Published: 28 May 2020

It was past dawn when Lewis awoke with a start. He had slept through the alarm and was drastically late for his morning chores and having a day out in town didn’t allow excuse for lateness. Quickly he gathered dry clothes and checked the lagoon. It was in flood and still rising. On Stan’s side the water had surpassed the fence line and reached the long drop toilet, releasing sewerage to collect along the water’s edge with a scattering of used toilet paper from the drop, decorating twigs and brambles by the rising water. He spied Stan at the stairs and called.

“I slept in Stan,”

“Likewise but Roo Frazer left earlier, I don’t think he will get across the four mile.”

“Bit of rain,” Lewis stated the obvious.

“Sure is, we will need to build up around the drop once it dries out, I told Jack it was the wrong place to dig it,” Stan surmised.

“Looks that way, I better get up to the house and face the music, Joyce will be furious.”

“Where’s the motorbike?” Stan asked as it wasn’t in the yard when he saw the Frazers away.”

“That’s a long story Stan,” Lewis sheepishly admitted.

“Don’t tell me it broke down.”

“Later I better be going; I’m already late.”

“Tell Joyce, I’ll be up once the rain stops.” Stan called across the weather.

“If it does Stan,”

The flat in front of the two houses was also awash with puddles one could almost swim in; while the continuing rain was so heavy it was difficult to recognise the big house or store beyond the flat. Grabbing his driza-bone raincoat and descended the stairs in a bound, Lewis forgot his hat and within a few steps the rain found its way down the back of his neck and under the coat, soaking him to the waist. He shrugged his neck into shoulders as if to stop the flow, he gave a grin, as if that would keep it out. Releasing the shrug Lewis allowed the leakage, ‘wet is wet, I don’t think I can get much wetter,’ he thought.

It was a rare event for Lewis to be late for work and it weighed heavy on him as he manoeuvred the puddles, feeling his boots fill with water as he went. “Bugger and they are just new,” he complained loudly as his feet squelched within the leather. It was only the previous month when he outlaid twenty dollars on new boots and being wet to such an extent would surely ruin the leather and with the heat and moisture they would become mouldy within days. He had worn his old boots the previous day as he wished to keep the new pair fresh for the next pub or social night, now not only were they soggy from his dip in the flood creek, his new pair was also.

As Lewis approached the kitchen he observed smoke rising from the chimney silently proclaiming his neglect of duty. Once inside and dripping water across the floor he found Joyce busily preparing breakfast for the Thompson’s, while Mary slowly moved about doing her bidding.

“Lewis Smith you’re late!” Mary accused in her usual mocking tone but was quickly scolded by Joyce.

“Don’t listen to her; Bob said you may be late as he saw you walking home early this morning. You’re dripping all over the floor,” Joyce complained and tutted at the developing puddles.

“Sorry Joyce,”

“Mary, get a mop and clean it before someone has a slip. Aren’t they your new boots?”

“They are,”

“And you are wearing them in this weather.”

“No choice the other pair is full of water. Who set the fire?” Lewis asked as Mary approached and offered the mop to Lewis.

“You do it girl – Bob set it, he came back with the Thompson’s.”

“I will have to thank him,” Lewis removed his boots and emptied the water onto the steps. He placed them aside and filled them with scrunched paper while wringing water from his socks, somewhat amazed how red the water was in one day’s wearing. Mary mopped about his bare feet bashing against his heels with intended force.

“Ouch, watch it girl that hurts.” Lewis growled.

“Then move,”

“What did Bob say? Lewis asked nervously remembering the loss of the motorbike.

“Only he was concerned for you, knowing you were on the bike in this weather.”

“I’m alright but the bike -.” Lewis mumbled and placed his wet socks on the railing under the kitchen eaves.

“I hear a motor; now who could that be.” Joyce strained to hear over the heavy rain. “Mary go see who has arrived, I may have others for breakfast and is this weather.”

“I lost the bike in a flooded creek!” Lewis declared as Joyce cracked eggs into a large pan without listening to his misfortune.

