A sequel to ‘At the Turning’

Published: 25 Oct 2018

There was commotion at the Verrocchi farm, vehicles had been arriving for most of the morning and with nothing better to do Wayne went to investigate. The entry into to the Verrocchi property was only a short distance from the Henderson drive, so without leaving the farm he could scrutinise the arrivals without being obvious. The traffic to the house appeared to be travelling at a slow pace bringing the opinion that old man Verrocchi had departed to meet his maker.

As Wayne was about to turn away from the procession he noticed a silver Mercedes approaching then turn into the Verrocchi driveway. It was Jack Miller and seated beside him was his wife Fay, with Louise in the seat behind. Before Wayne had the chance to disappear back up the drive, Louise spotted him and prodded Jack Miller in the shoulder. Jack turned as did Fay and all three glared their disapproval towards Wayne, who being caught totally of his guard mindlessly waved, cursing himself for doing so.

“You goose why did you have to wave?” He loudly self-medicated his annoyance.

“What’s going on over at the Verrocchi place?” Ralph called down the drive as Wayne quickly turned away from the procession.

“I reckon old man Verrocchi has died and guess who just drove by?”

“Dunno’ who?”

“The Millers and they spotted me at the gate.”

“That will teach you for being a sticky-nose eh.” Ralph chuckled at his friend’s discomfort.

“Even worse I bloody had to go and wave to them.”

“You what?”

“I waved to them.”

“I could say something but I’m too polite, do you think they will come over?” Ralph asked.

“I very much doubt it.” As Wayne spoke Alison Peterson arrived on her mail run, having been caught in the long procession.

“Morning Mister Jenkins, nice to see your mate has his clothes on.” She said handing Wayne a solitary letter and by its official appearance, Ralph’s recently acquired drivers licence.

“What’s going on over at the Verrocchi’s place?” Wayne enquired.

“Haven’t you heard? Old man Verrocchi kicked the bucket and most of the town is celebrating, I guess there will be free drinks all around at the pub tonight,” the mail lady joyfully issued without an inkling of respect towards the departed farmer.

“Yet it appears to be a big funeral.”

“I should think many are there to be sure he is gone.”

“All the same, in my reckoning there were at least fifty cars.” Wayne surmised.

“Mostly his Iti friends and cronies from up at Cairns but I doubt if you will find many of the town’s folk there, although I see the Craddock’s car but Betty Craddock will go anywhere for gossip and free feed and drink.” With this Alison Peterson bid good day and continued on her run while complaining about being held up by the number of arrivals.

“I was thinking.” Wayne stated while delivering the letter to Ralph, “you once said you can ride a horse?”

“I did,” Ralph opened the envelope without answering and read the inscription on the plastic card there in. It was his licence, he smiled and removing his wallet from his pocket placed it proudly in the space provided close to a small amount of money he had made from the sale of his vegetables.

Wayne felt pride come over him as he remembered only a short time previous Ralph was that shy, naked skinny kid who could hardly speak to a stranger. Now even his thin disposition had gone and he stood well framed and handsome.

“I used to ride as a kid, until mum’s new bloke sold my horse for pet food and gambled the proceeds.” Ralph answered returning his wallet to its pocket.

“Why did he do that?”

“I guess it was costing good drinking and racing money for fodder and he did have a rather large mean streak, so he would have had a deal of malicious gratification by doing so. His favourite saying being if the old nag couldn’t win the three-thirty at Doomben it wasn’t worth feeding.”

“Then for once you can teach me something.”

“Do you want to ride?”

“I was thinking of keeping a couple of horses here but only if you approve.”

“It would be great, I was only thinking of the same thing when that mob of kids from the local pony club rode past yesterday.”

With the funeral over Wayne kept well away from the roadside but did watch the final procession from the window. One by one the vehicles followed the hearse and turned to the right towards town and the cemetery, all except the very last to leave, the silver Mercedes containing the Miller family. It turned to the west and slowly approached the Henderson gateway. It paused and three faces peered up the gravelled driveway, then using the drive to turn was once more gone to follow the line of traffic.

“That I believe will be the last I will see of the Miller family.” Wayne predicted as the Mercedes disappeared over the slight rise towards town.

“Does that worry you?” Ralph asked.

