A sequel to ‘At the Turning’

Published: 6 Sep 2018

Want to go for a walk up to the aboriginal camp?” Ralph asked once he had finished his watering.

“What’s up there?”

“I thought I heard people there yesterday, I wanted to make sure the Verrocchi brothers haven’t been going amuck with their dogs and shooting.”

Ralph explained.

“I guess there wouldn’t be much to shoot.” Wayne perceived.

“There is a new family of cassowaries in the scrub close by.”

Wayne agreed for the walk. He had been at the farm now for a number of weeks and had not yet visited the camp. He also had an alternate reason for agreeing. While reading Lachlan’s journal discovered text describing a cave deep in the forest some distance behind the camp and by Lachlan’s description possibly interesting.

“Tell you what, we’ll drive and I’ll give you your first lesson.” Wayne suggested collecting his keys and throwing them across to Ralph.

“It’s only a kilometre not worth the effort.” Ralph tossed back the keys, “no we will walk but I am interested in the cave you read about.”

“Going by what Lachlan described it is about half a mile west of the camp, so I guess that will be a little less than a kilometre.”

“Point eight and a little more to be precise,” Ralph corrected.

“Smart arse,”

“You did ask.” Ralph laughed.

“No I didn’t but seeing you are such an expert you can bring along a ruler and we’ll measure the distance.”

“Funny,”

“Do you know anything about the blacks that lived there?” Wayne’s thoughts once again returned to the Cairns Esplanade and the drunken lot that gathered along the foreshore, devoid of pride and treated like third class citizens by all who passed by.

“Not a lot, they didn’t leave many clues to have ever used it as a camping ground and has the appearance no one has been there for years, except the junk left by the local kids.”

“You said the Verrocchi brothers use it for shooting?”

“They do and I have seen some aborigines walking the road in that direction but not since Grace passed on.”

“I’ll have to ask Lachlan about them.” The words slipped uncontrolled from Wayne’s lips.

“So you will be having afternoon tea with Lachlan or will it be a glass of beer at the local later on tonight?”

“I meant through his journal,” Wayne quickly added. “Hey I forgot to tell you, there was a telephone call from your cousin earlier today and he wants to know when you are going to give him another visit.”

The warm afternoon appeared cooler under thick canopy, as the two entered into the forest leading towards the abandoned camp and almost immediately Ralph commenced to give the botanical names to trees and plants and what the aborigines used them for.

“I read something in Lachlan’s journal about naming trees.” Wayne admitted.

“Who did so, Stephen?”

“No it was a good friend of the two, a native boy called Yarran.”

“Oh, I guess the natives knew their trees, that one over there is often called the Octopus tree, it’s the Scheffera Actinopylla or Queensland umbrella tree.

“What don’t you know about?” Wayne marvelled.

“I guess a little about everything and a lot about nothing, I like to observe and listen to what others have to say.” Ralph freely admitted.

Ralph hadn’t answered Wayne’s offer to revisit his cousin but eventually he would do so. Firstly he wanted to learn more about his great uncle, even going as far as reading Lachlan’s journal while Wayne wasn’t around, being sure not to pass Wayne’s page marker, believing it would be disrespectful as Wayne took much pleasure in relating his findings.

As the two entered onto the one hundred acres of Lachlan’s native grant, a large Cassowary took fright and bolted into the undergrowth, followed by a brood of colourfully striped chicks, flapping and chirping at being disturbed from their foraging.

“I wouldn’t get too close, especially when they have chicks.” Ralph warned.

“That is one thing I do know, as a kid I was chased by one up at the lakes.” Wayne admitted while keeping his distance.

“Obviously it didn’t catch you, as they have been known to disembowel people with their legs.”

“Is that fact or a urban myth?” Wayne asked.

“I don’t rightly know, some bush fella’ told me so when I was camping down Cardwell way and he reckoned he knew of it firsthand, he said they could out run a man over a short distance.”

“I can run mighty fast when I have to.”

“It’s gone now.”

After a leisurely stroll through what was once a camp site and the multitude of spent cartridges left behind by the Verrocchi brothers, Ralph had, what he considered, a better idea. “How would you like to go fishing?”

“What stand on some dumb river bank exchanging small talk for half a day with nothing to show for it, besides we can talk here without disturbing the fish?” Wayne mocked.

“The river isn’t far and the fishing is good, I often go there.”

“The fish are probably full of worms I think I’d rather get my fish from the shop.”

