Published: 20 Mar 2017

Luke had collected the day’s mail, a single letter and a final notice for the Electricity. Once back inside the house he called for Esca. “There’s a letter for you; looks like you’re mother’s writing and a bill.” He handed both envelopes to Esca then standing silently aside, hands on hips, he waited for the letter’s opening. Esca did so.

“What’s happening?” Luke asked inquisitively.

“Mum’s sold the house, she said it was a good price and she had no choice.” Esca grimaced and shook his head.

“We’ll have to move eh,” Luke answered without concern.

“That’s no worries but it’s to who she sold it.” Esca sighed. Folding the letter back into its envelope he allowed it to drop to the kitchen table, while vacantly looking down on its existence as if it were his execution blade.

“Who would that be?”

“Bloody Bill Fraser, that’s who,” Esca growled.

“No sweat, Violet’s house is still unsold and empty, I’ll have a word with Charlie Barrett, I’m sure his offer is still good. Or better still we could leave town altogether.”

Esca shook his head releasing a tutting sound. “It’s not the shifting, I could live anywhere but letting Fraser get the better of me that is another matter.”

“Hey don’t brood; your mum said she got a good price. That’s great. Just think Fraser paid full price for a house that’s almost ready to be trashed.”

“Still he’s getting the better of me and I don’t like that.” Esca snapped at his friend’s mirth.

“No he’s getting the better of himself, he paid top price – right”

“Yes,”

“To get you out – true?”

“True I guess.”

“So you don’t leave town, well not right away and Fraser ends up with a dump of a house he will never be able to sell. Who’s getting at who eh? And as I said your mum gets her price.” The irony had Luke in stitches. Eventually Esca saw the humour in his friend’s thinking and agreed in Fraser this would be justified.

It was some days before Luke chanced upon Charlie Barrett drinking at the Royal Hotel. Barrett had a small holding along the Running Creek road, past the Ten-mile Bridge, where he ran a few head of cattle. Barrett seldom came into town but when he did, it was for provisions and to tank up on grog, then crash at what was once his parent’s home on the outskirts towards the cross roads. Barrett had inherited Violet’s house from a maiden aunt some years earlier but not in need of money had never attempted to sell the property.

Luke explained his situation and Fraser’s purchase of the Brody house while Barrett listened intensively.

“Bloody Fraser,” Barrett declared quite loudly bringing many in the bar to turn and agree, “He and his mob tried to buy Violet’s place for half its value.” He added. “He can go to hell for all I care.” Barrett offered Luke a beer and the house to Luke and Esca for as long as they needed, rent free. With this Luke was quick to return to Esca with the news.

“What do you think?” Luke asked after conveying Barrett’s offer.

“I like the idea but let’s not move until Fraser comes to bounce us.”

“Personally I would rather leave town altogether.” Luke added.

“I’m not ready yet. As I said, that would mean the likes of Fraser would win and for once I would like to see them loose.”

Although Esca had agreed in principle to shift to Violet’s house, Fraser’s purchase of his family home was eating into his emotions. This was where he had been as a child enjoying happy days with his brother Jack. A time before his father became violent and his mother lost her humour and as he believed, her love. Such things could not be replaced but it was Luke who convinced him that memories remain in your mind and not in property. Reminding the house also had bad memories; did he wish to hold onto them as well?

“I guess you’re right,” was all Esca could reply and with a sigh of remorse he agreed with Luke but was still smarting from Fraser’s purchase of the Brody home.

Bill Fraser sat in his dining room staring at a set of papers before him. He was now the owner of the Brody house. It had cost him more than he had been prepared to pay but it was his. He could now instigate revenge on George and Esca’s father by evicting the son. As he turned the contract page by page the true reality of his situation became apparent. He didn’t actually own the house it was tied up with bank mortgages and the profit he was to obtain through Four Kings. All this now seemed distant and in danger of collapse.

A chill came over the man as he thought of how the mining company had tricked the council into believing reopening the mine would be good for the town. Instead it would return absolutely nothing. It would sit a hole in their landscape, extracting riches that would line the pockets of share holders in the city, or those in distant countries, who by chance may not even know of the town’s existence, or even care and it was Government sanctioned, beyond anything a small local council could contain.

