Published: 17 Oct 2016

The sound of the bus’s wheels bouncing across the loose planks of the Ten-mile Bridge brought Esca from his dozing. Quickly he looked outside the bus for location.

“Almost home son,” Bob Douglas called over the roar of the engine.

Esca stretched the cramp from his body. “What time is it?” He yawned once again peering through the bus window for signs of recognition. The rain had broken into a light drizzle and far off to the east a faint glow of the coming day brightened the overcast sky.

“Past four-thirty,” The driver answered.

“Did we just cross the Ten-mile Bridge?” Esca asked.

“Sure did and it’s still as rotten as ever, one day someone is going to go through that pile of termite riddled planks.”

It was almost five by the time the bus halted at the cross-roads. The doors sprung open, letting in the cool morning air. Esca followed Bob down the stairs to retrieve his belongings. “Not much luggage.” The driver commented.

“I always travel light,” Esca laughed.

“Well, best be on my way – schedules to keep.” The driver yawned. It would be another thirty kilometres before his shift ended and he found the comfort of a motel bed until the return journey. After a kind word and hand shake Bob climbed back into his seat, closed the bus doors, disappearing into the drizzle of the new morning.

Esca’s parent’s house was across town, past the Butter Factory and Co-op, along the main street bearing that name, four more streets, around the corner and the High School, then directly across from the high school gates was home. Believing it to be too early to wake his parents Esca decided to wait in the shelter of the Tourist Centre porch. At least there he would be out of the weather.

With the lifting of the drizzle and in morning sunlight the town appeared new and clean, unsullied with people cluttering its serenity. On the surface nothing appeared to have changed but he knew after a year of absence there would be changes. There would be marriages, deaths and others moved away. His school friends would have now joined the work force, or the dole line; maybe some would have drifted to the city, even living within the same suburb as he had. The thought of it all not only frightened him but also excited him.

“Suppose I better face the music,” Esca mumbled climbing down from the Centre’s stairs onto the freshness of the concrete path. Unlike the city there was no rubbish to litter his way or down-and-outs sleeping in shop door-ways under sheets of cardboard, smelling of stale piss, sweat and bad breath. The thought brought a smile; he sniffed at his armpits, declaring he needed a shower.

Outside Jackson’s Shoe Shop Esca paused. Would it be wiser to wait until his father had left for school before arriving home? Through the window of Jackson’s shop, past the display of last year’s fashions he could see its clock, it was later than he had imagined. If his father remained fastidious to habit he should already be at work, so he would only have to contend with his mother. On the other hand if he lingered there was probability he would meet people he knew, this he was not ready for. Esca therefore continued his journey towards home as shop keepers commenced to prepare themselves for a new day’s business, while the smell of freshly hosed shop footpaths brought back fond memories.

The school yard was deserted except for two cars in the teachers parking area. One he recognised belonging to the English teacher, Miss. Francis who lived some distance from town and true to her custom was always the first to arrive. The second, although many years old and somewhat battered was new to him, giving belief there had been staff changes since his departure. Esca paused allowing a wave of remorse to conqueror him, then turning to face his home gate the remorse gave way to dread. He opened the gate with its rusty squeak at the hinges, expecting his arrival to be greeted by Dopey, his pet Labrador, with its lazy woof and sad eyes as it meandered towards the entry of an intruder. Silence prevailed as he moved towards the front door; his heart thumping, with blood pulsating at his temples.

Should he knock or enter unannounced. Esca decided knocking his arrival to be more prudent. It would be shock enough for his mother to open the door to his presence. To find him wandering down the passage may cause an ill effect. His clenched fist hovered briefly before lightly meting the timber of the door. No answer. Again he knocked this time with added force, echoing back from the hall beyond. Inside there was a scuffle of feet.

“All right – all right, I heard you.” It was his mother’s voice sounding rough and angered by the early disturbance. Esca held his breath as the door opened to display Stella Brody wearing a shabby robe. She had much changed. The twelve months of his absence appeared more as ten years in her face. Gone was the elegance she once bore, the straightness of back and eyes that could pierce into your very existence. Before him was an aging woman, greying of hair and stooped, her lips sagged into permanent sadness. Had his departure done this to his mother? Esca became overwhelmed with guilt as tears began to form. He fought them away.

“Esca!” Stella Brody gasped her hands trembling as if she had seen a ghost.