Wayne took a along breath and held it as the Mercedes dust settled along the side of the road. He released the breath.

“It is more relief that worry, I guess it does leave me with a great deal to contemplate.”

“Louise is pretty.” Ralph admitted, although his sighting of her was only for an instant through a sun-glared car window.

“True but pretty comes at a price. A cat can be considered pretty but it has claws.”

“I don’t much like cats, they needlessly kill the wildlife.” Ralph added to the discussion, he continued, “but I suppose you can always trim a cat’s claws and stick a bell around its neck to warn of approach.”

“Not with Louise, you wouldn’t get close enough; she’d have an eye out.” Wayne laughed.

With the passing of Albert Verrocchi, one more threat to the serenity of the Henderson farm had been removed but there were his sons and if the father was considered belligerent the sons were loose cannons and most unpredictable. If there was to be found a positive towards their character, it was in the guise they could not agree with each other and that kept them busy enough not to interfere with their neighbours, although their pig hunting became more frequent and the healthy cane fields commenced to show a lack of attention.

There was a telephone call on the land line during the evening of the Verrocchi funeral which Ralph answered.

“Hello,” He softly spoke into the receiver.

“Who is this?” A woman’s voice, demanding and most agitated.

“It is Ralph,” Ralph answered somewhat confused by the hostility of the caller.

“Is Wayne there?” The woman growled.

“He is but who is this?” Ralph softly canvassed.

“Never mind who it is – get him.”

Ralph covered the mouth piece with his hand, “Wayne it’s for you, I think it could be Louise and does she sound pissed off.”

“How did she get that telephone number?” Wayne rhetorically asked as he took the call.

“I couldn’t say,” Ralph left the room to allow privacy.

“Hello who is this?” Wayne asked of the caller.

“Who do you think it is?”

“Louise?” Wayne answered.

“Why don’t you turn on your mobile?” She snapped.

“How did you get this telephone number?”

“I have my ways, why are you trying to avoid me?” Louise commenced to cry. It was a soft manufactured snivel she often used to penetrate Wayne’s emotional defences.

“No but I don’t think there is much more I can say on the matter.” Wayne answered.

“Who answered the ‘phone?” The tears appeared to dissipate.

“Ralph.”

“Who is he?”

“He owns the farm and it is his telephone.” Wayne attempted to distance himself from the conversation and his association with Ralph, doing so he immediately felt uncomfortable and somewhat fraudulent.

“Why didn’t you come to Verrocchi’s funeral?” Louise’s question was more padding, leading towards the reason for her call than belief he would have done so.

“Louise, I didn’t know the man, besides I don’t think Jack would be too pleased if I did.”

By Louise’s tone she was leading towards some grand statement. She had a set way of presentation, tears, the leading question the sweet ambience of femininity but what could she be planning. There was a lengthy silence filling Wayne with anxiety, he could feel it building in his chest, pulsing at the temples and choking at his voice. Eventually he spoke.

“What is it you want Louise, I thought we had this conversation at the restaurant when you keyed my car?”

“I didn’t touch your car.” She unconvincingly defended.

“I think you did.”

“Anyway you deserved it for the way you treated me.”

“What is the reason for your call Louise? As I explained on the night it wouldn’t work, we both want different things from life.”

A pause.

An even longer pause.

“What is the point of this telephone call?” Wayne again asked.

“I’m pregnant.” Louise sharply bit across the line then burst into tears.

“You’re pregnant!” Wayne repeated in shock.

“That is what I said.” The tears commenced to dry.

“Whose is it?” Wayne quickly calculated. It could be his but if so she should have reached the realisation much earlier and on their last encounter she wasn’t showing any obvious sign of pregnancy, besides he always took precautions, being a habit Louise was most adamant towards, as she didn’t want children until out of the fun years, if at all.

“Who do you think?” Again dry tears.

“It won’t change anything.” Wayne firmly admitted.

“I need to talk with you.”

“Alright, we’ll meet at my unit in Cairns, say Thursday night.”

“I can’t Thursday.”

“No Louise Thursday or not at all.” Wayne ended the conversation with Louise in agreement and somewhat white faced he turned to Ralph.

“You don’t look well?”

“Louise is pregnant.” Wayne was still attempting the maths.

“Is it yours?”

