Published: 19 Jun 2017

McDonald had brought with him enough gear to start a small fishing competition, while Billings stocked up on two cartons of grog and a bottle of some fancy green liqueur. “What’s that crap!” McDonald crudely questioned.

“It’s Creme-de-menthe.” Billings answered, holding the bottle up for scrutiny.

“A bit girlie,”

“I like the mint taste, freshens your mouth after beer; I guess like a beer chaser.”

“If you say so but you won’t find me drinking the crap.” McDonald gruffly concluded.

“True, because I won’t be offering any.”

“Come on you two stop squabbling like a couple of school girls. It’s lucky someone thought of food.” Awen announced as he placed a number of boxes of supplies into the skiff.

“That we knew you would.” Billings admitted.

“And we both said you would forget the beer and fishing gear.” McDonald added holding high his selection of fine fishing rods.

“No I didn’t forget.” Awen proudly displayed his single rod, given to him when he was a nipper, a time when his father had interest in fishing and family. “Also there is a number of hand lines in the skiff and a good supply of hooks and sinkers. What about bate?”

“I’ve thought of that.” Billings answered

“Have you still got that piece of crap?” McDonald declared shaking his head in disbelief towards Awen’s simple fishing rod.

“I’ve caught more fish on this piece of crap than you’ve had hot Sunday dinners,” Awen bragged and retaliated, “I see you’ve still got that dumb hat?”

“It’s my lucky hat.” McDonald protested giving it a tighter fit to the crown of his head.

“Lucky hat, lucky fishing rod and you still don’t catch fish.” Awen teased.

“I catch enough, besides who caught that whopping ten-pounder last time?”

“That was luck,” Billings interjected “and only because I couldn’t get my line into the water in time.”

“My arse it was, that was pure skill!”

“All right lets get going or it will be dark before we get there.”

Jumping down onto the sand at Bradshaw it was left to Awen to secure the skiff, done with much caution while remembering his experience with Sam so many years previous. Billings collecting their gear noticed something was missing. “Where’s the tent!” He questioned.

“Come on you woos, who needs a tent.” McDonald bravely remonstrated.

“There’s supposed to be rain this weekend.” Billings forecasted, casting his eyes towards a cloudless sky.

“I’ve already thought of that.” Awen replied and marched away along the beach closely scrutinised by the two. “I left it here last time.” Awen soon found the spot where he had previously stored the tent, discovering his camouflage of branches and a rusting sheet of corrugated iron had been scattered and to his dismay the tent had gone.

“Well it was here.” Awen explained while gazing relentlessly into the hole as if by some miracle the tent would reappear.

“Here it is!” Billings called out from further along the beach. “Someone has used it and left it up and it has a bloody big tare in it.”

The three gathered around the sorrowful site, finding a small branch had fallen and pierced through one side of the tent.

“You must have thought you hid it and left it standing.” McDonald blamed.

“No I remember stowing it and actually placing that big rock on top of it all.” Awen pointed to a large stone, now rolled some distance from where he believed he had stored the tent.

“Come to think of it, when we were last here I don’t remember you hiding the tent.” Billings recollected.

“I came out with my cousin from Holsworthy a couple of month’s back, he wanted to do some sea fishing.” Awen explained.

“Why leave the tent behind?” McDonald questioned.

“Simply because we intended to come out the following week and you McDonald happened to go bush with your old man and I forgot all about it.” Awen lay down in his defence.

“Who’s been out here since your last visit?” Billings asked.

“Dunno it could have been anyone, when I was on the beach one night some time back I did notice a camp fire.” Awen admitted and pointed to a spot that appeared to be freshly burnt, while strewn around the ground beside were a number of beer tins and bottles. Collecting the discarded containers he placed them aside in one pile. “One day someone will have to remove all the junk back to town.” He commented, feeling his social spirit rise.

“That would be a good job for you Bic.” Billings suggested.