“Mum, I’m home.” Esca declared, knowing his statement to be somewhat obvious and silly. The woman paused for some time before speaking.

“You better come in.” Stella offered in a tone more incidental than welcoming towards her prodigal son. Esca followed his mother to the kitchen. The house was untidy. Most of the furnishing he remembered was missing, replaced by a number of cardboard boxes and suitcases.

“Where’s dad?” Esca asked confused by his unfamiliar surrounding.

“Your father is dead!” Stella snapped abruptly before bursting into tears, sending Esca into disbelief. Stella regained her composure. She filled the kettle, her hands still shaking from her early morning shock. Tea there must be tea. A cup of tea was medicine enough to cure most ailments. If Chicken Soup was Jewish medicine to cure disorder, Tea was so to English society.

“I’ll fix you breakfast,” Stella offered. She retrieved a handkerchief from the sleave of her dressing gown and wiped her nose. Returning the pink and blue square to the grubby sleave of the gown, she continued.”Where have you been?” She demanded from a daub of butter sizzling in the frying pan.

“Down in the city.” Esca softly answered.

“Not one letter or telephone call, don’t you think people worry?”

“I sent two postcards.” Esca protested.

“Two postcards that said nothing except, ‘don’t worry I’m alright,’ even your brother wrote a letter when he left.”

“Have you heard from Jack?” Esca asked neglecting the death of his father, being unsure if he should feel relief or remorse for his father’s demise. Stella didn’t answer. “What happened to dad?” Esca added. His words stuttered.

“He shot himself a week after you left.” Stella answered flatly.

“Why?”

“What do you think Esca? Firstly Jack walks out then you; the poor man couldn’t take it any more.” Stella broke two eggs into the sizzle of the pan then added bacon. “There’s bread in the bread bin help yourself.” She offered with a sigh, transferring fault to her son.

Esca didn’t know where to start or how to react. There were many questions needing answers but first he should show respect for his father for the sake of his mother. While showing compunction he allowed Stella to tell her story, without allowing the fact that he didn’t actually care seem too obvious. The only blame he felt was the guilt of not feeling guilty, even if his mother bluntly laid responsibility upon him. He felt shocked and somewhat numbed with the news but nothing more, as the permanency of his father’s demise had not yet become clear.

“Where’s Dopey?” Esca asked feeling safe to move the conversation away from the death of his father.

“He was very old.” Stella answered her tone obvious she had nothing more to offer on the subject of the dog. She paused, her lips narrowing into a thin displeased line, “Esca why have you returned anyway?” Stella found it difficult to retain eye contact with her son as she moved about her kitchen, cleaning this, washing that, with nervous passion. It had been a year since her husband’s suicided, now with her son’s return her emotional wound once again became raw, finding it difficult to love or forgive.

“Mum more to the fact why did I leave in the first place.”

“Your father was a sick man and with you leaving only made matters worse.” Again Stella’s tone was laying the father’s death onto the youthful shoulders of the son.

“If I didn’t leave eventually he would have killed me.” Esca’s voice rose and croaked with his words but lowered quickly realising he had nothing to gain by continuing with his father’s cruel treatment.

“Anyway there isn’t any work for you here, the Mill’s closed as has the Feed lot and the Meat Works has put off most of its staff, besides I’ve put the house on the market and will be going to live with Jenny down the coast. They are picking me up next week.”

Jenny Rogers was Esca’s Aunt on his mother’s side. As children Stella and Jenny were close, now with a large empty house and her husband deceased, Jenny offered her sister to live with her, believing there to be nothing but unpleasant memories to keep her in town.

“You can come with me if you wish, I am sure Jenny won’t mind until you find something.” Stella offered hollowly.

“I thought I would remain in town for a while.” Esca declared, feeling he had returned to nothing from leaving nothing. He knew he couldn’t go back to the city and now it appeared the options for moving home had also depleted.

“If you wish you can stay here until the house is sold but I’ve already had the telephone disconnected. I can cancel the disconnection of the power.” Stella offered.

“I would appreciate that mum.”

Esca finished his breakfast before checking his old room. It had not been touched, remaining as he left it. His few belongings were still arranged on a shelf and school books stacked neatly on the small table beside the bed beside his Snoopy bedside light. Even his final exam revision lay unfinished guarded by the small pile of school books. Esca closed the door then burst into tears. The past twelve months had stolen his youth and his family, now he felt alone.

