Published: 23 Oct 2023

The early morning sun stabbed like knife blades at red-raw eyes. Alun is awake and turns from the glare. He is in his hotel room bed and in his undershorts. His head hurts and there is a slight pain in his gut.

Alun looks about.

Taylor is already from his bed and boiling the jug. The television is soft with nine’s morning programme. A woman is laughing and her tone is painful to the ears. In the distance the soft murmur of early morning traffic is obvious.

“Can’t you turn that shit down!”

“You are awake at last.”

“What time is it?” Alun asks.

“Almost ten – you were beginning to worry me.”

“What happened?”

“You passed out at the bar. I got you into a taxi and brought you back. That in itself was a herculean event as the driver thought you were drunk. I told him just unwell and he said it would be extra if you chucked up your guts in his cab.”

“Did I?”

“No you simply giggled all the way back.”

“You undressed me?”

“I left your shorts on,” Taylor answers; believing Alun’s question was more an accusation.

“I don’t remember. I didn’t drink all that much.”

“It may have been the dope as the air was thick with it.’

“Possibly.”

“You went to the toilet while I was talking with the bloke at the bar and after ten minutes I went looking for you and found you on the floor near the urinal with your trousers undone and your underwear partway down.”

“Undone?”

“I suppose you fainted after taking a leak. Have you fainted before?”

“Never.”

“Do you remember anything?” Taylor asks.

“Not after that bloke spoke to me while you were at the bar.”

“I’m sure it’s nothing and your memory will return – coffee?”

“Yes please but firstly, I’ll take a quick shower.”

The shower was soothing. Alun’s body aches and his head is full of wool. “Why?” he thinks and remembers conversation he had with the stranger while Taylor was at the bar. The stranger had asked if he often came to that bar and Alun had answered negatively, wishing Taylor would return to rescue him from what was becoming an annoyance, before he needed to progress towards rudeness. Alun had turned away and there was movement at his side, being more a feeling than real as the stranger departed company and Taylor returned.

“Plop,” Alun exhales retrospectively into the warm water as realization develops.

Alun remembers Taylor saying, drink up before it goes flat and I’ve got you a fresh one. He remembered downing the dregs as Taylor returned to his conversation at the bar. ‘The dregs did taste strange.’ Then his memory fades and the next recollection is being awake in his hotel bed dressed in his underwear.

Alun continued showering as the warm water soothed away the ache and lowered the wool in his head. He now recollects going to the toilet and standing at the urinal, when for no obvious reason he had commenced to giggle. He recalls fumbling with his trousers and their descent to his knees as he finished pissing. More giggling as he shook away the final drips. ‘More than three shakes is a wank,’ comes to mind, ‘why?’ he questions as the adage had no reference to the situation.

A further spark, someone is close behind him but there further memory fails.

“Are you nearly finished in there?” Taylor calls through the partly closed door.

“Almost,” Alun turns of the water and reaches for his towel.

“How do you feel?” Taylor asks as Alun rejoins company, a towel wrapped tightly about his waist.

“Not as bad as before but I still can’t remember much.”

Seated with his coffee cupped in the palms of his hands, Alun is obviously attempting to patch together the scraps of memory from the previous night.

“Have you had blackouts before?” Taylor again asks.

“No never but it was more that fainting.”

“What do you mean?”

“I believe someone spiked my drink?”

“Who?”

“That fellow who approached me while you were talking at the bar. I think he may have spiked my drink.”

Taylor had heard of spiking but it was always perpetrated against women. “Why would he have done that?”

“I don’t know; possibly for robbery.”

“Your wallet had fallen from your trousers but was intact when I found you.”

“As I said; I don’t know.”

“Did you see him again during the night?”

“I feel I did but that is where my memory fails.”

“What about when you went for a piss. Was there anyone about?”

“I don’t remember.”

“I found you with your trousers somewhat lowered but that may have happened when you fainted. Other than that nothing appeared amiss.”

“I suppose it will come back to me eventually.”

Memory is a curious thing. Unlike your computer it often arrives without recall when you least expect. This was one occasion when memory wasn’t forthcoming. Now refreshed Alun felt fine and the wool had lifted from his head but his gut remained unsettled.

“How do you feel now?” Taylor asks as they prepare to arrange their day’s activity.

Alun makes a seesaw motion with his hand as if to say iffy.

“Are you up to a little sight-seeing?” Taylor is reading a tourist brochure he had collect from the lobby when they arrived.

“Possibly a harbour cruise, I don’t feel up to much more, besides we are heading back tomorrow and I believe it will be straight into work.”

On their way to Circular Quay Alun has a memory flash. Someone had been standing beside him at the urinal. He can hear a voice; it is a male voice and asking if he was alright. He remembers simply giggling as the stranger approached. He believes he recognizes the stranger’s face and then all becomes blank. Alun thought of sharing his memory with Taylor but thought it would be better to wait until the evening’s event returned in full.

As they waited for their cruise boat Alun speaks quietly, “it was the joker who approached me in the bar.”

“Who was?” Taylor asks.

“I have remembered something.”

“Do you care to share?”

“Not yet as it is more a feeling then a true recollection and may have simply transferred from earlier that night.”

As they board the ferry Alun reaches for his mobile, realising it had been off since early the previous evening. He powers up and discovers there are two messages one is from his brother Peter, the other from Jillian. He quietly reads Jillian’s message; where in hell are you Alun? I’ve been trying to contact you since yesterday afternoon – call me as soon as you read this.

“Oh.”

“Bad news?”

“No, only I left my mobile off and Jillian has been trying to contact since yesterday, and there are three attempts.”

“You better call her.”

“I just tried, there isn’t any signal.” Alun again attempts to find a signal without success.