As for Four King’s, it proudly controlled a number of properties it most probably could never sell, yet must service loans through many financial institutes. These institutes would soon like wolves be howling for fiscal recompense. He could become destitute, even lose his News Agency and home. Still he would inflict his revenge. No mortgage or bank could prevent that pleasure.

Luke had been searching for Esca for some time, eventually he found him sorting through some boxes in the shed.

“You in there?” Luke called from the open shed doorway, his eyes adjusting to the gloom.

“Yea, I’m going through some of the junk back here.”

As Esca spoke a box containing old clothing fell from a stack hitting him on the head, spilling the contents over the floor. “Shit!” Esca exclaimed loudly, rubbing his head more out of being startled than hurt.

“Is everything alright?” Luke called into the dimness at the back of the shed.

“Yea, got a fright that’s all – come in,”

“What are you looking for?”

“Nothing, I thought seeing we will be leaving soon, I’d see if there is anything that may be handy.”

By now Luke was close by the spilt box. He collected a garment from the spillage holding it up to the light. It was a woman’s dress. Knee length and high fronted, designed with a selection of very large interconnecting coloured dots.

“Who in their right mind would wear something like this?” Luke commented in disbelief.

“Once my mother would have, I remember it from way back.” Esca cast his thoughts back to bright sunny days filled with family laughter and a faded photograph of him with his mother wearing that very dress, captured what now seemed like a life time ago.

“Why did she keep all this shit?”

“Don’t know, just being human I suppose, you never know one day it may be useful and you know fashion. It goes in cycles.”

“Not these circles mate.” Luke laughed.

“What do you think I should do with all this?” Esca asked, standing away from the spilt clothing while casting a hand over the contents of the shed.

“Does your mother want any of it?” Luke asked.

“No, I think she had intentions to pay someone to dump it if the house sold.”

“Leave it all for Fraser, if he wants you out he can suffer the junk.”

Esca agreed, “you know Luke sometimes you have a wicked streak in you.” He said, “Still I love you all the more for it.” He added giving a mocking smirk.

As Esca returned the contents and broken box to the pile he tripped over something dark on the floor. It was a small metal box, black and rusting with a latch but no lock. Esca collected the box and clearing a space placed it on the work bench.

“What’s that?” Luke asked.

“Don’t know I’ve never seen it before.” Esca tried the lid but time had fastened it with rust.

“It may be full of money or gold.” Luke suggested becoming most interested in the box’s contents. “Come on open it.” He continued eager to discover what the box contained.

The lid of the box held fast and a screwdriver was necessary to prise it open. It gave and with a loud clunk fell to the floor away from its rusted hinges, displaying the box’s contents.

Covering what appeared to be a collection of foreign coins was a number of document, letters and news paper cuttings. Esca removed the papers finding at the bottom scattered amongst the coins, a set of war medals.

“Was your dad in the war?” Luke asked, as the medals were extracted from the box, glinting brightly under the dazzle of the shed’s light.

“Don’t know he never said anything.” Esca read their inscriptions, “Vietnam.” He unfolded a scrap of stained and fragile news print resting at the bottom of the pile of papers.

“Well I’ll be buggered.” He gasped while reading the news cutting.

“What is it?”

“Dad was a bloody war hero. He saved four men while under enemy fire then wounded himself he went back for a fifth.” Esca felt forlorn as choking guilt gripped at his throat. “And after all I said about him.”

Picking up the medals one at a time, tears commenced to well. He swallowed at the lump in his throat.

“War hero or not he didn’t have the right to beat you or Jack.” Luke imposed most strongly. Esca did not reply.

Esca took the rusting metal box to the kitchen, where he commenced to lay its contents onto the table in analytical order; letters with letters, new print with it own and the many coins by their country of origin but it was always the medals that captured his attention. Why didn’t his father march or wear them on Anzac day? He could not say. All he now felt was overwhelming guilt for hating his father and the fact that even with the medals and news cuttings he still could not love him.

