Published: 28 Nov 2019

On returning home from work Winnie handed Lewis two letters that arrived during the afternoon. The first was from Sarah the second that week and the other from Ian. Lewis opened the letter from Ian, finding it contained information on Ian’s and Liz’s wedding, which was to be scheduled for September the following year. Also Ian wished to know why Lewis hadn’t come down to visit and how he looked forward to a reunion, while the second paragraph brought him much anger. Although Ian had promised Lewis would be best man, Liz had overridden Ian and the privilege was given to her older brother.

What cut deeply into Lewis was Ian gave no apology or explanation. His words came as a matter of fact, as if he hadn’t any recollection of their agreement. Lewis again read Ian’s letter looking for something he may have missed but there was nothing else. He would be invited as one of the crowd, with no recognition of their close friendship and that he could not acknowledge.

That evening in his room and after scanning Ian’s letter for a third time, he screwed it into a paper ball and hurled it at the cardboard box he used as a rubbish bin. The projectile missed the bin, becoming lodged under his wardrobe behind its rear leg.

“You bitch!” Lewis barked as his anger exchanged from Ian to his Cousin Liz. Once again she had demonstrated her disdain for him and once again she savoured victory but with this realisation came another and that was of Ian’s weakness. Surely it was the groom’s prerogative who would be his best man, as it was the bride’s choice for bridesmaid.

With that ponder Lewis collected his car keys and slammed his bedroom door as he departed, completely forgetting the letter from Sarah, which had slipped from the bed between it and the wall.

Lewis found that aimlessly driving was excellent medicine to any discontent he may feel and now with his contentment at zero he headed towards Atherton, his thoughts as dark as the countryside about him. The night enveloped his mood and its consistency was only interrupted by the car’s headlights as they illuminated the ribbon of road ahead. He passed the drive-in theatre without a glance at its programme and then into the dogleg that cross the Railway line without consideration for rail traffic. There was none, the Ravenshoe night goods train had long passed. It wasn’t until he had reached Rocky Creek that he considered a destination and that would be Herberton. On reaching Atherton he redirected towards Yungaburra but before leaving Atherton he had run out of anger and turned for home.

Two days passed before Lewis remembered the second letter and half of another before he found it in the folds of a blanket that had fallen foul of his roughly made bed. Part of Lewis drove him away from opening the letter in pretence he had not received it, as was his intentions towards that from Ian. Eventually curiosity overwhelmed him and with trepidation the perfumed correspondence, bordered with hearts and roses, was opened. Firstly the letter advised Sarah’s pending visit to Cairns and of an interview for entry into a nursing course she had applied for. Reading further it lacked mention of Ian’s engagement but did inform she would be north of Cairns with a friend of the family and there was a spare bed if he would come down for the weekend. Although Lewis thought of not answering Sarah’s letter, eventually did so, agreeing to be with her for the suggested weekend.

Ashley had become Lewis’ last link and confident now that Ian had departed and he visited more frequently, while avoided lengthy encounters or the over participation of alcohol, thus avoiding any of Ashley’s amorous advances. With Ashley there was always suggestion and even the occasional grope but Lewis was gaining expertise in balancing friendship with refusal.

“What do you think?” Lewis asked Ashley as he slowly sipped from his beer glass, again the one with the fornicating frogs, while thinking the brew tasted much better from a glass than from the neck of a bottle.

“You know Lewis you should suck on the neck of the bottle.” Ashley suggest with a grubby grin.

“Why would that be John?”

“It would give you practice to suck on a dick.”

“John that’s disgusting.”

“Only a thought, so continue what is it I should be thinking?”

“Should I go down and visit Sarah in Cairns?”

“That is a good question, what do you think?” Ashley returned the question from the kitchen and a number of newly arrived films on the kitchen table. All were foreign language.

“Yes do you think I should go down?”

There was a long silence then an ‘ummm’ and an ‘ahhh’, followed by a longer pause. “Do you love her?” Ashley finally asked from the doorway, the light behind depicted a greying halo of hair on his head, making him appear more like Friar Tuck than usual.

“Yes,” Lewis answered from his masculinity. He paused; “I dunno” he followed coming from confusion, “to be quite honest Ashley I don’t know what love is.”

“There are words that would make a great song.”

“It’s not funny.”

“Well if you don’t, I think you should let her know and not string her along,” Ashley returned to his latest releases.

“I’ve got some new movies, super eight.”