“I would think that a couple more hours won’t hurt, as we will be back by mid afternoon, besides once away from the terminal the signal may be clearer.”

Alun again attempts to make the call as the ferry pulls away from the quay, there is one bar and the connection is made.

Jillian answers but the connection is lost before Alun can speak.

“You need an update your phone,” Taylor suggest.

“It makes calls and that’s enough for me.”

Alun remains distracted during their trip about Sydney Harbour and gave little interest to the crackling of historic events across the ferry’s speaker system. On a number of occasions he attempts to contact Jillian without success.

“You should upgrade to 5G,” Taylor suggests and tries his own phone, “look I’ve got a good reception – use mine.”

“Doesn’t matter I’ll wait until we are back.”

“We are passing Pinchgut Island,” Taylor says and points to a small rocky outcrop off to portside.

“What is Pinchgut?”

“I am forgetting you are a foreigner and don’t know anything about the local history.”

“And I’m remembering you are quick in advising me.”

“I’ll make it short. Pinchgut was where convicts who misbehaved were isolated on rations, thus hunger pinched at their gut.” Taylor’s short tribune is soon replaced by a lengthy history of the island and its fort Dennison over the boat’s speaker system, calling the outcrop that holds the small fort Mattewayne, being, as the announcer informs, so called before the white invasion.

“What is Mattewayne?” Alun asks.

“As he said, it’s the native name for the island.”

“Huh,”

“Why the huh?”

“I don’t like the word invasion.”

“What else would you call it?” Taylor asks.

“Settlement.”

“By any name the natives were pushed aside and their land taken and there was war and battles between whites and blacks, even if somewhat one-sided.”

“I get where you’re coming from, although I will say one thing in defense of my settlement opinion,” Alun smiles at his use of the word, “and that is in a question for you.”

“What would that question be?”

“Do you think if the British didn’t come here, the rest of the world would have left Australia alone; left the natives to live as they had for all those thousands of years, squatting on their bare arses in the dust? No if it wasn’t the British, it would have been France, Holland, Spain and from the little I have read, even the Americans were interested earlier on. Therefore instead of one stable country over the entire continent there would have been most of Europe fighting for their portion – And:” Alun pauses.

“Go on, I’m listening.”

“And if the continent survived all that and the natives were left alone until last century, it would have been the Japanese, Indonesians or Chinese. No country was going to allow the natives to sit on such a vast wealth of minerals and farming land forever.”

“Wow!”

“Wow what?”

“I’ve never seen you so worked up over politics.”

“I’m not; it’s this bloody mobile reception. You would think in our advanced time, I could at least get a mobile reception.”

“The natives didn’t have that worry before the invasion,” Taylor comically suggests.

“Another thing; Firstly I issue agreement that everyone has the right to proclaim their ancestry but what of the natives who are half, a quarter or less. It appears to me they choose that what is most advantageous. If Great Granddaddy was Irish, why not admit so. In my opinion by choosing the black linage they are insulting half of themselves. As for me, dad is Welsh and mum English and I accept both equally.”

Alun quickly realises he had become somewhat heated and calms while contending with Taylor’s grinning “Aw’ shut up,” he laughs.

Once back at Circular Quay and away from the main terminus Alun manages a signal and quickly contacts Jillian.

“Hey girl what’s up?” he questions as the call connects.

“Where have you been?”

“I forgot to turn my phone on – anyway I’m calling now.”

“When will you be back in town?”

“We have a flight early in the morning, what seems to be the problem?”

Jillian hesitates, “We’ll talk when you return.”

“Jillian you know I hate that and you always do it.”

“What do I do?”

“Start saying something and don’t finish it.”

“Will you be staying at my unit when you return?”

“I’ve nowhere else but it will only be overnight as we have to be back in Ballarat the next day.”

“Can’t talk now, I’m in rehearsals but I have tomorrow free.” Jillian breaks the call before Alun can further speak.

“Bugger!” Alun curses

“You seem worried?”

“It’s Jillian she can be annoying at times and she called off before I could ask if it would be alright for you to stay at her place tomorrow night.”

“Don’t worry about me, I’ve already made other arrangements but what should we do for the rest of today?”

“Find a bar, I’m so revved I need a drink.”

“I know just the place in Macquarie Street.”

Mood lighting and soft music is said to sooth the savage beast but did little to lessen Alun’s concern towards Jillian’s expected news, leaving his thoughts in overdrive. Jillian’s tone appeared vibrant so it couldn’t be bad, even so he remained anxious over where their relationship was heading.

“What are you thinking?” Taylor asks.

“I was wondering what Jillian’s news may be.”

“Whatever it may be, I’m sure it can wait.”

“Practical Taylor strikes once more.”

“What else can you do?”

After two drinks Alun had settled, with the third he didn’t care and it was then he remembered Peter’s message to return his call as soon as possible.

“Do you want another?” Taylor asks.

“Not for me, I have to make a call.”

Taylor doesn’t respond although his expression is questioning.

Alun makes the call.

“Peter what’s up down there?” Alun asks.

“It’s about time you called.”

“My phone was turned off – sorry.”

“Never mind but I’m telling you the old man is spitting chips.”

“Why?’

“Some fella’ telephoned a couple of nights back and told dad you are a fag and having a sexual relationship with your co-actor in the film. He also told dad he saw you in a gay nightclub in Sydney.”

“That’s bullshit Peter.”

“You don’t have to convince me Alun but the old man wants to believe it. Who have you pissed off lately?”

“I have a pretty good idea and believe it was the same joker who put the photos on the net.”

“What can you do about it?”

“Not a lot.”

Gary’s stories are about life for gay men in Australia’s past and present. Your emails to him are the only payment he receives. Email Gary to let him know you are reading: Conder 333 at Hotmail dot Com

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