“If there are visitors I will need more eggs.” Joyce informed without comment on the loss of the motorbike while showing sympathy for sending Lewis back out in the rain for eggs. “Do you mind, it’s eased a little and there is an umbrella in the pantry.”

“I couldn’t get much wetter anyway.” Lewis admitted while checking the wood box. At least the chopped wood was under cover beneath the kitchen.

Mary quickly returned, “It is Roo Frazer and the boss said to do breakfast for him and his missus. She flashed a white toothy grin then gathered the utensils for the men’s breakfast table as she swaggered past Lewis with a giggle, “you look like a half drowned possum.”

“She and Molly will be leaving next week.” Joyce commented with relief once Mary was from her sight, “Ivy says Molly is quite helpful but Mary is nothing but lazy trouble.” Joyce complained as Mary returned from setting the men’s table. Mary had heard Joyce’s characterisation of her but let it be.

“Hey Lewis, Jimmy said this rain was coming long time back,” Mary confirmed while slicing bread, “Just before he went walkabout he said we would have big rain before he returned.”

“When is he coming back?” Joyce enquired while paying attention to the bread slicing, ‘too thick,’ she thought, ‘how many times have I told her to cut the slices thin. Oh well it’s done now.’

“Dunno.” Mary answered.

“If that is so the rain could come any time between Jimmy leaving and dunno’,” Joyce deduced while physically handling the cut slices and giving a disapproving sigh.

“Jimmy’s always right Missus Cook, you ask Lewis about his white fella’ ghost,” she turned and winked at Lewis, “Have you seen him yet Lewis?” she asked.

“What are you on about Mary?” Lewis answered irritably but Mary was not forthcoming instead she again gave a wink and carried the sliced bread to the dining room.

“And don’t forget the Holbrook sauce, or you will have Walter grumbling.”

“The bottle was empty, I threw it out,” Mary answered.

“Oh well,” Joyce sighed.

“I’ll get another from the store later.” Lewis offered.

“Seeing she didn’t tell me, Mary can go for it now.”

“I’ll get wet,” Mary loudly protested.

“Take the umbrella you silly girl.”

Mary grumbled and left for the sauce without the umbrella.

“Silly girl – what does she mean by all that ghost rubbish?” Joyce asked as Mary made a dash for the store.

“To be quite honest Joyce, I wouldn’t have a clue and I think she is using Jimmy to carrying on with her teasing,” Lewis paused, “I’ll get the eggs.”

“That is if the chooks haven’t been drowned.” Joyce commented while feeding a large pan with bacon.

“True,”

“Have you seen Stan this morning?”

“Yes he said he would be up when the rain eases.”

“If it does,” Joyce commented.

“That was my opinion.”

Once again Lewis returned into the rain as ankle deep water ran in channels between the kitchen and the chicken coop. On reaching the pen he discovered the rivulets of water had formed into one stream and was running directly through the centre of the pen. Lewis quickly collected the eggs and with a shovel left resting against the wire of the pen dug a drainage channel away from the enclosure. It would do for the moment but he knew if the rain didn’t stop soon the coop could be flooded. Looking down the paddock past the cattle yards and pig pen, he could see the extent of the water as the swamp behind the night horse paddock had now met the rising river.

After taking the eggs to the kitchen Lewis excused himself to visit Jack, thinking it was time he came clean about the loss of the motorbike.

“Don’t be long as I think Stan is arriving and Walt and Bob are already seated,” Joyce commented.

“Only a minute or so, best I get the loss of the bike over with.” Crossing the walkway between the kitchen and the big house Lewis met Molly coming to collect the Thompson’s breakfast.

“Good morning Mr. Lewis,” she politely greeted, “plenty rain eh.”

Lewis returned the complement and continued, finding Jack in the large airy sitting room attending to correspondence. In the adjacent dining room he could hear Elizabeth and Elsie Frazer in quiet conversation. Jack lifted his head as Lewis approached.

