Published: 11 Dec 2025
Travelling home was one of joy for Tate, he had more supplies than bargained for and news that would surely make Ben very happy. Even so he had a high level of trepidation, with Ben now free from culpability would he decide to be gone, would their developing relationship continue, or was it no more than convenience eventuating through lack of choice?
Tate also gave thought towards the demise of his friend Tolga and how cruel it had been to snuff out the life of one bent towards nothing but happiness. He recalled the lad’s mocking laugh when Tate failed at catching a fish with his bare hands. He recalled the dreamtime stories of Tolga’s ancestors and on the shoulders of one so young there was a wise head, also he had been an excellent teacher in how to live from the land; “leave a light footprint as you travel,” Tolga would say; “and never take more than is needed, as there is always a tomorrow.
‘Tomorrow is for Ben.’
‘Even so at the earliest opportunity I will find Tolga’s grave,’ Tate thinks as he reaches the halfway point towards the farm.
“Ben,” Tate utters, his heart jumps and flutters then turns to sterner stuff while recalling Ben’s threat to be gone. Although Tate had designed to remain in Koah overnight he had left Ben with little in the way of supplies, would Ben’s continued isolation encourage him to leave.
Now Tate’s flutter turned to guilt, he had enjoyed good company and fine food while Ben had nothing but a few berries, the songbirds and the gentle breeze in the tall trees.
‘I will make it up to Ben.’
‘Also the farm,’ Tate recalls what was said about the Parker farm, that the Shire would gift it to anyone who could make a go of it.
‘Could I become a farmer?’
‘Would Ben be capable of settling?’
‘What would people think?’
‘What if:’
“Stop it!” Tate shouts loudly to the building heat of mid afternoon.
“Stop your iffing’, Tate attempts to clear his thoughts from negativity by imagining himself as a farmer growing all kinds of things for market, he could see himself in the field with Ben close by, possibly watering, or helping with the harvest, learning from each other as they went.
‘Lovely though,’ he smiles while passing a rise of large boulders piled one on the other being what Tolga explained happening during the time of fire when the land ran red with rivers of embers, burning everything in their path.
“When was that?” Tate had questioned.
“A long – long time ago before us blackfellas were gifted the land from the dreamtime serpent,” Tolga explained.
“So there weren’t any blackfellows back then?”
“Some but not like today, they were learning how to be our ancestors.
“Who was teaching them?”
“It was the spirits of course.”
“Okay I think I understand that, what I don’t understand where the rivers of fire fit in with the ancestors and like us white fella’s’, the ancestors must have come from somewhere else.”
“The ancestors were brought up out of the earth and the spirits breathed life into them.”
“But you have no written history, how can such stories exist?”
“They are past down from one generation to the next by the old men and the keepers of songlines.”
“Chinese Whispers,” Tate had laughed then there was need to explain his suggestion of whispering by saying from each to the next, down through the ages the stories change so much that by this day it is so distorted the original could not be recognised.
“Not so,” Tolga crossly growled and that conversation abruptly ended.
Tate had less than a half mile to travel and without the slightest breeze in the treetops he can hear the river rippling over the rocky shallows near the bend. The sound is soothing as without understanding he had become part of the land allowing it to settle in his heart of hearts. Already he is a farmer, a tiller of soil a planter of seed. Even if Ben wished to move on Tate would remain, he would apply for the grant and settle onto the land.
As Tate comes closer to home it became even more probable Ben with his freedom may not enjoy Tate’s sentiment towards the land. If not the pull of the land was becoming stronger in Tate possibly more than his love for Ben, so he would have to work at convincing Ben to join with his little adventure.
Tate pauses before taking that last turn towards the farm. Here the path divides as one direction continues towards the east to where the stranger he met the previous day had taken his selection at Two Bends, the second leads the short distance to the farm.
Something has caught Tate’s attention.
There are the settler’s dray wheel tracks along the main road but now there is a set of smaller tracks leading to the farm and they appear recent.
Had someone beaten him to acquiring the property, or was it nothing but curiosity to see where the track leads to – and what of Ben? Finding someone approaching would increase his nervous disposition, being alone he may advance his wish to depart.
Soon the farm house roof is visible through the trees shimmering metallic silver in the late afternoon sunlight.
Tate cautiously approaches, his eyes are all about, firstly towards the river, to the kitchen garden and the house and its chimney.
‘No smoke,’ Tate thinks.
‘Then why would there be smoke.’
‘Ben had nothing to prepare as all I left him was some fruit from the forest.’
Looking about Tate notices buggy tracks coming close to the rickety picket fence around the kitchen garden. The fence had been erected by Sid Parker in an attempted to protect his pitiful planting from scavenging wildlife. The fence may have kept out the wallabies but the little creatures like the bandicoot simply dug beneath, or squeezed through the gaps in the picket work.
Whoever the visitor had been didn’t appear to hang about, there aren’t foot prints on the ground and further along there is evidence of turning as the buggy made a large circle before departing.