“It can’t be if so she should have been showing when we last met.”

“What are you going to do about it?” Ralph asked.

“Meet with her, show sympathy but not a lot more, as I said I have strong doubts it is mine.”

“What if it is?”

“No the more I think of it, the less I believe it could be; I’ve been away from Cairns for what?” Wayne commenced to calculate, “three months.”

“I would say closer to four, even longer.” Ralph corrected.

“Then four and I haven’t had sex with her for almost six months, I believe it has to be someone else.” Wayne sighed with relief.

“Why would she say it’s yours?”

“In my mind to get me back at me or out of revenge.”

“So why meet her at all?”

“Curiosity I guess.

“I wouldn’t give her the satisfaction.” Ralph concluded.

That night to take his thoughts from Louise and her admission, Wayne once again turned to Lachlan’s journal and was surprised at how adaptable his great uncle had been, from blackbirding in the Coral Sea to being rescued from near death by aborigines, to disobeying a wealthy dominating father while becoming financially independent and after inheriting much more he had given most of it away to the folk of Federation Bay. Even going as far as suggesting the town change its name from McBride’s Point to that of Federation Bay.

What he discovered in the pages of Lachlan’s journal filled Wayne with pride and admiration for the man and the colonial ability to switch from one lifestyle to another seemed without difficulty.

Wayne thought of himself, of Louise or her parents, one micron of discomfort and the roof caved in. There would be complaints all around and negative conversation for a week if the coffee was tepid or the meal arranged in the wrong order, bringing him to doubt if he could ever match his impressive uncle.

It had been a typical North Queensland day, hot and sticky, now late in the evening it was the same, except dark. The prevailing sea breeze seldom reached the farm, nor was it situated close enough into the forest to receive its relief.

Ralph had gone to bed early, he had been digging his patch for much of the afternoon and the heat and humidity had sapped his strength, while Wayne forwent his usual glass before bed for a cold soft drink, which with the journal he took to the verandah where he sat reading and hoping there would be a change in the weather.

On the occasion he would put down his reading and go to the verandah railing in search of a cool breeze but in all directions the trees were still and the sky clear, only the multitude of stars appeared cool, like ice crystals in suspension or snowflakes that never fell.

There was a strong moon and building clouds off to the north east yet the night shift hadn’t yet started. A slight movement in the oleander caught his eye, bringing him to investigate. It was their resident tree snake and once again was hunting the small but quite noisy frogs that searched for insects that gathered around the light. “You won’t take a hint will you?” Wayne spoke and shook a branch sending it back into the darkness. A flash of black on black caught his eye as something moved about beyond the stairs. “Flaming pig!” He growled and hurled a small empty beer bottle into its direction. It must have hit as the animal released a squeal and bolted down the drive towards the Verrocchi’s cane fields. “I wouldn’t go that way if you value your life.” Wayne called after the animal.

Returning to his reading he thought of Louise and her condition. He smiled at the thought of having a son to teach the way of things but quickly frowned on Louise being the mother, the controller and his nemesis. They would not have a son but Louise would have a millstone, something to complain about and abuse Wayne for not doing enough to raise the child. He shuddered and cast the thought aside, “but it would be nice to be a father.” He softly admitted.

It was past midnight when drowsiness commenced to drag Wayne’s eyelids closed. He still had his cot on the verandah, now covered with a mosquito net, finding now and then they did bother him, even if he had often bragged they did not. Mostly it was their constant noise, so the net kept them at a bearable distance.

Wayne yawned loudly and as he did so felt a presence, as a gentle coolness came over the night.

“Haven’t you finished that journal yet?” The voice came from the dullness at the verandah end. Turning he perceived the image of Lachlan sitting stretched legged with his arms folded across his chest.

“You’re back.” Wayne declared.

“I haven’t been away; I would think you should have finished that journal by now.” Lachlan suggested.

“It’s your writing, it’s atrocious.” Wayne complained.

“Do you want me to relate it to you?”

“No I’ll manage.” Wayne closed the book.

“Where is Ralph’s cousin?” the effigy enquired.

“He’s gone home to Yungaburra.”

“He is nothing like his great uncle but Ralph’s character is identical.” Lachlan declared.

“I haven’t seen the others around?”