“No they are quite clean, how do you think I varied my diet and Grace’s on the occasion.” Ralph protested.

“Maybe some other time I’m not in the mood, come on I think I’ve seen enough of the scrub let’s find this cave.”

“Did you hear that?” Ralph silenced his friend and strained his ear towards the wall of trees.

“All I can hear is the wind and some flaming bird.” Wayne complained.

“Do you know what bird it is?” Ralph asked.

“No but I guess you’re gonna’ tell me.”

“Not this time, I haven’t a clue; which way to the cave.”

“Due west I believe,” Wayne pointed confidently into the wall of trees.

“That’s not west,” Ralph contradicted.

Wayne dropped his arm and scratched his head while attempting to ascertain direction. “That is west.” Ralph assured pointing in a half turn from Wayne’s suggestion.

“With all these trees and no sun how do you know that?” Wayne disbelievingly demanded, ready to call Ralph’s miscalculation.

“Easy,” Ralph offered a clenched fist and splayed his fingers displaying a small metal object.

“What’s that?” Wayne asked.

“A compass, I found it in a kitchen drawer when I was looking for a torch and seeing we were going into the forest I thought I’d bring it and the torch along.”

“You know Ralph you get smarter by the day.”

“Yes but was your Lachlan smart enough to know due west or was his directions an estimation. You did state he was quite young when he visited the cave.”

“I can’t rightly say but he did write of a large fig tree between the camp and the cave, so large it would take three men finger tip to finger tip to measure its girth.”

“How old was Lachlan when he wrote about the cave.”

“Alright three teenage boys but that is still mighty big.”

“Do you think it would still be here after a hundred years?”

“Again I couldn’t truthfully answer but there has been little activity in this part of the forest and by their size, many of the bigger trees must be close to that age.”

As the two decided on their path it was noticed there was already a natural cutting through the undergrowth.

“What do you think?” Wayne asked, noting the rough path appeared to be heading in their desired direction.

“It is heading due west but appears as if it hasn’t been used in some time.

“It shouldn’t hurt to follow it for a while.” Wayne suggested.

“I guess not but watch out for that large spider web to your left.

“Shit that’s big, what type of spider makes that?” Wayne searched about for the maker of the web but it had obviously scurried into the thick foliage as they approached.

“I don’t know much about spiders,” Ralph admitted.

“Probably a bird catcher.” Wayne suggested.

“I don’t think so, they are Tarantulas and burrow that I do know because you need to be careful where you lay out your night’s bedding.”

“Tarantulas!” Wayne repeated remembering some documentary he had seen on spiders in South America.

“Don’t worry they aren’t venomous and don’t eat much.” Ralph laughed.

“Well whatever it is – it has to be a big bugger,” Wayne gave a shudder, “don’t like spiders,”

“I’m not that partial to them myself.” Ralph concurred.

“There are a lot of things in the scrub I’m not partial to.” Wayne side stepped the web and followed Ralph along the path.

“There is some dead tree up ahead, could be the one Lachlan wrote about.” Ralph called back to Wayne as he avoided a second web, “also watch that large leafed plant to your right, it’s a stinging nettle.”

“You know your plants,” Wayne made another side step and away from the nettle.

“I know that one, as they say once bitten twice shy, the hairs on the leaves are so fine it’s almost impossible to remove them from your skin.”

The reached the tree and found close by its massive decaying trunk a cleared area with a number of large stones. What do you think, their placement doesn’t appear natural?” Ralph asked.

“Lachlan did mention an initiation area maybe this is it.”

“They don’t appear to be in any pattern like a circle or square.” Ralph counted the stones.

“No Lachlan said they were in the design of one of the constellation of stars and he wrote the site was close by the cave.”

“It seems there have been recent visits as the undergrowth is cleared away. Possibly when that lot come down from Yarrabah,” Ralph suggested, “seven,” he supposed of the number, although there were some smaller stones that may or may not belong to the design.

“Could be the Southern Cross,” Wayne assumed, being the only constellation he was aware of.

“I wouldn’t think so, it has five and these are definitely not in the design of a cross.”

“I couldn’t say as when I look up at night I only see the whole picture and don’t try and work any magic into the placing.” Wayne added somewhat mockingly as they continued past the dead tree and stones.

“There is something ahead.” Ralph disregarded Wayne’s apathy towards the heavens.

“What do you see?”

