Published: 13 May 2024

The painter’s visit to Axel’s hut would be brief as Joshua was on his way down to Sydney to meet the ship that was to take him to his brother in New Zealand then by the following Christmas possibly finding his way back to England. During the second day of the visit, Joshua was introduced to the blacks although the introduction was by sight only, as the women striped away the last of the maize crop.

“You allow them to steal your crop?” Joshua curiously asks while listening to the women’s chatter.

“It isn’t my crop.”

“If it isn’t yours, whose is it?”

“It belonged to a man named Wilson but he is now dead,” Axel points to the mound of earth at the far end of the clearing that is Wilson’s grave.

“Yes I remember you saying, even so if you now live here, the crop is your’s by proxy.”

“By proxy Joshua?”

“It means yours by adverse possession. You now have the hut therefore Wilson’s crop is also yours.”

“I don’t own the hut. The natives simply allow me to live in it.” Axel gives the women a wave but they ignore his gesture. Soon the women have collected all they can carry, “I consider it rent for allowing me to live here.”

“I must admit they are a striking people and while I am visiting I would love to sketch some of them.”

“That I must warn against.”

“Why so?”

“Some of their people believe to draw their likeness is as if you are stealing their soul, many don’t even mention the names of their dead.”

Joshua appears puzzled, “I had seen painting of Botany Bay natives in London.”

“As I said some; it is possible for traditions to vary from one side of a creek to the other. One group will believe in good water spirits, while their neighbours will say the spirits are evil. The only thing the natives collectively agree to is they want us gone.”

“Then they aren’t all the same nation and people?”

“In blood I would say they are but not in mind, between Sydney and the Blue Mountains there are a number of tribes and each tribe has many clans. On the occasion they stop fighting with us to fight each other. It is my opinion they aren’t a nation but a conglobation of waring tribes.”

Joshua gives a wry smile.

“What?”

“Who is using big words now?”

“I am only repeating what a good friend once suggested.”

“I understand what you are inferring, although I must admit I find the natives a little Confusing,” Joshua declares as the last of the native women leave. One young woman turns and gives Axel a cheeky wave. He waves back.

“I think you’ve won a heart there,” Joshua confesses.

Joshua had been enjoying Axel’s hospitality for a number of days and as his departure was pending he thought he would do some sketches of the bushland about the hut then colour his work by memory at a later time from tester mixes of paint he would apply to a scrap of paper. He found a comfortable position close by the creek while remaining close to the hut, as he hadn’t as yet built Axel’s courage to trust the natives.

“Ummm,” Joshua utters as he tries to imagine the paint mix needed to suit the bush surroundings.

‘It’s the light.’

‘It is so different here.’

‘Not soft like it is at home.’

‘And the foliage.’

‘It is more umber and a softer green, almost a silvery green – and a blue haze for the mountains.’ He smiles as they are known as the Blue Mountains and now he understands why they are called blue.

‘A lighter touch to the canvas may do – and that sky, I will need to do some experimenting.’

While sketching Joshua could hear the thud of the axe as Axel chopped wood for the cooking fire. He is lost in his thoughts when there is a shadow over his right shoulder, being too imminent to be a cloud across the morning sun.

Joshua jumps at the intrusion. “Oh!” he cries and drops his charcoal stick, discovering a tall well armed black man and so close they could reach out and touch each other.

“Axel I need you here!” Joshua cries out in alarm.

The chopping stops and Axel quickly approaches.

“What should I do?” Joshua nervously asks.

“For one thing don’t offer him alcohol, otherwise don’t be concern it is Warrin, I think he is friendly enough.”

“You think?”

“Well you never know – do you?”

On hearing his name mentioned the black man is grinning and points to his chest, “Warrin,” he says; “Warrin,” he proudly repeats.

“Tell him your name,” Axel suggests.

Joshua follows the black man’s lead and pointing to his own body says, “Joshua,”

“Oshwa,” the black man says and laughs.

“Don’t correct him or you will be there all day,” Axel warns.

“Oshwa got grog,” Warrin demands. The smile has now gone from his face.

Axel cuts across the exchange and attempts the local dialogue, it seems to work.

“Oshwa got grog,” Warrin again demands.

“Saal no drink grog, no got grog,” Axel again attempts language and appears to hit the correct note. The black man then points towards what Joshua is sketching and speaks in language.

“What does he want now?” Joshua asks.

“From my little understanding of his dialogue, he wants you to sketch him.”

“I thought that was not possible.”

“As I said some do some don’t, besides by Warrin’s understanding of a little English he had been around our lot for a while and has more than likely seen portraits; if you don’t wish to offend him I’d give it a go.”

