A sequel to ‘At the Turning’

Published: 28 Jun 2018

It had rained heavily in the morning but by lunch the sky was clear and the ground hot, evaporating the existence of every rain drop back into the tropical cycle. Before going to the farm Wayne called into the Federation Bay general store to obtain supplies for his visit and some extras for Ralph. Biff was her usual talkative self and a sales woman at that, making sure that Wayne left with more than he had come in for.

“That young fellow who is looking after your Aunt’s farm is a strange one,” she declared while calculating his purchase.

“Why do you say that?” Wayne asked piling his supplies into a number of large bags he had brought for the purpose.

“He’s so timid and polite and if there is anyone else in the shop he waits until they have gone before giving up his order, yet he reminds me of someone.”

“Who would that be?”

“That is the mystery I guess it will come to me.”

“Is he wearing the new clothes I gave him?”

“His pants appeared new but the shirt had holes and he wasn’t wearing any shoes. He also walked from the farm,” Biff answered, “Give him this it’s his favourite, he’ll need the strength with all that walking,” she added while handing a mars bar across to Wayne.

“Hey Biff, I’m interested in who had the farm before my Aunt, any idea who I could talk to?”

For the first time in his life Wayne had become interested in his family’s history but his father’s side of the family seldom spoke of the past, while after his parent’s separation and accident he was lacking a starting point, as living with his father’s mother there was no contact with his mother’s lot and anytime he chanced to enquire of his maternal grandmother he was told she had passed on.

“You could ask old Molly McBride, she’s in her nineties but as sharp as a pin and still runs her own home and she likes a talk. Wind her up and like clockwork she continues until one makes an excuse to depart company. Be sure to take a bottle of Gin, she likes a tipple on the occasion.”

Biff retrieved a slip of paper from a drawer and wrote down Molly’s address, “21 Tully Street, it’s towards the end of this street, past the bend and the old church yard on the left and on your way to the farm. Don’t visit before ten in the morning or after two in the afternoon, the old girl likes her sleep.”

“Molly McBride, she must be a relation of sorts on my mother’s side but I’ve never heard of her, except Ralph did mention a Molly who visited Grace on the occasion.”

“I would think so, having the same family name but there isn’t any use asking me, I haven’t been here long enough.”

“I should be on my way and it’s raining again.” Wayne collected his groceries.

“It’s always raining down here, supposed to be the wettest town in Australia.” Biff acknowledged.

“What, Federation Bay?”

“No Tully that’s why they built that giant gumboot in the main street and is only a stone throw down the road from here.”

Passing the Verrocchi farm the rain stopped. Wayne noticed the old man’s Mercedes parked at the front by his steps but no one appeared to be around, which well suited him as he wasn’t in any mood for a confrontation with the angry Italian.

Turning into the farm driveway Wayne once again noticed the same fellow he had seen on his first visit. The stranger was crossing the road some distance from the drive. At first Wayne thought to stop and share greeting but not wishing to be spied by Albert Verrocchi he quickly drove in and parked out of sight behind the house.

‘That is strange,’ Wayne thought.

‘He was there once before.’

‘Another thing it’s been pissing down with rain and he appeared completely dry.’

Wayne brought his BMW to pause, being met by Ralph and to his surprise totally naked, while carrying a large paint laden brush.

“You look somewhat overdressed.” Wayne laughed at the sight of a splash of canary yellow paint decorating the lad’s curly black pubic hair and across the shaft of his dick.

“Sorry I was painting and didn’t want to get paint on my clothes; I dropped the brush when you drove up – I’ll go put my pants on.”

“Not on my account but on your way in help me with the groceries.”

Ralph gave a cheeky smile as he collected most of the bags, while Wayne followed with the remainder. “Nice arse.” Wayne humoured as Ralph opened the back door and entered ahead. The lad didn’t answer.

‘Why did I say that, it wasn’t even funny,’ Wayne mentally scalded as he followed.

“Did you get the rain?” Wayne asked remembering the dry stranger along the road side.

“When?”

“Just now, it was teaming down before I passed the cross roads.”

