Published: 30 Apr 2020

Clouds had been building across the northern sky for a number of days without event and although remaining in the dry season there was promise of relief but each day the promise dissipated leaving only heat and humidity behind. The clouds, like the Morning Glory of the distant Gulf of Carpentaria, were but a tease, hugging the horizon like a black shroud. Lewis had never witnessed the Morning Glory, which each day at that time of year tumbled itself over and over across the huge expanse of the Gulf of Carpentaria but had heard much about its existence from those who in the off season exchanged their spurs for weatherproof gear to work on the prawn-trawlers out of Karumba, or deepwater fishing further up at the head of the gulf.

This morning Lewis was early to rise as the first muster had commenced, leaving him behind with extra duties. He would be joining the second part of the muster beyond the Gilbert River, with young Bob Kelly attended his brothers wedding in Normanton, so for now he had stock to feed and wood to chop, not forgetting attention to his ladies, as he called the fowls. Good morning ladies, he would greet as he gave them free range and collected the morning’s eggs while they cackled back their appreciation.

Lewis had already slopped out the pigs from the kitchen’s waste tins and was about to feed the fowls when one of the black kitchen-help called to him across the lifting dawn. He politely lifted his head and smiled in response.

“Hey white boy cook wants more eggs.” Dark skin blended with the half light, while teeth flashed vivid from her complexion.

“Sure, I’m about to collect them now if you can wait a sec’.”

“I wait boy but cook won’t.” The kitchen-help said and sat close by on a tree stump beside the chicken coop, folding her long purple dress between her skinny black velvet legs while wiggling lengthy naked toes and keeping an interested gaze on Lewis. It was then Lewis realised there was something familiar about the girl and a cold sweat came over him.

“Do I know you?” Lewis asked nervously.

“Maybe white boy,” she laughed loudly.

“What’s your name?”

“Leawana.” She answered indifferently while casting her eyes towards her wriggling toes, then back to Lewis but Lewis had no recognition of the name, thinking she must be from the local mob as most aborigines from the town took on English names. He carefully placed each egg into the feed bin he had brought with him. With each placement a thought but once all the eggs were collected he remained uncertain.

“Leawana, that a nice name,” he complemented patronisingly while placing a brick against the open pen door to allow the chicken’s free range for the day.

“It means wind.”

“Are you from around here?” Lewis curiously asked.

“Not any more, my lot useta’ live down by the river in my granddaddy’s day but its white fella’ land now.”

As the conversation progressed Lewis commenced to lose any recognition of Leawana and out of what he believed to be curtesy continued with his condescending exchange.

“Where are you from these days?” he asked.

“Mareeba Lewis Smith,” she answered loosing her broken English and taking on a teasing tone. Lewis froze then turned to face Leawana. It couldn’t be he thought but then again to Lewis all black girls looked the same.

My white fella’ name is Mary White and I have a baby now,” her carefree tone concerned Lewis as he remembered the encounter back in Mareeba in the lane next to Pollards store. It had been Mary White who took his virginity and now returned to haunt him. That was also a chapter in his life he had never disclosed to anyone, not even to Will, only to the pages of a diary, which he ceremoniously destroyed on the day of Will’s funeral. Now those very pages were opening before his eyes and unlike his journal he could not feed them to the flames.

“He’s with my mother and I’ve called him Cobar,” Mary White disclosed.

“My name means wind and his name means burnt earth.” She paused, “like what the white man’s done to everything,” she added somewhat displeasingly. She continued, “Cobar is his country name but not what is on his birth certificate.” She remained teasing.

Lewis was without words but the one question he felt he must ask eventually escaped from his lips as the blood froze in his veins.

“Who is the father?” he asked his voice flat and anxious.

Mary White laughed, “maybe you eh Lewis,” she laughed once more, “or maybe someone else eh.” Lewis became stilted and speechless. “No matter Lewis Smith I have a real man now, a black man and he loves me eh.” Mary white took the container of eggs from Lewis and returned towards the kitchen. She called back, “so you keep away Lewis Smith, I don’t want no white fella’ sniffing around like some mongrel dog.”