Joshua takes a fresh sheet of paper and commences to copy the black man’s image. Being a skilled portrait painter he had conjured a fair likeness with a few lines in a matter of minutes. He shows his work to Warrin.

“Me Warrin;” the black man laughs as Joshua commences to place the sketch with others for further working at a later time.

“He appears to know quite a lot of English,” Joshua says.

“A few live in Sydney but not permanently, they like to go walk-about. The first Governor built a hut for a Wangal man named Bennelong but other than showing it off to his mob, he seldom used it.”

The black man is now shouting and stamping a foot upon the ground.

“What have I done?” Joshua asks.

“Best you give the sketch to him.”

“Why, what would he do with it?”

“Show it to his mates but if you keep the drawing it may be like keeping his spirit.”

Joshua passes the drawing to Warrin who is now laughing and with the sketch he quickly returns back into the forest.

“He is a jolly soul but I’m confused, how do you remember all their little ways?”

“Trial and error, unlike most of us, I listen to what they have to say and don’t simply tell them what to do. When we Europeans first arrived the natives believed we were the ghosts of their dead. Since then they mostly think we should go back where we came from and at every opportunity they shout that at us. I find many are intrigued with my hair, possibly it is to do with their dreaming and someone or something that gave them fire.”

“I must admit your hair is different, I would suggest more polished copper than red and I had a right bother mixing for its shade. I believe there is a lot to learn about the savages.”

“It is true they are different but never savages and there is thousands of years of survival locked up in their heads. We could all be better off with one tenth of what they know.” Axel gives a wry smile, “then again they are prone to change when it suits them and they are brazen liars.”

Over the short stay Joshua had made many rough sketches of the hut, creek and the scrub to be finished during the sea voyage to New Zealand. He loved the native trees, they like the people who populated the vast continent, seemed to struggle to stay alive, taking what little nutrient there was from the ancient soil but in doing so showed great strength and beauty.

During an early morning session as Joshua wished to catch the mist while it still hugged the ground he was once again interrupted by Warrin. This time he wasn’t alone but had a young almost naked woman with him. Without hesitation Warrin approached and made demands in language.

“Axel I need you here; quickly,” Joshua nervously calls.

Axel was emptying the meal scraps onto his vegetable patch when he hears the cry and is soon close by.

“What is Warrin saying?” Joshua’s tone is low and shaking.

Axel laughs.

“Please share your humour.”

“He only wishes for you to sketch his sister.”

“That is a relief; I thought he may be offering her to me.”

After a quick, nervous session the sketch is done and Joshua passes the drawing to Warrin, who shows it to the woman. Warrin appears happy with the result but the young woman is most unhappy and snatches the drawing from her brother’s grasp, bringing Warrin to strikes her across the face. The woman stops her rage and turns towards the forest, quickly Warrin is following and by his tone is apologising.

“I don’t think she liked it,” Joshua says.

“I think Warrin has performed a no-no.”

“What do you mean?”

“Possibly he has crossed the divide between men and women’s business. There are things men cannot see and things women cannot see.”

“And what would they have been?” Joshua’s English brain could not find reason in the encounter.

“I can only imagine but it is possible by you sketching his sister and Warrin seeing it, he has peered into her soul and that is a place no man, black or white, is allowed to look.”

“I hope I haven’t upset them too much, I wouldn’t want them bringing their mates back in revenge.”

“I wouldn’t think so, as from what I have come to understand of Warrin he’s a loner, I never seen him hunting with his mob. There is something strange about Warrin and as yet I haven’t been able to work it out.”

“Do you mean crazed?”

“Not so, simply different.”

During the afternoon and towards dusk a number of native women return to dig for Murnong yams that are ready for harvesting at the end of Wilson’s vegetable patch. This time the women showed respect towards Axel’s crop of potatoes, giving him further confidence they were accepting his presence. While digging and chatting like noisy parrots in callistemon bloom, Axel takes notices of one of the women and calls Joshua.

“Your woman is back.”

“Who?”

“The one you sketched.”

On seeing Joshua the woman takes the crumpled sketch from her carrying dilly-bag and shows it to the others. There are three of them. She then points towards Joshua.

Axel is grinning, “I’d get you charcoal read, I think you are about to get some more practice.”

Once Warrin’s sister had recognised Joshua the digging halts and she gives her associates courage to approach, and without fear they do so. Warrin’s sister holds up her soiled and crumpled likeness and points to her compatriots.

“Should I?” Joshua asks.

“If you don’t wish to offend them – yes.”

“I thought the natives were more reserved than this.”

“It depends, if they have been exposed to our ways they can be more accepting but only at their invitation. You’re lucky one of them hasn’t offered you more than to sit for you.”

“What does that mean Axel?”

“Haven’t you seen the number of half colour kids about?”