“Looks like a large cairn of boulders piled on top of each other.”

Wayne came to Ralph’s side and approached the cairn, “it doesn’t appear natural.”

“Probably volcanic.” Ralph suggested.

“In this area?” Wayne questioned.

“The entire area was once volcanic, remember your tableland lakes.”

“I guess so; I never thought much of it, but hanging around you is like living in a geography book.” Wayne quipped and commenced to walk around the base of the cairn, finding once at its side the volume was much greater than anticipated from the approach.

“I don’t see any cave.” Ralph professed while travelling in the opposite direction to Wayne, “hold that thought there is something here and is covered by tree branches, it appears someone has attempted to conceal something.”

“Again most likely that lot from Yarrabah, they must still visit it when they come down to the camp.” Wayne followed Ralph to the concealment.

With the removal of the branches the boys were surprise to find there was a cave but surprisingly small, yet tall enough to stand and large enough for ten or twenty people to huddle but never the less it was a cave.

“Not very impressive,” Wayne admitted and took charge of Ralph’s torch.

“It’s a little dark, shine the torch.” Ralph suggested while straining his eyes towards the rear of the cave.

Wayne shone the torch and immediately they were met by ancient paintings across a flat rock surface at the rear, “well what do you know; I reckon we are the only white fellers’ to see this since Lachlan visited,” he marvelled.

Across the flat surface there were a number of faded ochre hand prints and stick figures and a kangaroo in the same ochre with a white external skeleton, also a stylised emu, its legs appearing much too big for its body.

“Ah were not the first since Lachlan,” Wayne corrected, shining the torch to one corner where in white paint someone had autographed the art work. Jack C. Donaldson- 1936,

“At least he had the decency not to scroll over the paintings.” Ralph admitted.

“Foo was here,” Wayne dryly spoke.

“Who is Foo?”

“Haven’t you heard of Foo?” Wayne sounded surprised.

“I’m afraid I haven’t.”

“Well what do you know,” Wayne has something on Ralph and proud to expand, “Foo was graffiti from the First World War, Mr. Chad was his name and depicted as a bald headed man peering over a fence and all you see is his elongated nose his fingers on the fence top, eyes and head. When I was a young, kids would scrawl it over people’s walls and fences.”

“Yea but who was he?”

“I heard from some old army bloke it was an acronym for Forward Observation Officer, In America it became Kilroy was here but that appeared twenty five or so years later.”

“Why would kids scrawl that over walls?” Ralph appealed once again displaying his sensibility.

“To be a pain in the arse I guess.”

“Did you do that sort of thing?”

“Could have – not telling.”

“You know Wayne it doesn’t make a lot of sense.”

“I guess it isn’t supposed to, mostly to annoy some poor joker with a graphitised wall.”

“It’s getting late, I think we should replace the camouflage and be on our way.”

“So you didn’t like my story on Foo?” Wayne feigned hurt.

“I did, I had never heard it before, goes to show.” Ralph answered.

“Show what.”

“I’m not quite as smart as you think I am, let’s go home.”

Wayne followed with the word home resonating in his head. ‘Yes it is becoming so and more so than my unit,’ he thought and with a gentle silent breath he mouthed the word – “home.” It was now Ralph’s home but was also becoming his and it gave him comfort. Home with the kid and his funny ways, with Lachlan’s crew of weird manifestations popping into his head at will, into his privacy without invitation, telling him things and worse of all bringing to surface that little voice he had for so long disregarded. Yet these few acres was becoming home.

It was a warmer than usual night and Wayne had set up a stretcher on the front verandah. He had asked Ralph if he would like to set up a bed but he declined, justifying the mosquitoes were a little too aggressive, beside his bed had been netted to keep them out.

“They don’t bother me.” Wayne bragged.

“No they wouldn’t dare.”

“That’s funny.” Wayne ironically answered.

“What is?”

“You sounded just like Jack.”

“Jack who?” Ralph quizzically asked.

“Louise’s old man.”

“From what I’ve heard of him, I hope not.”

“No never, you couldn’t if you tried but he would say the mossies wouldn’t dare bit me – it’s the blood you know, has to be the right temperature and only the lady mossies bite when they about to lay their eggs.”

“Is that so?”

Wayne ended his rare zoological lesson realising that Ralph was leading him on.

“No don’t stop I was enjoying that.” Ralph laughed as Wayne shot him a look that sent him back into the house but to return moments later with two beers.