“I know who has, bloody Barry Fields that’s who. His old man has a boat and I’ve seen him skylarking along the river on a number of occasions.” McDonald surmised as whenever anything was amiss in town, it was always the name of Field’s that was constant.

“I doubt it; he hasn’t the skill, besides for what reason would he sail out here.” Billings questioned.

“Wouldn’t be Fields he’s only a rowing boat and never leaves the river- besides he doesn’t fish.” Awen assured.

“How do you know that?” Billings questioned.

“I know because he said so, he made some comment about the three of us,” Awen faulted, “well coming from Field’s you can guess the rest.”

“When were you talking to Barry the Bastard?” Billings inquisitively asked.

“Yonks back, he was at the pub and I was there with Sam and his mob.”

“And we weren’t invited?”

“Both of you were out of town and it was after Sam’s birthday, besides it was at the Northern Star, Fields doesn’t drink at the Railway Hotel, not since he was banned.”

“He should be banned from the fucking town.” McDonald growled.

“From the fucking state,” Billings concurred.

“What are we going to do about the rip in the tent?” McDonald fiddled with the edges as if attempting to join them together.

“Never mind there’s a length of tarp in the skiff, hang it over the tare.” Awen suggested while marching off to collect the tarpaulin.

On reaching the skiff Awen was hailed from the deck of a fancy yacht as it rounded the southern tip of the Bradshaw. It was running on motor and slowed as it neared.

“Hey young fellow, how’s the fishing?”

Awen lifted a hand to his eyes to cut the glare from the late afternoon sun, “Haven’t started yet.” He answered as three topless women shamelessly joined the caller on the deck. Moment’s later two men in their later years wearing wraps around their waists joined the group.

Hearing the commotion both Billings and McDonald arrived.

“What do you think of that?” McDonald gasped.

“Look at what, the boat?” Billings asked knowing full well what his friend was inferring.

“No you drong, the tits on the blond.”

“My granny has fewer wrinkles.” Billings suggested.

“Wrinkles or not they are boulders.”

“You and tits McDonald, don’t you ever think of anything else.” Awen criticized.

“Is there anything else?”

“Well were not here for tits McDonald, how about getting a line in the water before all the fish have gone to bed.” Billings proposed as he led away from the water’s edge.

Slowly the yacht motored past, heading in a northerly direction and towards the developing tourist destinations amongst the larger islands and the coral reef.

“A bit of okay that, you can guess what they’ve been up to.” McDonald’s eyes glazed over with sexual deviancy as inspiration was borne, “you know there are a few sheilas in town who like fishing; maybe we can invite them next time. You never know what we would catch.”

“Knowing the birds you fancy McDonald, more than likely some sexual disease.” Awen implied.

“No seriously, Helen Castleton was saying just the other day how she goes fishing with her brother for Barra along the river.” McDonald informed.

“Yea she goes fishing with her brother for fish and not for what you have in mind McDonald.” Billings interjected and shook his head, tutting at his friend’s unquoted inference.

“We could fish during the day and talk about fishing at night.”

“Just talk?” Awen asked.

“Well I guess you need something to fill as foreplay.”

Soon the three had their camp site cleared and presentable. Awen carefully stored their supplies while Billings placed their beer into a small pool of water to keep cool. McDonald declaring the setup of their camp was women’s work headed for the island’s point for some early fishing.

“I’m off to join McDonald at the point.” Billings said as the finishing touches were completed, “Coming?” He offered.

“In a while, I want to check on something first.” Awen answered as Billings collected his rod and followed McDonald to the point.

Once alone Awen walked the short distance to the far side of the island and the cairn of rocks that Sam had once told him was a grave site. Although he had been back to the island many times since that eventful visit, he had never thought much of the grave but since the death of Alice and the mystery surrounding her brother, his interest had developed.

Reaching the site Awen discovered that a number of stones had been removed and tossed about as if some animal had been digging for its cache. Methodically he replaced the stones before sitting quietly beside the cairn.

