Published: 31 Oct 2019

Over the following weeks there had been other visits to Ian’s family and Lewis was becoming quite skilful at finding his way around Townsville. As for Ian, the illegal driving to and from had given him enough encouragement to obtain his own licence, which meant it was almost impossible to eject him from the driver’s seat. That suited Lewis as although he loved to travel, he soon became bored with driving and was quite prepared to relax back and be driven. Even so he kept vigilance on the gauges and Ian’s heavy foot on the accelerator.

Cars to Lewis were only a means to an end. He was never interested in their horsepower, torque or design, or if they were white or blue or sleek or dumpy. Any colour would do except red. He had heard somewhere red was the colour of aggression, while blue was calming. Lewis’ little Cortina was blue. Not a sky blue but electric blue with iridescence, to sparkle under street lights or glisten in sunlight, with a stripe in darker blue along each side. He would often stand admiring his acquisition with much pride, seeing only the object’s freedom giving potential, not its style. It was Ian who had a love for cars, mostly Holden and some European models.

As for Lewis’ Cortina, to Ian it was a shit boxes but good enough to transport him and allow him to obtain his licence, while his constant insulting of Lewis’ motoring pride didn’t unnerve his friend in the least, shrugging it off with the statement that Ian found it good enough to get him around, therefore it couldn’t be all that bad.

Trips to Townsville also brought further contact with Sarah Robertson. Sarah was younger than Lewis by quite some and it was only the length of time between them that made their association legal, if she were a few months younger and Lewis a little older then carnal relationship may have been suggested, even if their relationship had not developed past some cuddling and unskilful kissing.

Sarah declined Lewis’ advances as he tried to proceed to second base and his hand down the front of her blouse was soon evicted. She was a good girl and not like her older sister, now pregnant for the second time without any sign of husband on the horizon and until a ring was on her finger, Sarah intended to remain unspoiled. Besides most of their encounters were by mail as Sarah was a prolific writer, sometimes two letters would arrive on the same day. While it would be many days before Lewis would answer. Sarah’s letters were always full of news while those from Lewis were mostly banal rubbish but she still seemed to appreciate their arrival and spoke often of how she missed his company.

Lewis tried to feel longing for Sarah, openly declaring so but couldn’t transform his fondness from like to love or even a deep affection. During this time Ian had slipped under Lewis’ guard and was becoming attached to Liz at an alarming rate. Even bringing her along when they visited Townsville.

On the matter of the extra passenger, Lewis remained silent but was becoming less happy and more moody as the year progressed, while his jealousy of Ian’s diminished attention towards him was calculating. Lewis well understood the natural progression of a relationship and wished he could follow his friend’s example with Sarah but found there was a mental and physical barrier between them, drawing him to the conclusion that Sarah wasn’t the right girl for him.

Lewis believed the lack of attraction was simple chemistry, or possibly because she was Ian’s cousin, never for an instant admitting his attraction towards Ian. Whatever his conclusion he felt cold towards Sarah and disguised his coolness with a shower of cheap gifts.

Sarah’s youthfulness accepted Lewis’ masquerade, never seeing Lewis’ generosity as anything more then his commitment while she was growing fonder, even to the point of suggesting where they would live once married and the good number of happy children they would produce, selecting their names chosen from her family for each of their projected offspring.

The suggestion of marriage quickly sent Lewis into turbulence from which there was no escape, while changing the subject as quickly as it arose, being replaced with a developing need to end the relationship without hurting Sarah, Ian or Ian’s family.

The release from Lewis’ distress came lightly in the guise of a letter from Sarah. Her sister Ruth was again pregnant and was due to give birth; while having no husband and twin young boys to attend, she had asked Sarah if she could join her in Rockhampton and care for the boys while she was hospitalised for the pending birth and for some time after to give Ruth a break from the boys.

Sarah had dutifully accepted her sister’s offer and would be away for about six months while at a distance to great for weekend visits. On hearing the news Lewis made his way to the phone box outside the Mareeba post office and called but by then Sarah had already left for Rockhampton, so his disappointment had to be delivered by letter, which he made sound as upsetting as he possibly could. Believing six months should be long enough for him to create a ‘Dear Sarah’ letter, or for her to find a new boyfriend. There was one of off-putting factor about Sarah’s news and that was Liz and Ian had borrowed his car spending a long week end in Townsville and although they had been back some time had said nothing about Sarah’s departure.

