Published: 9 Sep 2024

Working on widening the track to the boy’s headwater selection was found easier than what was at first envisaged. Commencing at the creek they had a mile or so completed within half the first morning, then the track was blocked with a grove of tall trees, giving only enough room for walking. The problem was quickly solved by skirting around the grove before again returning to the original track.

The next section gave a more imposing problem; firstly there was a native canoe tree, its bark cut away many years previously and by the attention it received would be considered sacred to the natives. To skirt around the tree, they would need to remove a number of large rocks that had obviously been placed on purpose and in some way related to the tree.

Axel is standing, hands on hips surveying the problem, “what do you think?” he asks.

“The tree is much too big to remove; besides we don’t have tools to grub out the roots, I would suggest removing the rocks but I believe I know what your reply will be.”

“Yes we can’t fell the tree and we can’t shift the rocks, or we will upset the Bedigal.”

“Why not go along the creek bank, it appears solid enough and there is plenty of room.”

“If we go that way it will flood during the wet.”

“Would that matter?”

“It would if we need to go for supplies.”

“I thought you said in future we could go directly from the new selection towards Parramatta and not come back this way?”

“It slipped my mind, once again Daniel I bow to your better judgement.”

So the track was to be a rerouting along the creek bank and by late afternoon of the second day, being halfway to their destination they returned home tired and hungry. First to meet their arrival was Ding but after a short howdy and a free meal he was gone. What was worrying, there wasn’t any sight of Miro, “Axel gives a loud coo-ee but Miro’s usual answer is lacking. Alarm commences to build although on inspection the garden is fine and Patch happy in her yarding.

“Where can the little bugger be?” Axel exclaims as they investigate for any signs of trouble. Another loud coo-ee and the only response is the screeching of a large flock cockatoo parrots that for entertainment were destroying the foliage of a nearby Scribbly Gum, the leaves falling like green snow to cover the ground. Axel’s eyes are on the birds, “we will need to keep an eye on them,” he admits.

“Why so?”

“As the corn ears form they will be onto them in an instant and from what I have heard, a large flock like that can strip a field in minutes and they can be destructive little buggers chewing at anything they come across for entertainment. They especially like red ceder window frames.”

“If Miro has gone and we are working on the track, keeping a lookout for the parrots won’t be possible.”

“I think we have a number of weeks before we need to worry about the corn.”

After satisfying all was as it should be Daniel set about preparing the evening meal, while Axel explored for anything that may give reason for Miro’s disappearance. He did discover two sets of footprints leading towards the creek and by his estimation they were fresh, possibly no more than a day old. Immediately he recognised the slight drag of one of the prints being that of Warrin caused from an accident when he was a youth.

The footprints led to towards the creek, and at the crossover became lost in the leaf litter.

Axel returns to the hut

“Did you find any trace of Miro?”

“No trace of Miro, I would say he is with Warrin as I saw both their tracks leading across the creek.”

“Do you think he is gone for good?”

“From what I know of Warrin, I would think not, as Warrin is somewhat a loner.”

“We need to set out again in the morning, should we take Patch this time?”

“That may be a wise suggestion and best be up at first light for watering before we leave.”

By early evening Miro remained elusive and there is doubt on him returning, more so from Daniel but if the lad had decided to go with Warrin, he hoped Miro wasn’t coerced into anything against his nature.

There is a hopeful sound outside the hut but discovered to be Ding returning for his dinner. Once the dog had eaten he wished to be gone once more.

“All I am is a doorman for that dog,” Axel grumbles as he opens the door.

Ding powers through without the slightest display of gratitude.

“He is a strange animal being neither domesticated nor wild, I wonder if he will follow when we leave?”

Daniel is seated by the fire his thoughts appear lost in the flickering fire-devils as they dance along a red gum log before bursting into radiated heat, making him move further away. “Hot,” he says as if to give reason for his sudden movement.

From his seat at the table Axel is watching Daniel. He loved doing so as his friend wore his moods so openly. Axel thinks of Joshua while attempting to cast memory of his painter’s image onto the inward eye; there is nothing. He closes his eyes and can only see Daniel. He reopens his eyes, ‘am I falling in love with Daniel?’ he gives a slight shudder, as by Daniel’s decree that was not an option. He remembers Joshua’s final words when asked if he would return and all the painter promised was the future would look after itself. He recollects his letter from Joshua, which gave some assurance. Now he feared he no longer wish for his Painter’s return. His eyes are on Joshua’s painting as Daniel had hung it proudly over the fireplace. Soot had taken away its freshness and like the soot, time was taking away Axel’s feelings for Joshua. He kills the thought with a question to Daniel, “what are you thinking?” he asks.

