Published: 23 Jul 2020

It was Wednesday and Lewis was busy with the pigs when the mail truck arrived, leaving Stan to collect the mail bag and when Lewis returned with the empty slop tins Stan handed him a letter. Lewis recognised Ashley’s handwriting and smiled.

“I’ve been waiting for this,” he declared while folding the correspondence to his rear pocket for later scrutiny.

Once in private Lewis opened his letter and read. Ashley stated he not only had success but his accomplishment would prove positive in the near future. Lewis read on then excitedly advanced to the big house to give Jack the details.

Ivy met Lewis as he left the house. She was carrying a large bundle of dirty linen on route to the laundry and struggling under its weight, as there had been a number of visitors over that week and more linen than usual to launder. Lewis offered to help and without answer took control of half her load.

“I have news to share with you.” He said while placing the pile of washing in a large concrete tub. The copper was already bubbling from the fire he had set earlier, Ivy added Lux soap, grated from a large washing bar into steaming water, “you do realise you can get packets of washing powder now,” he said.

“I’ve used it elsewhere but it isn’t on the company’s supply list, what of this information?”

“It’s a little involved, I’ll wait until you’re not so busy.”

“Tell you what, I’m having a game of cards down at Stan’s tonight, why don’t you join us for a drink?” Ivy suggested prodding a set of white linen sheets into the now soapy water with a large poker, I’m out of blue bags do you think you could get me some from the store?”

“None left; I saw it on the next order while talking with Joyce.”

“Well it will be beige sheets as you can’t get the red dust out without a little help.

“Who else will be down at Stan’s?” Lewis enquired.

“Just the Frazer’s and Stan, possibly Walt but these days he has lost interest in company.”

“What about Joyce?

“No she’s not one for cards, why do you ask?”

“No reason; sure give me a shout when you arrive down at Stan’s I’ll come across.”

That afternoon with no more chores to attend to, Lewis saddled Flea-bitten and took a ride down to the river. He had two purposes, the main being Jack had asked him to have a look around and see if there was any sight of Jimmy. It appeared no one had seen him since Ian’s visit and as he alternated from the Gregory Ranges, Robin Hood Station, Cumberland and the cairn on the Gilbert, then if he wasn’t at any of the other’s he may be down at the river and there was always his prediction he would be dead before Christmas and that time of year was fast approaching.

A group of Aborigines had moved onto the flat rock near the lagoon to perform a yearly get together. When questioned they also admitted not seeing Jimmy although one of the younger men had heard he was seen east of Georgetown but couldn’t be certain, as many confused Jimmy with another man who looked similar.

Lewis also wished to spend sometime at the cairn as it was there the memory of Will became strongest away from the influence of Bob and the rest, also the anniversary of the accident was approaching. It was at the cairn he imagined he could hear Will’s voice on the breeze and felt closeness to his spirit, even if the sensation was only in his head.

Once at the river Lewis perceived it had stopped flowing and had turned once again into billabongs, giving large expanses of sand. Under foot the sand still held water and with each step oozed up to Flea-bitten’s fetlocks but no further. There were areas of the river one would not cross as the conditions caused quick-sand which could quickly sink a horse to a dangerous depth. Lewis knew the location of these and was thankful that Jimmy was a good bush instructor while regretting he could have been more a friend to the black man.

Thoughts of Jimmy and quick-sand transported Lewis back as a child to Torrens Creek and central Queensland, when he had been riding his horse Roany across a creek he had been warned not to go near but Lewis being Lewis, disobeyed and drove his mount into the sandy creek bed. Immediately Roany commenced to sink and the lad panicked.

Dismounting he attempted to pull the sinking mare from the mire. Then also sinking with the seep reaching his upper legs he further panicked as Roany simply walked herself out to stand on the bank. If at the time he had reason to or not, fear had engulfed the lad and he screamed out Roany’s name. She turned and stepped back into the mire with her reins dangling over his head. Lewis took hold of the reins and Roany turned towards the bank pulling him out of the sinking sands. In retrospect he had more than likely sunk as far as the shifting sand would allow but to a small boy the danger was paramount and Roany had been his hero.