“You’re back on the journal.” Ralph passed a can of beer to Wayne.

“It’s no wonder the mossies eat you – you’ve never got any clothes on.” Wayne observed.

“Only when I’m on my own, you should try it, gives you a feeling of freedom.” Ralph suggested again laced with parody.

“Na what happens if you get your old fellow caught on a branch or brush against those nettles of yours.” Wayne shuddered at the thought.

“You just don’t.” Ralph assured.

Wayne didn’t answer but smiled inwardly. There was a minuscule segment in him that would like to roam naked through the bush but there was a larger part that held him to social etiquette, still he thought there was a lot to be said about Ralph’s attitude to life.

Ralph yawned and stretched high, “I’m off to bed; you can tell me all about it in the morning.”

“Good night – hey I think I’ll visit the old dump lady tomorrow, do you want to come?”

“Only if you don’t try and make me drive.”

“Aw go to bed.” Wayne growled and tossed a cushion at Ralph, who threw it back then darted into the passage before Wayne could retaliate further.

The journal again proved heavy going while the night’s humidity made him sweaty and his mind took a detour from reading to the dump lady and what history was locked up in her aging grey matter. Wayne glanced back into the house and noticed Ralph’s door was closed and giving a smile removed his clothes to sit exposed in his chair. As quickly he replaced them; his nakedness was causing too much of a distraction taking his attention from the journal to sex and the fact that he wasn’t having any.

“You appeared to be struggling with that.” The words came softly from the darker end of the verandah. Wayne turned to perceive the figure of Lachlan sitting with his powerful legs stretched out before him and his muscular arms clasped behind the back of his head.

“Oh it’s you Lachlan, you startled me besides sneaking up on people; I could have been doing something private.”

“I thought you were.” The image smirked.

“No it was only reaction to something Ralph had said, nothing more.” Wayne flushed red realising he had been contemplating going further and thankful he did not. What he intended was an act one would not wish to do in view of an uncle, alive or dead.

“Are you having trouble with the Journal?” Lachlan asked, disregarding Wayne’s protest.

“It’s your writing, nobody writes like that anymore.” Wayne answered.

“Would you like me to read it to you?”

“No I’ll manage but were you gay?” Wayne asked.

“Happy?”

“No the word has a different connotation these days.” Wayne stumbled for a word he could substitute but could not envisage a replacement that a man of Lachlan’s era would envisage.

“If you mean did I love Stephen, yes and I am proud of it.”

“What about you’re Brother Daniel and this fellow called Toby?”

“I thought you wanted to read my story?”

“I do but you can give me a clue, I am sure it won’t spoil the ending.” Wayne chuckled at his attempt to humour.

“Yes Toby and my brother Daniel were also as you call it gay and yes they were in love.”

“Some say that homosexuality is inherited.” Wayne declared.

“Are you afraid that you may be so?”

“No mate I like girls.” Wayne quickly retorted.

“So did I; but Wayne whatever you feel accept it, don’t fight the real you or all you will become is confused.”

“Anyway what is it like loving another man?” Wayne asked without realising he had actually requested, until it escaped from his thoughts to manifest as a question.

“I can’t answer for you, if it is part of you then it is an act of sharing love for that person and I am sure it’s different for everyone. Do you wish to admit your love for someone?”

“No, it was a dumb question, I don’t know why I asked.” Wayne was back-peddling and changed the subject, “how come I never see Stephen and the others around?”

“They are here but you haven’t shown interest in them.”

In the distance a dog howled bringing Wayne to stand and walk to the top of the stairs. Yawning he turned to where Lachlan was seated, the chair was empty. Wayne shook his head in wonder. Had he again been asleep and awoke to the sound of the dog barking? He returned to the journal and realised he had not read any further than before, thus believing he possessed an over reactive imagination.

Wayne wanted to believe his meetings with Lachlan McBride were real but firstly he didn’t believe in ghosts of any kind nor did he in the host of gods humanity had invented to control the masses but his dreaming was pleasant and he hoped it would happen more often and when or if it did so he knew he would not fight against it.

Wayne checked the time, eleven thirty-seven and now he wasn’t tired. How long had he slept. When he sat down with the journal it was twenty past eleven so if he had been asleep then it would have only been for a few minutes, yet his dream appeared to continue on for quite some time and when the dog howled he felt as if he were coming out of a deep sleep, or was it coming down from the alcohol.