“Who were you?” He asked in as soft breath of air. Momentarily pausing as if waiting for an answer he continued, “why burry you out here on this side of the island?”

It appeared as if the person was placed as far away from civilization as possible, facing the vast emptiness of the Pacific in an attempt to isolate the spirit. Or possibly Sam was correct and it was the grave of a sailor who died at sea during the colonial days, there were many such sites along that part of the coast. Sam’s rendition made sense and being on the east of the island, it faced the open ocean and passing ships, while the beach near the cairn was equally perfect for landing as was the leeward side where they always camped. Yes he was satisfied it was the grave of a sailor who by some misfortune died as sea.

Sitting quietly Awen closed his eyes, attempted to draw passion from the stones but felt nothing but the gentle sea breeze on his face. He had heard ghost stories, how the deceased materialised and spoke about their mistreatment, how the restless dead wandered the earth searching for peace or retribution. He also brought to mind Sam’s revelation that axe murderers were buried on the island; he released a doubtful grin.

Awen didn’t believe in ghosts, not even holy ghosts but like most disbelievers there was a spark of uncertainty. Maybe he was wrong; therefore he would not speak of his disbelief lest the wrath of god, with thunder and lightning bolts struck him down upon the spot. His silence was as if having a bet each way, god did not exist but I will not blaspheme unless I am wrong and struck down.

He remembered a time as a child of four years or there about when during a tantrum Margaret had told him; if you continued your impetuous behaviour the devil would come up out of the ground and get you.

Even at such a tender age Awen had not believed in god, the devil or ghosts and ran outside stamping his little feet as hard as he possibly could on the ground. “Come and get me!” He repeated in a shrilled voice over and over but even during his defiance he had a feeling of uncertainty. What if there was a devil?

Some time past and his thoughts strayed from the cairn to Sam and that eventful visit. It remained clear in his memory, so much so if he opened his eyes he would see Sam seated beside him, feel the warmth of his body even through the heat of the day and hear the slow rhythm of his breathing. He could clearly recall their conversation, word verbatim,

‘Do you know what gay is?’ had been Sam’s question.

‘Of course I do, I’m not dumb! Why are you?’

‘I could be; would that worry you?’

It may have worried the young Awen but if Sam were to repeat his question at that very moment, he would now react differently. He may even share his greatest secret with his uncle but would most definitely require greater clarity before doing so.

As Awen recalled that event with Sam, his tranquillity was shattered with the arrival of Billings stumbling through the undergrowth, while cursing loudly. The tumble grazed his knee but satisfied there wasn’t bleeding he continued. “What are you up to?” he asked reaching Awen’s side, still nursing his injured knee.

“Just thinking, did you hurt yourself?”

“Na only a graze,” Billings admitted bursting into laughter. “It’s McDonald, he caught a fucking shark, a big bastard and it wrenched his rod out of his hands and took off with it.”

“No shit?”

“Plenty, you should hear McDonald I think he wants to go home and sulk.”

“He’s got others.”

“Yea but loosing out to a shark, I think it bruised his ego.” Both lads hurried back to the point to experience their friend’s misfortune.

“Shark fillets for tea McDonald?” Awen teased.

“Fuck off Bic or I’ll fillet you.”

By nightfall and without a single catch they settled down to baked beans on roughly sliced bread with McDonald still brooding for the loss of his favourite fishing rod. “Who brought the lamp?” McDonald asked, searching through the boxes of supplies. He found a Zane Grey novel tucked into the side of one of Awen’s boxes. “Who reads this shit?” He demanded tossing the thin paper back to Awen. He turned the strong beam of torch light onto his friend’s face.

“Cut it out, I do, I thought you were supposed to bring it McDonald, remember you said you would borrow one of your old man’s primus lamps.” Awen reminded.

“Couldn’t get it, he had it packed on his work truck and he wasn’t home, I thought I told you and you said you’d bring one.”