Not always was Roany such a hero, she also had a sadistic streak, holding her breath as the girth strap tightened and then releasing it allowing boy and saddle to slip. Another favourite was in a certain paddock of low hanging bramble bushes she would take control and trot through them, giving Lewis a fair dose of scratches. You bitch Roany he would scream as his little fists pounded her mane without inflicting injury, you bitch, you bitch, and once through the bramble patch she would return to a walk as calm as possible as if she was a saint: Saint Roany of the scratches.

The river entry to the gully where the cairn was situated was now clear of water and Lewis could ride to the access without having to dismount. Once at its base he gazed skywards through the climb and called Jimmy’s name but didn’t receive an answer. Dismounting he commenced to climb through the boulders and once at the top he searched for any signs of Jimmy but found none, only a withered display of wild flowers he envisaged Jimmy had placed on his shrine to Will, more than likely when Ian and he had met him sometime back. What Jimmy believed Lewis’ shrine represented was questionable but his nature was to honour others, so if Lewis found it important, so would the black man.

Lewis sat under the shadow of one of the larger boulders and took a deep breath but felt nothing. Maybe the spirit of Will had left his cairn. Maybe Jimmy had chased away the ghosts or had he too much on his mind to feel even the pain of loss.

Ten minutes had past and still nothing only a squadron of flies and the heat of the afternoon sun, then without resolve he stood and descended through the cairn to where Flea-bitten was tethered and with a sigh of disappointment rode away from the cairn back towards the homestead paddock without further news on the whereabouts of Jimmy.

With the day’s heat buried under a blanket of darkness and a cool breeze crossing the lagoon, the small group of Aboriginal visitors commenced to sing. Lewis sat on the rear steps listening to their commotion that didn’t relate to what he knew to be corroboree, sounding more in line with a drunken brawl and was so engrossed with their exploits he didn’t hear Roo Frazer arrive. Nor did he hear Stan Wilson approach.

“Hey Lewis the Frazer’s are here.” Stan called drawing his concentration away from the gathering further along the lagoon.

“Ivy here yet?”

“Saw her coming across the flat shouldn’t be long, are you coming in?”

“Hang on a sec; I’ve a couple of long necks cooling in the Lagoon.”

“Keep them for a later day mate; the Frazer’s are bringing coldies from their fridge.”

“That sounds more like it.” Lewis declared as he bounded over the side fence towards the bookkeepers house.

As he did so Stan commented on the noise. “Light entertainment he huffed.”

“Heavy to point,” Lewis answered, “but I did hear someone playing a guitar earlier and in tune.”

“I hope they don’t keep it up all night.” Stan stood by the bottom step and listened.

The commotion ended.

“There you go Stan it has stopped,” but as soon as Lewis had spoken it commenced again.

“Never mind,” Stan commented and led the way inside.

Roo and Elsie Frazer had already become ensconced around the large laminex table and had poured tall glasses of amber fluid as Ivy called down the passage.

“In here Ivy.” Stan answered while collecting extra glasses from a side bench, “a nice cold beer Ivy.”

“What’s that bloody racket around the lagoon?” Roo Frazer complained.

“Restless natives looking for their lost tribes,” Stan said.

“Sounds like the fucken’ Croydon Bar on a Saturday night!” Roo growled and swilled his drink then poured another.

“Rupert!” Elsie Frazer protested, fanning the night’s heat from her face with an old newspaper.

“Righto the Game is five hundred, does everyone know it?” Stan shuffled the deck. All nodded except Lewis.

“Partners?” Stan suggested.

“There’s five Stan,” Ivy advised.

“I’ll watch Stan, I’m not a real card player,” Lewis answered.