“A little maybe but this place is well insulated and unless there is a strong thunder storm you don’t hear much.”

“The road is quite wet.”

“So there you go, it rained.” Ralph answered.

“I saw that same fellow near the gate from my first visit.”

“Sorry I haven’t been outside all morning.”

“I notice you’ve done a bit of a tidy.” Wayne commented.

“You said to burn everything that couldn’t be used, I couldn’t go that far but anything broken or obviously useless I did burn or put out for the rubbish pickup. I didn’t touch your aunt’s room.”

“You don’t mind some company for a couple of days?” Wayne asked.

“Your house boss, I’ll go put some pants on.” Ralph placed the packages on the kitchen table and disappeared down the hall.

“I hope you’re living inside.” Wayne called after the vanishing arse.

“I’m using the room next to yours but haven’t mastered living in a house yet. I get withdrawal symptoms for the rats in the shed.” Ralph soon returned wearing his new jeans and designer t-shirt, “bit fancy for a white boong eh?” He declared holding his hands up and slowly turning to best show off his clothes.

“Suits you – hey you’ve put on a little weight.” Wayne declared with surprise.

“Have you come down to sell the farm?” Ralph asked while checking through the grocery bags.

“Like that.” He said picking up a tin of baked beans.

“That as well,” Supermarket sausages came out of another bag and were held high as if he were advertising the product.

“Mystery bags,” Wayne offered.

“What are?”

“Sausages, my Gran called them mystery bags as one never knows what’s in them.”

“Oh, I still like them.”

“Do you ever eat proper food?” Wayne asked.

“What do you mean by proper?”

“You know steak and vegies, eggs and things.”

“When I can afford them but during the past I didn’t find any steak or egg trees growing in people’s yards and I think it would be missed if I stole a whole cow.”

“You used to steal?”

“Only to survive and never from houses or shops, although I had been know to pick up an apple from a fruit shop’s footpath display as I passed by.” The lad answered in an apologetic tone.

When did you leave home?” Wayne asked

“I hardly remember; dad died when I was eleven and mum’s new bloke – a right mean bastard at that, bashed the shit out of me, almost killed me and then threw me out when I was around twelve.”

“And your mother agreed to him doing so?” Wayne showed a measure of concern as he put away the groceries.

“Truthfully I don’t think she knew, after bashing me that final time he warned me not to be around when he woke in the morning or there would be more of the same.” Such memories caused melancholy to come over the lad but this soon dissipated once he found the cheese slices.

“So where have you been living since then?” Wayne asked surprised how a lad of twelve could make his own way in the world and survive.

“Here and there, sheds, humpies but I got by.”

“I’m not going to sell the farm.” Wayne declared incidentally.

“Oh that will piss off the Iti – he was over the other day with two of his sons measuring things. I told him he was trespassing and he told me to piss off.”

“Don’t push him, he could be dangerous and I don’t want you hurt on my behalf.” Wayne suggested then checked the refrigerator. It was empty but the power was connected. Wayne shook his head at the vastness of space before him.

“When did the power come on?” Wayne asked while stocking the empty refrigerator.

“Last Thursday.”

“I thought I gave you money to buy yourself food.” Wayne placed his hands on his hips and shook his head, breaking into a disappointing smile.

“Didn’t like to waste your money.” Ralph disclosed showing a tinge of embarrassment.

“Then what have you been eating?”

“I get by.”

“So start spending, it’s your money sort of payment for caretaking.” Wayne disclosed.

“It’s too much.” Ralph had never had money and to him a little was a lot.

“If you don’t spend it, I will have to keep driving down to get your groceries and that would piss me off. By the way I saw a suitable bicycle in Biff’s shop, I’ll have a better look at it tomorrow. I want you to come with me for your opinion and you will have to ride it back, as it won’t fit in the car.”

Ralph refrained from answering.

“Do you drink alcohol? Wayne asked drawing a bottle of Glenfiddich scotch out of one of the bags.

“Sometimes but mostly beer not scotch.”

