A sequel to ‘At the Turning’

Published: 4 Oct 2018

The flight home was without incident and Stephen was at the airport to collect them with the BMW washed and obviously undamaged. As the three walked to the car park Stephen handed Wayne the keys, “Nice car and no damage and I washed it and vacuumed.”

“How’s the garden?” Ralph asked even before his cousin could enquire of their trip.

“Fine; all growing and alive as are the weeds, I did have a visit from some Italian fellow who wanted to know if I had bought the farm.”

“What did you say?” Wayne asked feeling the disdain for his greedy neighbour return.

“I said I was looking after it and he gave a grunt saying another caretaker and left.

“That would be the Verrocchi fellow from across the road.” Wayne correctly assumed.

“Have you seen anyone hanging around?” Wayne asked as they passed through the town and came to the cross roads, with the now setting sun in his eyes.

“No like who.” Stephen asked.

“No one in particular just goings on.”

“There was a group of aborigines who asked my permission to camp in the forest.”

“No not them.”

“I told them I had no concern as I was only looking after the place.” Stephen spoke as they drove into the farm.

“They actually own a part of the property so I don’t know why they would ask permission.” Wayne mused.

“I’ve done some shopping for you and I hope you don’t mind but I put it on the slate, as I didn’t have the ready cash.” Stephen admitted while helping to unload their luggage, “you appear to have more than you left with.”

“We bought some clothes and things, do you need some money?”

“I’m alright at the moment thank you and I have made a meatloaf, I hope cold meat and salad for tea meets your approval?”

As soon as he could Ralph was out scrutinising his vegie patch, once satisfied he returned.

“Any problems Ralph?” Stephen asked.

“No it’s fine.”

“You sound disappointed.”

“No you’ve done a good job and I thank you.”

Stephen commenced to prepare tea, why don’t you two take a shower before you eat?”

“I believe I will,” Wayne concurred.

“I’ll have one after tea,” Ralph left the kitchen.

“Both of you don’t be too long I’ve almost got it ready.”

There was a clatter of plates as Stephen busied himself with the meal and as he did he took to whistling. Wayne smiled from his stand under the running water. ‘Someone’s whistling,’ He thought realising he could not remember the last time he had heard a whistle, except for a dog or from some workman ogling after a passing pretty girl in a revealing skirt. It certainly was a dying art, yet when he was a boy everyone whistled popular tunes of the day.

Wayne pursed his lips to answer but the running water drowned it away. He laughed remembering his school yard.

“Poofters can’t whistle, Jenkins can you whistle?” He clearly recollected the jib.

“Of course I can Peter Longford.” Wayne had snapped as Longford and his mates gathered around to ascertain Wayne’s sexual preference.

“Come on Jenkins let’s hear you whistle.” Longford stood arms akimbo, waiting as his gang of four commenced to whistle loudly close to Wayne’s face.

‘What was the tune? Ah now I remember it was, Friday on my Mind, by the Easy Beets.’ Another smile came with the memory, as he had spent the following week hiding down by the creek practicing until he almost had it right. He could whistle a tune, he was no poofter and for the next week he hardly stopped, even in the school room.

“You finished yet?” Ralph called through the bathroom door.

“Was that you whistling?” Wayne called back.

“Na’ its Stephen, happy bugger isn’t he?” Ralph opened the door and commenced to undress as Wayne stepped out of the shower.

“I thought Stephen called for dinner.”

“I’ll only be two minutes, I may as well have one while the water’s hot and running.”

“Warm,” Wayne corrected.

“I’m sure there’s enough. You know Ralph you look better naked maybe you should do it more often.” Wayne ironically laughed as he towelled himself dry.

“Funny fella’ you are.” Ralph answered stepping past Wayne while brushing his buttocks against that of Wayne.

“I’ve been manhandled.” Wayne laughed flicking Ralph lightly on the rump with the end of his towel. “You would know it if I manhandled you.” Ralph guaranteed and turned up the hot to full but at best was tepid.

“Is that a promise?”

Wayne finished dressing then joined Stephen in the kitchen.

