Dreaming always came easy for Tate and in most he had good dreams, although often strange in design. Nothing like the nightmares his brother Wilson was cursed with and when Wilson woke in fright he lacked all memory of what disturbed his sleep, unlike Tate who could recall his dreams in verbatim.

There was one recurring dream being Tate could fly but never high like the birds only for a short distance similar to the so described gliding possum that managed the distance between tall forest trees.

Tate had approached Tolga about his reoccurring dream who simply said, “possible you totem is the eagle.”

“But in my dreaming I don’t fly high like an eagle, I only glide like the gliding possum.”

“Then as you said you totem would be the gliding possum – they make good tucker.”

“I don’t think so besides white men don’t have totems Tolga, only ancestors.”

“We also have ancestors and the buggers are always visiting and interfering.”

“How do they come to you?”

“They sometimes come in dreams, other times they speak through the elders or whisper through the treetops.”

“It must be awfully rowdy up there in the treetops.”

“It is.”

“Do you hear them?”

Tolga had laughed “sometimes the buggers,” Tolga had quickly accepted that white man’s curse word, “are naughty and make improper suggestions.”

“Like what?”

That was one answer the native lad would not give but by Tolga’s reaction it may have been sexual. If it is said a man wears his heart on his sleeve it was definite Tolga wore his sexuality there and was often quite crude in his suggestions. Tate had asked what his people thought of him fancying boys and all that was offered was a cheeky smile and a huff.

Morning comes as morning does with Tate waking to the new day in a start having the sensation of someone standing over him.

It is Ben Morgan and very much awake, “you took off my boots!” Morgan demands.

“I did,” Tate replies without hesitation.

“Why?”

“I thought you would sleep more relaxed with them removed.”

“Huh.”

“I shouldn’t have, you feet stink.”

“When did you arrive here?”

“Late yesterday afternoon and found you almost at death’s door. I gave you some water but you wouldn’t take any food.”

Morgan begins to sway while holding his head.

He lowers himself to the ground.

“I don’t think you are ready to be about as yet,” Tate suggests.

“I guess not.”

“I have some berries I found down by the river. I think you should eat something.”

Morgan appears disappointed, “Berries?” he says; “berries are blackfella’s grub.”

“Berries will be better than starving. I’ll do some fishing once I’m about and while I’m at it I will give your clothes a washing in the river.”

“Don’t bother they’re alright as they be.”

“They could almost stand by themselves, so if I’m going to look after you until you are well enough to travel, I would rather do it without the smell.”

“I don’t need some kid looking after me.”

As proof Morgan attempts to rise but immediately falls back, “bit woozy,” he says and closes his eyes against the bright morning light.

“You don’t eh?”

“Well – maybe for a day or so, but after what I did to you why would you bother?”

Tate releases a cheeky chuckle, “I can’t rightly answer that question. If I had religion I suppose you would call it Christian charity.”

“If there was a god he wouldn’t have dumped me in the crap.”

“My mum would say god moves in mysterious ways but my old dad would say life is what you make of it, so don’t blame others for your shit.”

“What is your opinion, kid?”

“I don’t have any opinion – I’m off to the river to see if I can catch you some breakfast – eat those berries and take your cloths off, I’ll wash them for you, Tate laughs, “possibly in their state they may attract the fish,” another laugh, “or chase them away altogether.”

“Never mind my clothes.”

“Whatever, see if you have the strength to start a fire while I’m gone. You’ll find firelighters in my pack but firstly make a shallow bowl in the earth below the fire.”

“Why make a bowl?”

“You’ll see; that is if I catch anything.”

It wasn’t long before Tate returned carrying two fish speared through the gills on a stick, also carrying a wad of bark stripped from a paperbark tree he found close by.

On approach he discovers Morgan has a fire heaped high and burning hot. Morgan is seated beside and appeared a little brighter than he had earlier but still fully dressed.

“You had some luck?”

“I did, do you swim Mr. Morgan?”