Joshua commences sketching as the women chatter; he has difficulty keeping them still long enough to sketch. In the most their conversation appears to be related to Joshua’s person and not his profession. One tugs at his shirt tail another is pointing towards his private area and laughing. He ignores their obvious innuendos and has soon finished the sketching. The women accept their charcoal portraits and without complement or appreciation are back chatting and digging for Murnong yams then with enough in their dilly-bags, along with their sketches they are gone without even a wave of appreciation.

“I hope that doesn’t bring the rest of their lot as I’m almost out of paper,” Joshua admits.

“You and me both, once the paper is gone they may want more and sometimes help themselves to whatever is about.”

Joshua gives a cold shudder, “as long as it’s not our lives.”

“I think if that was so, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”

Two more days pass without a repeat of the sketching session, Warrin is spied down by the creek fishing for yabbies and long neck turtles but there hadn’t been any repeat from the women. When questioned why they hadn’t returned to dig their Murnong, Axel suggest they may have taken as much as the patch could supply for the season, leaving what remained to multiply for the next year.

The weather was on the change with the night’s turning cold. During Joshua’s visit Axel was more than grateful to have a warm body to cuddle into although he realised their time together was drawing to an end. Soon Joshua would need to return his borrowed horse and take passage to New Zealand, so both were finding conversation towards the departure difficult to approach.

With the day’s meal at an end and a storm in progress the two sat before the comfort of the fire. Joshua was quieter than usual and had been within his own thoughts for most of the day. Outside the wind strengthen and with it came a heavy rain shower.

“It is well we fixed the roofing,” Joshua suggests and glances up to where the leak had been.

“Or to be truthful you fixed the roof, I simply did your bidding as your go-for’, I must admit I was surprised with your skill.”

“My father is a carpenter in the county and has built many fine houses for the gentry in my home town of Tonbridge.”

“Where is Tonbridge?”

“It is in Kent and south of London.”

Axel gives a nod as if he is in agreement.

Joshua releases a happy smile, “be honest Axel, you haven’t a clue – have you?”

“No,” he honestly answers.

“That isn’t your fault. Would you like to visit England?’

“Again no.”

“That sounds most definite.”

“Your father is a builder of fine houses and you a painter. I would say there is a vast difference in skills needed.”

“Not really, to build or to paint you need preparation and a good knowledge of structure, also humanity is in need of beauty as well as a dry bed, besides I am also a qualified carpenter but I prefer to travel and paint.”

“I guess so, as somewhere dry to hang the art is more than handy.”

“Too true,” Joshua simply replies.

The wind picks up and the slab door is banging on its cord hold, the cord comes undone and Axel goes to close it with a cross beam.

“I could fix that door,” Joshua says.

“You could but I think there is more on your mind than fixing a door.”

“True lad and it is something I am finding difficult to discuss.”

“Would that be your departure?”

The wind dies and the rain starts in earnest.

They may have fixed the roof but had missed a drizzle down the chimney stand. It is small and not protrusive. The leak finds its way out through a narrow gap between the chimney and the connecting wall.

Joshua’s tone is low and distant, “I’ll have to be on my way soon.”

“How soon will that be?”

“A matter of days but I have become so accustomed to being with you, if it wasn’t for promising my brother, I would stay.”

“No you made a promise and must keep it.”

“What about you Axel, what will you do?”

“My life will be as it was. I would say not with civilization or against it. I have been sitting on the fence for so long; I wouldn’t know how to cross to either side.”

“I could have you come with me.”

“I would think not, I was born in a ship during a dreadful storm and don’t wish to go to my demise in one. My feet are well rooted to the dirt, even if it is native dirt.”

“I may not return to England after visiting my brother,” Joshua wishfully suggests but lacking certainty.

“Why is that so?”

“I think I’ve lost interest in the old world, you have shown me something here that is much more exciting than anything London’s society has to offer.”

“I like that,” Axel says. What he wished to say is he had fallen for his painter but restrictions on that admittance were too great almost even to think of it.

“Instead of returning to England I could return here.”

“I would also like that.”

“If you moved from the hut how would I find you?” Joshua asks.

“I would leave my presence with the local magistrate.”

Outside all is now quiet, the rain had shifted towards the mountains and the fire in the hearth is burning low. Axel gives a prodding to the embers and little fire devils jump along an unburned log, sending magical shadows in dance about the room.

“My ship departs next Friday,” Joshua informs.

“Friday you say.”

“Yes why do you question the day?”

“Don’t sailors consider it bad luck to sail on a Friday?”

“Some may but if you go through any port’s logbook you will find many have departed on a Friday and have reached their destination – are you superstitious Axel?”

“No, not at all.”

“Good as I wouldn’t want you concerning for my safety.”

“I think I will always wonder.”