“I don’t remember that.” Awen denied.

“I did; you remember Billings, it was at the pub the other night.”

“I don’t think so.” Billings disagreed, more to irritate McDonald than actually remembering if he had mentioned the lamp or not.

“This is turning into a fun weekend.” McDonald complained.

“Never mind take a look at the sky. At least the rain forecasted hasn’t turned up.” Billings quoted, his head poking through the tent flap as Awen pushed past, “I’m going for a leak.”

“Have one for me.” McDonald suggested “better still I’ll join you.”

Standing on the shore and urinating into the water while appraising the night and the twinkling of lights from town, both failed to turn and face the east. Bladders empty the lads finally turned to discover an ink black sky and quickly approaching.

“Bloody hell, Billings was right there is going to be rain and there’s a flaming rip in the tent.” McDonald loudly remonstrated.

“The tent should hold.” Awen assured.

“What about the skiff?”

“Don’t worry I made sure of it.”

“Not like when you and Sam lost it when you were kids eh.”

“Oh you know about that.”

“Yea and Sam said it was your fault.” McDonald entered through the tent fly.

“Whose fault is it for what?” Billings asked as McDonald stumbled over his legs, falling flat and squashing Billings’ balls. “Shit McDonald you could ruin a blokes future.” Billings howled, his hands soothing the pain.

“Stop you’re whining, you weren’t gunna use them anyway. I said I hope Bic tied up the flaming boat, there’s going to be a storm.”

“For one thing, it wasn’t my fault and if you’re worried go and check it out.” Awen crawled across both McDonald and Billings to his section of the tent.

“Hey Pen, swap sides.” McDonald demanded.

“Why?”

“Your tent you can sleep under the flaming rip.”

“It won’t leak stop complaining and go to sleep.”

“I wonder what they are up to right now.” McDonald rhetorically asked.

“Who,” Billings questioned.

“Those birds on the boat, I bet they aren’t sleeping under a ripped tent in the dark with rain approaching. I bet they’re lying between silk sheets, drinking champagne and moaning with pleasure.”

“McDonald if you brought the light we could have played cards.” Billings suggested.

“Or Pen could read his stupid book, besides I didn’t bring a pack.” McDonald admitted.

“I did and there are candles in the skiff.” Awen acknowledged.

“Go and get them.” McDonald demanded sitting up in his sleeping bag as the first of the rain commenced to fall.

“You want to play cards you can go get them.” Awen gave a yawn.

“No it’s raining – hey Bic I saw Sam coming along Alexander Street early the other morning when we were off fencing, I thought he was still living at your place.” McDonald asked.

“He still does.”

“Then why was he coming from the other end of town at that time of the morning?”

“I haven’t a clue, probably got a Sheila on the go.”

“What do you know Bic?”

The conversation died as the rain set in. McDonald lay on his back staring at the rip in the tent waiting for the deluge, while Awen reflected on his friend’s sighting of Sam. It was true Sam often did not come home at night but neither did Elyan which had never been an issue, so why should he create one with Sam and who did he know in Alexander Street. Possibly Sam stayed with George Reeves, he lived over that way, Reeves was also one of the Sea Wind’s crew but George had only recently married, having twinned baby boys with powerful lungs. No one would voluntarily bed down with that racket.

The steady rain was hypnotic, the air warm and still. The only other sound was a light snoring from Billings and the gentle fall of waves on the beach. Awen found he was sitting in bright sunlight beside the cairn of stones and was chanting. Why chanting was a mystery as he didn’t even know how to do so. It was more humming, coming from deep down in his chest, his eyes fixed without blinking on the stones, when one by one they silently fell from the cairn and the ground once clear of stones opened. It was then he awakened to what he believed was the sound of a banshee. Something had wriggled into McDonald’s sleeping bag and scared the hell out of him and to make matters worse, water being a great leveller, found the rip in the tent and begun to drip onto his head.