A light knock came to the door, “Esca I’m going to the shop.” Stella called without entering, her voice low and to the point.

“Ok mum, do you want me to come with you?” Esca asked. There wasn’t an answer only the scuffle of tattered slippers across the polished floor boards of the hall, before the deeper echo of sensible street shoes, then a click of the front door.

Alone Esca explored the house allowing memories to flow back. Some were good others not so but somewhat dulled by passing time. Towards the back door was the hook where his father hung his whip. Now the hook clung to the wall, naked and without purpose. The old and frayed whip had long gone, leaving only abrasions to the paintwork by its constant movement. That whip had been his father’s only legacy from his own father. Mick Brody an old world stockman, with old world values, who expected his sons to be likewise, never accepting Esca’s father entering academia, believing teaching to be woman’s work, nor accepting the lazy persona the younger George developed. It was never spoken of but supposed that the old man used that same whip handle on Esca’s father’s back. Its rough leather binding held the blood of the father and the son but was no more. After her husband’s suicide Stella had burnt the whip to avoid acknowledging her husband’s cruelty.

The week before Stella Brody’s departure passed slowly for Esca. He had not yet explored the town or chanced upon any of his school friends, spending much of his day on Butcher’s Hill, a bald high rocky rise with a long and steep gradient overlooking the town a short distance from his home.

On that final morning his Aunt Jenny arrived in a flurry of floral dress, picture hat, gloves and grinding humour, with her high pitched singing voice, face that never lost its smile or its make-up and contrived love for all God’s creatures.

Jenny alighted from the truck driven by a neighbour, who was described with a knowing wink, as a good friend. She introduced the man to Esca as Bob Parkinson.

Bob Parkinson was a tall lean man whose thinning hair was consciously combed in long thin strands across a sunburnt crown dotted with sun spots, in an unsuccessful attempt to hide his balding state and unlike Jenny had little to say. With the short introduction to Esca dealt with, Bob immediately put him to work loading boxes onto the truck.

Once completed and without further ceremony Bob nodded to Esca, declaring they should be pushing on as he had to return the truck to his place of work. With the motor running Jenny made Esca promise he would join them when the house was sold. Gathering her flowing floral dress about, she placed her ample body into the cabin beside Bob. “Come on Stella, it’s a tight squeeze but you’ll fit.” She called down to her sister. Stella hesitated before giving a light cold kiss to Esca’s cheek then without a further glance or word, entered into the truck’s cabin.

Esca remained at the roadside as the truck slowly turned the corner of the school yard. What he felt he knew not. He loved his mother and thought she still held love for him but was not ready to repair what they once had. It would return that he was certain but both he and his mother needed time. Back in the house Esca seated himself at the kitchen table with a cup of coffee. Taking a deep breath he released it loudly while staring vacantly around the kitchen now void of decoration. Dull painted walls outlined brighter areas where trimmings of what had been a family home once hung. In his inward vision they remained them all but brighter, as if through the eyes of his childhood. He left the kitchen and the faded walls to wander aimlessly from room to room but saw little.

Unfurnished the house seemed sad, while the scattering of cardboard boxes and unwanted items added to its appearance of gloom and neglect, making it difficult to believe that long ago a happy family lived within these walls. Reaching his mother’s room he discovered a double bed and supply of linen and bath towels folded neatly upon the naked mattress but little more. Esca smiled. It appeared even with her unforgiven nature his mother had thought of him until the last.

Once again Esca meandered through the house in attempt to feel something from his past. Entering the small room that was once his brother’s he found it had been completely emptied. Even the thick curtains that once turned day into night were gone, while the carpet where Jack upended a small tin of paint had long since been lifted, leaving only dusty floor boards and a light stain where the paint had permeated through the tattered carpet onto the floor boards. From the door he attempted to remember what his brother looked like. He could not and the failure deeply hurt him.

“Where are you Jack?” Esca asked of the empty room but it remained dumb to his request. He sighed deeply into the remorseful dusty air and softly closed the door. Jack could be anywhere. Even as a young child Esca remembered his brother’s wish to travel to the Queensland tropics, where he would dive on the reef or maybe become a millionaire growing cane or tobacco, or maybe mangoes. It mattered not to Jack as long he was somewhere north and hot and he was very rich.

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

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