“I thought that may be the case,” Wayne followed, retrieving a half dozen cans of beer from another bag, “Will these do?” Wayne threw one of the cans to Ralph, who caught it and placed it onto the table.

“Maybe later – I don’t usually drink before eating,” he disclosed then laughed “it’s been more than a year since I had a beer, some bloke gave me a lift south of here and stopped at a pub along the way and shouted me one.”

“That’s another thing, would you like me to take you somewhere for dinner tonight?” Wayne offered as he finishing placing the last of the groceries into the kitchen cupboard.

“I would rather not,” Ralph rejected nervously.

“I thought that also, how would you like, umm, tinned spaghetti on toast?” An oversized tin of Heinz spaghetti with bacon pieces and tomato sauce appeared from the very last of the shopping bags and was held high for approval.

“Would you like me to cook it?” Ralph offered.

“Reckon you can do that?” Wayne asked with a teasing smirk.

“I haven’t been roughing it for this long without learning how to open a can or toasting a slice of bread,” Ralph answered his voice showing a measure of hurt.

After tea the two retired to the front verandah to relax in the cool night air and enjoy a few drinks. Wayne was discovering that there was more to Ralph than the callowness of youth he may have envisaged and even with his limited education the lad possessed knowledge beyond his years.

While relaxing Ralph ran his hands through his strong curly black hair dragging it away from his sight then, leaning his head backwards closed his eyes while sucking a full measure of air into his youthful chest. He spoke.

“I did discover something about the house.”

“What was that?” Wayne asked, willing to add to his newly found interest in his ascendency.

“It appears that it was built by a great-great uncle of yours around the year of Federation.”

“And?”

“Not much else really, I happened to meet someone at the store, that’s all they told me.” Ralph placed his empty beer can onto the old and rickety table between their chairs and laughed. “I think I’m half pissed.”

“You’ve only had one?” Wayne appeared surprised.

“It only takes one.”

“Want another? You may as well be fully pissed as half.” Wayne offered.

“Na I’m not used to alcohol it kicks me about a bit.” Ralph stretched his long slender arms outward and upward while yawning loudly, “If you don’t mind I think I’ll turn in, would you like me to show you around tomorrow?”

“What is there to see?”

“Lots,”

“Like what?”

“I guess what’s in the sheds, the creek down the back and the black’s camp up in the scrub.” Ralph released a teasing chuckle.

“I’ve heard about the camp, what’s left of it.”

“Nothing but ghosts but it does have a certain air of mystery about it.” Ralph answered and again yawned.

“Ghosts?” Wayne quizzed.

“Well if you believe in ghosts, I guess you could conjure up a couple but it does have certain poise, good night.”

“Good night Ralph,”

‘Poise now there’s a strange word.’ Wayne thought as Ralph retired to his room.

Alone on the verandah Wayne partook of a second nip of scotch then on his third, decided to refrain from more. The moon had escaped its mantle of inky clouds and blotting the landfall towards the forest with deep shadows and murky yellow, while the air was alive with the call of night creatures declaring their existence and needs.

“I must be drunk,” Wayne spoke softly. He didn’t feel intoxicated and had paced himself over the evening but his eyes were playing tricks with the night. Posts along the property line appeared to be alive and moving towards him as were the trees. He closed his eyes tightly and reopened them seeing nothing but posts shadows and moonlight. “Na imagination, it must be the country air.”

There was a noise, a sound. Someone was walking on the gravel at the base of the stairs, a darker shadow within the darkness, more noise, his heart commenced to race then out of the night was a squeal as two wild pigs became spooked and headed towards the long grass at the back of the house paddock; The barking of some distant dog and voices on the road and a piercing whistle, more calling, obviously in Italian.

“It’s only the Verrocchi boys, get a grip on yourself,” Wayne laughed loudly as his pulse lowered.

“Bed,” Wayne wisely advised, there was a slight stagger while progressing along the hall to his room. He stretched towards the wall, lightly running his fingers along the surface as a guide in the dark until reaching his room.

“You alright?” Ralph called from beyond his partly open bedroom door.

“No worries see you in the morning.”