“The nights remain cold for this time of year and it will soon be Christmas.”

“Christmas is far off and in a while we will have more hot weather than you could wish for.”

“That seems to be the way in this country; a land of drought, floods and fire,” Daniel prophecies. He pauses and gives a light chuckle, “and things that bite and sting.”

Axel laughs; “sometimes all in the one week.”

“True, I was remembering Christmas back home.”

Axel gives a soft huff.

“Have you ever had Christmas?”

“How do you mean?”

“You know; presents and all that go with celebration.”

“With the Reverend it was all church and god, while with Miller – well I don’t need to repeat that. What about you Daniel, what was Christmas to you?”

Daniel smiles as he winds back the years to happy times with family, “we were poor but it was one day in the year me Da’ never let us go without. Before we went to live in London there would be roasted chestnuts collected from the trees on the village green, there would be rabbit in the pot, poached from the lord’s estate and mother would decorate with bows made from rags and old newspaper. On Christmas Eve we would sit beside the fire and sing while the first snow of winter scurried about.”

“What about presents.”

“Na’ no presents except those we kids made for each other, instead we would dream about what surprises the children at the manor would receive and Da’ would make promise that one day we would live in London and be wealthy.”

“You did live in London.”

“Yes but never wealthy. It was London that brought about our downfall. Dad would always be away working as we couldn’t afford to have another home to feed.”

“Snow,” Axel vacantly says.

“Have you seen snow?”

“A couple of times while on a hunting expeditions with Jock up in the mountains but it was higher up and we didn’t go there. Jock said it was piss-poor compared with what they got in his Scottish Highlands.”

“When we lived in Devon the snow would be so deep on the ground, you needed to wear special boots made from platted twig, with the pond frozen solid where the rich kids would skate on the ice.”

“Did you skate on the ice?”

“On our backsides and got into trouble for wearing out our trousers.”

“I’ve never seen ice,” Axel admits.

“I better clear up and we should ready for an early start tomorrow.”

Axel remains in thought, “I was trying to imagine our new hut.”

“You said house.”

“Yes house. What do you suggest?”

“Whatever; no dirt floor.”

Axel laughs, “I am remembering something you once said.”

“Go on remind me.”

“When I said Joshua wouldn’t wish to live in a hut with dirt floors, you said you could.”

“Did I say that?”

“You did, what did you mean by it?”

“I’m living with a dirt floor – aint’ I?”

Axel doesn’t push for further clarification and simply says “bedtime.”

Daniel is giving a quizzical look.

“What is that look about?”

“Yes bed and I’m in the mood for more,” Daniel agrees.

It was an unusual restless night for Axel, firstly he concerned for the work ahead. They had discovered there was only one real obstacle remaining and that would take most of their effort and imagination. Then there was Miro. It didn’t distress if the lad had gone with Warrin, only their clans were not on the best terms and he could be done an injury.

Twice during the night Axel had to leave the warmth of bed and Daniel’s body, the first time was to let Ding in and the second to let him out. On returning to bed he lifts the covers, Daniel is curled like a little boy in innocence and in progress of a lad’s many night’s erections. Axel takes a deep silent breath, ‘I could love you Daniel, if you would let me.’ He climbs back beside Daniel and cuddles into his back. In his sleep Daniel accepts the cuddle.

“Those bloody Kookaburras, don’t they ever sleep,” Daniel is awake and quickly pulls on his pants, “come on sleepy, we have watering to do before we leave.”

“A few more minutes.”

Daniel lifts the covers and slaps Axel’s bare arse.

“Ouch!”

“It was hardly a touch.”

Axel rolls onto his back, “do you want to?”

“Do I want to do what?”

“You know,” Axel nods towards his rising member.

“We haven’t the time – come on.”

“It would only take a couple of minutes.”

“Come on we’ve work to do before leaving.”

There is a sound coming from outside, “it must be Ding,” Daniel suggests.

“Don’t tell me about it. I had to let him in and out last night. We should simply leave the door open like we used to.”

“I don’t like doing that.”

