Published: 07 Aug 2017

The front picket fence needed a fresh coat of paint and there were two pickets missing near the gate. Awen stood at the gate remembering the day when his dog was bailed up by some stray and took a short cut through the fence. He also recalled his father complaining about the cost of resetting the mongrel’s broken leg, only to be hit and killed by a truck the following week. Blackie was the second of his three unfortunate dogs and in his memory his favourite. “Poor Blackie,” he murmured while inspecting the still damaged fence.

‘It always was a stupid animal.’ He thought, releasing a happy smile.

‘Loyal and stupid,’

“Hey Bic!” he heard his name called from some distance, lifting his head he answered.

“Rol what are you up to?”

“Come to visit you.” Bishop came to the gate. “I was beginning to think you were avoiding me.” He suggested in a low voice as Donna came to the front door, nursing her baby.

“Roland Bishop what are you doing around this way?” She called, gently bouncing the child in her arms.

“Donna how’s the brat?” Bishop laughed.

“Fine but he cries a lot.”

“What’s its name, Awen, Elyan?” Bishop asked as Awen allowed his friend passage through the gate.

“It’s Roland.” Donna answered.

“Really?”

“No you dum-dum, his name is Jack.”

“Nice name, I like Jack, I have a cousin Jack – Jack Parvis maybe you know him.” Bishop declared.

“I don’t think so.”

“Suppose not he’s from Westlake, gone to the city now.”

“Then Roland Bishop how would I know him?” Donna pulled a face and went inside not to allow Jack’s fresh milky skin too much strong sunlight.

“Do you want to come in?” Awen offered. Bishop followed without response.

“Whose that with you son?” Reg Pen asked from the pages of the daily news as the two progressed towards Awen’s room.

“It’s Rol Bishop Mr. Pen.” Bishop politely answered.

“So it is; how’s your father enjoying working at the mill?” Reg asked without lifting his eyes from the financial pages.

“He’s thankful for the chance Mr. Pen.”

“Good man your father. You know he was a hero in the war?”

“Come on.” Awen tugged Bishop away to his room and closed the door. Both sat on the bed.

“I didn’t know you’re old man was a hero.” Awen appeared most surprised.

“I believe he was in the same outfit as your dad the second, second of the seventh but different sections, the old man was a sapper but seldom spoke of his experiences.” Bishop explained.

“I don’t know what dad got up to, he never talks about it either, but mum said he was a petty officer.” Awen reflected somewhat disappointedly.

“What’s it like being twenty?” Bishop asked after exhausting most of his scant knowledge of their fathers’ battle experiences.

“Dunno how about you?”

“Dad said I’m a man now and should stop acting like a kid.” Bishop disclosed and laughed. “How should a man act anyway, I’ve never found the rule book?”

“I don’t feel any different than I did at eighteen, or even younger and both Sam and Ely still treat me like a kid, so I suppose I’ll keep acting like on.” Awen dogmatically concurred.

“Suppose next year we’ll have to vote.” Bishop suggested.

“And I can then do what I like with Alice’s house.”

“Are you going to sell it?” Bishop asked.

“Na but at present it’s being held in dad’s name, when I’m twenty-one, it will be mine alone but I think I’ll keep it, I believe that was her wish.”

“There will be an election next year, who would you vote for?”

“Don’t know, besides it will be held before we are twenty-one, so won’t have to.” Awen answered, “the old man is a member of the labour party but mum seems to lean towards the liberal’s but never speaks of it. Ely reckons not to vote for either as they are all a pack of bastards and it only encourages them.”

“Pig Iron Bob,” Bishop declared whimsically, referring to the country’s Prime Minister.

“How did he get that name?” Awen asked.

“Dad said it was from selling all the scrap iron to the Japs, who then sent it back as bombs.”

Bishop stretched out a hand gently resting it on Awen’s knee but Awen quickly pulled away. “Don’t,” he growled his eyes flashing towards the closed door.

“Sorry I thought.” Bishop stuttered.

“Not here Ely has the habit of coming in whenever he wishes. I’ll be staying over at Alice’s next weekend, if you like.”

“I was worried I was out of order on our birthday.” Bishop apologised.

“We were both drunk,” he smiled, “besides we both got birthday presents eh and as I recollect we both enjoyed opening them.” Awen made light of their clumsy attempt at sex.

“Maybe we can get drunk again?” Bishop suggested.

“We’ll see but if it does happen again, next time I want to be sober.” Awen promised.