“They are here you just don’t wish for them.” Lachlan stood and leant against the verandah railing while peering into the darkness.

“You loved this land.” Wayne declared as Lachlan gazed endlessly into the night.

“Stephen loved the land and I loved Stephen, so I suppose that makes it inseparable. His words appeared to choke in his throat but instantly cleared.

“You have been talking to Millie.” The effigy asked.

“Yes she told me a lot about you and the others, it appears that you were all well respected in Federation Bay.”

“She is a good woman and did you know that my father was also her grandfather’s father?”

“Yes she did suggest that.” Wayne answered.

“There is now a whole tribe of them up at Yarrabah.” Lachlan declared.

“How was it your father was her Grandfather, did Jock McBride marry her Grandmother after divorcing your mother?”

“Back then it wasn’t like it is now; black women were for the taking.”

“What rape?” Wayne asked.

“I guess it would be more legal rape, no authority showed accountability for black woman and there wasn’t much their menfolk could do to prevent it.”

“So Jock forced himself onto her?”

“Coerced to use a finer point, if she didn’t agree they all would have been forced from the camp. They had already been moved three times and I don’t think they could cope with another.”

“That’s terrible.”

“True, that is why the title has the caveat on the camp site. Anyway that was then and this is now, are you enjoying my story?”

“Lachlan did you love Stephen Henderson?” Wayne asked.

“Doesn’t the journal suggest so?” Lachlan answered appearing to be offended in having his love questioned.

“It does but what I guess is my meaning, did you, well to put it bluntly, have sex with Stephen.”

“Does that surprise or worry you?” Lachlan asked.

“Neither but I don’t know how to get my head around two men actually having sex. I suppose it must happen but.” Wayne paused, “I don’t know,” he concluded.

As Wayne spoke a sound came from the bottom of the steps, soon the outline of a second figure appeared.

“Who’s there?” Wayne called becoming somewhat alarmed at the proceedings. He could cope with Lachlan appearing whenever he wished but now there was another. It was Stephen Henderson, Ralph’s great uncle.

“Is that you Stephen?” Wayne asked while straining his eyes into the darkness and recognising the image from the old photograph.

“Evening Wayne,” Stephen answered.

“I was asking Lachlan about your relationship.” Wayne explained.

“I know.”

“I haven’t quite come to terms with it as yet.” Wayne said.

“Have you ever looked inward to yourself?” Stephen asked from the bottom of the steps without approaching further.

“What do you mean?”

There was a dog barking some distance away, most likely one of the Verrocchi brother’s pig dogs, Wayne rose and walked to the opposing end of the verandah and peered into the darkness. He heard a loud whistle and the dog fell silent. “Probably hunting wild pigs in the cane fields, there are a lot around,” he declared and turned to an empty verandah. “Lachlan,” He called but didn’t receive an answer; Lachlan had gone. Descending the stairs he walked along the gravel path to the gate, listening to the crunching of the stones beneath his feet.

The sound of footsteps on loose stones was convincing, he wasn’t dreaming but had he woken from another dream about Lachlan and why did he only appear to do so after reading the journal, was it so powerful that it played on his mind making him imagine their encounters; Wayne knew not.

On reaching the gate he gazed along the road in both directions. There was another sharp whistle coming from quite close.

“Evening,” He heard from across the road as a dark form carrying what appeared to be a rifle manifested in the moonlight. It was Frank Verrocchi, the second son of the Verrocchi clan.

“Hunting pigs Frank?” Wayne asked.

“Yea but the bloody new dog it is useless; chases shadows and ghosts.” Frank complained.

‘Ghosts,’ Wayne smiled, “sorry to hear about your father,” he sympathised.

“Thank you but the old man had been sick for some years, so it didn’t come as a surprise.” Once spoken Frank disappeared into the rows of cane in search of his dog.

“There doesn’t appear to be any remorse there.” Wayne told himself while retracing his steps back to the house. Once on the verandah he lay on his cot tucking the mosquito net in around the mattress. “What did Stephen mean by look inward? Bloody stupid dreams if you ask me but I wasn’t asleep, I am sure of that.”