All that morning Esca remained remorse and distant from Luke, who took himself visiting to give his friend space. Leaving through the scrub behind the house he almost fell over John Rush who was returning from stealing food from his parent’s house; so close was he, Luke could smell his unwashed condition, while his naked state was somewhat distracting, causing confusion. Should he laugh or blush.

“Hi there,” Luke greeted feeling he must say something. As he spoke he commenced to offer Rush his hand but withdrew. Rush gave a devilish smile and spoke.

“He looked at the stranger,”

“He smiled a knowing smile,”

“He walked away,” concluding with a sound that was more animal than human, before once again disappeared into the undergrowth, carrying a loaf of sliced bread, bottle of jam but no butter. These would have been left out for him by his parents, along with a cooked meal.

“Very poetical,” Luke called after the naked young man, only receiving the view of a well rounded set of buttocks, as Rush once again disappeared into the undergrowth.

On his return Luke discovered Esca had left the house. There was a scribbled note on the kitchen table telling he had gone to the Cemetery. Luke immediately realised his friend’s intentions while feeling sure Esca would never find his father’s grave, as it was unmarked except for a burial number. There were lists in the site building but it was rarely staffed.

Quickly Luke took himself through the long grass up Butcher’s Hill, without concern for the many sightings of snakes. Once on its crown he gazed down towards the graveyard on the opposite side of the hill. Instantly he spied Esca and to his relief, in conversation with the gardener caretaker.

Roland Pittsford was a young man, who by his gait and style could be mistaken to be an undertaker. Tall and thin with long greasy dark brown hair that had to be continuously flicked away from his sight. All that was missing was the black hat and coat. He also had a morbid interest in death and knew the grave of almost everyone who was buried there. From his advantage, Luke could clearly see Pittsford’s long thin outstretched arm with pointing finger, showing Esca where his father was buried. Satisfied Luke returned home.

Once alone Esca knelt into the weeds around the mound of dry baked red earth that held his father’s remains. He sighed deeply, attempting to cry but tears would not come. He thought he should cry, then realised how dramatic that appeared. He sighed once more and spoke, “dad it’s Esca,” his words soft and morose; another deep breath which blew away a portion of his melancholy. “Why didn’t you tell us?” A pause, “Dad I forgive you but I still can’t like you but I promise I will try.” Again he paused. Reaching for a thick pointed stick that lay close by he commenced to dig into the hardened soil above his father’s grave. Once his hole was deep enough Esca buried his father’s medals. He stood released a final long and mournful sigh then returned to town but not home. Taking himself to the Royal Hotel, where some hours later he staggered out somewhat intoxicated.

The main street was quiet. A small group of lads clowned about on the opposite side looking for entertainment but didn’t find Esca interesting enough to release their usual barrage of language and insults. Esca saw them and continued on his way, giving a slight stagger as he went. He saw the street lighting which blurred in his vision as he walked He felt the heat of the night and the prickle of a bush he leant into, laughing as blood spotted the skin of his arm. What Esca didn’t see was someone following him at distance. It was Luke, who had been shadowing him for most of the afternoon. His protector but not his judge and as Esca entered the house through his front door, Luke was returning by the rear.

Esca stumbled through the door, reaching for the light switch; instead fell to his hands and knees. Crawling towards the bedroom he burped, allowing the acrid taste of stale beer and stomach acid to burn at his throat. Esca wished to be sick. He held it back but his stomach heaved, ejecting a vomit of beer. Fortunately Luke was there with a bucket to catch the first of many stomach upheavals. Eventually there was nothing left but dry retching as Esca collapsed pitifully onto the dusty polished boards of the hall. He could smell sick and floor wax as he lay moaning.

“Come on lets get you to bed.” It was a struggle. In his drunken state Esca fought all attempts to be undressed. Luke persevered eventually winning the battle of the trousers, unceremoniously dumping the now limp body of Esca onto the bed, while he himself bedded down on the mattress under the window.

Then came the snoring; at first a light gurgling sound, which soon turned into a motorised chainsaw and for Luke the promise of a long time until sunup.

“I don’t suppose you want breakfast.” Luke asked as a woolly headed Esca stumbled naked from his morning bedroom.

“I’m alright, I need a shower.” Esca answered; his voice as rough as his appearance.