“Lewis.” Looking the lad from head to foot he smiled and commented on his bare feet.

“My boots were soaked and I left them over at the kitchen,” Lewis lowered his head.

“You appear concerned, what is the problem?”

“I lost the bike in the last creek this side of Roo Frazer’s place, the Four Mile.”

“I wondered why you were walking, Bob told me earlier this morning,” Jack said as he placed his correspondence on the coffee table beside his chair. Standing, he silently observed the rain through the large window facing the flat and the lagoon beyond.

“You know Lewis we may have trouble with this rain,” Jack words came rhetorically.

“Sorry about the bike,” Lewis apologised.

“Never mind the bike Lewis, it was a pile of junk anyway.” Jack turned from the window and the continuing rain, “yes we may have big problems,” he repeated, “I had a look at the river earlier this morning and its half way up the back block almost to the fence of the home paddock.”

“Yes I noticed when I went for eggs, what about the pigs?”

“They are high enough and the ground even higher behind, I left the back gate open so they could retreat to the outer yard.”

“What about the stock?” Lewis asked.

“No need to concern we couldn’t get across the river anyway and most are over there, besides there is plenty of high ground if they are smart enough.” Jack paused scratched his head then continued, “as for the horses, best we get them out of the night horse paddock and into the stalls near the store, or they will be standing in water.” Jack sighed deeply, he had seen a number of storms since he became manager at Gilbert Downs and had heard of others from passing hands but in all events the homestead was always high enough, it was the two houses down by the lagoon that were of concern as the land about was but a foot or so above the lagoon’s natural level.

Jack had heard that in fifty-two during that season’s monsoon, water came halfway up the back stairs of both houses. The current storm was an out of season rain depression and influencing the entire Gulf region, while according to telephone traffic both the Einasleigh and Copperfield rivers were up and the Copperfield was over the Einasleigh rail bridge.

“How are you and Stan down at the lagoon?” Jack enquired as he had not yet found the time to check the levels on the lagoon side of the flat.

“When I got up this morning the water was over the back fence and the dunny was flooded, may have to dig a new pit and the flat is quite flooded as well.”

“Best if you and Stan move up to the bunkhouse for the duration,” Jack suggested.

“Righto Mr. Thompson, I get about it straight after breakfast,” Lewis turned to leave.

“Lewis, I will need you to help Greg Sutton with fencing after this is over.”

“Righto,”

“I think Walt’s getting a little past it with the heavy lifting work.”

By Jack’s hesitation Lewis believed there was more and he paused at the door but Jack appeared to drift away from the conversation, his eyes on the trickling droplets down the glass. “Rain,” he softly spoke.

“I’m sorry Mr. Thompson,” Lewis questioned not hearing Jack’s complaint.

“Nothing lad I was only thinking aloud.”

Jack knew heavy weather was coming as he had smelt it on the wind for some time. In the outback pending rain has a scent of its own and when mixed with dust, the nose of an expert becomes a useful barometer.

“I thought we were in for a dumping,” Jack admitted.

“Did old Jimmy tell you?” Lewis asked in an attempt to clarify the black man’s credibility.

“No after living in the bush for years you become quite sharp, as for Jimmy he has a little too much to say at times.” Jack returned to the window where something caught his eye and held his gaze as he spoke. “After breakfast best you get Bob and bring those horses up to the stalls,” Jack repeated his concern for the horses.

It was then they both notice movement along the road towards the east. It was a tall thin black man, almost naked and as happy with the rain as one transfixed, his walk was more a dance, while he appeared to be singing to the weather. It was Jimmy.

Look at that dumb black bugger!” Jack declared shaking his head in disbelief.

“At least he’s found the high ground,” Lewis laughed.

“High ground, it won’t be for much longer if it keeps up.”

The rain continued throughout the day and all of the next and into that night, when it seemed to increase in intensity. Stan and Lewis had gathered what they could carry and waded back to the bunkhouse, then after the second trip decided not to continue as the water at both houses was knee deep at the front and rising but still a long way from the flooring.