“Where’s the flaming torch!” McDonald demanded loudly, sitting bolt upright under the drip.

“It’s near your head.” Billings answered as his friend groped for the torch.

“Shit it’s black and huge!”

“What is it?” Awen now wide awake enquired.

“Never mind go back to sleep.”

With the wriggler discovered to be nothing more than a harmless rhino beetle, McDonald forcefully shoved Billings into Awen and moved across allowing the drip to collect into a pot.

Now wide awake Billings complained. “What time is it?” he asked.

“Past two go to sleep.” McDonald growled and moved closer towards the back of Billings.

“I was asleep until you carried on. McDonald move over you’ve pushed me into Pen and he’s almost outside the tent.”

“There’s water dripping through the hole.” McDonald complained.

“You’re a bit close; I don’t even let my bird get this close.” Billings objected.

“Go to sleep, that’s why you don’t have one.”

With sunup the rain had passed and the sky lacked even a single streak of cloud. Awen was first out of the tent and had set the breakfast fire with the billy already bubbling in the coals. He tossed a handful of tea leaves into the water and called his friends. McDonald was next to rise, coming out of the tent, his hands deep into his underpants, while vigorously scratching his crotch.

“Got crabs have we McDonald?” Awen laughed, stabilising a pan onto the coals.

“Get fucked Pen.” McDonald yawned and stretched.

“Who’s fucking who?” Billings called from inside the tent.

“Hey McDonald what would you like for breakfast? There’s eggs, or eggs and bacon, or bacon and eggs or bacon and bacon or eggs and eggs.” Awen made light of his limited menu.

“Whatever.” McDonald answered, standing at distance to empty his bladder, farting loudly he laughed, “cop that!” he offered and repeated the action. Both ignored him.

“So it will be eggs and bacon then what about you Billings?” Awen called as a head poked through the tent flap, eyes squinting into the strong morning light.

“Same I suppose. Did you say something McDonald?”

“He either farted or shit himself.”

McDonald returned to the campfire. “Bacon smells good.”

“It’s almost ready, grab a plate.”

“Billings said yesterday he found you sitting by that pile of rocks on the other side of the island.” McDonald asked.

“I’ve often wondered who is buried there.” Awen answered somewhat sombrely.

“I didn’t know it was a grave. I thought it was only a marker for ships or something.” McDonald envisaged.

“Sam said it was a grave but didn’t know who was buried there.”

“It is a grave.” Billings agreed returning from checking on the skiff. It held a measure of water from the rain, otherwise was fine.

“Whose?” Awen asked believing at last the mystery had been solved.

“Dunno but dad told me it was a grave, some say it was a blackfellow who speared a couple of settlers.” Billing rejoined his mates and collecting a plate passed it to Awen for his share of the breakfast.

Billings’ suggestion didn’t sit well with Awen. If it were some blackfellow, why would they bury him out on the island and why mark the grave? Especially if he had speared settlers, usually they would leave the poor bugger’s corpse to the dingos and crows or to rot, or thrown into some deep hole.

“Why don’t you ask at the town hall, old Mrs. Climpson who runs the library is also head of the historical society.” Billings suggested.

“I may do that.” Awen answered as the toast commenced to burn.

“You should see your mate Ashe; he once worked for the council.” McDonald recommended and switched his burnt toast for Awen’s slice of golden brown.

“He was a gardener you goose.” Billings corrected.

“Gardener bookworm whatever- he would still know his way around the place.”

“I had already thought of asking at the local news paper, I believe they keep copies going back around a hundred years.” Awen admitted and with breakfast over, collected his rod, “I’m going to see if this little old piece of shit can catch us some dinner.”

“Hang on we’ll join you.” McDonald shouldered his second favourite rod and fell in behind, still grumbling about the bloody shark.

If you are following this story, let Gary know what you think of it:Gary Conder

23,790 views