boomerang,” Ben says, “I seen them used but could never get the hang of it.”
“Me either, Tolga said you need to be a blackfella’.”
With the last of the wallabies returned to the safety of the scrub conversation declines while listening to the arrival of an orchestra of crickets. Eventually Ben breaks into the mood as he had obviously been mulling over Tate’s need to obtain supplies.
“Where will you get supplies?” he questions.
“There is a general store at Koah; it is less than half a day’s walking from here. I know the storekeeper to be a fair man from my previous travelling.”
“I don’t think it wise if I go?”
“I agree.”
“What of you plan to visit Mareeba?” Ben asks.
“That can wait.”
Ben collects a small stone, he turns it about with his fingers; he holds the stone still for a moment then throws it into the water.
Plop.
The moon’s reflection ripples and settles.
“What is on your mind Ben?” Tate asks.
“Those ripples; you know life is like those ripples.”
The violence of the toss slowly dissipates to the water’s edge then is gone for ever.
“Are you thinking of travelling west?”
“Truthfully it is my only option, although sitting here with you in the middle of nowhere,” Ben pauses.
“You appear contented.”
“I was going to say I am contented but it can’t last. Can it?”
Tate turns towards Ben and for the first time since they met he can see the man behind the fear. Something then changes in Tate rising from deep down inside his essence but it lacks title or language.
Tate takes a captured breath holding it momentarily.
He releases the breath with a word, “tomorrow,” realising the word he laughs. “Tomorrow is another day and I’ll do some shopping.”
“Some fatty bacon would be nice and it has been an age since I had a beer – and some eggs.”
“Eggs may be difficult to carry without breaking.”
“Then no eggs.”
“I suppose you would also the daily newspaper.”
“You’re having a lend of me.”
“I suppose I am.”
Ben laughs and gives Tate the finger.
“Beer,” Tate repeats.
“Yes beer and some coffee.”
“I don’t much like coffee; to me it is like drinking mud although the aroma is wonderful and passing by a coffee parlour is like walking through a cloud of ecstasy.”
“Ecstasy you say? that’s a fancy word for a young fella’ like you,” Ben is grinning.
“Yes ecstasy almost as pleasurable as whacking off.”
Ben is grinning; “do you whack off a lot Tate.”
“It was just an expression; there is this old fella’ I know from Freshwater who takes pleasure in asking that question, he appears to appreciate embarrassing young boys.”
“And?”
“If you deny he says any bloke who does is a filthy bugger and anyone who answers no is a bloody liar.”
“Which one are you Tate?”
“Huh – I’ll see if I can get you some coffee.”
Tate avoids Ben’s question; he stands from the riverbank and walks to the water’s edge, “it’s a hot night,” he says while thinking a quick dip would be cooling but as this part of the river is unknown to him, wisdom prevails against swimming in darkness.
“You enjoy being in the water?” Ben asks.
“I like the feel of the flow against my skin; it is like being caressed by a hundred hands.”
“You also like poetry,” Ben laughs.
“Na, I hated poetry at school, especially the soppy love-stick verse our teacher had us learn by rote.”
“You had an education?”
“Up to the sixth grade; what about you Ben?”
“I had some home schooling by my father and later the farmer would give me reading and rithmetic’ lessons after dinner. I got enough to read and write and collate a short column of numbers but I always had trouble with multiplying and dividing.”
“I suppose that is enough in life.”
Tate kneels to the water and makes ripples while cupping water in his hand.
He cools his face.
He flicks the residual towards Ben.
Ben feigns annoyance, “watch it kid,” he growls.
“What will you do about it?”
Ben remains muted.
Tate scoops up a second handful of water.
He throws it at Ben.
“Right that’s it.”
Ben is on his feet and laughing, he hurls himself towards Tate wrapping his powerful arms about, pinning Tate’s arms to his body.
The motion takes both off balance into the water.
Splash!
“Arr!” Tate laughs.
“It’s flaming cold,” Tate complains.
It is shallow by the bank and moments later both are standing waist deep in the water.
They are now both laughing.
The laughter stops and both are silently gazing into eyes.