On returning across the flat with the last of his gear, a mob of kangaroos came out from the shallow end of the lagoon heading for higher ground beyond the horse stalls, once there they paused and shaking the weather out of their ears began to scratch at rumps as if nothing extraordinary was occurring. A number of bullocks also crossed the rising water for higher ground, while on passing appeared to give Lewis a look of disbelief but were, as Jack mentioned, smart enough to find that safer ground.

On the morning of the third day the rain had eased but the water was still slowly rising and was ankle deep close to the kitchen steps. Fortunately the lay of the land between the kitchen, butcher shop and men’s quarters was higher enough not to be flooded but the concrete flooring of the native quarters held some inches of water, so Jimmy was give a room in the men’s quarters.

Jimmy was invited to have his meals with the men as long as he put on a shirt, which he borrowed from Stan. When the rain commenced Jimmy left his swag in an old drum high in a tree, back someway along the Georgetown road. He had gone walkabout in the Gregory Ranges but as soon as he felt the coming of the rain he quickly returned to the north side of the river so not to be totally cut off from civilization.

“Hey Mary, Molly you lot still ‘ere?” Jimmy questioned as the two helped with the meal, Molly somewhat reluctant to approach Jimmy because of his stories.

“Yes Jimmy this is your rain.” Mary said carrying a large bowel of boiled potatoes, moistened with condensed milk and sprinkled with dried parsley flakes Joyce discovered hiding in the dark of a pantry cupboard. Molly’s eyes opened wide as Mary spoke while her mouth gaped considering what would follow and not wishing to be once again introduced to Jimmy’s ghosts.

“What’s wrong with you?” Mary barked at Molly.

“Nothing,”

“You watch it girl or Jimmy’s ghost will get ya’.”

Molly gulped at air and scurried from the dining room.

“Don’t you listen to her Molly,” Stan called after Molly but on reaching the kitchen Joyce sent her back with the teapot.

“I should be back in Mareeba with my man instead we get Jimmy’s rain.” Mary added lifting an eyebrow towards Lewis and noticing Molly had been spooked by Jimmy bringing the rain, Mary directed further towards Jimmy. “Hey Jimmy them ghosts of your’s would be pretty wet down by the river?” she suggested with a laugh. Jimmy didn’t answer. “Especially that white boy ghost, maybe white boy not used to rain?” She continued once again sending Molly from the room in a nervous rush, while Jimmy showed disproval.

“Mary you should respect Molly’s feelings,” Jimmy said softly as Mary past his chair.

“She’s just a stupid black gin,”

“What does that make you?” Stan asked.

“I have a baby now, don’t I Lewis,”

“Mary I won’t tell you again. You have dishes to wash so leave the men to their meal!” Joyce demanded from the door.

“I goes’ Misses Cook,”

“What’s she on about?” Stan asked Lewis once Mary had gone.

“I wouldn’t have a clue Stan she’s just likes stirring me I suppose.” Lewis answered nervously, hoping no one picked up on his developing disposition. They didn’t as Stan was interrupted by Walter on the weather and how he remembered a much worse flood that came to the Buckingham River back in forty-nine and the flood of the Flinders, washing everything in its passage to the gulf, along with a good five thousand head of cattle from that area, destroying all profitability of the Buckingham property.

“You’ve obviously never lived on the bloody coast then Walt,” Stan declared; “one of those cyclones would make the monsoon seem like taking a piss.”

“I was caught in a cyclone once,” Lewis admitted before he could censor his response.”

“No shit,” Bob queried.

“Only three years or so back, I was up visiting a girlfriend north of Cairns,” He smiled at mentioning girlfriend as it placed him in the realm of normality.

“Girlfriend?” Bob questioned.

“Yes Bob, girlfriend, some of us have them on the occasion.”

“What happened young fellow,” Stan asked realising Lewis was somewhat light on when it came to his past history.

“I had to shelter in an old mill vat and a tree fell on my car, flattened it to the ground, wack it went, sounded like a canon going off.”