“I’m beginning to like it down here, even went to the beach and you can’t do that in Yungaburra.” Stephen admitted while placing the prepared meals onto the table.

“There are the lakes.”

“Not really the same, too many tourists sightseeing.”

“Do you want to stay for a while longer?” Ralph asked joining them at the table.

“Don’t tempt me but I have to start my new job next week, suppose I should book the bus.”

“That’s alright I’ll drive you back.”

Darkness came quickly without twilight, which sent the three onto the verandah with a few drinks. The night was warm and the air flowed around their bodies as if it were fluid, soon bathing them in perspiration. At some distance thunder resonated through the mountains.

“It’s hot,” Ralph uttered and stood at the verandah rail watching the gathering storm, he appeared to be concentrating, “four,” he uttered and returned to his seat.

“For what?” Wayne asked.

“Not for – four kilometres,”

“To where?”

“No the storm is four kilometres away?” Ralph answered.

“And how do you know that?” Stephen asked.

“Simple, if you count the seconds from the lightning strike to the thunder clap you can ascertain its distance – five seconds is equal to one mile, or to be modern and precise, three seconds is almost a kilometre,” but neither Wayne or Stephen showed further interest in his scientific lesson.

“What was the weather in Hawaii?” Stephen asked.

“Exactly like this,” Wayne concurred.

With the verandah light came the winged termites in swarms, then moths and beetles. Exhausted they fell from the unshaded light bulb to struggle down ones back and wriggle in hair.

“It does feel like rain.” Wayne consciously observed while standing at the head of the stairs. Off in the distance there were more flashes of lightning, he silently replicated Ralph’s trick and counted eleven seconds, the storm was closing and flashes now lit the tops of the forest trees. Black shapes against yellow sky then return to black until the next flash, followed by a clash of thunder that rattled the teeth.

Wayne stood admiring the electrical display his thoughts digressing to storms across Trinity Bay, believing those to be more impressive and with his digression was Jack’s interference in his marriage then came another reflection; likely Louise’s father had saved him from a most unhappy future. ‘How did I get back to that subject,’ he mentally scalded but knew most things sooner or later brought him back to Louise. He remembered when he had first purchased his unit, she was more inclined to enjoy the simplicity of his company and sit with her gin and tonic on his balcony and marvel at storms. They laughed a lot in those days, while seated at their advantage they would make humour at the passing parade of silly hats and fat belly tourists as they searched for that something different to take back to their southern mundane existence.

‘What went wrong?’ Wayne rhetorically questioned his petulant mood and recollected even then her interest was somewhat synthetic.

What was his future? He couldn’t remain at the farm permanently. It was now Ralph’s farm and Ralph would need to develop it in his own way without his constant interfering but how could he walk away without hurting his newly found friend, or was he using the lad as an emotional crutch to uphold his damaged ego, his pride, his need to hide away until the wound healed and left scars of memory that would follow him through further relationships, then a shudder of reality as he forced it all from his thoughts, realising it to be a reoccurring conception he wasn’t ready to handle.

Sounds of footsteps on gravel, a passing animal or the Verrocchi brothers snooping around looking for something to shoot, as they often took a shortcut through the farm on their way to the wetlands towards the river where feral pigs stirred up the mud into quagmire and ruined the ecology.

“Did you hear that?” Wayne asked.

“Hear what,” Ralph replied.

“It sounded as if someone is walking along the gravel path at the end of the verandah.”

“Probably a bandicoot looking for a way into my patch.”

“No it was heavier than that, more akin to footsteps.”

“Could be one of those scrub turkeys there are a few around the yard, or wild pigs.” Ralph supported.

“That was a nightly occurrence while you were away; I often thought there was someone about.” Stephen revealed.

“Must be the wildlife,” Wayne agreed with Ralph as his reflections turned to Lachlan’s journal. It had been almost a month since he last visited the thoughts of Lachlan McBride, while the journal remained with Biff where he had deposited it for safekeeping before their trip. He would wait until Stephen had returned home before retrieving it.