Tate enters into the silence of the house, dumping his heavy bag of supplies down.
“Ben,” he calls.
“Ben where are you?”
Once again outside Tate calls for Ben without answer.
Relying on his tracking skills learned over many years with his friend Tolga, Tate follows what appear to be the freshest prints.
Ben is easy to follow as he has large feet and his boots dig deeply into the dry earth.
Following the footprints Tate soon discovers they lead to the river’s shallows. Tate smiles, believing Ben may have chanced his skill at catching yabbies.
Another smile while recalling Ben’s failed attempts and hearing him curse loudly – frucken’ impossible.
Ben didn’t like to curse and guarded his words, his reason being his father would thrash him if he cursed, so his habit towards avoidance continued even after his father departed company.
“It’s your hands, Ben.” Tate had suggested.
“What about my flaming hands?”
“They are the size of dinner plates and lack dexterity.”
“Bugger your dexterity, you can catch them yourself.”
Even so he did further his attempts.
Eventually he had little to no success, until Tate showed him how the natives made yabby traps.
Returning his attention to the footprints on the bank where Ben appears to have paused before turning to face the track leading in from the main road. Then as if disturbed by something or someone Ben turns sharply and at pace headed towards the scrub in the direction of the cave.
‘Ben saw something,’ Tate assumes.
‘Possibly it was the arrival off the buggy.’
‘When?’
‘I would think it was late yesterday afternoon.’
Tate glances towards the sky, he is loosing daylight.
To reach the cave would take little time but the daylight may fade in half that time.
Tate knows the way to the cave blindfolded but the track is no more than a scratching through the scrub with much undulation and washouts but light or not he must find Ben as the news he has to share urged him on.
At first following Ben is easy and by his gait Ben didn’t appear to be hurried. At half distance the light fades as Tate skirts the ravine when Ben had fallen into the scrub.
A happy smile as that fall lead to further bonding, an association that previously Tate would have emphatically denied even if his native friend lacked belief in Tate’s sexuality.
At last the darkening rocky outcrop holding the cave is seen above the trees.
A hundred yards and Tate will be there but will Ben be sheltering inside, or has he gone for good.
Trepidation as the few remaining yards melts away.
Closer in the scrub thickens hiding the cave’s entrance.
Even closer the entrance is dark without the slightest sign or sound of life.
Outside the entrance Tate pauses.
“Ben,” Tate whispers.
‘Why am I whispering?’
‘Tolga would say the night has ears, therefore keep your secrets low.’
“Ears!” Tate huffs.
“Ben, are you in there?” he loudly calls.
A welcome voice comes out from the dark;
“Is that you Tate?”
“Who else would it be?” Tate answers.
“Dunno’.”
Ben approaches into what little light there is at the cave’s entrance. “I was beginning to think you weren’t coming back.”
“Of course I was returning. I did say I would need to stay overnight. What made you take off?”
“Some bloke arrived in a buggy with a woman and a couple of kids, I though it best not to be seen.”
“That would be the family who have taken up selection a couple of miles east of here; I met them on the way in to town. Why didn’t you return to the house later?”
I could hear wood chopping close by so I thought it best to stay hidden.”
“That would be timber cutters getting logs for the bridging of some of the gullies now the road is almost at the western approach to the mountains”
“Then it is about time I moved on, it’s getting a little too busy about these parts for my liking,” Ben pauses as his tone becomes serious, “and that my young friend can not be argued against.”
Tate peeks outside into the gathering darkness;
“The moon should be up soon, so there should be enough light to make our way back.”
Ben gives a gentle chortle.
“What is the matter?”
“No matter, I was remembering my first dash through the scrub.”
“Yes I well remember and you scared me half to death. This time it will be slow and cautious.”
Tate is having difficulty holding back his news, thinking it fortunate it was dark, or his grinning would surely give him away.
Eventually Ben speaks his mind;
“When I move on what will you do Tate?”
“What would you wish me to do Ben?”
“If only everything was different,” Ben says.
Tate almost lets his news slip.
“Possibly things are different,”
“What do you mean?”
“Simply a thought, let me put your wish another way. Say tomorrow found you a free man with nothing to answer for; what would you do?”
“That is hypothetical Tate.”
“Then humour me.”
Ben is slow with his answer.
“In truth, I’ve become accustomed to your company, I like what we do in bed and no matter what the future brings your scent has become lodged in my senses and my heart. If they were to hang me I would close my eyes, as the last I would wish to see as the lights went out would be your face upon the inward eye.”
“I like that.”
“It’s the truth but I don’t have control of my future, it will either be keep running or the hangman.”
“The moon is up, let’s get going.” Tate suggests as he leads away from the cave’s mouth.
“Did you get any beer; I’m in the mood for drinking.”
“Some, I did a little wood cutting for the publican and he paid me in beer, he also gave me a couple of shillings.”
“A virtual rich man,” Ben ironically laughs.