“Have you heard a canon?” Bob asked.

“I’ve heard a bomb exploding; I should think it would be the same.”

Lewis’ story was followed by a number of questions then each in turn attempted to outdo the other but failed to better Lewis’ cyclone although none commented on his exploding bomb. That would be a story for another time.

It was past midnight when Lewis was disturbed by Walter’s grumbling outside the bunkhouse door as he took a leak. “Hey the blooming rain has stopped,” he called excitedly bringing Lewis and Bob Kelly out to join him. Looking up there was nothing but stars in a sparkling carpet of twinkling lights, so for now nature’s gloom had ended.

“Pretty site,” Lewis admitted and with mouth agape cast his eyes upwards.

“Huh,” Bob growled and took Walter’s lead, emptying his bladder into the darkness, splashing into the puddles at the end of the covered walkway.

“I’ll leave you two to smooch; old buggers like me need their sleep.” Walter stumbled back to his bunk.

With his bladder now empty Bob gave his member more shaking than one would believe necessary. “You know no matter how many times you shake the little bugger, the last few drips go down your leg,” Bob admitted.

“That sounds like old man’s problems,” Lewis suggested.

“Old man be buggered,”

“You do realise more than three shakes and it’s considered wanking.”

“Bugger off, where do you learn all this shit?”

“Dunno’ somewhere I guess.”

“Hey, are you going east for Christmas?” Bob asked.

“Na, I’ll stay on I’ve no one back there these days.”

“What about your parents?”

“Mum’s shifted from Mareeba, she’s now in Yungaburra.”

“What about that girl you spoke of?”

Lewis didn’t answer but smiled as that was three questions asked by Bob in succession and almost as many as he had solicited since they worked together.

“How’s that girl of yours?” Lewis quickly deflected Bob’s interests away.

“She’s okay,” Bob answered, “won’t root until we’re married but I don’t really want to marry.”

“Do you love her?” Lewis asked. Bob thought for a moment then answered.

“Don’t rightly know, sometime I wonder if I like girls at all.” Bob declared soberly,” he paused and laughed, “I like horses.” Then returning to a more solemn disposition by declaring he wasn’t a poof.

“Yeah horses don’t sulk and argue.” Lewis affirmed.

“You don’t know that blooming gelding of mine; he sulks worse than any sheila. I suppose I will have to marry her as the family expect me to marry someone and mum’s hard set on grandkids.” Bob looked up towards the stars and sighed, “you going to marry Lewis?” he asked frankly.

“I don’t think so.”

“Any reason?”

“Probably the same as you Bob but there was once someone that no one could come close to.” This was the closest Lewis had come in telling the story of Will. His throat choked as he remembered that final day and how happy he had been. He was to meet Will at the Masterson Hotel the night of the accident, to plan their travel to Melbourne. Then in one missed turn on the Kuranda range his dream was lost forever.

“Did you love her?”

“I loved -” Again Lewis almost declared his love for Will but paused at the abyss of disclosure, “I think I’ll return back to bed Bob, I’ve seen enough stars for one night.”

“You’re a dark horse Lewis,”

“Not so much dark Bob, only there isn’t a lot to tell. None that you would find interest in anyway.”

“You appear as if there are shutters between your and past and they are permanently nailed closed.”

“That’s rather deep for you Bob,” Lewis turned towards his room.

“Open up a little and people won’t question.”

“Questions don’t bother me Bob, besides I always answer them truthfully. As I said there isn’t anything interesting to tell.”

“There are varying forms of truth, anyway I’m going back to bed see you in the morning.”

“Hey you two are you gunna’ talk all night?” Walter called from his room.

“Finished now Walt,” Lewis admitted.

“You are worse than a coupla’ old women at a church picnic,” Walter complained.

“Good night Walt,” Lewis answered and returned to his room.

“Yea good morning,” Walter gruffly answered.