Strange, he thought, Lachlan only came to him in dreams after he had been reading the journal. Then again he believed he had seen Lachlan at the gate on that first visit and once again walking along the road with another. It was most definitely Lachlan, he recognised him from the old photograph Ralph had found but who was with him. ‘Toby,’ it had to be Toby but who was Toby, what was he to the McBride brothers or to the Henderson lad?’

“Hey dreamy do you want to turn off the light, the bugs are crawling through everything.” Ralph exclaimed as Stephen jump to his feet and descended his shorts with much vigour to discover a Rhino Beatle crawling over his scrotum, its mandibles clinging to the soft flesh. He brushed it off with a yelp and as quickly ascended his shorts.

“It won’t eat much.” Ralph laughed

“You don’t get them back home.” Stephen loudly protested as the excitement of the ordeal removed Wayne’s thoughts from Lachlan and his journal. Returning from the stairs he flicked the light switch to off.

“You do get them up on the Tablelands; you just haven’t been fortunate enough to have one make love to you.” Wayne laughed.

“You call that making love it almost ruined my sex life.”

“Sex life that is something I’ve almost forgotten about.” Wayne admitted as Stephen threw a glance towards Ralph.

“Don’t look at me.” Ralph protested.

“With your looks Ralph you must have most of the young chicks in town lining up for you.”

“There’s plenty of time for that Stephen.” Ralph assured.

“Leave off Stephen you’re embarrassing the lad.” Wayne warned.

“No worries, I don’t mind admitting I’m still pure.” Ralph unashamedly admitted.

“A virgin!”

“If you wish to use that terminology but I usually reserve it for the female of the species.”

“Who was your last?” Wayne asked Stephen attempting to catch him out.

“Unlike Ralph here, I don’t kiss and tell.” Thus died the night’s conversation on who was having sex, who wasn’t and who was wishing for it.

The three sat in darkness watching the occasional flash of lightning as the storm head approached closer. There was the occasional question relating to the trip and simple answer, it was much too hot to waste words, as even the breath carrying the conversation appeared to be hot and moist.

By late evening the thunder was overhead and the lightning intense, lighting up their surrounding as if it were day, taking away the serenade of frogs and night callers.

“You didn’t have to count that.” Wayne asserted as a flash and clap of thunder came almost instantaneously.

“Another thing, I think this place is haunted.” Stephen declared as the storm slowly passed to the south and once again the night filled with a multitude of sounds.

“Why do you say that?” Wayne asked.

“While you were away things went missing.”

“What stolen?” Ralph implied believing the Verrocchi lot had been visiting.

“No I would more say moved about rather than missing. I would be in the kitchen and place the tea towel on the side bench. I would again reach for it and it would be on the kitchen table. Or sometimes in the mornings things appeared to be elsewhere.”

“Everyone has that feeling on the occasion.” Wayne implied.

“Yes occasionally but not daily, what about you Ralph have you ever felt so?” Stephen asked.

“No not at all.”

“Ghosts,” Wayne said and smiled, assuming it to be Lachlan or others finding entertainment with Stephen’s visit. If so it was attestation of their existence. How he wished to share his apparitions but must keep them private, only fools and schizo’s admitted seeing ghosts. Wayne remembered his Uncle Mark, his mother’s youngest brother and at nineteen was committed for hearing voices. They filled him with mind controlling drugs and doped him so much he couldn’t do anything but sleep and all because electrical appliances spoke to him, otherwise he was fine. Did such conditions run through his mother’s family? He thought not as it was only here at the farm he encountered such aberrations, if he were so it would be universal.

“More to point the early onset of Alzheimer’s,” Ralph teased Stephen.

Stephen continued, “It would only be a feeling as I couldn’t actually remember where things were in the first place,” pausing he went to the kitchen for a fresh beer. “Anyone else want a beer?” They didn’t. He returned and looking down the steps into the darkness continued; “and as I said earlier, I would often hear something or someone walking about on the gravel but when I investigated there was nothing.”