When Lewis departed from Mareeba, the only part of his past he brought with him was the memory of Will. All else was burnt in the family shop’s incinerator along with his diary, now the one episode he wished to bury forever was before him and declaring its existence in broken English, with a smile and a mischievous disposition and cheeky enough to pronounce their encounter to the world. “Mary!” Lewis nervously called as she approached the long flight of steps leading up to the kitchen. She turned.

“What do you want?”

“You wouldn’t tell anyone would you?”

“Now Lewis Smith do you think I wanna’ tell I fucked white trash eh?” She turned and mounted the steps as Joyce Marshall’s head protruded from the kitchen window, “hurry up with those eggs girl!” she called displaying her usual impatience with the black help.

“Thank you.” Lewis exclaimed in a pleading whisper as Mary White disappeared through the kitchen door. She once again turned, laughed and was gone, leaving Lewis with the dilemma of disclosure to be carried until Mary White and her lot departed from the station.

Wayne Gooding had been gone for some time before Lewis chanced to have conversation with Ivy. She, Stan Wilson and Walter Drysdale were enjoying quiet evening playing cards and a bottle or two at the bookkeeper’s house, when late in the evening Ivy grew tired of conversation and went in search of the cooler air arising from the lagoon. Lewis was close by and approached Ivy. Coming out of the dark he gave her a start.

“Sorry I didn’t mean to startle you Ivy.” Lewis apologised as he sat close by, “it’s a nice night to be outdoors, do you mind if I join you for a while?”

“Sure, are you going on the muster?”

“On the next, yes.”

“You don’t play cards?”

“I’m not very good at playing but often did while at school,” he laughed, “mostly snap and old maid, I never really understood poker but have a limited knowledge of five-hundred.” Lewis drew a few straws of dry grass from a tuft close to the water’s edge and chew on one, while twirling the others around his fingers. He released a secretive smile; ‘and strip poker,’ he thought but could not share the thought.

It had been a wet Sunday afternoon at the hostel and with nothing to do a group of the Sub Junior and Junior boys played a game of strip poker. The game progressed quickly to naked as no one was overdressed and once in the buff another game was suggested.

One of the boys had a part packet of Sao cracker biscuits, a large cracker which brought another game to mind, being who could shove a Sao in the mouth without breaking it – failure on all counts. The new game was called Soggy Biscuit. It had only one rule and that was to form a circle and masturbate over the Sao and the last to ejaculate had to eat the biscuit. Fortunately excitement brought Lewis on first but the last to do so quickly refused his prize. The biscuit was unceremoniously tossed out of the study window.

The first part of the muster would be to the north but the main body of cattle could be found across the Gilbert to the south and seeing Bob Kelly would be attending his brother’s wedding, the muster had been divided and Walter now brought the stockmen back for a short break to collect Lewis and more supplies before departing for the second.

“I believe there has been bother with the blacks on the muster?” Ivy asked.

“They are always trouble but bloody good stockmen and they appear to be able to read a bullock’s move before it makes it. I suppose you are missing Wayne?”

Ivy didn’t answer she picked at her bare feet then paddled them in the red waters of the Lagoon. “Have you family Lewis?” she asked.

“My mother is in Yungaburra and I have a mob of relations back in Melbourne and others out Hughenden way.”

“Do you have a girlfriend?”

“No there was someone once but,” Lewis paused. He didn’t wish to express more of his past and defiantly not his relationship with Will, that was his shrine and one he didn’t believe Ivy would understand, “I hear you are also from Melbourne?” he asked Ivy while turning the conversation away from his past to a more manageable ground.

“That was a long time ago and Wayne was born there,” she paused, “and yes I do miss him but I can’t afford to work and rent in town and have him with me,” she paused once more, “I just wish he could understand that.”

“I think he does,” Lewis sympathised.