“Ian you knew about Sarah’s departure last weekend, why didn’t you tell me?” Lewis asked during their work lunch break, to which Ian appeared to be somewhat despondent.

“You were aware she was going,” Ian answered.

“I did but not when.”

“Sarah wanted to tell you herself,” he answered softly, “besides if you were interested, you would have come down with us and found out from her directly,” he added.

“You knew I had to work Saturday,” Lewis explained. It was a lie, he had asked for Saturday work to avoid the journey. The sight of Liz and Ian laughing and kissing and in general enjoying each other’s company, while leaving him to walk some distant behind, was having a negative effect of Lewis.

“Are you working this weekend,” asked Ian, his question direct and somewhat abrupt.

“Why?” Lewis answered with a question.

“Liz and I were going home and I was wondering if you will join us,” he paused and smiled, “if you are working, would you lend us the car.”

Lewis thought for some time before declaring he would be working.

“You seem to do a lot of extra work Lewis?” said Ian suspiciously.

“I have to pay for the car somehow and all the petrol costs,” he said jokingly. It was true the car payment did cut into his salary and neither Ian or Liz offered to pay for fuel, except when they went alone, then they would use his tank and only fill to a quantity that allowed the return but it was equally true he had never forced the issue and if he had done so they would have paid their way.

“Besides you don’t want me along watching every move you make.” The words slipped past his guard and immediately Lewis regretted his remark.

“That’s not true we both enjoy your company, besides my parent like you,” Ian protested.

“Yes I will be working but you can have the car for the weekend,” Lewis paused and smiled weakly, “how about we go to Green Island in a couple of weeks?”

“Sure, I’ve never been there and I should think Liz would love it.” Ian quickly agreed, not realising Lewis hadn’t included Liz in the equation but once suggested, Lewis realised he couldn’t retract the offer, as it would be another part for three, with him bringing up the rear.

With Ian and his cousin Liz gone for the weekend, his Saturday morning shift finished, Lewis was at a loose end. He thought of visiting the Royal for a beer or two but he was never one for lone drinking, so it was a slow walk home and a quiet afternoon, wishing he had not lent Ian the car as now he was trapped in town and bored.

“Hey Smith!” the call came from further along the footpath as he departed work. He turned as the caller approached.

“Remember me?”

“It’s you Ray Bradshaw, yes almost but you have changed.” Lewis answered as they connected and hands were exchanged.

“Grown up I guess, you haven’t – a little taller maybe but still skinny.”

“Skinny!” Lewis protested.

“Slim if you like, I heard you were gone south.”

“Had,” Lewis simply answered not wishing to be reminded of his failure.

“I’m back in Atherton, you should come up and visit some time,” Bradshaw offered.

“I may do that.”

“I’m in the old house in Lennox Street, we could swap Hostel stories,” Bradshaw gave a wink.

“I’m past thinking of the hostel, moved on with life.” Lewis objected, remembering their times in dark places and roaming hands. ‘Funny,’ Lewis thought, ‘I once thought him handsome but he’s let himself go.’

“I’m off to the pub want to come for a drink,” Bradshaw suggested.

“Sorry I can’t have to be somewhere.”

‘Too much booze, that’s why he’s gone to fat,’ Lewis thought.

“Pity, some other time then.”

“Sure.”

Bradshaw again offered his hand, again suggested an Atherton visit and headed for the hotel. Lewis paused at Brown’s News agency and not wishing to be caught up with his once mate in a drinking session he entered. ‘Surprising what two years will do for a fellow,’ Lewis thought and again recollected dark corners on cold days when there was bugger all else to do but self abuse. Did he wish for a rematch? He thought not and quickly forced past episodes from his mind.

While thumbing through the pages of a new combat war comic a firm hand was placed upon his shoulder, causing him to jump and lose his page.

“Hello Herbie!” It was Ashley, his deep voice boomed through the long narrow news agency causing the girl behind the counter to lift her head and look towards them both. She smiled then returned to her work, leaving Lewis with a degree of self inflicted embarrassment decreeing guilt by association.

