Published: 31 Oct 2016

Breakfast time – the cupboard was almost bare. His weekly shopping was exhausted, except for a tin of Heinz brand spaghetti, lovingly cooked in rich tomato sauce and a half loaf of stale bread. Standing beside the lone tin of spaghetti Esca noticed an old glass jar minus its lid. At first it appeared to be empty but on further scrutiny it held a key and a small angry spider, -was it the key to the shed door? Esca’s curiosity was overpowering, forgoing breakfast he hurried to the yard and the shed.

The key was inserted into the lock and it turned. The lock opened. With difficulty the old wooden doors parted and in the gloom a multitude of interesting object emerged. It was his father’s secret world, one which as a child he was prohibited from entering. “Son too many dangerous objects,” was declared. From petrol to poison, sharp things and paint and other stuff that would interest the inquisitive mind of any child, from rat traps to rodent bate. Back then Esca hadn’t found attraction in his father’s shed as there was the town to explore and the bush beyond. Now it appeared there was only the shed.

Inside, past the cobwebs and dust he first discovered two bicycles. One had been his own and the other his brother Jack’s. A flood of memories returned, how he once longed to grow tall enough to ride his brother’s bicycle, by the time he did so he lost interest in bicycles and his brother had long gone.

Esca turned from the bicycles and his brother’s memory past the pile of boxes and hanging tools neatly arranged on a large board, with a painted outline behind each tool depicting its position, to a tarpaulin cover towards the shed’s centre. He quickly removed the cover, coughing animatedly from the disturbed layer of dust. Before his eyes, in all its polished glory, was his father’s mid-night blue Holden Utility.

“I don’t believe it!” Esca cried loudly. He opened the driver’s door. Inside it still retained the faint smelt of leather polish, its keys hanging proudly from the ignition.

Esca sat himself in the driver’s seat, imagining the miles as they passed beneath its wheels. He opened the glove department to discover a folder holding registration papers. They were current; obviously his mother had kept up the payments, maybe for his return or that of Jack. Hidden within a banded number of letters and documents he found two sealed brown envelopes. The first bore, in his father’s hand, his name, the second that of Jack. Esca opened that with his name to discover a short note and a collection of hundred dollar bills. Esca read the note. ‘Sorry son – love dad’, was scrawled in erratic hand across the middle of the page. There was a date, the same day of his father’s death. Esca became hurt and angered. The anger from the thought his father could buy his forgiveness. “You bastard!” Esca shouted into the car’s interior then burst into tears as he slammed his clenched fist into the steering wheel, setting the horn to blast.

His angry tears soon passed, throwing the envelope back into the glove department his mindset turned to resentment. How could he forgive his father when the town was constantly accusing him? If nothing else, discovering the envelopes gave him a stronger need to find Jack. Where would he start, how old was Jack? Esca was twelve when his brother left and Jack was five years his senior. Or was it six? Esca was now almost nineteen; would Jack be twenty-four maybe twenty-five? And he didn’t even remember his brother’s date of birth. It all appeared Hopeless.

Esca found his Aunt’s telephone number and relayed his find to his mother, who had seen the envelopes in the car but had forgotten to retrieve them during her packing. She also confirmed she had kept up the vehicle registered more for Jack’s return as she didn’t think Esca was licensed to drive. Seeing he was licensed Stella suggested he could keep the Ute. Esca also enquired how to find Jack, a task she could not help with, other than supply the postmark on Jack’s only letter which had been stamped Townsville but that was many years before.

Shopping was always a chore for Esca. He would have to run the gantlet of old women who believed he caused his father’s demise and shop keepers who only served him as they needed his money. Esca had the same treatment with work, what little to be found in town was given to another after he had applied. Some going as far as to say he would not be hired if he were the only person to apply and seeing he had departed for the city at a crucial time in his education, maybe he would neglect his work responsibilities with equal abandonment. The town was dying and with its demise it appeared he was to be taken down as well. It would seem along with this slow and painful death, charity and neighbourly fellowship had also gone. In its place were distrust and malice.

On passing Esca would often pause at the Railway Hotel’s door with the desire to enter and mingle with its ever increasing crowd, brought on by the lack of employment, becoming a meeting place for unemployed men to drown their loss and despair. It was the same at the Royal Hotel, once his father’s favourite watering hole, where he felt his unwelcome hung invisibly above the bar door, written in the blood of his father.

Back in the city it was easy for him to enter a gay bar, becoming second nature. Those who stared at him wanting his body but in a pub such as the Royal they craved conversation. Someone to listen to their problems, to talk about family, the family dog or the family car and Saturday’s game of football. Esca didn’t have the experience or confidence to converse on such matters, even if he was considered to be a good listener.

Outside the Royal Esca tripped over a kid on a skate board.

“Sorry kid,” he apologised before recognising the rider to be Brett Fraser, who was the younger brother to Jessie, once a school mate to Esca.

“Hey you’re Brett Fraser, where’s your brother?” Esca asked helping the kid to right himself from the footpath.

“Gone.” The kid answered with a snarl.

“Gone where?”