“Your eyes look like two piss holes in the snow – coffee?”

“Shower,” Esca repeated hoarsely and slowly left for the bathroom holding his head in both hands. His eyes closed against the morning light.

Luke gave his friend space and as well deserved; a measure of banter. By late afternoon Esca was almost back to normal thought his head still felt full of wool and there was a distant ache in the back of his head that would not relent.

It was two days before Esca’s constitution returned to that of a young man in his prime of life. His head hurt and his body ached, from the many stumbles on his way home from the pub. “Never again,” He declared on many occasions, only to receive comic relief from Luke.

On the second day one spark of joy did arrive in the form of a letter from Jack. It appeared that his fencing contracting was going well.

He had purchased a mobile telephone, of which he found its workings almost impossible to comprehend, while inviting Esca to contact him. There was also suggestion that Esca could become a partner and together they could fence most of Queensland.

“What do you think of going fencing?” Esca asked reading the misspelt one page letter from his brother.

“I suppose I could learn. Why?”

“Jack wants me to join him.”

“He’s asked you, I don’t think he expects anyone else to tag along.” Luke appeared somewhat dejected by the proposal.

“I wouldn’t go without you.” Esca assured.

“What do you think Jack would make of us in bed together?”

“Oh I never thought of it, suppose that puts an end to stringing wire but I’ll give him a call anyway and maybe we could at least visit him.” Esca finished reading the letter.

“Does he say anything else?” Luke asked.

“Only he had a visit from George, who drank all his grog and borrowed a hundred dollars from him before disappearing.” They both laughed. It appeared that Jack was an easier touch than they had been.

The day Esca received his most welcomed letter from Jack; Four Kings had their final meeting at the Fraser house. It was a sober affair, no scotch or pizza. Not even coffee and sandwiches. In general their failure to capitalise on their capture the town’s housing market would badly buckle their finances but in essence not destroy them, except for Bill Fraser whose purchase of the Brody house was outside the company’s dealings.

Four Kings had been instigated as a Limited Liability Company and with their combined cunning had become assured others would be financially burnt and not themselves. Sergeant Barnes was also at the meeting yet somewhat on the outer. He hadn’t invested in Four Kings but was guaranteed to receive a percentage of its profit. Now there wouldn’t be any and his corruption would have been in vain. He would receive nothing, not even gratitude and wasn’t pleased nor backward in saying so.

“So it’s decided then, we will wind up Four Kings and let the banks suffer with the houses.” Henry Wallace declared somewhat despondently. The other’s having no other choice, agreed in principle.

“What about the Brody house.” Fraser demanded.

“What about it.” Jones snapped in anger.

“I bought that place as part of Four Kings.” Fraser growled somewhat impatiently.

“You bought it to get rid of the Brody kid and have revenge on his bloody father and uncle.” Leonard Kenny declared loudly.

“It was to become part of Four Kings!” Fraser voice rose frustrated above the others.

“I gave you fair warning Bill.” Wallace, snowing a rare display of daring snapped impatiently towards Fraser’s suggestion. .

“It was eventually to become part of Four Kings.” Fraser retorted, now physically looming over his fellow Councillor, pointing an angry finger in the face of Wallace.

“No you bought the house on you’re own. I warned you it was a bad buy but you wouldn’t listen. You had to have your revenge. Now all you have is a pile of fire wood and a mortgage against your own home and business.” Wallace shouted over what was becoming a rabble. Seething with anger Fraser once again became seated. His arms crossed and breath held, while his face flushed almost purple with rage, unable to find the words to discredit the others.

Pandora’s Box could not have held a better climax. Each had a gripe with the other, commencing with Fred Jones the lid lifted. “As for you Lenny, you can bloody stop undercutting my prices.”

“Bull shit Fred you can stop selling supermarket products.” Kenny snapped, his face flaring red with anger, while his finger found its way into a threatening point.

“Gentlemen please.” Wallace called in an attempt to bring some civility back to the meeting. He failed and Fraser once again turned on him releasing many years of frustration.

“If you hadn’t been such a weak bastard we may have better dealings with the mine and railways.” Fraser shouted across the table, while violently pushing it towards his fellow directors, off balancing Jones.