“There’s a mosquito net in the cupboard if they worry you.” Ralph called.

“They don’t usually bother me.” Wayne answered.

“They will down here, almost big enough to carry you away. It’s the swampy area down near the river, they bread like – like. ”

“Bread like mosquitoes,” Wayne answered.

“Yea that’s it they bread like mosquitoes, I was going to say rabbits.” Ralph laughed.

For a time Wayne lay in muse over his great uncle, until tiredness removed him from consciousness and with an ever increasing spiral into sleep and dreaming.

Someone called him from outside the house. He answered but was not heard and again his name came clearly through the aging timber walls.

“Who are you?” Wayne called but his question was rejected. Then there was a presence in his room waking him with a start. His heart racing while blood thumped at his temples. He gasped and peered through the weak moonlight streaming in through the window. For an instant he thought someone was there, standing with folded arms in the shadows.

Smiling down on him;

Silently watching;

Discovering what he was about;

He gulped in air and blinked;

Nothing;

A knocking to his door;

“Are you alright, you cried out?” It was Ralph.

“Sure mate sorry.”

The lad paused before speaking once more, “you sounded stressed.”

“I guess being in a strange house, go back to bed I’m alright.”

“Good night then.”

“Yes Ralph good night.”

A shuffle beyond the door as Ralph returned to his room. Wayne’s pulse settled, taking a deep breath he rose and stood by the window. He was sure he heard a voice and the calling of his name and most definite he wasn’t dreaming but it must have been so, no one except Biff and Ralph knew he was visiting. There was also Verrocchi but why would he come calling so late at night. It had to be dreaming but it was all so real.

Outside the window more shadows, dark upon dark with flecks of moon reflected on the metal of the sheds. Wayne stood for some time searching shadows, straining hearing for sound but nothing, only the silence of the early morning until some large bird showed it’s silhouetted form against the sky and screeched displeasure. Eventually satisfied he had been dreaming he returned to his bed.

“Hey Biff how much for that old bicycle you have near the front door?” Wayne asked, as Ralph checked the machine for usefulness.

“I’m selling it for someone so I can’t give you discount eh.” She apologised while sorting a number of bad tomatoes from a box at the end of her counter. “You know by the time my vegetable order arrives from Cairns, the heat and humidity takes the profit,” she complained and binned the spoiled fruit.

“Why do you bother stocking vegetables?” Wayne asked.

“I don’t really, only a little for my regulars when Bert Floss is too lazy to open his shop.”

“Who is Bert Floss?”

“He has the greengrocery down on the corner but his opening hours are somewhat unpredictable.”

Ralph straddled the bicycle and applied pressure to its pedals. “Needs new cotter pins but I can fix that.” He suggested while watching the front wheel turn at speed.

“Fifty dollars,” Biff eventually answered.

“Fifty?” Wayne questioned.

“Is that too much?”

“Not at all, I thought it would be more. What do you think Ralph?”

“Appears alright to me; needs a little grease.”

“I’ll take it, don’t bother to wrap it.” Wayne attempted humour but Biff was concentrating on Ralph, watching him through eyes of recollection.

“Hey Ralph where are you from?” She asked at length.

“Townsville why?” He answered without removing his attention from the bicycle. Bouncing it on its tyres and spinning the rear wheel he sharply applied its brakes, “breaks are ok -sorta.”

“Is your mother Veronica Matthews?”

“Yes why?” Ralph answered his voice lowering and laced with suspicion.

“Was your father Ian Matthews?” Biff followed, her expression engrossed in memory. Possibly it was the way Ralph held his head while concentrating, or a word, or how he smiled. She couldn’t say but now before her was that missing child from her past.

“He was.” Ralph answered as fear gripped at him. It wasn’t fear of being discovered but that of being reunited with his step father, as once more the memories of the man’s cruelty returned. Ralph replaced the bicycle to its stand, his eyes searched for shelter from her gaze while his mind turned to flight.