“Okay then Roo, how about you and I play the ladies and Lewis you can keep score?” It was agreed and with scoring paper and pens ready Stan shuffled the cards.

“Hey Roo how’s your eldest boy since the accident?”

“Ray? He’s fine not even a limp now but has lost interest in motorbikes.”

Stan cast a warning look towards Lewis referring to his loss of the station bike during the flooding. “That’s motorbikes for you Lewis, so there lays a warning.”

“Bikes don’t have accidents, only people have accidents.” Lewis protested.

“But with a bike you don’t often get a second chance – true Roo?”

“It’s so Stan but I guess young Ray did and now his brother has the bike bug. He thinks he is invincible.”

“They all do at his age,” Elsie professed as Stan continued shuffling the cards.

“Are you gonna’ deal that deck or shuffle the tits of the queens.” Roo complained, receiving a second indignant glace from Elsie for his use of language in mixed company. Stan commenced to deal.

“Lewis you said you had something to tell us?” Ivy asked.

“Yes, hang on,” Lewis answered removing Ashley’s letter from his back pocket, reading aloud the appropriate passage, “what do you think?”

“When is all this to happen?” Ivy asked after agreeing it was one of the nicest things a person had done for another.

“Next weekend but I’m not so sure of it at all.” Lewis drew quiet and rubbed the back of his head, “what if it backfires? And it could.”

“Then it does but doesn’t change the sentiment,” Ivy assured.

Lewis remained for a time watching the card game and the women taking most tricks. Then with a head full of no-trumps and hearts and spades and arguing over who didn’t follow suit and who trumped their partner’s trick, he retired to the lagoon for cooler air. Not being a smoker he found being in a room with four chain smokers somewhat unbearable and in doing so, found his clothing stunk of the smoke for days after.

Roo Frazer was worst of all, he smoked roll-your-owns, rolling them thick and laced with some unknown product that filled the room with rancid air, while turning his few remaining teeth brown, and the permanent stubble across his chin stained yellow.

Cow shit, Stan had reckoning for the secrete ingredient but Roo assured it was a special blend he got from a mate down south, who got it while travelling in the Dutch Islands to the north of Australia.

With the arguing of the card game behind Lewis returned to the lagoon side to contemplate what he had planned but fear of it all going sour remained regardless of Ivy’s assurance. All was quiet for a time at the native camp but that soon changed as what appeared to be an argument erupted. Lewis thought he would go as see what it was about but it stopped and they commenced to sing. He again settled back into the night as Ivy called from Stan’s back steps.

“Are you there Lewis?”

“Down here Ivy,”

“I’m going now, see you in the morning.”

“No worries, you be careful crossing in the dark.”

“I’ve borrowed Stan’s torch. Good night.”

“Yes goodnight Ivy.”

Moments later Lewis heard a car motor as the Frazers left for home. He heard it backfire from dirty spark plugs or something, or that is what Bob said was the problem. As the sound of the motor died the noise from the camp once again started.

“Shut your fucken’ noise,” Stan shouted from his back verandah bringing Lewis to laugh. The singing stoped.

“You down there Lewis?”

“Yes Stan but I’m about to go in.”

“Noisy lot,”

“Singing away their woes.”

“I’ll give them fucken’ woes if they start again – good night.”

“Yes Stan good night.”

The telephone rang early Saturday morning bringing Jack across the flat to call on Lewis, who quickly readied to have his mornings work completed. After feeding the chooks and collecting the eggs he hurried to the kitchen and set the fire for Joyce to prepare breakfast, while meeting Ivy on her way to the big house. She greeted him and asked if all was in place, he assured her it was then gathered the slop buckets for the pigs.

“Good morning Lewis you’re early?” Joyce remarked as she entered the kitchen for the fist time that morning, not showered with hair still dishevelled from her night’s sleep.

“You know what they say about the early bird Joyce?”

“Yes but you’re not hunting worms.”