It was then Bishop remembered his reason for visiting Awen and that was to let him know Barry Fields was back in town. Following Elyan’s car accident and the fire at the mill, Fields went missing and suggested he was visiting family who had a farm out of town. Now he was back so Bishop thought Elyan should be warned.

“What do you want to get the bugger killed?” Awen explained forcefully. Lifting from his bed he checked the door. “You know Ely threatened to knock his block off.”

“I thought Ely should know so he could be on his guard lest Field’s has another go.”

“Anyway it was all over Ely dating Stella Parks and he’s got some new bird now.”

“But Fields still fancies Stella and blames Ely because she’s not showing interest.” Bishop glanced at the small metallic alarm clock on the bedside table. “I should be going,” he announced and slapped his hands against his thighs. “At least I told you, what you do with the information is up to you.”

As Bishop stood to leave Sam poked his head around the door. “I thought I heard your voice Rol.”

“I’m just going Sam.” Bishop turned to Awen, “See ya.”

“Sure.”

With Bishop gone Sam entered into the room. “Nice room this, how about swapping.”

“I don’t think so, your room is too close to Ely; his snoring already keeps me awake.”

“Suppose you’re right besides I have a better view.”

“What of the tool shed?”

Sam released a low huh and took a deep breath. “You’re invited to tea with me at John Ashe’s bungalow on Thursday if you wish.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know it was Ashe’s idea, maybe he’s caught too many mud crabs.” Sam closed the door, leaving Awen in a quandary why Ashe had invited him, becoming one more mystery in an otherwise dull town.

Back in the living room Awen found his father still ingrossed in his news paper and Donna off to one side breast feeding baby Jack, with Elyan at distance, his moth agape, appeared mesmerised by the act.

“Donna if you have to feed the kid, please do it in your room, you’re upsetting your brothers.” Reg demanded.

“No don’t bother on my account, I find it fascinating.” Awen protested.

“You just like looking at tit.” Ely suggested, as Reg in disgust folded his newspaper and left the room.

“Sometimes Ely you can be not only crude but cruel.” Awen snapped.

“And little brother you can be a right bore.”

“Where’s your father?” Margaret came in from the laundry carrying a large pile of clean nappies. Spying Donna, “I think you should feed Jack in your room.”

“I’ve finished now.” Donna answered and covered her breast. Jack burped and gave what appeared to be a gurgling laugh. Gently bouncing the infant Donna left the room.

“Ely chased dad out.” Awen said and on passing gave his brother a gently clip to the back of his head.

“Watch it kid.” Elyan playfully growled.

“What did you say this time?” Margaret sighed and set up the ironing board.

“Believe me mum you don’t wish to know.” Awen assured.

“Both of you should show your father more respect.”

“Maybe he should earn respect.” Elyan’s words were issued a degree above inaudible but reached Margaret’s ears.

“What do mean by that Ely?” Margaret became annoyed with her son’s constant petulance.

“Nothing, I’m out of here don’t wait up.” Elyan commenced to leave as Awen remembered Bishop’s warning that Barry Fields was back in town.

“Hey Ely did you hear Fields is back in town?” He called as Elyan reached the door.

“That I already know that kid.” Elyan answered releasing a menacing sneer.

“Now Ely don’t you go doing anything silly.” Margaret called after her son but only received the click of the door lock as reward for her warning.

“What is it with the Field’s boy and Ely?” Margaret asked.

“He reckons Barry tampered with his car and lit the fire.” Awen answered doubtfully.

“What do you think? What about your father, does he think the lad set the fire?”

“The cops have questioned Barry but his mob said he was home at the time of the fire. Maybe he did, I don’t know, he was never easy to get along with.”

“If I remember correctly, he used to bully you at school.” Margaret recalled.

“A little way back but not enough to worry, besides back then Ely sorted him out and he left me alone after that.” Awen explained as memories of Field’s habitual taunting returned.

“That worries me Awen, If Ely found it necessary to take the law into his own hands back then, would he not do so again now?” Margaret filled the iron with water, sending a jet of steam into the living room.

“I don’t think so mum.” Awen answered but wasn’t as positive as he may have projected.

“I hope you are right love.”

Margaret commenced ironing, occasionally she would glance across the room towards Awen who appeared to be in a dream like state, as he contemplated his next visit with Bishop. She thought of her difficult berth and how easy Elyan had been and how it was touch and go if Awen would survive, yet to look at him now one would never know. Still he was a little thin and no matter how much he consumed he remained so, never reaching the height of his brother.