“Not more Swedish pornography.”

“No but are foreign language, I could put on some porn if you wish.”

“I don’t think so, not in the mood for that kind of thing.”

“What about a mystery.”

“I don’t like subtitles, may as well read the book.”

“You may like this one,” Ashley suggested reaching the last in his new arrivals.

“What is it?”

“It’s a Travel-Logue on California,” Ashley returned to the lounge room holding the reel high for view. Lewis remained impassive.

Feeding the spool into the projector Ashley disregarded Lewis’ negative response and ran the film.

“I don’t know what to do about the wedding either,” Lewis said returning to his conundrum with the wedding invite.

“Go to Cairns with Sarah, tell her how you feel and don’t go to the wedding if doing so will upset you.” Ashley advised sternly as the projectors bright light filled the room and the film whirled into life, sending visions of Disneyland onto the small silver screen on the far wall.

“Maybe you’re right.” Lewis answered and commenced to watch as California danced before him.

“I do know one thing my lad,” Ashley remained serious and over the dialogue of the film he continued, “You will sooner or later have to make up your mind what you are.” His words came sharp and out of character, sounding more like a father advising his son.

“What do you mean by that John?” Lewis asked abruptly, turning in the couch to face Ashley through the dazzling glare of the projector.

“Simply boy, are you straight, gay or bisexual.” Ashley answered in a low calculated tone.

“I’m no poof!” Lewis declared angrily.

“Then stop acting like one,” Ashley turned off the projector and turned on the overhead light, “Listen I love you dearly but there is only so much one can take with you moping around,” he paused, “the truth is you are in love with Ian and acting like a jilted boyfriend,” again Ashley paused then broke the tension, “Herbie would like a cup of tea I think you had enough grog?” Tea was Ashley’s answer to everything and every problem, often saying one could cure the world’s tribulations with a nice cup of tea, if only people would sit long enough to enjoy it. Lewis agreed and placed his half glass of beer to one side. He laughed. “You know you’re not a bad bloke no matter what people say.”

“What do they say?” Ashley asked while returning the film to its box.

“I was fooling – do you know Brian the barman at the Royal.”

“Yes I am familiar with the family and Brian, why?”

“He asked me to approach you about renting Ian’s bungalow.”

“Yes he sort of suggested in passing so the other day.”

“Are you going to let him?”

“I said I would think about it. I don’t believe it would be a good idea, his family is darn right mean and I wouldn’t want to cross any of them, especially his cousin Billy.” Ashley confessed with a measure of trepidation.

“I wouldn’t worry about Billy they hate each other anyway,” Lewis assured as he stood to depart, “I’ll be on my way.”

“Sure you won’t stay for a head job?” Ashley asked, his gaze directed at the crotch of Lewis’ tight jeans.

“Ashley behave, I’m not that kind of boy.”

“That’s what they all say but they always come back for the receipt,” Ashley laughed and threw Lewis a kiss.

“Ashley!”

“I’ll see you out Herbie.” Ashley’s voice changed to radio time as he showed Lewis to the door and bid goodnight.

Lewis had over a week to decide weather he would travel to Cairns and stay with Sarah or not. He had replied in the affirmative on receiving her correspondence but could sham illness or last minute car problems, depending on his mood at the time. As for accommodation the family friend had a small farm on the highway near Yorkeys Knob a short distance north of Cairns and past the airport.

The Knob’s pride was a tin fishing shed, a good sand beach, which Cairns lacked and a stinger net-pool, which may, or may not, keep out the marine stingers and box jellyfish with their six metre or so of menacing tentacles. For sure it didn’t keep out sharks as a camper whose van was parked at the recently opened caravan park discovered early one morning when he was about to take a refreshing swim. There in the pool before him and thrashing for its life was the biggest shark he had ever see. It was in fact the only shark he had seen and the more he told the story the bigger it became. Eventually with much force the shark forced its way out of the pool, while totally destroying it for future use.

Two days before departing, Lewis decided to travel to Cairns and tell Sarah he didn’t love her but wished to remain a friend and maybe they could still go out on the occasion. By the following day his mind had once again changed, possibly he did love her and would like to marry and have her litany of children with strange names.

Lewis always wished to call a son Lachlan, coming about because of a love of history and respects for Lachlan Macquarie an early New South Wales Governor, also the fact it was his own middle name gave him extra reason. As for his wish to marry, that was mostly brought on by Ashley’s comment on his sexuality, bringing necessity to prove he wasn’t gay and that night’s diary entry, written in code of course, declared his heterosexuality and disdain for Ashley’s suggestion.