“And why?”

“It’s only a few slabs of timber but when it is closed I feel safer.” Daniel admits as he opens the door but instead of finding the Ding he finds Miro returned and busy watering the garden. “Axel,” he calls.

“What! Don’t push me I’m almost ready.”

“Miro is back and doing the watering.”

As Miro passes with his buckets Daniel calls his name.

The lad approaches, “Miro do watering – Miro look after garden.”

“Where have you been?”

“Miro do watering,” he holds up the buckets as he continues towards the creek while mumbling in language.

Axel comes from behind and rests his chin on Daniel’s shoulder, “what did he say?”

“I think he said he would do the watering.”

“Did you ask where he has been?”

“He simply repeated he would do watering and broke into his usual gibberish. Do you think we can still trust him?”

“I believe we can, or he wouldn’t be back watering.”

With Miro returned the boys could delay their departure and while making ready Axel again tried to establish why the lad was missing but Miro wasn’t responsive.

“Did you see Warrin while we were away?” he asks.

Miro remains evasive, “Miro do watering and look after Patch.”

Axel speaks in Bedigal, “you know you can talk with me or Daniel about anything?”

Miro answers in Kedumba.

“Miro, in English or Bedigal, you know I don’t understand Kedumba.”

The lad simply grins.

“We will be gone two days this time,” Axel holds up two fingers, “two days, understand?”

Miro gives a grin and a head nod.

“So please be careful and if you see Warrin remember his people are not yours.”

By the time the boys are ready to leave it was much later than they desired and on reaching the track’s obstruction, there is only enough daylight to make camp and not put action to the task. While the boys were setting up camp for the night they noticed a native casually walking along the creek bank. It was Warrin and even after calling to him a number of times he appeared reluctant to acknowledge.

With coxing Warrin eventually approaches although he appears most anxious.

“Have you seen Miro?” Axel asks but Warrin mumbles in language, points ahead towards nothing in particular and departs in haste.

“I think something is going on between him and Miro,” Daniel suggests.

“Yes I agree. I do wonder what Warrin is doing so far west in Kedumba territory, although with our lot taking the best hunting land, I would think there has been an imbalance between clans, forcing them all further west.”

“Will that end in tribal war, or will they unite against us?” asks Daniel.

“I would think neither, they have too many traditions and taboo’s that cannot be broken in fear of upsetting the ancestors, besides our coming is something they haven’t had to contend with for thousands of years. From what I’ve heard traditionally if two clans are upset with each other they simply face off and throw a few spears, once someone has a fair injury, they go home and sing about their bravery.”

“As simple as that?”

“I suppose it is better than losing too many of their hunters – but.”

“Huh – go on.”

“A friend Edward Buckley who helped in finding a passage across the mountains once told me that in the past the blacks fort many intertribal wars, often over women and the killings were numerous, sometimes killing everybody they came across.”

“So black or white is no different when it comes to killing.”

“I would say people are the same the world over.”

“My mother’s brother fort in a war,” Daniel says.

“Where?”

“In France and he lost an arm,” Daniel gives a cheeky grin.

“What’s got your funny?”

“He lost more than an arm.”

Axel frowns, “sometimes Daniel getting a story outa’ you, is like having a tooth pulled.”

“I suppose it wasn’t funny but as Uncle Walt isn’t around to hear me speak of it, I can share his misfortune. During the hight of battle a cannon ball took away his left arm at the elbow and a French musket ball passed through his legs taking away his nads and half his pizzle.”

“What are nads?”

“His balls.”

“Ouch!”

“Grandad said that Walt didn’t have much down there to start with and after he had to squat to piss.”

“Was your Uncle Walt married?”

“He was spoken for but when she found out he was missing his wedding tackle she quickly found someone else.”

“I don’t think I’d want to live in England – too many wars.”

“Me Da’ also fort the French when he was fourteen, he was a drummer boy but was never injured.”

“Funny that,” Axel says.

“What is funny?”

“I would say it is more ironical than it is funny. You have so many stories of family, of Christmas and living in London while I have nothing to share.”

“You have much to share about living out here and every day I learn from your experiences. I would say what you have locked up in your head is worth more than I have to offer.”

“Umm.”

“It’s true I’ve learned so much from you and without that I would never have survived.”

“Maybe – but this isn’t getting our night’s camp ready. We have a lot to do in the morning.”

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

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