The atmosphere becomes serious.
‘What now?’ Tate thinks as the pause lengthens.
Ben remans silent.
“We better get out and dry off,” Tate suggests while killing what was becoming an emotional impasse.
“We better,” Ben agrees; he slowly leaves the water followed by Tate. They strip and lay their wet clothing across the grassy verge. Their nakedness is shrouded in darkness and their watery impasse is soon forgotten.
“If I’m to make an early start in the morning then it is bedtime,” Tate suggests.
“I suppose.”
“Are you sure you wouldn’t like to be in side?”
“Here will do just dandy.”
It is early morning and the room is in darkness. There is a small window above the bed covered with a tattered hessian bag.
There is moonlight at the edges of the covering.
The air is stuffy and Tate has trouble sleeping, he thinks back to earlier in the night when he and Ben had their involuntary dip in the river.
Within his semiconsciousness he smiles, ‘I could have,’ he hears his voice in his head.
“Tate you should have. You know I would have.”
Tate bolts to upright in his bed.
His heart is racing.
He can feel its pulse pounding in his ears.
“Who is there,” he calls.
“You should know my voice by now my friend.”
“Is that you Tolga?”
“Who else would visit you in darkness?”
“Why not show yourself like you did by the river.”
“You want to jump Ben, so why don’t you?”
“I’m not that kind of bloke.”
“What about when you are with Wilson?”
“That was kid’s stuff and we don’t anymore.”
Tate is now wide awake and alone.
‘This is becoming scary,’ he thinks.
‘Possibly I’m loosing reality or why would I keep dreaming of Tolga?’
Tate recalls what his mother once said about dreaming, being the brain is sorting through problems that had occurred during the day. True he did have thoughts about Ben but why would Tolga become entwined in such thoughts, besides the thoughts were abstract and he would never act on them.
‘What if Ben is inclined?’
‘Would I?’
‘Go to sleep Tate, you have a long walk in the morning and need fresh legs.’
Tate yawns, moments later he is asleep without further interruption from Tolga.
Morning finds Ben already from his bed standing by the river’s edge.
“He is gazing into the shallows at a spot here the water babbles over rocks, “I saw something strange,” Ben quizzically announces as Tate approaches.
“What did you see?”
“Something impossible.”
“What did it look like?”
“It had a duck’s bill, webbed feet, a flat tail and possum’s fur.”
Tate laughs, “it would have been a platypus, they like the rocky shallows.”
“It’s a strange country, kangaroos that climb trees, birds that kill now something you call a platypus.”
“Did you sleep well?”
“Not very, I reckon the mosquitoes here are as big as finches.”
“The natives rub mud onto their skin.”
Ben is quick to answer;
“When I was on the farm, some burned dried cow shit to keep them away. I’ll give both suggestions a miss. Are you ready to travel for your supplies?”
“I am and will be gone all day, possibly overnight. What will you do?”
“Mostly a lot of thinking, you won’t mention me being here?”
“Do you believe I would?”
“No.”
“There’s your answer.”
“You will come back?”
Ben appears uncertain.
“Ben my word is my bond and I said I will help you until you are ready to go your own way.”
“You are a good kid.”
Tate laughs at the complement and with the sun hardly above the eastern forest he moves out.
Before Tate had gone from sight Ben calls, “don’t forget bacon and if you have spare pennies I would love a beer.”
Tate turns and waves agreement.
Ben calls once again “and eggs.”
“Sorry there won’t be eggs.”
The track towards Koah lacks any sign of recent usage and once past the farm it ends within a mile or so at a place called Two Bends. It is narrow and dusty hardly wide enough for a cart and never wide enough for the Cob and Co. coaches that convey passengers at a dizzy speed about the tableland.
Tate enjoys walking and as he travels he mulls over what he could purchase with the little coin in his pocket. Last time he visited the Koah general store he was given a feed for chopping a pile of firewood for the kitchen. At home it was his chore to do the chopping and fill the kitchen wood box, therefore he was well apt in swinging an axe but would the storekeeper remember him and give him work.
“We shall see,” he says as he travels.
“I can’t get ahead of myself.”
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
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