John Ashley being on radio meant that hardly anyone knew his face and his speaking voice was different than that of his professional leaning, besides his musical taste was considered out of date with the young, so it was improbable the assistant would recognise him.

“What are you doing Herbie?” Ashley asked in a lower voice.

“Not a lot, I just finished work,” Lewis answered and replaced the magazine back to the stand.

“Aren’t you a little old for comics?”

“I like them.”

“Do you want to come around for a drink?” suggested Ashley.

“I don’t think so,” Lewis quickly answered as he collected a second combat comic and a new phantom before moving towards the counter.

“So you like combat, there the best war comics.” Ashley added and continued. “The offer still stands, come around tonight if you wish.”

Lewis quickly excused himself without agreeing, paid for his comics then left the shop. As he passed the Dunlop his thoughts were drawn back to Ashley’s comment. The man actually liked combat comics so Ashley had a spark of normality. Anyone who liked combat comics couldn’t be all that bad. Maybe he had misjudged him and true he did have a good sense of humour. He released a wide grin, ‘and roaming hands,’ he thought.

By the time Lewis reached Love’s Buildings he had all but forgiven Ashley for his indiscretions and was almost willing to call around that night, when he heard his name called from above.

“Hey Lewis where are you going?” the voice came from young Timmy who leaned far too precariously over the balcony verandah of Lewis’ old bedroom. Lewis smiled, recollecting the time on that very verandah when he discovered his dick was for more than relieving one’s bladder and wondered if young Timmy would discover such pleasures there when his time came.

“You watchit’ kid, you’ll fall.”

“No I won’t.”

“Suit yourself not my problem; I’m going home why do you ask?”

“Mum wants to talk to you,” Timmy’s voice called from the opposite side of the verandah as Lewis passed under.

“What about?” Lewis asked.

“Dunno’,” called Timmy and was gone.

Lewis found Gladys at the back and what seemed to be usual for a Saturday afternoon, working over a hot copper, her face ruddy and soaked from the steam, while her floral apron was awash with soap suds.

“Hello love,” She greeted while wiping the sweat away with the soapy apron.

“Timmy said you wanted to see me,” Lewis stated as he sat at the bottom of the rear stairs. Timmy came into view above to swing on the landing gates, while holding a large slice of cake in his free hand.

“Better watch it; with your weight you will break the hinges.” Lewis warned.

“No I won’t.”

“Then swing away.”

“Timmy get of that gate,” Gladys scalded.

“Mum’s washing,” Timmy declared from a mouth full of cake and stood from the gate.

“I can see that, you’ll get fat with all that food.” Lewis softly growled back at the boy.

“I like cake,” Timmy answered while shovelling another large portion of cake into his mouth, his cheeks smudged with chocolate icing, while cream filling oozed down his dimpled chin.

“I hear John is looking for someone to help out in the shop part time?” asked Gladys as she ran sheets through the large hand operated mangle, creating a river of hot soapy water to cascade to the concrete floor as the sheets disappeared into a tub of cold rinse.

“Mum’s wants a break too much house work,” Timmy laughed before disappearing for another portion of cake.

“More like cleaning up after you and your father,” Gladys kindly protested but Timmy was gone, “could you be a pet and ask John if he would consider me for the job?” She finished the rinse and re-mangled the sheets to appear like large chunks of soggy bread.

“Sure.”

It was dark outside and had been for some time. It was Saturday night and Lewis was home alone. Ian and Liz had the car and were in Townsville, while his mother and John were at the Graham Hotel, where John shook his maracas in relentless tune with the ukulele, sneer drums and electric piano. The band was so laid back that John often fell asleep, playing on without falter, while their music filtered harmoniously into the background below the hum of conversation and the occasional shrilled voice of some female patron who would sing along out of tune with the music.

The Graham’s beer garden was mostly patronised by the older set. Blue-rinsed women and balding grey headed men with beer bellies, wearing the latest rayon Hawaiian style shirt, stubby shorts to nobly knees and sandals, no socks. It did have a billiard table in the main bar but it was small and rarely used.