“Are you going down to Cairns this weekend?” Winnie asked at breakfast.

“Yes I’ll drive down tomorrow night after work and be back on Sunday evening.” Lewis answered from a steaming mug of tea. Finding it too tart he shovelled yet one more spoon of sugar into its grey depths.

“Then you better be careful, I heard on the radio there’s a storm brewing off the coast,” Winnie advised with serious concern.

“She’ll be jake,” Lewis answered confidently as he collected John’s Courier Mail from its fold at the end of the table. There on the back page was the weather map with a cyclonic spiral off the coast. It was far out to sea and heading away from the land. Lewis turned to the sports page finding the cricket scores. “England’s won the Ashes again,” he stated then returned the paper to the table, “that weather’s heading out to sea,” he confessed with buoyancy.

“You can never be sure with cyclones they have a mind of their own.”

Winnie warned. “You should know that, don’t you remember being in a cyclone in Townsville when you were a boy?” Winnie reminded.

“That wasn’t a cyclone, only a big wind.” Lewis boldly corrected, while scanning memory for recollection of the time they were staying on the Townsville foreshore in the Country Women’s Association houses. It wasn’t a strong storm but did considerable damage, while a year or so later the wind returned with all fury completely blowing the C.W.A. houses away. As for storms in the northern tropics most either travelled north or south of Cairns, this Lewis bravely assured but found his mother remained unconvinced.

“Why don’t you go down the following weekend?” she suggested.

“Sarah will be back in Townsville by then, besides I promised,” Lewis promoted as he arose from breakfast to leave for work.

“Then promise me you will be careful and will stay behind if the weather changes,” Winnie pleaded.

“I promise.”

Lewis had no fear of some modest storm reported to be far out to sea and heading further to the east. Still it was best to at least humour his mother’s concern, as time had taught him it was easier to agree than to suffer continual nagging on the subject of his health and safety. Besides he was young and invincible and the best judge of his own well being, the best judge of everything.

With his bag packed and one last check of the weather from the radio news, advising tropical low Rodney was a category one storm and leading away from the coast, Lewis headed out as soon as he finished work, finding himself at the Kuranda Range lookout as the sun dipped into the tall mountains behind.

Bringing the car to park he took a few minutes to rest and from the safety of the wooden fence gazed in awe towards the distant horizon, now growing dark with the setting sun and turning purple from storm’s clouds. He smiled, ‘is that Rodney,’ he thought of the distant dark smudge while taking on an arrogant air of confidence.

As Lewis observed nature in all her might and glory a car pulled up beside and a man in his early forties came to join him at the rails. He was lean and tall with the appearance of a stockman, whose wide brimmed battered hat and Cuban heeled boots added more to such credence. The stranger spoke with a drawl as he introduced himself as Henry from Cooktown.

“Bit of a wind out there eh?” he quietly stated while rolling a cigarette, “hope you’re not going down to the coast for the weekend young fella’?” he cautioned while moistening the tip of the thin cigarette before lighting up, “She may blow ya’ right off the coast.”

“Na she going out to sea,” Lewis assured.

“Sea, nothing lad, that’s heading right at us. I’ve seen more big winds than you’re had hot dinners and that one will hit landfall later this evening or early tomorrow morning.” The stockman spat tobacco from his lips and after taking one final drag from his cigarette, released a troublesome cough, stubbing out the butt on the barrier rail, dropping a plug of glowing tobacco to the ground, which he quickly extinguished with the toe of his boot by grinding it into the dirt.

“The news said it was heading away from land,” Lewis stated, his tone now losing its earlier confidence.

“Don’t listen to those drongo’s boy, I’m telling ya’ that will hit land, you can feel the pressure building even at this altitude.” The stranger paused and before returning to his car continued, “I’m telling ya’ lad, keep away from the coast this weekend.” Removing his sweat stained hat the stranger scratched at the long strands of matted hair, “yep it will be blowing up a right storm down there by morning.”

Back on the road and nearing the bottom of the Kuranda Range, Lewis was loosing confidence and if it wasn’t for promising Sarah, he would have turned his car around and headed home but by the time he reached the Cook Highway and turned north towards Yorkeys Knob he had once again regained his composure. He was now viewing the sea from its level and all in the kingdom of nature appeared calm, assuring continuing good weather. He took a deep breath and in a short time was in sight of the Knob.