Once inside the house Tate is quick to light the lamp, “are you ready for that beer?” he asks
“I am.”
“Then wait a mo’ I have them cooling in the kitchen water tank.”
Tate returns with a single bottle and passes it to Ben.
“Aren’t you having?”
“No they are for you; there is more cooling in the tank, so you can celebrate.”
“Celebrate! That’s a laugh.”
“I think you will be celebrating when you see what I have.”
With building excitement Tate removes the folded newsprint from his pocket; he hesitates;
“What is your reading skill like?”
“As good as the next man I suppose as long as they don’t writ’ those fancy words your brother utters.”
Tate passes Ben the newsprint.
“What is this?”
“Read and find out.”
Ben commences to read the news report.
As he reads his expression displays disbelief;
“Is this true or some kind of trick?”
“It is true.”
Ben again reads the report and as he continues all his fear and stress appeared to fall away.
“I don’t know what to say.”
“Your expression says it all.”
Ben takes a seat, his hand is trembling, once again he reads the reprieve then his expression turns; “I always thought Jack Worthy’s lies would get the better of him in the end, he has a big mouth.”
“Yes it appears his greed got the better of him, so we can be thankful he splashed around the cash.”
Tate retrieves the second beer and offers it to Ben; “there you go as I said it is time to celebrate.”
Ben appears to be struck dumb his gaze appears unfocused.
“What are you thinking?”
“Dunno’ it is if I’m being born for a second time.”
“So what now?” Tate asks from his developing insecurity.
“Tomorrow Tate, tonight I need to let it sink in.”
Tate softly laughs.
“What?” Ben curiously asks.
“You have stolen my line.”
Ben rises to his feet;
“I’m going for a walk.”
“Would you like me to come with you?”
“Not this time Tate.”
It is past midnight, Tate knows the time by the sky; he is seated on an old swing seat by the house’s front door.
Above the sky is ablaze with light a whole universe looking down on him and he is polarised on one single being and that is Ben, who after taking his short walk rests by the river close to the babbling over the shallows.
Life before Ben had been simple.
Life with Ben difficult because of Ben being a hunted man but life without Ben is now unthinkable.
‘How did I get to this?’ Tate thinks.
‘Ben has turned my world upside down.’
‘Before Ben I was self assured now nothing is certain.’
A gentle sigh.
Ben remains motionless by the water.
His head is stooped into his upright knees and somehow he appears smaller than usual, somewhat vulnerable even child like.
The Crux has turned on its axis in the sky and is sinking towards the horizon and still Ben sits motionless with Tate his only audience.
‘Sitting here wishing and hoping isn’t doing much good,’ Tate eventually evaluates.
“Tomorrow,” he announces with a chortle.
“Tomorrow in sunlight suggestions will be offered and decisions made.”
“For now to bed,” Tate softly announces and goes indoors.
The morning comes as mornings must and Tate awakes with a shaft of sunlight on his face arriving through the grime of the bedroom window.
He reaches across the bed but is alone.
He rises and goes to the door.
Ben remains seated by the water.
Remaining naked except for his boots Tate approaches Ben, “good morning he quietly offers.”
“A fine morning,” Ben agrees with a smile, “I like that,” he says.
“What do you like?”
“You naked, you look much better that way.”
“I was intending to take a quick dip before preparing your breakfast.”
Ben reaches up and touches Tate’s nakedness.
There is rising.
“I also like that,” Ben says as Tate steps into the water.
“I also heard about my friend Tolga.”
“Where is he?”
“He is dead, someone shot him. It happened some time back.
“What about seeing him along the river when he gave you warning about the arrival of the police?”
“I have come to the conclusion my dreaming and seeing him was from wishing to be reunited. I think I will place all that with some wonderful memories we shared but at some time I would like to find where he is buried.
Ben accepts Tate’s desire without comment.
“I have other news,” Tate says.
“What would that be?”
“I hear this farm is up for the taking to anyone who wishes to make a go of it.”
Ben laughs;
“So you want to be a farmer.”
“It is only a thought.”
“What do you know about farming Tate?”
Tate enters into the water sinking to his haunches.
The coolness takes away the rising heat in his crotch.
“Bugger all but I could learn.”
Ben is smiling broadly, “and I suppose you want me to be your flaming offsider in your dumb plan.”
Tate hesitates his reply.
“Well?” Ben questions.
“Not so much offsider I was thinking more as a partner.”
“I don’t know anything about growing stuff.”
“We could learn together, besides if we fail there is a whole world and lifetime ahead of us.”
“Okay,” Ben quietly says.
“Okay what?”
“Yes I’ll be your offsider it could be fun – but firstly.”
“Yes firstly?”
“I would like to go into Koah and sit at the bar and order a beer.”
“That can be arranged.”
Ben quickly strips and throws his body into the water next to Tate
Ben is laughing;
“Me a farmer?” he says, “what next?”
“Tomorrow,” Tate is broadly grinning.
“Only tomorrow knows that,” Tate concludes.
THE END
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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