“Your Esca Brody, my dad said you’re a murderer.” With his blunt remark Brett Fraser remounted his skate board and powered away down the street, without once glancing back.

“You cheeky little cunt!” Esca barked after the fleeting lad while rubbing the collision from his shin.

Brett Fraser was the youngest son to Bill Fraser who owned the town’s Newsagency, Jessie the older son had been Esca’s closest friend during his last school year but had been somewhat rebellious. Twice during that year Jessie was brought back from the city as a runaway, being returned by the police as a child in danger of corruption. Truthfully Jessie wasn’t a bad kid but did have a deep disrespect for any level of authority. From parents to police it was the same. Even a word of friendly advice could bring forth a tirade of foul abuse. Maybe it was his rebellious way that brought Esca to befriend Jessie, or the fact that Esca was probably the only person who could talk sense into him without receiving his renowned abuse.

Memory of his friend took Esca to visit Bill Fraser’s Newsagency where, disregarding the outburst he had received from Brett, he enquired after Jessie. In retrospect he should have been more prudent as Fraser was never close to the Brody family, possessing many mental scars of childhood abuse cruelly delivered by the Brody boys. These memories coupled with a revengeful nature and recent family misfortune magnified his dislike towards Esca.

News agencies had a definite smell, that of printer’s ink and silverfish. Esca’s thoughts travelled back to his younger days, a time when he would hide behind the large concrete support, thumbing his way through the latest Phantom comic. “It’s not a public library, are you going to read that or buy it?” Bill Fraser would ask. His voice laced with the pretence of anger. With every new release it would be the same routine, ending with Esca returning home with a free comic. Things were different then; the town was prosperous and its people jolly and forgiving. A time when Esca would often visit Jessie at the Fraser home and for the sake of the son’s friendship, Bill Fraser had almost accepted the younger Brody boy.

Esca made his way past the long row of newspapers, magazines and comic books. Gently smiling as he spied a release of the Phantom comic. Should he for old time’s sake collect a copy and pretend to read it. He thought not. Instead he collected that day’s paper and placed it on the counter. Bill Fraser was some distance away busy bundling old magazines ready for return. Hearing Esca’s approach he turned, immediately losing his shop-keeper’s smile.

“Good morning Mr. Fraser.” Esca greeted.

Fraser remained still, his lips pursed in silence.

“I was wondering how I could get in touch with Jessie?” Esca asked shuffling his intended purchase upon the glass top counter.

Some times it was referred to as a whammy. Esca had now performed a double whammy. Firstly he had the audacity to enter Fraser’s shop, secondly ask after Jessie. A son the old man had disowned. Fraser held his anger, his fat usually jolly face solid stone and relentless.

“I’ll just have the paper.” Esca declared still without receiving acknowledgement or motion from the man, realising his welcome was equal to that received at the Supermarket. Esca shook his head and left payment for the newspaper on the counter.

“Keep the change it will go towards payment for the free Phantom comics.” Esca concluded and left the shop. Once outside he placed the paper in the litter bin.

Smarting from his encounter with Bill Fraser Esca once again climbed Butcher’s Hill, where he stayed for the remainder of that day. As a child he would sit upon the hill’s crowning glory and imagine what went on in the houses below. What secrets were hidden beneath those rooves? Did other fathers belt their children or were he and Jack the unlucky ones. As an adult he was less interested in the antics of other people, wanting only a simple life, work and a collection of friends he could rely upon when the going became rough.

Esca felt he had been judged guilty without a trial, even a murderer had the right to be heard. It had been almost two months since his return without ease from his rebuke. It seemed as if the town had polarised its problems and he was at its centre, its vanishing point but no matter what was thought of him, he would not vanish.

“I should change my name.” Esca sighed into the stillness of the day.

“Or better still my face.” He added.

Above a number of crows circled while calling plaintively. It seemed as if they were marking time to, like those in town, feed upon his unwanted carcass but the thought only made him more resilient, he would remain. He would survive.

During the time since he returned, Esca had hardly spoken in length with anyone. Some gave him a measure of courtesy but obviously were affected by the general opinion, while others were most rude and in some cases abusive. As for his previous school friends, they had mostly gone from the town or had gained new groups of friends and interests.

Being somewhat shy in meeting people, what Esca now needed was a go-between, such as Ian had been in the city, someone who could drag him along through introductions; whose character he could bounce off at social gatherings, becoming part of a gathering without the need for lengthy conversation. For Esca an occasional sentence was enough; with a well placed laugh or agreement, as he had no need to hold the floor, or become the centre of attention. That would be the duty of his go-between, while he surveyed the situation, deciding how to characterise any new acquaintance. On his own and after a few sentences Esca became lost for conversation. He would stand or sit silently waiting for the other to converse then not receiving stimulation they would generally move away and he would be once again alone in the group.

“There is one person who likes you.” A youthful male voice startled Esca from behind. Turning quickly he faced the approach of a young lad who he hardly recognised.

“Luke Campbell, what are you doing up here?”

“I’ve come to visit you.” The lad answered, pushing back blond dreadlocks away from his deep blue eyes.