“I knew you when you were a boy and often looked after you during your first school days.” Biff declared in an attempt to lower Ralph’s obvious anxiety. As Biff spoke a spark of memory developed within Ralph, that of a loving hand that touched his cheek when bullied at school and a copious supply of lollies and soft drinks. He could see them clearly and feel the gentle touch to his cheek, also a long wooden staircase leading upwards into a large timber house, full of cooking smells and polished floor boards. Of a room lay with shiny linoleum with rich swirling patterns and fairground plaster dogs, frogs and other animals around its edges. There was the softness of the voice and the comfort of heart but all this no longer belonged to his reality only a dream he once had and wished to keep secret from the cruelty that followed within the memories of his own home.

“Sorry I don’t remember.” Ralph lied.

“Never mind love, I am sure it will come back to you.” Biff clearly saw the stress within Ralph and well remembered the treatment Bob Wilkins delivered to the lad before Ralph disappeared without trace. She also remembered the pain his mother suffered from her son’s disappearance but at the time was so under the man’s spell, so much so she was too frightened to even speak of Ralph’s disappearance.

“Hey Wayne, shall I ride the bike back now?” Ralph asked without lifting his sight away from its heavy blue frame.

“Sure I’ll meet you back at the farm. Is there anything else I can get for you?”

“No thank you.” Ralph answered softly and was gone.

Wayne returned to his purchases then remembered, “Ralph mentioned cotter pins do you have any by chance?”

Biff collected a large cardboard box from a dusty corner and placed it on the glass top counter.

“I believe I just may have some.” The box was full of bicycle parts, ancient, but in almost new condition. Biff had bought the box at an auction as part of a consignment and so long ago that she no longer knew from where. There at the bottom of the carton was a small cardboard box bearing the stylised face of a smiling lad and inscribed to be cotter pins, she retrieved the box and opened.

“Suppose I’ll need two.” Wayne suggested as he removed two shiny pins from the box, “How much?” He asked holding them up, one between each index finger and thumb.

“Couldn’t say but seeing they are for Ralph, nothing.”

“Thank you.” Wayne placed the pins into his pocket.

“You be kind to that kid mind you, he’s had a rough life.” Biff added her voice stern and commanding.

“I will, I like the young fellow and will do right by him.” Wayne paid for the bicycle and thanked the toothless shopkeeper.

“Another thing Wayne, his mother passed away some months back and I don’t think he knows.” Biff’s voice became reverent as she spoke, she sighed then tilting her head while gazing out into the empty street continued, “I don’t think he should be told just yet; don’t know how he will take it.”

“Ralph’s a lot more resilient than you may think Biff; he’s just a little shy around people.” Wayne assured.

“Possibly so.” Biff wasn’t convinced.

“Maybe you’re right, I won’t say anything.”

Ralph had ridden the bicycle back to the farm in quick time and when Wayne returned he had up-ended the machine and was greasing everything that squeaked or turned. Even the frame was washed and appearing new.

“Does it ride okay?” Wayne asked while inspecting his workmanship.

“Like new mate but squeaked all the way home.” Ralph answered proudly then mounting the seat rode it to the front gate and returned along the gravel pathway. “Doesn’t squeak now.” He declared.

“So you can ride a bicycle, I forgot to ask.”

“I had one once but it was sold for grog.”

“Who did that your father?”

“No he gave it to me before he died. It was the new bloke that shacked up with my mother.”

“I will have to return to Cairns tomorrow and I want you to keep in contact with me as I’m somewhat worried what the Iti will do when he realises the farm isn’t for sale.” Wayne went to his car and returned carrying a small box and placed it on the step close to where Ralph was working on the bicycle.

“I saw him as I rode home.”

“Did he say anything?”

“No but one of his sons pointed a stick at me and cried bang.”

“I don’t like the sound of that.” Wayne answered.

“I wouldn’t worry they all laughed, I guess it was only to appease their old man.” Ralph assured.

“Still you be careful and let me know if they approach you.”

“If anything happens I’ll write you a letter.” Ralph promised with his concentration remaining on the framework of the bicycle, he wasn’t yet satisfied with the balance of the rear wheel.