“If not scrub turkeys probably the mongrel dogs from across the road or bandicoots, there are plenty around here because we join onto the scrub,” Ralph once again suggested; “that reminds me Wayne I’ll need to do something about the vegie patch fence, the little buggers are digging under.”

“I’ll give you a hand tomorrow.”

“I’ll help, I’m good at that sorta’ thing,” Stephen offered.

“Thank you I’ll hold you to that thought.”

“As for the night noise, I suppose you are right, but it didn’t sound like dogs, more like someone’s footsteps,” Stephen continued while agreed with Ralph’s deduction. Standing at the verandah rail he lent into the night, “it’s peaceful here,” he established in a long drawn out breath, “hot and peaceful but I like it.”

“Do you think you would live down the coast?” Wayne asked.

“No I don’t think so,” Stephen appeared to be leading to some question but unsure how to express his thought.

“Are you looking forward to your new work?” Wayne asked as Ralph excused himself and retired to his room.

“I’m somewhat apprehensive.”

“Why would that be?”

“I don’t think it will last, they are also downsizing and you know last on first off.” Stephen sighed.

“Aren’t you getting a little ahead of yourself?” Wayne asked.

“I guess so but these days everywhere you look someone is downsizing,” he paused and gave an ironical huh, “rightsizing is the new buzzword – and there is mother.” At last Stephen found the passage for his leading question.

“Isn’t she well?” Wayne asked not knowing the woman only that Stephen still lived at home and she needed a measure of care.

“No she isn’t too good and needs attention I can’t give her during the day. She will be going to live with my sister in Atherton.” Stephen informed.

“Does that concern you?” Wayne asked.

“Not concern but we only rent the property and the owner wants it for his own family, he only left off this long as a favour to my mother. I suppose I’ll need to find a room somewhere.”

“I guess I can help you there.” Wayne suggested before he had actually thought through his pending offer. Stephen remained silent as Wayne continued, “you can use my cottage.”

“Are you sure?” There was relief in Stephen’s tone although he had been leading towards that very suggestion for some time.

“Seeing you are Ralph’s family and I guess through our uncles and somewhere in the mix you are considered family to me, I should think it right to offer.”

“I’ll pay you rent.” Stephen offered.

“There is no need but you will have to pay for the services and upkeep, besides I guess it would be helpful having someone around as I won’t be using it as often in the future,” Wayne paused, “but you will need to clear out the second bedroom for our visits.” Wayne heard his words and smiled, ‘I said our,’ he thought, ‘not my visits – that does appear somewhat Freudian.’

“That deserves celebration, want a beer?” Stephen offered.

“One last, then I’m off to bed.”

Returning with the beer Stephen passed the can to Wayne, “are you trying to get me drunk?” Wayne laughed, remembering that night in Yungaburra but his question, or jest, remained unanswered. “While you’re up turn on the end light, it will divert the insects away from us.

“I did go for a walk up into the forest while you were away.” Stephen admitted as the weak yellow light bathed the far end of the verandah, “I like it there, cool and damp.”

“Did you know an aboriginal tribe once lived there?” Wayne informed.

“You did suggest so but there doesn’t seem to be any evidence, only the remains of recent camp fires, beer tins and bullet holes in everything.” Stephen admitted.

“That would be the Verrocchi brothers, they shoot at anything that moves or doesn’t but if you look hard enough you can see signs of past habitation. Mostly marks on trees and rock formations, if you go further into the scrub, you will find a placement of stones,” Wayne explained without divulging the existence of the cave.

“What are the stones about?”

“Going on what I’ve read some kind of initiation ground.” Wayne suggested.

“I guess they have all long gone.”

“They still own the land, well a hundred acres of it, which is on this property’s title but can’t be sold.”

“That is a strange agreement where did that spring from?” Stephen asked.

“My great uncle and yours, they appeared to have a strong affiliation with the local natives. The descendents are mostly up in Cairns or at Yarrabah now but they do come down on the occasion, they say to talk to the old folk.”

“That would be the lot who asked me if they could camp there.” Stephen recollected.

“I guess so.”