The morning arrived as if it had never known rain and the warmth quickly soaked up the surplus water around the station buildings. By midday the water had receded from the flat to the lagoon leaving a muddy quagmire along its new water line at the houses rear fence. As for the river it was still rising but lacked any threat, with the end of the rain it would soon return to within its natural banks where it would run strong for a time then once again become a string of billabongs and stagnating pools filled with bream and freshwater crocodiles.

After surveillance of the immediate property Walter with Lewis found the main damage was to the fences around the lagoon and the chook pen, although once the river gave access it was certain they would discover more. As for the fowl yard, Lewis’ channelling had a measure of providence but his levee had broken, undermining the fence and carrying a part of the pen away, along with a number of fowls but the smart ones, if that could be said of chooks, had found roost out of the reaches of the water but two were most unlucky, the force of water carried them to the cyclone wire fence where they drowned with their soggy remains embedded into the netting.

At the far end of the lagoon and stranded by a fallen tree was the bloated carcass of a bullock, lying belly up its stiff legs pointing skywards. Already a swarm of blowflies found entry through a split in the hide above the water line, where maggots seethed in a boiling mass of vivid white. There it would remain long after the water had subsided, to rot becoming carrion for crows and dingos until only bleached bones lay in the dust beside a white-ant riddled tree. That was the way of death in the country, most visual and without bias.

It was more than two weeks before the roads in either direction were once again serviceable, even then only to four-wheel drive vehicles. During that period food supplies ran low. There was plenty of tinned food such as bully beef and camp pie, mush peas and baked beans but with the humidity fresh food quickly became rancid long before it ran out. Also with the damp, mould grew on the supply of salted meat, while the stock of potatoes, pumpkin and onions which lay on the store’s verandah received the worse of the weather and after a soaking, rotted and had to be fed to the pigs.

While rearranging the store and mending a leak, Walter and Jack discovered two large glass containers filled with eggs that had been salt pickled some time previously in the event of such a crisis. When the first few were cracked they released a foul smell of sulphur that hung around the storeroom for days and were so bad not even the pigs would touch them. The eggs were buried past the pigsty, far enough from the house not to stink if some animal lacking any sense of smell decided to try their luck. Walter blamed the weather but in truth no one knew how to pickle eggs. The experiment was gleaned from an old recipe book from a previous century found in a dusty corner of the store’s office. Mrs. Westland’s pickling marvels was the title. Its torn and dusty cover portrayed an elderly woman wearing sensible clothes and glasses, proudly displaying a large jar of some unrecognisable substance while broadly smiling her success. Problem being most of the recipes were for produce from a cooler climate and quite unattainable in the Queensland outback.

When it came to fresh meat it was Jimmy who saved the day. As there weren’t any suitable bullocks around the homestead for slaughtering, Jimmy went out beyond the lagoon with Jack’s rifle and with perfect aim brought down a large red kangaroo and with the help of Walter they butchered the animal, which all enjoyed that night with tinned potatoes and beans, followed with treacle dumplings for dessert. That was all except Mary who professed it to be blackfella’s’ tucker and she wasn’t having any of it but she did have her portion of the potatoes and beans, while advising Lewis if he ate blackfella’s’ tucker he would turn into one.

“It could be worse,” Lewis abnormally snapped back.

“What could be?” Mary questioned.

“I could turn into you,”

Usually the native girls had their meals alone in the kitchen but as there were few in for the night’s meal, both Mary and Molly dined with the men. In doing so Stan kept his ripe language to a minimum but Walter wasn’t too pleased having them at the table, saying it restricted conversation. Also their company reminded him much of previous times and the arguments he endured in what he portrayed as a previous life but for the sake of harmony he tolerated their company, even as far as making conversation.

“Are you going back to Mareeba when the roads are open?” Walter asked Mary. He never liked the girl as she reminded him too much of the cheeky bitch he was once married to. She confirmed his question and continued.

“But I’ll be back for the next muster,” she admitted as she finished her meal. Joyce then called her to help in the kitchen, while sending Molly to the big house to collect the dishes.