“I am going to have the telephone reconnected to the house but it may take some time.” Wayne said.

“Don’t need it, who am I going to call? Besides I’ll write and the post box is only down the road at the junction.

“I thought that would be your answer.” Wayne passed the box across to Ralph who accepted it with inquisitive interest.

“What is it?”

“It’s a mobile telephone, I have charged it and it’s ready to use. Have you ever used one?” Wayne asked.

“Once, when I had to contact your aunt and was on the Tully road, a traveller lent me his.” Ralph removed the instrument from its box listened for the dial tone then after placing it back in its box, returned it to Wayne.

“Don’t need it.” He declared, his manner somewhat irritated at the thought of charity.

“It’s not for you but for me – if I have to contact you about anything, I can’t keep driving down when I have the need.”

Ralph made a dissatisfied ‘huh’ sound then reluctantly accepted the telephone.

“Do you know how to recharge it?” Wayne asked.

“I’ll read the instructions.” Ralph declared cheekily.

“Alright then, it is fully charged, so keep it that way until the land line has been reconnected and contact me with the number once it is done.”

“Yes boss.” Ralph grinned.

That night when the two were relaxing on the front verandah, Wayne heard his mobile telephone ring. He had left it in his bedroom and took more that his usual time to answer it.

“Louise I was going to ring you in a little while.” Wayne spoke softly into the phone.

“I promise I was.” He guaranteed.

“Whose there with you?” She asked suspiciously.

“No one only Ralph, the kid who is looking after the property.”

“When are you returning lover, I’m missing you.” She declared while applying all her feminine charm.

“Tomorrow morning, I miss you too.” Wayne answered but on doing so realised that he had become so engrossed with setting Ralph up and exploring the farm he had hardly thought of Louise. Now while talking to her he recognized it was the sex he was missing, not her company and although aroused at the sound of her voice, there was something else, it was more the need for sexual release than her body that was stimulating him. Then he discarded the thought and after a few minutes of repriming their relationship he rang off and returned to the verandah to enjoy the solitude of the night and the company of an almost stranger.

“Was that your girlfriend?” Ralph softly asked.

“Yes it was.”

“What is her name?” Ralph asked.

“Louise.”

“Is she pretty?”

“I think so.”

“Have you been with her long?”

The lad appeared to be clumsy with his approach bringing Wayne to question, “Ralph, have you ever had a girlfriend?”

“Not a girlfriend but friends who were girls.” Ralph gave a wry smile while relating the difference between.

“I am marrying soon.” Wayne answered becoming an addendum to his uncertainty.

“Do you love her?”

“That is a funny question seeing I am to marry.” Wayne frowned.

“Not really, I have known many married people who can’t stand each other.”

“Do you mean your parent’s Ralph?”

Ralph’s voice lowered, “no not my parents but others, after my father died my mother hitched up with a real bastard, again there wasn’t any love there and they married and there was Max and Colleen Tanner.”

“How soon after your father passed did they marry?”

“I suppose I used the terminology loosely, I can’t actually say they married but my mother suggested to do so often enough.”

“Who were Max and Colleen Tanner?”

“Four houses down.”

“Down from where?”

“From my parent’s house, they were childless and in a mid life crisis after only a few years of marriage and had shouting matches that could be heard clearly from four houses away; when they argued mum would send me to bed.”

“Why would she do that?”

“That I could never work out, as the arguing was even clearer from my bedroom.”

“Do you miss your mother?” Wayne asked.

“I dunno, maybe sometimes but I’ve wiped all that from my mind. No good pining over something that can’t be.”

“That is very philosophical of you Ralph.”

“I would say more a way to survive than so.”

“If your stepfather wasn’t around would you return home?” Wayne asked.

“No, there would be too many bad memories.”

“My parents were killed just north of here in a motor accident.” Wayne explained, realising he had not shared that information with anyone in quite some time.

“That is sad, so you are an orphan like me.”

“My grandmother brought me up but she has also died, yet I don’t consider being an orphan; that is for kids. Anyway why do you call yourself an orphan, there’s your mother and stepfather.” Wayne held back on the information Biff had shared relating to the lad’s mother’s demise.