“He doesn’t show it.”

“He’s a good kid Ivy and what he said to me was all positive, although he hates the hostel.”

“Wayne wants me to take him back to Melbourne but I have no wish to do so.”

“I believe it is because he hates the hostel. I am sure he will come through it all and in time look back differently on his stay.”

Ivy lit a cigarette with a fancy Ronson lighter and turned it over in her hand, causing its gilded surface to glint in the weak moonlight. “Wayne gave me this lighter,” she said sadly, “and the irony is he hates smoking.” She laughed weakly then diverted her sadness. “Didn’t you go to the hostel” Ivy asked believing she had heard such in past conversation.

“Yes and I hated it as well – my mother was in much the same position as you and I reckon I turned out okay.”

“Did you tell Wayne you were at the hostel?”

“No I thought under the circumstances it better not to, he was having enough problems with returning as it was and I didn’t want to add to it.”

“I think I may have mentioned so in passing,” Ivy apologised.

“No matter but I will say something about him, boy does he ask a lot of questions.” Lewis chuckled and slowly shook his head in agreement to his assessment.

“Yes and sometimes a little too personal for his years,” Ivy answered with a gentle smile.

In particular Wayne knew little about his father other than he wasn’t any good, often using violence to dictate a point but the lad still wished to know more which bothered Ivy greatly and the more she remained silent on the matter the more he demanded. One day Ivy would tell Wayne about his father, even give him a single photograph she had kept for that purpose but for now it was her past and one she did not wish to be reminded of.

“What about you Lewis do you miss Melbourne?”

“Can’t rightly say Ivy, I hardly know it but -”, Lewis paused and laughed.

“But what?” Ivy asked.

“I was about to say I am going back there some day.”

“Why do you laugh?”

“It is something I have said a thousand times over the past few years, to a hundred people and I’m still here.”

“Too cold,” Ivy proclaimed, “and people can’t mind their own business,” she followed.

“I didn’t mind the cold, besides Herberton can get even colder as it is high in the mountains.”

“A different type of cold I should think. I get chilblains and have thin blood,” Ivy answered, wiggling her bare toes in reminder of how they suffered in the southern climate.

There was a cool breeze blowing across the lagoon causing Ivy to slightly shudder as it wrapped around her shoulders, bringing her to fidget with the thin straps holding her knee length summer dress to her body.

“It’s getting a bit cool,” Lewis suggested as he also felt the breeze.

“Suppose I should head back they will be wondering where I’ve gone.” Ivy extinguished her cigarette and buried the butt end under the red earth of the lagoons bank. Standing, she gently dusted the gathering of twigs and leaves from her rear, “Its good talking with you Lewis.”

Lewis smiled then bade Ivy good night as she climbed the steps of the bookkeeper’s house to announce her retirement for the evening. Soon after Lewis also departed for his bed, leaving the cooling zephyr to caress the dark waters of the lagoon and dance the dusty leaves along its bank.

During the following days Lewis kept his distance from Mary White and as no one had created humour out of his encounter with her, he drew confidence in her silence, although Mary never passed the opportunity to twist the emotional blade she had placed deeply between Lewis’ shoulder blades.

“Hello Lewis Smith.” She giggled when he delivered the daily eggs. Her dark smouldering eyes happy with the pleasure she received by Lewis’ mental agony, while she tossed her head in haughty attitude, sending her lengthy wire curls to dance behind her head. She had a pretty face and a straight nose, even considered so for the light dilution of white blood that ran through her venins but she did have the cheekiness often found in native women.

“You gotta’ a girlfriend Lewis?” She asked as he set the morning fire. Lewis shook his head without answering.

“You a virgin eh Lewis?” She enquired with a smirk as he collected the slops for the pigs. Her vivid white teeth shone like a beacon out of her dark face, while her eyes delivered mischief at every chance.