“I believe you’re from Mareeba Lewis?” Walter asked ignoring the treacle pudding as stodge; instead he had a second helping of roo while complaining of the leanness of the cut, his liking being a large fresh juicy beef steak with a generous layer of fat while freely bleeding over the plate. Medium rare Walter called it but by other’s standards it was considered to be still alive.

“Sort-of Walt,” Lewis answered indifferently.

“Mary’s from Mareeba.” Walter quickly added his tone suggesting their paths may have crossed at some stage.

“Wouldn’t know Walt, I didn’t travel that side of town.”

“I reckon you wouldn’t mind a bit of black pussy Lewis?” Bob suggested through a cheeky smirk after assuring the girls were out of hearing.

“Wouldn’t know Bob you’re the expert in that field.” Lewis quickly retorted.

“Come on girls put your claws away.” Stan directed. Bob laughed and Lewis accepted his humour. Banter in the outback was always plentiful and rarely developed past that, besides it was never wise to react negatively as it may be taken as fact and from then on you would wear the joke and gin-jockey was one title most baulked at.

It was two weeks before general access from either west or east was gained and another week before the mail truck arrived carrying a generous supply of fresh vegetables and supplies, also a backlog of mail. The previous service being postponed as the rail bridge over the Copperfield River at Einasleigh became damaged in the flooding and the Mareeba service had to be cancelled. Therefore there wasn’t anything for Hal Tucker to deliver.

Lewis conveyed the unopened mail bag to Jack and waited as the lock was sprung, displaying a large bundle tied with a length of green twine. The collection fell heavily to the desktop, causing Jack to release a breath of surprise. Untying the binding he commenced to sort the letters, most were station business but there were three for Lewis.

“You are a popular fellow,” Jack stated handing Lewis his mail. There were also a number of items for Stan which Lewis delivered before opening his own.

“Good news Stan?” Lewis asked as Stan opened one of his letters and as quickly tore it into two, four then eight and dropped the pieces over the verandah’s rail watching the fragments gently glide like snow flakes to the muddy yard of his house.

“The fucking bitch wants more money.” He growled, then after viewing his other envelopes threw them down to the small verandah table, “bills! She redirects them to me, there’s even one there from her dressmaker.”

As for Lewis it was well into the morning and back on the store verandah before he found time to open his own mail. The first was from his mother who asked if he would be coming home for Christmas and to let him know that someone was looking for him.

The stranger’s request had come to his mother from a Mareeba friend who at the time didn’t know Winnie’s new address in Yungaburra but said he was a young man with red hair. As he read the contents he felt his face prickle cold through the heat of day and in a confused state he thought turned to Jimmy’s white ghost and Will’s demise, he commenced to quietly sob, this was noted by Ivy, who had come to the store looking for washing soap.

“Are you alright Lewis?” she quietly asked as she approached and placed a comforting touch to his shoulder. Lewis quickly calmed and forced a smile. “Bad news?” Ivy asked softly. Lewis quickly gained composure.

“Sorry Ivy, I’m alright, it’s just that I have been reminded of something I thought I had controlled.” Lewis admitted while secretly removing the developing tears from his eyes.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Ivy softly asked.

“No I don’t think so.”

Ivy rubbed Lewis’ back, “If you want to talk about anything you can talk to me, anytime,” Ivy smiled, “about anything.”

“Thank you I appreciate so Ivy.”

“You are staying on over Christmas?” Ivy asked.

“Yes,”

“Wayne will be up, I’m afraid he’s a little boisterous, I hope he won’t be a distraction.”

“He’s a good kid Ivy.”

“I’m apologising before he actually arrives and gets on your goat,” Ivy laughed.

“I’m sure he’ll be fine.”

Lewis reread his mother’s letter and folded it away, loosing the will to open his other correspondence leaving him in wonder who the redhead looking for him could be and why, as the only redhead he knew was his friend from school but there wasn’t reason for Danny to contact. The last he had heard of his once school hero, he was well married and expecting a second kid and no work and living with the in-laws in Cooktown.