“I have enough skill not to drown, why do you ask?”

“There’s a spot close by where the water isn’t deep and hasn’t a strong current. I though as it will be hot later you may like to freshen up a little also the water may help with your healing.”

Morgan has a measure of sarcasm in his tone, “are you still carrying on about my clothing?”

“Not at all Mr. Morgan, only I find swimming relaxing, I learned a style from the natives and our lot call it the native crawl.”

“If we are to spend time together, call me Ben. You appear to know quite a lot about the blacks.”

“I have a good friend who is black but I haven’t seen him for some time and part of my travelling is to again be acquainted with Tolga.”

With the fire burned down to mostly coals, Tate scrapes it all to one side and after wrapping the fish in the paperbark he places the package into the bowl Morgan had made, then he rakes the coals over the package.

“That shouldn’t take long,” he says.

“Where did you learn to cook like that?”

“From the natives.”

“I didn’t think the savages were that smart.”

“They are smarter than us in most but never savages – only different.”

“If you say so.”

“I do and not far from here is the proof to who is the more savage. I found remains of a number of natives that I would think was our doing.”

Morgan doesn’t reply as Tate removes the package of fish from the coals. “Ready,” he says.

“Let’s eat.”

During their meal Tate notices Morgan appears to be searching his expression as if he was looking for understanding, possibly why Tate would bother helping him. Their eyes meet and hold for a moment making Tate feel somewhat exposed, it was as if the man was reading his thoughts, looking for his true essence.

Tate breaks the interlocking with a single word, “what?”

“I was wondering why you are helping me, especially as I am branded as a killer and if that is fact could do you in at any time.”

“Oddly Mr. Morgan I believe your account although I am at a loss to imagine how you can prove your innocents.”

Morgan frowns and shrugs, “dunno’.”

“What will you do?”

“It is best I be away from up here and again change my identity.”

“So it isn’t Ben Morgan I’m now acquainted with?”

Morgan gives a wry smile.

“Who are you Mr. Morgan?”

“I think that can reman unspoken; besides I have been Ben Morgan for many years now.”

“Many years Ben, you said you were twenty-five?”

“Yes I had turned twenty-five but by a month.”

Tate’s tone lowers, “I hope your original crime wasn’t killing someone.”

“No nothing like that, I was only a kid and a little wild.”

“I think Ben Whoever, it is better I don’t know. Where do you think you will go, as by now your name and likeness will have been posted on every police station’s billboard from Townsville to Cooktown?”

“Possibly to the west, I would think Perth is far enough away not to have heard of Ben Morgan. From there I may find work on some steamer bound for South Africa, I hear there is plenty of work offering in Rhodes’ diamond mines.”

“I’ll leave you to projectuate on that thought, I’m off to wash up our meal stuff and have that swim I suggested.”

“What does projectuate mean?”

“It is a word my brother Wilson uses when thinking of what he will do in the future, I reckon he made it up. Are you coming for that swim?”

“Possibly later, I’m still feeling a little weak.”

Once Tate had sand cleaned pewter plates and the cutlery he had borrowed from Elsie’s kitchen drawer it was time for refreshing. Moments later he is naked and waist deep in cool water then with a little soap he had in his pack he commenced his laundry.

Once well lathered and rinsed he laid his trousers and shirt onto the grassy bank to dry.

Relaxing.

Tropical water is always so and being high in the mountains the water is free from the aggressive monsters populating the coastal rivers. There were Freshies, as the smaller inland crocodiles were often called but in most they were harmless to people, only growing to a fraction of that of their salty cousins, besides they were mostly found further west away from the cooling atmosphere of the high mountains or tableland.

Being beyond the fringe of the forest, the river ran lower in its banks with a wider vista of the undulating landscape. Tate had been neck deep in water for some time, feeling the slight current of the billabong caress his nakedness and gently kiss at his privates bringing on a youthful rise.

Tate smiles and reaches deep into the darkness below the water.

‘Why not, I am alone.’