“Mary that was then, this is now – give it a miss – please!” Lewis pleaded but Mary White wasn’t ready to release her hold on Lewis, causing him to avoid her as much as possible and when she spoke to others she would do so in whisper while glancing towards Lewis as if he was the topic of conversation.

“What is it with you two?” Joyce Marshall asked on overhearing an encounter as Lewis set the mornings fire. Lewis remained silent.

“Nothing Missus Cook, just teasing,” Mary White giggled, diverging from her educated English in favour of the broken English that whites expected from the natives.

“Mary you do realise Mr. Thompson has said you are not to socialise with the men.”

“I no socialise Missus Cook, I have a good man now,” Mary answered as she gathered the utensils to lay the breakfast table in the men’s dining room, “I got baby now,” she giggled, giving an extra turn to the emotional blade, then flashed a smile back to Lewis as he bent over the stove’s firebox in his attempt to remain as distant as possible from her account. He paused from his work and shuddered.

“As long as you understand that, now get on with your work.” Joyce Marshall growled.

“I set the table eh Missus Cook, Mary declared as she left for the dining room with a tray of utensils. As Mary departed she turned sharply towards Lewis as if to speak, instead spilt half the tray of cutely, which crashed to the floor in a crescendo.

“Mary!” Joyce shouted.

“Sorry Missus Cook, I’ll pick them up.”

“And wash them again now they have been in the dirt of the floor.”

“Yes Missus Cook,”

“That girl,” Joyce directed to Lewis who remained silent on the matter as he continued with the morning fire.

Within seconds fire sprung from Lewis’ hands and with the help of kerosene the dry kindling fused with the red gum as a roar ascended up the flue to release a puff of white smoke from the cowl, declaring that life had once more come to that oasis of outback civilization.

Joyce Marshall finger tested the surface of the large range as if expecting the heat to be instantaneous as Lewis gathered his collection of old news print and kindling to allow the cook access. He moved away remaining at distance until he was satisfied his job had been successful.

“Mary when you’ve finished the table would you run across to the main house and let Ivy know breakfast will be ready in half an hour?” Joyce asked while placing a metal pan on the stoves surface. Humming quietly she collected a plate of steaks from one of the kerosene fuelled refrigerators and a pail of eggs from the bench beside the stove. Two of which were brown. Joyce always preferred brown eggs as in her belief they had a finer taste. She wondered which of the many fowls had produced them but allowed the thought to pass as the beef fat sizzled in the pan. It was ready for the eggs, brown and white.

Realising his success with the stove Lewis excused himself from the kitchen and with the previous days slops proceeded to feed the pigs. Mary met him at the door.

“What do you want?” Lewis softly demanded as he attempted to push past being careful not to brush against her body in the passing, while she made such a move quite impossible.

“Not you Lewis Smith.”

“Come on move away. I have work to do,”

“Would you like help, maybe I can teach you something.”

“I think you have taught me enough already.” Lewis descended the stairs while Mary pretended to follow; she paused partway.

“Mary, get back in here now,” Joyce called from the kitchen window. Mary quickly returned.

“What was it I just said about you fraternising with the men?”

“Ize’ no fraternising Missus Cook, Ize’ only talking,” she huffily answered back in broken English.

“Any more and I will have to talk to Mr. Thompson about you.”

“Ize’ a good girl,” Mary declared and repeated the words over as she went about her work.

“Good girl – huh,” Joyce huffed, “anyway what is it with you and Lewis, you shouldn’t lead him on, he’s not like that.”

Mary gave a slight giggle.

“What’s so funny girl?”

“Em’ white boys are all like that Missus Cook. They only want one thing but Ize’ a good girl.”

“Mary I’m warning you for the last time, if you can’t behave I’ll speak to Mr. Thompson and have you sent packing.”

Mary gave an indescribable grumble and went about her work. Once beyond the kitchen she repeated over and over – “Ize’ a good girl.”

Joyce simply shook her head, she knew talking to Mary was all but useless and it wasn’t in her nature to speak to Jack on the matter.

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

33,658 views