Lewis thought he could go to the Royal or even the Dunlop, maybe he could pick up one of the camp girls for a quick head job in the darkness behind the pub within the shadows of the soursop tree, occasionally one over ripe fruit would fall with a loud plop like dung from a cow’s arse. His reasoning being, if it was fine for Billy McKee to shag the native population and hold to a proportion of his reputation, than it was good enough for him.

The thought did cross his mind, even though he was brought up to respect women, even black women, even be it with his own interpretation of respect, one handed down through the generations from that first landing in New South Wales but sometimes the urges of the flesh outweighs respect and good manners. The inspiration did encourage Lewis to continue towards that destination, instead he decided to simply walk and let the night guide him where it wished.

On reaching the corner and the Graham Hotel, he could hear the band playing and John’s maracas dreamingly participating. The music was nondescript but intoxicating, drawing Lewis towards the door.

“Nah.” He smiled then walked towards the main street, where he almost turned right but instead he went left past the timber yards, the ice works and Hanush’s cordials in the direction of Short Street.

There was a light burning in Ashley’s kitchen and from the shadows Lewis could see Ashley once again at the sink. In the background the radio came loud over the clatter of dishwashing, sharing its retrospective atmosphere like some senile old man lost in the past and without heart for the present.

Lewis moved silently away towards Ian’s bungalow. The door was closed but unlocked allowing him to enter into the darkness. All around he could smell his friend, as well as Ian’s cheap after shave, Old Spice for men, which was believed to exhilarate the shaver’s flesh and increase the male attraction towards the fairer sex.

Men wore Old Spice while poofs wore aftershave, or cologne or perfume. The dying art of California poppy hair oil lingered with the twenty-something and thirty-something, while the younger lads preferred the Beatles cut and dry and past the neckline, allowing the mop to fall to the eyebrows or further, bringing on necessity to keep shoving it back towards the crown to view the day.

For the first time that night Lewis sensed moonlight as it beamed through the small window to the side of the bungalow illuminating the bed, which was neatly made but scattered with Ian’s dirty washing. There alone rejected by the pile was a pair of jocks, their colour a dark grey in the beam of light. Lewis picked up the underwear and without conscious reasoning tucked them deeply into his jeans pocket. As he turned to leave he heard the back door of Ashley’s house open and Ashley’s footsteps down the three wooden steps, they bounced loosely under his weight. Lewis held his breath; his heart thumped as his mind conjured excuses for being in Ian’s room in the dark. There were none, so he hid in the space beside the door, to be blocked from sight as it opened but instead of the bungalow door opening, there was the clatter of empty bottles against the bottom of the rubbish bin and the lid’s return. Seconds later the rear wire door slammed and Ashley was gone and once again rendition of some ancient tune permeated the still night air.

Lewis gave Ashley a minute to be sure he had remained inside. Distant singing continued as he slipped out of the bungalow and quickly and stealthily returned to the footpath, avoiding the clutter along the side of the house, his heart thumping while realising he had stolen his mate’s underwear. ‘Why did you do that?’ he silently scalded as he left the property but realised he couldn’t risk returning them.

Lewis turned and took a number of steps to return to the main street but hesitated. There was now something drawing him back to Ashley’s and instead of departing, found his knuckles rapping on Ashley’s front door. Touching his bulging rear pocket his guilt became paramount, ‘I’m a snowdropper,’ he thought then a second notion believing it not to be so if lifted from a friend’s bed, ‘a thief that is worse, I’ll return them next visit.’ Moments later he heard footsteps in the hall. What am I doing here came to mind and although flight was close at hand his feet wouldn’t move and as the door opened, allowing the weak hall light to escape into the darkness he realised he had trapped himself.

“Hello Herbie,” Spoke Ashley his voice lacking surprise.

“Come in.” He offered standing back from the open door to allow passage. Lewis entered into the dimly lit hallway traversing the worn lino to the living room where Ashley’s reel to reel film projector was suffering the wall in vivid colours of Rome or Paris, or some other European city. Without invitation Lewis sat on the couch in the same position he had on his last visit. He instantly realised his action and not wanting his act to be registered as an offer he as quickly moved to the opposite end of the couch.