Wallace’s lip quivered either with anger or fright, or both which didn’t matter, as no one took notice. There was nothing more he could say to pacify the meeting. Standing to leave he accepted Fraser’s final words.

“Get out of my house. All of you get out of my house. I’ve had the lot of you lily-livered bastards. Get out!” Fraser stood, waved his arms about like some madman and left the room, while his fellow Councillors fell silent. Each looking upon the other, mouths open and frustration spent they left the Fraser house without further greeting. On reaching the gate they all went their own way without once looking back on the progress of the others. The short and expensive life of Four Kings was now dead.

That month’s council meeting found Fraser missing from the assembly and a surprise announcement from its Mayor, Henry Wallace. He took the floor and most apologetically resigned his commission as Mayor and from the council itself, to take effect from that very moment. He then left the building never to return.

Bill Fraser had been meeting with his bank manager for most of that morning. The news was grave but not totally destructive. He would save his News Agency but more than likely not his house. It would have to be sold, most probably at a fraction of its value to cover his immediate loan. If he could sell the Brody house he would survive intact but with so many properties on the market, he couldn’t even find interest if he were to halve his original purchase price. Now his dislike for anything Brody lifted to a higher level, becoming loathing. With the antipathy came despair, turning into depression, placing a further barrier between his wife and son.

After the resignation of Wallace as Mayor there was an investigation into the Council’s business, resulting in findings of misconduct against the four, most of which seemed to be unfairly directed against Wallace himself but corruption could not be proven, only gross mismanagement.

With Wallace’s resignation; that of Fraser soon followed and after the audit both Jones and Kenny were also asked to resign ahead of a new election for all council positions. This left only Sergeant Barnes with any level of respectability, while his association with the four placed much of the town’s ills squarely on his shoulders. As a man of law, it had been suggested he should have displayed greater social spirit.

After being asked to pay for his hotel room, Barnes re-established himself at the station quarters. At least the rental required by the department was far less than what was now expected for his hotel room. Gone also were the free pub meals and drinks, leaving Barnes to survive on take away, while replacing most meals with alcohol.

Bill Fraser sat at his kitchen table, his gaze beyond the window, lost in the grape like blossom of the Wisteria. His thoughts were black and his deliberation on when to evict Esca Brody from his property. He was mulling over his wording of the eviction when his wife, Rose Fraser arrived home overloaded with the weekend shopping. She unceremoniously dumped her packages onto the table in front of her husband and left the room. He didn’t respond. Moments later, red faced and bothered, she returned.

“Where’s Brett, I told him to be here.” She drew a deep breath, held it for an instant then forced it out.

“I don’t know he was here a while back.” Bill answered from his dream like state, his gaze still lost within the gentle flowers of the Wisteria.

“Bill.” She snapped. The man failed to respond.

“Listen I’ve had it up to my back teeth.” She hissed loudly through those same teeth.

Her husband heard but remained despondent. He had also tired of her continuous nagging about his business deals, his association with Four Kings and a son that he neither liked nor cared much for.

“Then what are you going to do about it love?” He asked calmly, giving a most supercilious smile through pursed lips. His eyes vaguely focus on the wall beyond her head to a large wall clock and the time of the day that meant nothing to him.

“That’s it, I’ll be at my sister’s in Ravenswood, call me when you come to your senses.”

It wasn’t her husband’s words but his supercilious smile that drove her to decision and once made, she would not be moved. Snatching her car keys from the table she turned and without further speaking was gone.

Bill Frazer wasn’t bothered. His only quandary, she had left Brett behind in his care. He sunk further into his chair, his mind on his forthcoming eviction of Esca Brody and the pleasure it would bring but even this didn’t lift him from his dark melancholy. He had a future meeting with his bank manager scheduled for the coming week, after which he may not have title to the Brody house or the pleasure of evicting Esca. He would have to act soon.

“I’ll evict the little bastard tomorrow.” Fraser mumbled as the sound of his wife’s vehicle faded.

Gary would appreciate your thoughts on his story. Gary dot Conder at CastleRoland dot Net

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