Awen’s features were also different, Elyan were chiselled, more masculine, Awen’s features were softer, not feminine but gentle as was his nature. It was often thought but never openly discussed, he wasn’t the product of Reg but he was, Margaret had never strayed and would not do so, even now with her husband’s infidelity. Not that she lacked chance, there was Bill Evans; a cousin of Reg who sniffed around like a randy dog after Donna arrived. His guise being to renew lost contact with her husband, as they had been inseparable during their youth. Even before she chose Reg he favoured Margaret but was beaten to the church by his cousin and always regretted his methodical approach.

Margaret’s choice of Reg over Bill wasn’t by accident. She found him crude and somewhat untrustworthy, envious of his cousin’s ability to create finance, also of Reg’s projected inheritance. Bill Evens, like his father before him was a squanderer, his father was once in partnership with Reg’s father but had no understanding of business and was quickly bought out, being one more reason for Bill to envy his cousin, even if it was never spoken of.

“Mum what are you looking at?” Awen noticed his mother’s occasional glance and become embarrassed.

“I was thinking love, how quickly you boys grew up, it seems like only yesterday you were like little Jack and how unwell you were for quite some time.”

“That I don’t remember.” Awen answered somewhat bewildered how it could have been possible, as he could not recollect even a single day when he felt off colour.

“Yes love that is why you weren’t circumcised like your brother was.”

“Mum!”

“What dear?”

“That’s private!”

“I’m just saying how it was, your dad wanted it done but the doctor advised against doing so until you were older, then it was forgotten.”

“Mum, for god’s sake!”

Margaret released a teasing smile and continued with her ironing. “Sorry dear but it was only a way of accounting for how sick you really were. I didn’t mean to embarrass you.”

“Well you have.”

“You were a most difficult birth.” Margaret commenced to iron Elyan’s jeans, bringing Awen to cross the room and take charge.

“Don’t iron Ely’s pants; he goes spastic – and no starch,” he added dogmatically, noting the stiffness of the denim.

“It’s a little late now, besides they look nice all crisp and ironed.”

Awen folded the jeans and put them aside to return to his brother’s room.

“Who is Ely seeing?” Margaret asked from ironing a pile of tea towels.

“I don’t know it’s none of my business.” Awen answered, not wishing to divulge his brother’s affair.

“I do wish he would settle down.”

“I guess he will sooner or later, or get some poor girl pregnant and have to marry her.” Awen suggested as he changed the wireless station.

“I was listening to that deer.” Margaret protested and started ironing a stack of handkerchiefs, folding them into neat little triangles as if they were fancy sandwiches on a picnic tray.

“I just wanted to see who is in the top ten hit-parade then I’ll turn it back.”

“What about you Awen, have you a girl friend hiding somewhere?”

“Maybe I have why?”

“No reason,”

“With you mum there’s always a reason.”

“We thought you were sweet on Vivienne Couch, you were always together,” Margaret paused, realising possibly Vivienne wasn’t a good example, “you know she isn’t married.” Margaret advised, her tone somewhat disapproving.

“I know that.”

“And she has only recently given birth to a baby girl.” Margaret appeared to be somewhat dismissive of Vivienne’s unwedded status.

“I also know that, she called her Jackie, as for being unmarried, neither is Donna.”

“Jacqueline I think that is a nice name.”

“No just Jackie, if a boy she was going to call it Jack as Donna did.”

“Your father and I were hoping you would find some nice girl.”

“Mum, what do you want? Would you like me to marry, have half a dozen kids and dump them on you to look after, like Donna does with Jack?”

Margaret finished her ironing, “I was only talking love, there’s no need to bite my head off.”

“Sorry mum; I’m off for a walk, I won’t be long.”

“I hope you’re not going to the hotel.” Margaret expressed while folding away the ironing board.

“No mum, it’s past ten and it will be closed.”

“Where has your brother gone tonight?” Margaret asked.

“Probably to see that girl you were enquiring about.”

Awen hadn’t intended to visit Alice’s until the following weekend but his interest in Bert drew him back. It was Sunday afternoon and he was suffering from the previous night. McDonald was going bush once more, this time he wouldn’t return for a month, maybe longer and had been kicking back the drinks as if they were his last. Clint McDonald ran a dry camp and even if there were free days, wouldn’t appreciate his son heading for the closest pub. His reason being, he had seen too many accidents in his time, often fatal, caused by drinking on the job.