Ashley returned from the kitchen with a stubby of beer and handed it to Lewis who accepted it and as he commenced to make request, Ashley produced a glass, the very one with the fornicating frogs, “and a glass, if I remember you liked this one.” Ashley took his seat on the kitchen chair he had placed beside the projector to the rear of the couch while fiddling with the machine.

“Thanks, it is a little rude.” Lewis admitted holding it high for a better view.

“I thought you liked rude?”

“Indifferent John;”

“Have you been to Europe?” Ashley asked knowing well Lewis had not.

“No but I am from Melbourne and will be returning there soon,” Lewis answered yet somewhat unsure of his words as although his heart was there his legs were well rooted to the northern soil.

“You have said so on a number of occasions.”

“I mean to.”

“Where do you feel you belong?”Ashley asked

“Melbourne of course,” Lewis paused, “maybe here in Mareeba, I don’t know but I will go back south.” Lewis again paused before becoming serious, “I don’t know,” he nervously laughed and downed the last of the beer, refilling the glass with the remainder in the bottle. A bad pour became mostly froth, he let it settle.

“I once heard, home is where a man is prepared to die,” Ashley appraised.

“I’m not ready for that.”

“Still you must have an idea.”

“Ask me again in fifty years.” Lewis concluded.

Ashley commenced to run the projector, “that is Rome and that over there is the Forum,” Ashley pointing through the haze of light towards the brilliantly coloured image reflected on the far wall screen.

“I know I studied Ancient Rome at school,” Lewis answered not wishing to appear a totally ignorant country hick, “have you been to Italy?” Lewis asked.

“Yes Rome, Paris, London, Berlin and even Amsterdam. You would like Amsterdam Lewis.” Ashley assured.

“Why is that?” Lewis asked.

“Plenty of sex but you have to pay for it,” said Ashley but Lewis refrained from comment. Ashley again spoke, “even so the fellows there are quite handsome and inventive.”

“What about the girls?”

“Yes I guess the girls as well.”

As the evening passed Lewis came to the realisation that not only was Ashley well travelled, he was quite knowledgeable and after a few beers he believed him to be not a bad bloke, even if he peppered the conversation with sexual innuendo, mostly around what lay beneath the thin layer of material covering Lewis’ vital statistics.

With the effects of alcohol and his tongue loose, Lewis became brave enough to ask a question that troubled him. A question he had almost asked on a number of occasions during the night but it took the fourth beer to lubricate his daring, his question being, had Ashley had his way with Ian.

“There is something I’ve wanted to know for a long time,” Lewis asked in an almost stutter.

“What would that be Herbie?” Said Ashley.

“Well, umm maybe – it doesn’t matter.” Lewis chickened out and returned to his beer but Ashley’s interests had been encouraged, asking once again for Lewis to divulge his question.

“It was nothing – so when were you in Europe?”

“After university, I was your age then.”

“How old are you Ashley?” Lewis asked.

“Let’s say old enough not to answer your question but I was in Paris when the Nazi’s arrived, only made it to England before the city fell.”

“Were you in the war?”

“Another time Lewis, that was then and best left so.”

“Have you travelled since?”

“Many times.”

“I don’t know if I’d like to travel to Europe – England possibly.”

“Why England?”

“Most of my family are from Devon.”

“A lovely county.”

“Have you been there?”

“I lived in a small village called Budleigh for almost a year after the war.”

“That’s where my family were from,” Lewis cheered in disbelief. They now had something in common and his guard was lowering.

“You do sound somewhat English,” Ashley admitted.

“I supposed from living with my grandparents in Melbourne some years back.” Lewis suggested.

“Yes you would like Devon, it is often called the garden county,” Ashley released a cheeky grin, “I guess like Melbourne you are going there some day?”

“I don’t think so, too far and costs to much, you can’t catch a train to Devon.” Lewis admitted seriously without appreciating Ashley’s game.

Rising from his chair Ashley stood directly behind Lewis. Moments later both of his hands were inside Lewis’ t-shirt and heading lower towards the band of his jeans. Inquisitive fingers soon found their way under that barrier and were within the warmth of rising flesh while the heat of the moment dissolved Lewis’ better judgement allowing the approach to continue.

Lewis once again became brave and asked his question, “have you done this with Ian?” he spoke in a croaked voice. Ashley’s hand faulted but soon regained its search.