“I guess one could be an orphan with living parents – I am,” Ralph sighed.

“You have had a bad childhood.” Wayne suggested.

“It was great until dad died and in some ways I have enjoyed the solitude of my own company since, although at times it was more than difficult.”

“I guess I’ve asked enough questions.” Wayne apologised.

“No, really it’s alright.”

There was a light shining within the distant forest drawing Wayne attention away from the conversation. Standing and walking to the verandah rail he strained his sight into the darkness. It appeared to be a camp fire. “Do people camp in the forest?” he asked.

“Not that I have noticed but I have been told sometimes the blacks from Yarrabah come down and have drinking sessions in the scrub, or possibly the Iti brothers hunting pigs and shooting anything that moves or doesn’t.” Ralph suggested.

“Do the Iti’s do much shooting around the farm?” Wayne asked, remembering what Ralph had told him regarding one of the brother’s pointing a stick at him as if it were a rifle.

“Sometimes they treat it as a freeway and their dogs are always around but they don’t appear dangerous,” Ralph admitted.

“That part of the forest is McBride land isn’t it?” Wayne nodded into the darkness towards the speck of light in the scrub.

“Yes and no, your aunt told me the land is on title and held in trust for the natives.”

“What was that all about?” Wayne asked believing it a strange way to do business.

“I don’t rightly know, I guess it was something her great uncle arranged around a hundred years ago.”

“Yes the solicitor did say something about it at the reading of Grace’s will. Do the blacks often come down here?”

“I’ve never actually seen them, only heard them but I do remember some calling in to talk to Grace.” Ralph admitted.

“Do you want another beer?” Wayne offered.

“I’ve had one, that’s enough, as I said I can’t hold my booze,” Ralph watched Wayne as he poured another scotch; “I don’t know how you can drink that stuff.”

“I’ve known you to take a nip on the occasion.” Wayne said.

“In water but not straight like that.”

“I prefer rum.” Wayne admitted.

“So why drink scotch?”

“I guess I grew into it but only top shelf, kinder on the gut,” Wayne admitted while releasing the smirk of memory, “when I was in my early high school years and living with my Uncle Trevor in Mareeba, me and his son James would get into his cheap rot-gut and replace it with water,” another happy memory, “James was caught and got a belting, it was about the only time I got away with anything,” Wayne paused as memory progress, “well not totally, James gave me a thick ear later for letting him take all the blame and Trevor made him drink a full glass as punishment.”

“What happened to James?”

“He threw it back as if it were water,” Wayne became most animated by his telling.

“And?”

“He went green, then red and chucked the lot over his family’s new blue corduroy couch, scotch, pizza, coke and chocolate ice-cream, it was a right flaming mess – talk about a technicolour chuck.”

“My mother’s new bloke drank scotch; it made his face go red and turned him into a right dog.” Ralph gave a shudder.

“Don’t worry I won’t turn into a dog.” Wayne laughed.

“Did you hear that?” Ralph asked, straining an ear towards the night.

“I heard something; it sounded like a rusty cackle.”

“It’s a Tawney Frogmouth; I haven’t heard one around these parts before, they also have a call like a vehicle reversing.”

“What’s a Tawney Frogmouth when it’s at home?”

“Most people believe it to be an owl but they are actually a Podargus – you know during the day it can sit on a tree branch and unless it chances to move you wouldn’t know the bird there, you would think it was part of the branch.” Ralph explained with pride towards his ability to share such knowledge.

“What’s a Podargus?”

“It is a nocturnal bird with owl like characteristics; the species is only found in Australia and New Guinea.”

“Do you like birds?”

“Not so much like but when you travel and live in the bush you sorta become part of it all, their calls become your music, their antics your television.

During a lull in the conversation Wayne studied Ralph’s character as the lad settled at distance in his chair, his mind apparently vacant and his gaze across the darkness. Ralph appeared calm as if he never had a care in his youthful life. Wayne also found him handsome in a boyish way, even striking and with the thought came another, he felt attracted to Ralph but not sexually, he quickly assured himself of that, while developing a growing need to protect him.