The previous Thursday had passed, as had the invite for dinner at Ashe’s as the Sea Wind was ready and Sam called to work, so it had been decided to wait until Sam was once again on shore.

Since issuing the invitation Sam had been somewhat reticent, when at home he kept to his room, while having most of his meals elsewhere. If Awen were to build conversation, Sam would evade extended sentences and the usual banter had gone from his ambience, so much so Awen thought of calling off the invite to avoid embarrassing Sam further.

Entering through Alice’s gate Awen thought of calling Bishop but reaching the front door decided he needed his own company more than sexual gratification. Inside he checked the refrigerator for milk, he needed coffee to chase away the taste of grog but the milk had curdled, becoming as thick as custard and stinking out the entire refrigerator. He decided on black coffee. “Mud,” he growled after the first mouthful; “therefore why torture your self with it?” he added loudly but knew tea would not take away his bitter palate.

“Did you enjoy yourself last visit?”

The words were in his head but he recognised the voice, turning he once again perceived Bert.

“What do you mean Bert?” Awen asked.

“You were in bed with that young fellow.”

“I was, his name is Rol Bishop, did my doing so upset you?”

“Not at all but I didn’t realise you were a sodomite like me.” Bert’s words were freely spoken and without emotion, as if it were common practice to bed one’s mates.

“Rol is descended from Martin’s family – your friend.” Awen explained but Bert didn’t react. “I was concerned you would not like me doing so in your home.” Awen apologised.

“It’s your home Awen.”

“By the way Bert, I don’t like the word sodomite it sounds more a crime or a perversion.”

“I can only use the words I know; besides it was a crime for me.”

“Sixty years or so on from your time, it still is. I suppose I’ll have to get used to the word.” Awen admitted. “Speaking of crime, it was suggested that Arthur Fields was your judge, jury and executioner, is that true?”

“He was.” Bert answered.

“His grandson; or maybe great grandson lives here in town and is called Barry, or as we know him Barry the Bastard and recently almost killed my brother.”

“Arthur Fields was not a nice man.” Bert answered.

“Maybe we should do something to Barry as revenge.”

“No you can’t punish the son for the sins of the father. It is best to let the past remain the past.”

“Tell me something Bert where did they bury you?” At last Awen issued his question and without the telephone ringing, or any knock to the door, although he half expected there to be so.

“You already know that.” Bert answered.

“No Bert it isn’t registered anywhere.”

“You visited me and sat by my side but for some reason we couldn’t connect. I tried but another arrived and destroyed the connection.”

Awen became confused. Had it been in Alice’s garden and Ashe’s mowing broke the connection, or was it at the cemetery while being shown around by Harry Turner the caretaker.

“I’m sorry Bert I don’t really know.” Awen apologised.

“Bradshaw Island but back then we called it Blackfellow’s Island, I was dumped out there by Arthur Fields and his lot so my memory couldn’t pollute the town’s youth with my sodomy. It was Alice who arranged the cairn at a later date.”

“Oh Bert that is so sad but you were innocent of the crime against that lad.” Awen protested.

“Maybe so but not of being a sodomite and my love for Martin could not be accepted, even Martin denied me after my passing but I don’t condemn him for doing so. He was alive and needed to hold to his safety.”

“I’ve met Martin he still lives but is very old, and has lost his memory.”

“Yes and through your visit I was able to make peace with him. He will die soon and feel exonerated.

“You know that?” Awen asked displaying a measure of surprise. Bert refrained from answering. “If you weren’t buried on Bradshaw where would you like to rest?” Awen asked.

“My favourite place was One Tree Hill, both Martin and I loved to climb to its top and enjoy the solitude, we even lay together under the shade of the tree.”

“The tree has long gone and long before I was born.” Awen explained.

“It had even before my passing but I knew it well.”

“I have an idea.”

As the thought came, Awen broke into a broad smile but Bert had gone. Awen called his name without response. His idea would have to wait for another time to issue but why would Bert appear only to again disappear without obvious reason? How could he control these appearances, possibly he wasn’t capable of holding concentration for an extended length of time, his mother had always accused him of having the attention span of a gnat. ‘How did Alice hold Bert’s attention?’ He thought. Possibly through years of experience, decades of conversation, memories, arguments. Ashe did say he sometimes caught the old lady arguing within an empty room. Whatever her method may have been, he must try and hold with Bert longer than a handful of words, a stolen sentence. There was much he wished to know, understand about the past, about his family and the mysteries shrouding his grandmother, his mother’s mother.

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

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