“You will have to ask Ian that,” he stated then continued to advance. Lewis took hold of Ashley’s wrist removing its hungry hold on his rising pride.

“I think it is best I go now,” said Lewis and stood away from the couch, leaving Ashley behind its barrier.

“Sure Herbie but do you want another beer for the road?” suggested Ashley

“No thanks I’ve had too much already, I want to at least stagger home.”

Lewis wished to remain as the need for relief in any form was strong but his fears and inhibitions were far greater than the flow of sexual desire.

“Okay Herbie, I’ll see you out,” said Ashley. “Come over another night, I have a travel film of London you may be interested in.”

“Yes another night.”

Ashley followed along the hall and so close Lewis could feel his disappointed breath at his neck and as he reached for the door Lewis almost faltered, maybe he could stay for that last beer but the door opened under his touch and he returned into the night.

At the Graham Lewis noticed that the band was still playing and the tune appeared to be the same as it was when he passed earlier, while John’s maracas were still distinguishable but slower and softer. Lewis smiled imagining John, his head stooped and eyes closed, as the band played on. He also realised he was still in need of release and his deep down nemesis was back with Ashley seated on his couch, hands behind head, eyes closed in denial, while Ashley worked his magic.

He could return home and employ the hand trolley or he could take to the main street and see who was offering at the Dunlop and willing to service his desires, so without decision his feet advanced along the footpath, past the Royal towards the Dunlop but once there he continued on.

It was too early on a Saturday night to return home and he loved walking Mareeba’s main street. The shop lights and the cooler night air gave him a buzz. He would often walk from one end to the other and once there, return the trip on the opposing side.

“Hey Smith,” a gruff voice called from a battered Holden outside the Civic theatre. Lewis quickly turned towards the caller.

“What are you upta’?”

“It’s you Thompson what are you doing in Mareeba?”

“Not looking for a cunt like you for sure.” Gordon Thompson barked from the passenger window as Lewis lent inside to see who was driving,

“Wayne Dunn; I thought you were in the lockup.”

“Na, they couldn’t pin anything on me.”

Gordon Thompson and Wayne Dunn had both been in the grade above Lewis at Herberton and he hadn’t seen either since leaving school but reports on their dumb antics were often circulating. In fact he didn’t see much of them at the hostel either, as they didn’t mix with his sub-junior crowd. Dunn came from Mareeba and had work at the bacon factory, while Thompson was from New Guinea and was also working at the same factory as Dunn

“Looking for a fuck!” declared Dunn in a drawled tone, “anything about?”

“You could try the gins down the far end under the mango trees; they would be your type Dunn,” Lewis proposed pointing in the direction of the trees.

“Fuck off Smith I’d rather fuck you then dip in one of those ink wells!” Dunn exclaimed with force.

“Yes I’ve heard rumours about you two and where you dip your wicks.” It was a lie but well enough to counteract Dunn’s rancid comment.

“Get fucked Smith.”

“Well I can’t help you further, maybe Thompson here can give you a hand,” said Lewis, then stepped back from the vehicle before Thompson could retaliate, Thompson was renowned for his rapid temper which could dilute as quickly, so as long as you were beyond striking distance during its rise you were relatively safe.

“Want to go for a drive Smith?” Dunn asked

“Where to?”

“I dunno’ how about Atherton, you know the town. You must know a couple of sheilas up there who are willing to appreciate a couple of handsome turkeys,” suggested Thompson.

“Don’t think so too late and Atherton is more boring than Mareeba at this time of the night,” answered Lewis, then with further abuse from the two, Dunn pushed the metal to the floor releasing a cloud of exhaust smoke as he sped of down the main street towards the Atherton road and past a stationary police car in the mid street parking.

The sound of the police siren brought a smile, making Lewis’ night. “Couldn’t happen to a nicer couple of bastards!” he chuckled, turned about and headed for home, passing two very unhappy x-school friends and a most satisfied police officer.

It was close to midnight when Lewis passed under Love’s Buildings and his old bedroom on its verandah; then turning at the Graham he heard the last of the drowsy tones of the pseudo Hawaiian band and John’s maracas. Now he was tired enough to sleep and had all but forgotten his need to service his sexual appetite.

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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