“What did you think of meeting up with Biff again?” Wayne asked in attempt to disengage his developing emotion.

“I like Biff.” Ralph simply answered but there was reservation in his tone.

“Do you remember her when you were a kid?”

“I remember there was someone and in my mind I can see a figure of a woman, I can see a house, a room but not her face,” he paused and smiled, “furniture polish,” he said.

“What do you mean furniture polish?” Wayne asked.

“The house smelt of furniture polish, I had forgotten that. It had a wonderful smell of linseed oil and pine forest.”

“Does your meeting her again worry you?”

“Not worry as such but I am afraid she may tell my mother where I am.” Ralph gave a long sigh, “or more to the point the dog my mother lives with.”

“You said you were past eighteen, so no one can make you do what you don’t wish to do.”

“Maybe so but I don’t want anyone knowing where I am.”

“Biff wouldn’t tell anyone.” Wayne assured and was prepared to relate the death of Ralph’s mother but thought better of doing so, believing it would be best to leave it to Biff.

“I guess some people let things slip in conversation.” Ralph suggested.

“I don’t think there is any fear of Biff doing that.”

“Maybe not but, well she knows now so I’ll have to wear it.” Ralph answered and gave an obvious shrug away from the thought.

“What are your future aspirations?” Wayne asked.

“In what way?”

Wayne thought for a moment before continuing, “I guess I mean work, maybe a trade or starting a future family,” Wayne suggested, “what about education?” he placed as a further thought.

“I went to the school of hard knocks but I learn a lot from talking to people and from books. I pick things up quickly and I’m good with my hands.” Ralph proudly admitted while holding his hands aloft, turning them about and smiling at his attitude to life.

“And work?”

“Dunno, I once knew this old codger back in Balgal Beach and he said as a kid people would ask him that very question.”

“And,” Wayne cut in.

“And he said, as a kid he had no idea what he wanted to be.”

“And,” Wayne again asked.

“And at seventy plus he still had no idea what he wanted to be, he had worked on cattle stations, cutting cane, a ganger on the railways even in a department store and still remained clueless to his aspirations. I guess I’m a little like that old codger and like him, time will look after it all.”

“What about starting a family?” Wayne persisted.

“I’ve never met anyone who came close to my idea of a human being, maybe I’ll stay single that way no one is hurt.

Wayne made an ironic huh and yawned, “I think I’ll turn in, I have to drive back to Cairns early in the morning.”

“Do you have a house in Cairns?” Ralph asked.

“I have a high rise unit on the beach front, well when I say high rise, it is the second floor of four but the blocks on either side are much higher. It looks out over Trinity bay towards Green Island.” Wayne explained while attempting not to appear to be bragging.

“That sounds nice,” Ralph admitted without conviction, being the closest Wayne was going to receive as a complement.

“To be honest I never thought of it as nice, only convenient. Have you been to Cairns?”

“No I’ve only travelled between Townsville and here but I guess Cairns is similar to Townsville.”

“In size maybe but more tropical, Townsville is dryer and the tall mountains behind Cairns are a pleasant green backdrop, while the Barron River divides the city from most of the resort towns to the north.”

“That sounds like a travel advertisement.” Ralph laughed.

“I suppose it does.”

“I don’t think I would like to live in Cairns.” Ralph’s words came more as a rhetorical conclusion than a statement.

“Where would you like to live?” Wayne asked.

“I like living here but like most things,” Ralph paused realising his life was in flux and at anytime he could be once again on the road, ever searching for quietude away from the demands of society. He continued; “any place where there is open space and good air.”

“That is a simple enough requirement.”

“I guess it’s easier that way, property and wealth can drag you down.”

“I have seen it happen so,” Wayne agreed.

“Does Louise live with you?” Ralph asked.

“She visits a lot, I’m off to bed.”

“If you don’t mind, I’ll stay out here for a while.”

“Goodnight Ralph.”

“Sure Wayne, I’ll see you in the morning and thank you for the mobile telephone.”

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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