Raising his head he looked around the verandah and down the steps but there wasn’t anything but darkness. “It’s that journal that’s what, next time I’ll try relaxing late at night without it and see if I dream.” But that night he did dream yet it wasn’t about Lachlan or Stephen but of Ralph who asked a question from within a patch of maize corn that reached far above his head. All he could see of Ralph was his smile and the ground beneath being overgrown with pumpkin vines bearing pumpkins as large to knee high and vegetables all about, some in boxes others tied with string and dangling in the air, making him feel concerned what would be done with the excess.

“What are you going to do with all the vegetables?” He asked but could not understand the reply. “What did you say?” Wayne called. Although Ralph repeated his words Wayne could not comprehend them. Then Ralph turned to walk further into his crop of maize showing nothing but his bare arse as he journeyed, “Nice arse.” Wayne heard his voice call then quickly reneged on his observation and almost immediately Ralph’s rear turned into that of some young lady who as quickly disappeared leaving behind only maize stalks with oversized cobs.

Breakfast found Wayne chuckling over his toast, bringing Ralph to enquire why his humour.

“I just remembered I had a strange dream last night and you were in it. Wayne buttered the toast and spread it thickly with vegemite.

“How can you eat that stuff like that?” Ralph criticised.

“I like it.”

“It’s supposed to be spread thinly besides it’s full of salt. He made a face as Wayne bit into the black ooze.

“A man has to die of something,” came with another bite into the toast.

“What was this dream of yours?”

“Umm I don’t think I should tell you.”

“It must have been sexual.” Ralph laughed.

“Yea sure thing – you were gardening and had an oversupply of vegies, I guess that was the gist of it,” Wayne left out the bare arse and his comment.

“That’s almost true anyway.” Ralph admitted.

“Yea dreams are funny things.”

“Were you serious about buying horses?” Ralph asked while clearing the breakfast table.

“I am serious, what do you think?”

“Did you know your great uncle Lachlan made his money out of selling horses to the early settlers and my uncle as well?” Ralph asked.

“Yes I did but how did you know that, I didn’t think you had read the journal and I don’t remember telling you about the horse trading.”

“As soon as you get a horse, I’ll teach you to ride.” Ralph offered while diverting the conversation away from the journal.

“Do you think you can still ride, it has been some time?” Wayne assessed.

“I guess it’s like riding a bicycle, you never forget.”

“I dunno…”

“And like swimming everyone can swim, it’s the fear of drowning that drags you under,” Ralph explained.

“What has swimming got to do with riding a horse?”

“Not a lot but if you can balance on a bike or a chair you can balance on a horse, it’s the fear of falling off that’s the problem and fear is the connection between swimming and riding,” being another of Ralph’s weird explanations.

“And if you do fall off?” Wayne sarcastically asked from his breakfast cereal.

“I guess you hit the ground.”

“Have you ever fallen from a horse?” Wayne asked.

“A number of times, once she shied while trotting and threw me over her head, I landed on my arse.” Ralph laughed.

“What happened?”

“A couple of arm lengths from where I landed there was a bloody big brown snake.”

“I hate snakes.” Wayne shuddered, thinking of his green friend in the oleander.

“I guess they are alright if you know they are about and where but this one wasn’t happy with me falling out of the sky almost on top of it.”

“And?”

“And nothing, the horse bolted on way, the snake the other and I a third.”

“You know you are really turning me away from riding.”

“No it would be fun and riding isn’t even as dangerous as driving a car, you just have to realise the power is below your arse and not under the bonnet.”

“I like the way you describe things.” Wayne laughed.

It was the kind of night that Halloween would be out and about in. The moonlight appeared to flood over everything finding its way through every crack. Its colouring wasn’t silver as the poets declared but butter to beige, even at a stretch slightly pinkish. There had been a heavy downpour of tropical rain in the late afternoon, lending coolness to the night, while the vegetation gave off a multitude of distinct fragrances.

“Want to go for a walk?” Wayne offered bringing Ralph’s attention away from his reading, while giving the expression he would rather read than walk.

“Where to?” Ralph asked without enthusiasm.

“Up the road, down the road, maybe to the forest,” Wayne offered.

“Did you know that our uncle’s used to take walks in the forest and naked?” Ralph said laughing at the thought, while waiting for Wayne’s somewhat prudish response.

“How do you know that?” Again Ralph appeared to have information Wayne had not shared.

“You must have told me.”

“I don’t remember so.”