A smile as Lewis remembered showing the tall bamboo around Lake Barrine to Will and where he had carved among all the youthful love notices, under Lyn loves Danny, he had scratched so do I. He had also noticed a touch of green envy in Will but quickly assured him there wasn’t reason to concern, that was then and only youthful experimenting.

Taking a deep breath he threw his time into work but Will’s memory intensified choking him into depression which lasted until lunch. It was the song of a butcher bird perched high on the windmill stand that brought him out of his melancholia. “What have you got to sing about?” He called to the bird then noticed it had caught a small sand goanna and hung it over one of the windmills cross beams. As he spoke the bird again began to sing and as it did so, the little life left in the goanna caused it to wriggle and fall to the ground. The bird quickly descended and with the goanna controlled, flew off towards the trees beyond the stockyard. “Beautiful song,” Lewis admitted and forgot his depression.

Lewis heard the lunch gong sound but lacked interest in food. Not wishing to let his workmates see his mood he remained at work in the homestead garden, his attention on a native beehive that had taken residence beneath the concrete of a support to the big house.

While watering he allowed a measure of water to enter through the crack in the concrete, sending a swarm of little black insects to rise in protest but being stingless they could do little but hover. Realising their stress he redirected the flow.

By the afternoon Lewis lightened enough to read his remaining correspondence. One was from Ian Warwick, a work companion from his time at Jack and Newell in Mareeba, who had married his Cousin Liz. Ian and Liz were to take a short holiday from his position as assistant manager of the Townsville Jack and Newell store to travel to the Atherton Tablelands and the gulf. As Liz’s family were from Forsayth and being in the general area he would travel the extra distance to visit Lewis.

Lewis had once placed Ian high on his pedestal of esteem but after Ian’s marriage to Liz and lacking in balls when Liz choose her brother as best man although promised to Lewis, it created a cooling in their friendship. As for his Cousin Liz she had shown him nothing but disrespect from the day she arrived in Mareeba.

Without further interest in his cousin, Lewis opened the third letter arriving via his mother. The correspondence had well travelled, finding its way from Sydney to Mareeba then to Yungaburra where it was eventually redirected to the station. It was from John Ashley who Lewis had befriended in Mareeba and was a catalyst in developing his relationship with Will. It was the second letter he had received from Ashley finding its way via the same extended route and this time Lewis felt obliged to reply.

Ashley had asked if Lewis would like to visit him in Sydney, also if he wished, he could stay and possibly find work. Some time previously Ashley had made the same suggestion but because of Will’s death, Lewis was not ready to answer. Now he felt strong enough to not only answer but ready to make the visit. As for living in Sydney that remained in negative, living with Ashley would be a constant reminder of Will and that was much too raw to contend with, besides wasn’t Sydney a point on the way to Melbourne? If he were to live in Sydney he would be constantly reminded of his failure to take the six hundred plus miles further to his life’s dream.

With the decision to travel made, the mood changed and during the afternoon he approached Bob Kelly.

“What do you think Bob?” Lewis asked after explaining his intention.

“Seeing you will be working over Christmas and there isn’t much going on at the moment, I should think the boss would agree, besides you still have last year and the previous leave owing.”

“Maybe not, who will do the cowboy duties?”

“Anyone can feed a few pigs and fowls and set a kitchen fire.” Bob made light of Lewis’ work.

“It’s a little more than that and Joyce depends on me.”

Lewis was searching for reasons not to go rather than why he should. He may have decided to travel but a greater part of his thinking was against the idea.

“Go Lewis, have a holiday, get away from it all for a while before you turn into a hermit, or something worse.”

“Like what?”

“I dunno’ just go, get on a plane and fly away; enjoy yourself as you’re a long time dead.”

“My grandfather would say that.”

“There you go a wise old fellow your granddaddy, you’re indecision is making me cranky and if you don’t go straight up to the office now and speak with Stan then I’ll do it for you.”

“I suppose you are correct,” Lewis sighed.

“I know I am.”

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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