“How did you know I was here?”

“I followed you. I was in Fraser’s when you came in.” Luke explained.

“I didn’t see you.”

“I was doing your old trick; hiding behind the pillar reading his comics.”

Luke laughed, making use of a flat stone beside Esca, he sat himself without invitation.

“Shouldn’t you be at school?” Esca asked looking upon the lad, his scattering of light freckles, rugged frame and handsome face. Nuggetty was the description akin to a developing Rugby player without the bull neck.

“Maybe but I like to piss off the teachers.” Luke gave a cheeky smile. His statement designed to shock.

“What about the hair?” Esca asked.

“What the dreadlocks?” Luke shook them about, “They piss off the parents.”

“Luke you were always a rebel; how old are you now?”

“Seventeen – well almost, will be so next week.” Luke answered.

“Still sweet sixteen and never been kissed.” Esca jested.

“Since you’ve been gone I’ve studied everything about your name sake.” Luke declared proudly. His words designed to bring Esca into conversation.

“What the name Esca, why would you do that?”

“Yes he was the son of a Chieftain and brave; he helped Rome recapture their lost Eagle in Scotland.”

“So you know all about me.” Esca declared, somewhat discomforted by the lad’s apparent need to obtain knowledge about him.

“More than you realise.” Luke remarked from behind his cheeky smile.

“What does that mean?” Esca now began to show anger with the intrusion into his privacy but quickly settled as the lad obviously meant no harm.

“I know your Uncle George.”

Luke’s words struck Esca dumb. His hands became clammy while fear flushed red in his cheeks. Was he now not only to be branded as the town’s resident murderer but also its homosexual? His thoughts cursed his uncle as he turned away from Luke to face the town below. He didn’t wish to hear more but knew he must ask.

“Where did you meet George?” Esca nervously enquired.

Luke pointed towards the park and playground beside the school yard opposite the Brody house.

“What in the park?” Esca asked.

“No in the dunny, I was taking a piss and your uncle came in. He stood beside me at the urinal; you can guess the rest.” Luke declared openly without embarrassment.

“So?”

“He was drunk; he’s nearly always drunk and when I told him I knew you, he told me everything.”

“You should have reported him.”

“I liked it.” Luke answered remaining calm while holding his grin; that same grin that never left his face even when being reprimanded, often mistaken to be defiance.

“What are you going to do with that information?” Esca asked sternly.

“Nothing do you want to root me?” Luke’s words came as incidentally as one asking to join them at the movies or take a walk. It was Luke’s way, to the point and damn the consequences.

“What makes you think I would have sex with you, besides Luke you’re underage.” Esca advised.

“You’re not much older than I am.”

“Sorry mate I’m almost nineteen and for what you suggested to happen legally by law I would need to be less than eighteen.” Esca felt uncomfortable with the conversation and somewhat hypocritical. Hadn’t he only recently entered into a relationship with Ian while underage? That was different Luke was still sixteen even if nearly seventeen. Esca had almost been eighteen. Besides, he justified, city life was different. He stood dusted his trousers and stretched his back. His thoughts were to descend from Butcher’s Hill away from the conversation but his legs were motionless, as if implanted into the rocky surface of the hill.

“I wouldn’t tell anyone.” Luke promised his blond eyebrows frowning with disappointment. Esca laughed and returned to his seat.

“It isn’t as simple as that. Yes I like you but I don’t think it is a good idea; besides I hardly know you, how about we start as friends. Good friends and work on it from there?” Esca suggested.

“I like that but I would still like the sex.” Luke added.

“Why do you want it with me?” Esca asked amused by the lad’s candid attitude.

“I’ve been following you around since I was thirteen. Then when you left I thought I’d never see you again.” Luke took note of the time. He jumped to his feet, “I’ve gotta go, mum wants me to do some shopping, I don’t want to piss her off too much, see you up here on Saturday?” He called from a good many paces down the hill.

“You’re not the rebel you claim to be.” Esca called as Luke bounded down the hill towards the town.

Once alone Esca shook his head in disbelief. He had never before encountered such forwardness and in one so young. Even Ian could learn from this kid. He appreciated Luke’s offer and the friendship but knew it could not go further than the occasional good day while passing or fleeting moments away from the eyes of the town, otherwise like a bushfire his reputation would spread, going from murderer, to poofter to child molester. Also the age difference at their time of life was a gaping chasm, yet advance a number of years, it would be considered nothing. Still Esca liked the lad’s forwardness and his smile; a person could become lost in that alone; and it was true he may have accepted Luke’s offer if they were elsewhere but could not afford added controversy in his home town, where the slightest spark would become that proverbial bushfire.

Sparks and bushfires to one side, Esca perceived movement in the patch of scrub behind his house. At first he assumed it to be children playing but on further scrutiny could clearly see the naked form of a teenage male. “It must be Rushy!” Esca exclaimed loudly, shading his eyes from the late afternoon sun to obtain a clearer view. Moments later John Rush travelled deeper into the scrub that skirted the base of Butcher’s Hill and was gone from his sight.

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

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