“Must have or how else would I know.” Ralph shrugged away the question.

“Anyway why naked?” Wayne frowned at the thought.

“I don’t rightly know but they were kids then and running wild with the blacks. I suppose they did so to associate with the tribe.”

“Again how do you know this stuff?” Wayne asked.

“Possibly from some of the old folk in town, or you told me and forgot doing so.”

“You would be halfway there but I don’t think I’d get a kick out of walking naked, especially in the scrub.” Wayne gave a shudder, “Ticks, leaches, spiders, get one of those on your dick and it may suck the life out of it.” As he spoke he again found surprise in how Ralph had known about their uncles naked wanderings, as he was certain he had not yet read that fact.

“Well with you or not I’m going for a walk, won’t be long.”

“Best you take a torch, I’ll get you one.”

“I won’t need it, there is enough moonlight and I won’t be going far.”

Moments later Wayne’s footsteps crunched on the gravel path towards the gate. “Left – Right?” he questioned, “right I think towards the forest,” he decided.

At the edge of the forest Wayne paused and deliberated on the nakedness of Lachlan and Stephen and Ralph’s habit of being so, coming to the conclusion, he could not condemn their activities without trying it for himself. Standing at the verge he cast his gaze back towards the farm, then to the wall of trees some distance ahead. He hadn’t heard a vehicle pass all night, nor had he heard the Verrocchi brothers with their dogs. Should he? It was tempting but for what reason, would it be to prove a point being their uncle’s naked wanderings were of no value except for sexual gratification. Did he believe so? At least in Ralph it didn’t appear to be, yet again in Ralph, it like many of his characteristics were somewhat difficult to quantify.

Firstly Wayne removed his shirt, then his shorts, leaving him standing in his boxer shorts. “Here goes,” he softly aspired and quickly removed the last garment placing it on the pile of discarded clothing.

He commenced to walk along the shoulder of the road, short uncertain steps, his ears tuned about lest one of the Verrocchi brothers chanced by. He guessed if they were out and about their dogs would arrive first giving him time to quickly dress, or hide somewhere off the road.

At first nothing, then as the distance between himself and his pile of clothing extended, anxiety set in and his body quivered. He wanted to make a dash back to base but commitment pushed him on. A hundred meters it was before fear finally took total control, fear and the fact that he was becoming aroused by the experience turned him back towards his clothes.

As Wayne reached his clothing he noticed a figure standing by. At first he thought it to be one of the Verrocchi brothers but in the moonlight the stranger’s apparel appeared to be somewhat old fashioned.

“Shit caught out!” He gasped, as the figure laughed.

“Lachlan is that you?” Wayne quizzically asked of the stranger standing in the darkness over his clothing.

“No it’s Stephen, you wanted to know what I got out of walking naked with Lachlan?” Stephen asked while casting his eyes over Wayne’s body.

“Shit mate I’m not dreaming what are you doing here?” Wayne was confused.

“You wanted to talk to me so I’m here, you aren’t dreaming.”

“Let me put my clothes on, I feel naked standing here,” Wayne demanded.

“You are,” Stephen laughed.

“You know what I mean, with me naked and you dressed.”

“Would you like me to join you?” Stephen offered.

“No thank you, where’s Lachlan and the others?”

“They are here.” Stephen appeared to be scrutinising Wayne’s body.”

“What’s wrong?” Wayne demanded as he quickly pulled on his shorts.

“I was thinking without clothing you are much like a smaller version of Lachlan.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment; do you mean my physique or my dick?”

“Both.” Stephen laughed.

“Anyway Stephen what had brought the four of you back at this point in time?” Wayne asked.

“I guess we were waiting for the conjuncture.”

“What the hell is a conjuncture?”

Wayne quickly finished dressing then turning to speak to Stephen but found he was alone.

“Stephen,” he called.

“Lachlan – anyone.”

Wayne turned full circle hoping to see one of their faces in the moonlight, a shadow, a body – anything.

Nothing – he was most definitely alone.

“What the fuck is a conjuncture!” He again loudly demanded but received nothing but silence. Even the night callers were absent.

“Fuck you lot, stop playing with my head!” He shouted into the night while a mopoke owl answered from high up in a large Ficus tree it’s call appeared to mock his challenge.

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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