There is scratching at the door, eyes turn towards the sound.

“Are you expecting anyone?” Joshua asks.

“No and especially anyone who has to scratch like some animal rather than knock, I better take a look.”

“Take you gun,”

Instead Axel collects a long piece of firewood as he cautiously approaches the door, “who is it?” he softly calls through the door.

The scratching stops as Joshua comes with the lamp. Axel holds high the branch then quickly pulls the door open and loudly shouts.

A dog is discovered in the lamplight, hearing Axel’s threatening shout it bolts back into the scrub.

“Bugger,” Axel growls.

“What’s the problem?”

“That was Wilson’s dog and I’ve been trying to befriend it since I arrived and now I’ve probably scared it away permanently.”

“What kind of dog is it?”

“It’s a native dingo and from what Wilson told me during a rare moment of conversation, he raised it from a pup he found in the scrub.”

“It is a handsome dog although it looks like it could do with a good feed.”

“Dingos are usually excellent hunters but as Wilson had it from a pup it may not have learned hunting skills. I’ll leave some meat out for it, possibly it will return later.”

“If it comes back will you keep it?”

Yes, that is if it will accept me.” Axel fetches a chunk of meat and leaves it outside the door, “Hey I thought of something,” Axel becomes animated as the rain returns, heavy drops can be heard on the roof, falling as a multitude of dull thuds on the bark covering.

“Go on,”

“The night is cold, the fire low, how about we go somewhere warm.”

“Why not.”

There was one day remaining before Joshua must leave for Sydney, one evening to spend beside the fire, a single night to enjoy the warmth of Axel’s bed. During the late afternoon Warrin comes by but remains at distance, both waved to him and although it was obvious he sees their gesture he remains unresponsive. Axel passes away the native’s ignorance by simply suggesting Warrin is a strange man at the best of times. Even so Joshua relates his concern from Axel living among people who could easily turn on him at will but there were pressing issues at hand and the sadness of the pending separation had to be governed by loyalty to his brother in New Zealand.

It was Joshua’s final day and during the gathering of the evening’s firewood he has a thought, “you said you can read and write?” Joshua asks as he dumps the wood into the kindling box by the hearth.

“I can as long as I don’t have to spell out all those big words you keep using.”

“Therefore you could write to me in New Zealand.”

“I could if I knew your location.”

“I’ll write it down but what of you? I can’t write to the hut somewhere off the Parramatta road and you say your trips to Sydney are infrequent.”

“You could write care of Rosie Craddock’s Store in Rose Hill, I get my supplies there.”

“Then that’s settled,” Joshua tares a scrap of paper from the bottom of one of his preliminary sketches and jots down his brother’s location at Lower Hutt,” he offers up the scrap, “but let me write to you first once I have settled.”

Axel secures the address in a dry place as Joshua retrieves something from a travelling bag, as most of his belonging had already been sent ahead to meet the ship.

“What have you there?”

“Something I wish you to keep.” Joshua unrolls a canvas.

“It’s the painting you did of me.”

“It is a copy as I will always cherish the original. I thought you may like to keep it.”

“Yes, it will remind me of you. Tis’ a pity you didn’t do one of yourself.”

“I did try but couldn’t get the hang of using a mirror. It’s to do with the reverse image.”

“It doesn’t matter as I will hold your image in my head.”

“I never did get to finish building that kitchen hutch I promised,” Joshua apologises.

“No worries with the table, chairs and bed you did more than enough and I’m thankful for your skill in woodwork.”

Joshua laughs; “and I did fix that wonky shelf you put up.”

“That you did.”

“I’ve grown to love you little hut.”

“Wouldn’t you miss your grand mansions?”

Joshua gives a nondescript sound but doesn’t answer.

During the late afternoon, as the sun dipped beyond the tall forest trees setting their canopies afire in orange and red, a number of native women passed beyond the now depleted maize crop. One of the women diverts to the crop becoming quite animated on finding the last two cobs. She quickly joined the group and without acknowledging either Joshua or Axel they go from sight towards the creek.

“Funny that,” Joshua says.

“Pray tell.”

“Sorry it was more a thought. I was thinking it strange how they were all friendly only a few days earlier now it is as if we don’t exist.”

“In my opinion it is better that way.”

“I have another thought. How would you like to come down to Sydney and see me off? We could take a hotel room for the night.”

“It would be better to say our farewells from here. I don’t believe I could abide watching you go on board. It would be as if you were being swallowed up by the ship and you know my opinion of ships.”

“Wouldn’t you feel much the same from here?” Joshua asks.

“I would rather the trees took you away than some ship. From here I could look into the trees following the path out and in my mind see you once again and imagine it is you returning.”

“Then let us enjoy tonight and not think of 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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