The two sat listening to the night. The storm had travelled far to the south and the sky cleared, bringing with it the cacophony of sound that only the tropical lands could give.

“How long are you staying here on the farm?” Stephen asked while watching a large green tree frog as it leisurely hopped along the verandah hunting small insects that had sizzled on the light and fallen in death throws to the decking. Some distance behind the frog stalked a small harmless and very green tree snake but Wayne scared it back from the balcony before it could reach its meal.

“Don’t like snakes.” Stephen complained.

“That one is harmless but I guess it would give you a bite if you grabbed it. As for how long am I staying here, I don’t rightly know, why?”

“No reason but you appear more a city bloke than country, don’t you miss the clubs and bars?”

“Oddly no,”

“I would miss the pub,” Stephen admitted.

“There’s one here in town.”

“Yea but not walking distance is it?”

“I don’t know Ralph often walks into town and carries his shopping home on his back.”

“I’m asking too many questions again eh?”

“A few but I guess they are harmless enough.”

“My sister is always telling me to stop asking questions.” Stephen admitted with an apologetic smile.

“I guess it’s the only way to find things out, what’s your sister’s name?”

“Pam,”

“Married?”

“Yes, with two boys, noisy little tykes and into everything,” an ironic smile, “I don’t know how mum will enjoy living there. She always said grand kids were perfect, because at the end of the day you can always hand them back.”

“What’s her husband like?” Wayne asked.

“A right surly bugger, he’s a butcher in Atherton. I don’t get on with him.”

“And why would that be?”

“Different characters I guess; he reckons I’m as soft as butter and often said a good thumping would harden me and always referrers to me as the poof.”

“Why would he say that Stephen?” Wayne believed he was at last getting to the bottom of Stephen’s character.

“Mostly my job. He said firies are all soft and I dress too fancy.”

“Well as they say you can please some of the people.” Wayne concluded.

The late night ambience was calming, bringing them both to silence and a further beer but Wayne declared this time it would definitely his last and as soon as it was finished he was retiring for the night.

Wayne stretched his arms and rubbed the back of his neck, wondering where the stiffness came from, being of the opinion it was too many hours sitting on an aircraft and attempting to sleep twisted to find maximum comfort.

“Would you like a back massage?” Stephen offered.

“Na I’ll be alright sleeping back in my own bed should fix me.”

That last beer made Wayne a little freer with his thoughts. He hadn’t had sex is so long he was forgetting what it was like and because of close proximity with Ralph on their trip he hadn’t even manually relieved his frustrations. He imagined Stephen’s hands on his back massaging out his stress, then slowly Stephen’s hand lowered, under the light material of his shorts, while in his mind it was Ralph and not Stephen taking advantage of him.

Quickly he shook the thought away and finished the beer but didn’t rise for bed. There was an inkling that would allow Stephen to service him. He could lean back into his chair; his hands cupped behind head, his eyes closed to the deed as Stephen relieved the frustration then with that thought truly defeated, Wayne announced he was going to bed, as he could never abuse the situation in Ralph’s presence.

“Goodnight Stephen, I need my bed.” As Wayne parted company he paused and turning spoke seriously; “Stephen are you?” but instead fell silent, leaving his intended question to the lateness of the night. It was the drink that allowed him to consider asking if Stephen were gay but there was just enough restraint left in him to go no further.

“Am I what?” Stephen replied.

“Nothing it doesn’t matter, I’m off to bed see you in the morning.”

“Hey Wayne while you were away I was going to have a look through that old journal you spoke of but I couldn’t see it anywhere.”

“No I left it with Biff for safe keeping.” Wayne answered thinking it fortunate he did so as he didn’t wish for anyone to learn Lachlan’s secret.

“I was hoping to have a read of it before I returned home.” Stephen appeared disappointed.

“Biff has taken it to one of the old girls to read, so maybe next time.” Wayne lied, “Good night Stephen.”

Stephen was the last to rise and was seated at the breakfast table while Wayne prepared breakfast. “I may go to the beach later, maybe my last chance for a while.” Stephen proposed.