Valerie Fraser met Lewis at the front door and on opening the wire divide, greeted him with bad news.

“You must be Lewis?” she suggested. Lewis introduced himself before discovering Sarah would not be arriving. She had telephoned late in the afternoon advising her interview had been postponed because of the pending storm, “Sarah tried to send you a telegram but it was too late and as you don’t have the telephone connected at the shop she asked me to let you know when you arrived but thought you would have remained home because of the storm.” The woman sympathetically explained while inviting Lewis in. “Best you stay the night, we should be relatively safe as the hills protect from most of the sea winds.”

It was true the property was nestled within the foothills of the dividing range giving a measure of protection. Lewis declined the invitation brought on by his shyness around people he did not know, saying he would head home.

“Then at least stay and have something to eat,” she kindly offered, “It’s almost ready and I cooked extra in anticipation of you arriving,” The woman encouraged.

“Thank you Mrs. Fraser but best I head off,” Lewis answered and after a short farewell he departed back towards the main road.

Once at the highway Lewis discovered the traffic was heavier than expected, all of which was heading south towards Cairns. It was then he made a fatal misjudgement deciding to stay at the Yorkeys caravan park overnight to avoid the traffic, besides if the storm behaved as forecasted it would be late morning before it arrived and he would be well gone.

The caravan park had only opened at the commencement of that summer season and boasted a number of huts and well detailed vans, servicing the developing tourist trade. Lewis found the office and approached the proprietor.

“What can I do for you young fellow?” There was an element of surprise in the man’s tone.

“I’d like to hire one of your vans for the night.” Equal to the man’s surprise was Lewis’ confidence.

“Sure you want to stay the night?”

“Why not,” Lewis answered.

“The bloody cyclone, that’s why and you’re the only one here.” The manager answered somewhat dismayed by Lewis’ decision.

“You’re still here.”

“I own the bloody place otherwise I’d be well gone,” the manager growled.

“Is there anywhere I can get something to eat?” asked Lewis feeling his stomach complain while wishing he had accepted Valerie Fraser’s offer of a meal and a bed.

“Old Ma Gooding, she has the Kiosk but she closed and went south. She left some sandwiches if anyone was silly enough to need them.” The proprietor offered, nodding towards a tray of freshly wrapped mixed sandwiches, generously piled at the end of his reception desk.

“How much?” Lewis asked sinking his hand into his pocket for loose change.

“No charge, it could be your last meal,” the man laughed, “no charge for the van either, as it and you may not be here come the morning.”

Lewis took a packet of sandwiches and walked the short distance to his van. He threw in his overnight bag then took a leisurely walk to the beach finding a comfortable position to eat his meal.

To his left was the Knob, an outcrop of rock, with a bristle of trees that gave the area its name. He chuckled at the site of the pile of rocks. It did look uncanny like a dick with a scattering of pubic hair, this set him to wonder who Yorkey may have been and did he have a big knob.

Casting his eyes towards the sea and the reef beyond he noticed how calm the ocean appeared, he smiled at the deliberation of how many had had that very thought about Yorkey and his infamous knob before he, “it was probably a huge red shiner!” he declared to the flat surface of the ocean, remembering Willie Thompson’s appendage, which he had often viewed under the Hostel’s showers.

The sky above was clear and a carpet of stars twinkled across the docile waves as they rhythmically lapped the sand. The moon hung half-masked off to the north towards Mossman, giving the coconut palms a semi light against the dark majesty of the mountains behind. How could there be trouble in Paradise on such a night.

It was past midnight before Lewis left the serenity of the beach and the docile waves, without noticing the mood building beyond the reef. The inked shadow had not yet taken away the luminosity from the moon but its spread was ominous although yet still far out to sea, blanketing the horizon as far north and south as the eye could see.

Once inside the caravan, sleep came quickly and because of the warmth of the night Lewis didn’t undress, instead spread across the van’s narrow bed with his head buried into the softness of the pillow.

That night he dreamt of a wind which blew everything from the land. Trees, houses, people even rocks and mountains, until the country was flat, brown and bare. He alone remained and stood listening to the laughter of the storm.

Gary’s stories are all about what life in Australia was like for a homosexual man (mostly, long before we used the term, “gay”). Email Gary to let him know you are reading: Gary dot Conder at CastleRoland dot Net

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