‘I didn’t drink that much.’ He mentally protested.

‘I think I take a short walk.’

Wayne put on his runners and headed down the steps. It was a clear night and still the humidity clung to the darkness, bringing him to full sweat by the time he reached the gateway. Reaching the road he half expected to see Lachlan and Stephen walking, their arms around each other’s shoulders and laughing happily about life in general. There was nothing. Across the road one of the Verrocchi brother’s pig dogs ran wild at the end of the cane rows chasing after a bandicoot. There was a snarl and the sound of death as the poor animal was discharged from life. Once the dog had its sport the carcass of the bandicoot would be left to rot and stink in the heat of the following day’s sun.

After a few paces along the road Wayne paused, he turned and retraced his steps to the gate. A number of fruit bats flew overhead making a gentle whooshing sound as they ventured on their way to Verrocchi’s fruit trees, he cynically smiled at the thought of ruining the man’s crop.

The flight of the fruit bats brought Wayne’s gaze towards the Verrocchi house. Its dark unsightly structure stood against the night’s sky. My beautiful home, Verrocchi had professed with much pride; my beautiful Italian mansion amongst the mangroves and sugar cane; a gem to him a blot to the landscape to others.

There was a light in one of the rooms and the sound of some playing device. Italian opera came gently through the sea of sugar cane, a baritone, quite pleasant and much too dignified for the likes of the greedy farmer. Then a male voice joined in with the chorus, again pleasant until a youthful voice shouted over the music. “Dad for Christ sake shut the noise; some of us are trying to sleep.” Moments later the singing stopped and the music lowered to a lesser volume.

“He has a good voice for a bastard.” Wayne softly chuckled and turned towards the farm gate while searching along the road but it ran empty into the darkness in both directions.

“Lachlan this is a perfect time for you to materialise.” He spoke as he passed on towards the house, “and I am interested in you all.” He paused and listened, half expecting his demand to be observed. Some small animal rustled in the long grass beside the fence line, a disturbed chirp from a disturbed bird but nothing more, “oh well,” he sigh and continued on his way.

The music coming from the Verrocchi residence discontinued and the light went out. For a moment Wayne stood in the darkness by the gateway. There was a loud rustling in the cane as one of the Verrocchi dogs became interested in some other defenceless life force, something more to add to its nightly enjoyment. Moments later a second dog arrived and both gave up the chase, heading for home. They were big bruising mongrels but didn’t appear to be savage towards people and seldom showed interest in anything other than hunting. Eventually Wayne turned from the night.

From some distance came a distinct whistle and the dogs reappeared and headed for home but at the drive they paused having noticed Wayne’s dark form, was he something more to chase. For a moment Wayne believed he may have to sprint his way to the verandah to avoid their sport. A second whistle pierced the night air, bringing the animals to heel. Obviously not all of the Verrocchi brothers were in their beds.

At the house Wayne sat on the verandah stretcher but was still restless. He again rose to his feet and once inside quietly opened Ralph’s bedroom door. Ralph was asleep lying on his side facing the window, his misquote netting tightly tucked around, while a beam of moonlight found its way through the netting to fall softly on his peaceful expression.

‘Not a care in the world,’ Wayne perceived as he quietly closed Ralph’s bedroom door.

A thought and almost aloud, ‘he’s a good kid,’ a smile realising that same expression had often cross his mind and his lips. What did he mean by good – friendly, handsome malleable? Was it an example someone would articulate towards their pet animal?

While attempting to analyse what was meant by good came to another concept, that damn inner voice placed its own interpretation on the word, one he would not accept.

Back on the verandah Wayne lay on his bed. Casting his eyes to the far end he half expected to see Lachlan patiently seated in his favourite chair and smiling, hands clasped behind his head, powerful legs sprawled to his front but the chair was empty.

‘How do I bring him to materialise?’ It was a fair enough question but one made without assurance Lachlan was anything but a dream. Again he thought of his sexuality but remained stoic.

‘How could a man of such standing and character as Lachlan be gay?’ he thought, believing all gay men were in the vein of Jeremiah and Lachlan could never be classified as such, he was a renown horse man, a builder of community, the adhesive of society, how could such a man be gay? Eventually Wayne gave way to sleep but during his slumber neither Lachlan nor the others returned.

Let Gary Know that you are reading and what you think of his story. Drop an email to him: Gary dot Conder at CastleRoland dot Net.

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