“I believe the best beaches are to the south away from town.” Wayne suggested.

“I’ve only been down near the jetty but it has mangroves at both ends and little sand but I wasn’t too keen with the signage warning of crocs and stingers.”

“They say the crocs sometimes come onto the beach but for sure there are plenty up the Tully river, big buggers, someone shot one a few month back and it was more than five meters long, besides no one swims at the town beach, it has a bad rip and over the years there has been a number of drownings.”

“I didn’t go in the water, too many people around.” Stephen admitted as Ralph entered.

“What’s that got to do with swimming?” Wayne asked.

“Not a lot but it doesn’t seem right swimming while others are going about their day, something like being in a fish bowl I guess.”

“Who’s going swimming?” Ralph asked and dumped a clutch of radish onto the kitchen table, “any coffee?”

“In the pot, I have just made it, does the gardener want breakfast?” Wayne offered.

“If you’re offering but just toast and coffee, I feel a little off this morning, the grog last night I guess I’m not accustomed.” Ralph admitted and did appear to be a little whiter than usual.

“Sorry that’s my fault, I’m corrupting you.” Stephen admitted.

“Stephen wants to visit the beach,” Wayne collected a container of eggs from the refrigerator, “sure you don’t want some scrambled eggs?” He asked Ralph

“No thanks just toast and coffee,” Ralph declined and removed his bunch of radishes, “I’m told the best beaches are south, who likes radishes?” Neither admitted preference.

“That is what Wayne said, is it far.”

“It is much too far for walking but again crocodiles and this time of the year stingers.” Ralph assured.

“What about we all go?” Stephen brightly suggested, believing there was safety in numbers.

“I don’t think so but you can take the car if you like, I only have to run into town for a couple of things early this morning,” Wayne freely offered and prodded the radishes, “they are alright in a salad I guess.”

“What are?” Stephen asked confused how salads and beaches connected.

“Radishes,”

“Oh I thought you were talking about the beach.”

“No Stephen definitely radishes but as I said you can take the car.”

“Thank you I may take you up on that.”

“Stephen there’s a map in the top drawer.” Ralph informed as he poured his coffee.

“Yes I think I will visit the beach, are you sure you wouldn’t like to join me?”

“Quite sure,” Ralph answered as his cousin retrieved the map.

“Very sure,” Wayne concurred, “scrambled eggs Stephen?”

“That would be nice but you do have me a little worried about the wild life in the water.”

“Na I wouldn’t worry about the crocs, the sharks have eaten most of them.” Wayne laughed and served breakfast.

“You sure know how to put a damper on things.” Stephen took a deep breath then a mouth full of egg and toast, “you make good scrambled eggs, I’ll say that much.”

“Ralph taught me but I wouldn’t concern too much about the crocs just don’t go swimming alone or to too far out.” Wayne advised.

“Do crocs swim very far?” Stephen asked.

“It’s been said they have been spotted a hundred kilometres out to sea and not long ago as far south as Rockhampton. Global warming the experts reckon.”

“Radishes.” Ralph spoke dreamingly, somewhat disjointed from the conversation of swimming, crocodiles and sharks.

“What about them?” Wayne asked.

“Not a lot, I was wondering why I bothered growing them, I have two rows and they are ready for harvest and I’m lost towards their use.”

“You said salads.”

“One or two maybe but two rows.”

“The chooks like them.”

“They may make the eggs taste funny,” Stephen offered to the conversation, “we have chooks.”

“How many do you have?” Ralph asked.

“Six but they are bantam, their eggs so small it would take more than a dozen to make a decent omelette.”

“Why keep bantams?” Wayne asked believing Stephen didn’t appear the type to be interested in animal husbandry.

“They actually belong to my mother but these days I have to look after them.”

“What will happen to them when your mother goes to live with your sister?” Wayne asked.

“Truthfully I hadn’t thought of it until now, the kids would be too rough with them, so I guess I’ll need to find a new home for them.”

“You can take them to the cottage, there is an old run down the back but it will need fixing.” Wayne offered.

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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