“Could be you never know what the day brings.” Lewis chuckled in an all knowing manner, “You seem somewhat down today Mrs. Marshall?”

“Lewis I’ve told you before call me Joyce.”

“Sorry Joyce but it’s my upbringing,” Lewis once again apologised.

“It’s my birthday and I’m not telling you how many years.”

“Oh happy birthday, I didn’t know.” Lewis greeted.

“No one else does either, so keep it that way if you mind.”

It was mid morning with Lewis relaxing on the store verandah in Stan’s old club chair, his eyes strained into the distance along the Georgetown road. Stan Wilson pretended to busy in his office at the end of the verandah but came out when he heard Lewis arrive.

“What time is all this to happen?” He asked while his gaze followed that of Lewis’ along the red dusty road to the east.

“About now I should think,” Lewis advised.

Quater of an hour passed and still no event and Lewis was becoming concerned. Half an hour and even Stan was prepared to call it an anti-climax but then as he commenced to relate that opinion, a dusty speck appeared in the distance. Both stood shading their eyes from the sun’s glare. The dust soon became a cloud and then a glint of metal and the outline of a convertible car became apparent. Moments later an E-type Jaguar arrived to stop outside the big house and beyond the white picket fence.

“He’s here come on,” Lewis jumped down from the verandah and quickly advanced towards the house as Jack Thompson approached the convertible.

“Good morning,” Jack greeted as a tall well dressed young man stepped out of his vehicle and obviously not accustomed to heat, dust or flies.

After the greeting and introduction they took the young man into the house and then towards the kitchen, where Joyce Marshall had just finished the dishes and was tidying her working area, also her mood had improved to humming.

“I remember that tune.” The stranger spoke as he entered the kitchen followed by Ivy, Stan and the Thompson’s with Lewis bringing up the rear. Joyce paused from her work and looked up towards the gathering, her face taking on a quizzical appearance as she searched her recollection for a name to the stranger.

“Eric!” She gasped. It had to be as he still held the look of the boy she once knew.

“It can’t be.” Her voice faltered as she dropped the metallic bowel she was carrying, drumming a hollow sound as it bounced across the wooden floor.

“Yes mum it’s me.”

Lewis collected the bowl and placed it aside.

“You’ve grown so tall.” Joyce sobbed as she wrapped her arms around Eric’s neck, who in turned hugged her back.

“I don’t believe and it’s my birthday too.”

“That I didn’t know, dad didn’t tell us much about you but his sister, Aunt Louise, spoke of you often and tried to find you but when dad discovered what she was doing, he forbid her from do so. Happy birthday, I’m sorry I come without a present.”

“Thank you, thank you Mr. Thompson.” Joyce turned to Jack shaking her head as the tears flooded.

“You need to thank Lewis he was the one who tracked your son and arranged the visit.” Jack admitted.

Joyce took Lewis’ hand and kissed it without speaking but her eyes told him all he needed to know bringing moisture to his own.

“Mum, Julia wished to be here as well but she is married now and you are a grandmother.” Eric declared.

“A grandma?”

“Sure are and I’m an uncle to a baby boy.”

“I would love to have seen them both.” Joyce said taking a breath from her joyous state.

“You will she is planning a reunion for you in Cairns in the new-year, if you can make it.”

As the two became more acquainted Jack suggested they retire and leave mother and son to their reunion and as they left Joyce repeated over and over, “thank you.”

Eric Marshall’s visit lasted until the Monday morning, having work commitments back in Brisbane where he had settled after leaving his home in Sydney. Once again he disappeared into the dusty distance, once more becoming a speck of memory along the Georgetown road but with a promise he would keep in contact. As for Joyce she declared that Lewis had given her the most perfect birthday present that could be given and without even realising it was her anniversary.

Gary’s stories are all about what life in Australia was like for a homosexual man (mostly, before we used the term, “gay”). Email Gary to let him know you are reading: Gary dot Conder at CastleRoland dot Net

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