narratorAUSTRALIA Volume Three

  ~ W.H.Auden

  Almost three decades ago the ubiquitous Rubik’s Cube was a popular puzzle. For many players it was simply a game – simply a game, like dying is simplydeath. This memory was playing in Tanya’s mind this morning as she lingered in bed. Last night she had dreamt of murder and awoke remembering another game they played in the 1980s, on Ben’s thirtieth birthday. It too was simply a game.

  Tanya lay back on her pillow recalling how during the week preceding Ben’s birthday she had smuggled in tubs of pâté, mini toast, guacamole and French onion dip, Jatz biscuits, a dozen champagne, red wine and a generous Black Forest gateau. She even lashed out and bought bourbon for the whisky sours. Luckily Ben was quite unaware of the secrets of the refrigerator and did not question its unusually abundant contents. As a couple busy with careers, the fridge normally was relatively empty with skimmer milk, cheese, sausage and a few limp vegetables lurking in the crisper.

  In the afternoon of Ben’s special day they had driven to a local beach, splashed in the sea together, sunbaked on glaring sand and arrived back at their red brick home about five, feeling hotter than before they left. Ben stayed in his bather-shorts and had a cold beer on the deck; Tanya could still see the sand flecking his dark hair, taste the salt and sweat streaking his tanned body. She remembered showering and dressing in a black silk slip-of-a-dress. After carefully putting on makeup and arranging her long, dark hair into a French twist, she added a spray of L’air du Temps – all the time trying to remain nonchalant like we’re-not-doing-anything-special-for-your-birthday-tonight-darling.

  Tanya recollected how anxious she felt when she heard rustling at their front door about six-thirty on the birthday evening. She hoped the guests would arrive at seven and together as planned. She had called to Ben, still lounging on the deck, ‘I’m just going to check the letterbox. Be back in a sec.’ Once outside the front door, Tanya glimpsed Danny crouching behind an overgrown aspidistra trying to be invisible. ‘Shhh! They’re all waiting at the top of the drive,’ he had whispered.

  Tanya looked up to see the eclectic group of friends she and Ben had collected at art school a decade ago. They were dressed in motley after-five outfits, black ties and little sexy dresses. And that’s just the men, she quipped to herself as she envisaged the hot summer’s night set to change lives forever. She laughed to recall the indelible image of the crew doing the Rumba while pulsating stainless-steel shakers of Pina Coladas, Bloody Marys and Black Russians. By the looks on their faces they had enjoyed a few already. A dangerous idea, a cocktail party on a stinker of a Friday night, she considered in hindsight. But we were crazy then. Mortgages, babies and teaching careers had not yet quelled her friends’ spirits, their desire to be bohemians – albeit within the confines of cheap, suburban housing on the outskirts of an ultra-conservative city. Tanya remembered how she and Ben had flouted convention by procuring a house before considering marriage, and children were definitely not part of the plan. We’re never going to be tied down – ever! She reminded herself of their mantra. They were only teaching to save enough money to live and paint in Paris, or New York maybe, wherever the art scene was the most vibrant.

  Tanya chuckled as she reminisced. Yes, she mused, Ben was surprised, if not horrified, when forty odd people doing versions of the Salsa descended on his privacy, squealing ‘Happy Birthday’ and presenting him with gifts and weird, colourful potions. He was caught in his swimming outfit and eventually pulled a black waistcoat over his bare top and donned a crimson art deco tie. He always looked so dashing, my Ben.

  The party that started in the driveway gathered momentum very early in the evening with shrill laughter, vibrating music and champagne corks shooting into the sultry night and beyond the spiked merriment. Party time shuddered and juddered, shook and throbbed eventually collapsing into three o’clock the following morning. The night air had barely cooled and most people were in the lounge room seeking relief under the ceiling fans. Several couples left after midnight to be home for their young children, but at least a dozen revellers were very awake with the concentrated focus and clarity that too much alcohol can sometimes evoke. Rick, who managed to live the non-conformist life of a ‘real’ artist, was always on London time ever since studying for a master’s degree there a few years earlier. He was at his best in the early morning and, with several drinks under his belt, was rearing to go. Ah, Rick, Tanya sighed. Unbridled, passionate, creative, worldly, sure-to-be-successful Rick.

  ‘I know, let’s play Murder in the Dark,’ Rick dared with a wicked glint as he poured himself another bourbon chaser. Helen, his fey-blonde-leggy-textile-artist wife winced and took a sip from the same green cocktail she had been nursing for the last two hours. ‘The babysitter was expecting us three hours ago,’ she seethed.

  ‘Murder who?’ Tanya imagined Ben saying as he slumped onto the modular lounge between her and a couple entwined in what appeared to be a shared coma.

  ‘Okay, listen. It’s just an innocent mystery game,’ Rick explained. ‘We’ll need a deck of cards.’

  ‘Haven’t any,’ Ben said, probably trying to suggest nobody was into games at this hour, and hoping to placate Helen who was becoming paler and more irritable by the minute.

  Determined to spice up the party, Rick glanced around until he spied the carved wooden chess-set Ben had collected while backpacking through India in the 1970s.

  ‘We’ll use chess pieces. Pick out one ace … eh, the black king will do … the black queen, and the black castle. Pass out other pieces, one per player, and tell them not to show anyone. The person with the king is the murderer, the person with the queen, the victim, and the one with the castle, the detective. All other players are innocent bystanders.’

  ‘If they can still stand.’ Tanya thought she might have said.

  ‘After the detective leaves the room, and in the dark, the murderer “kills” one of the players, who screams and plays dead. The scream is the detective’s cue to re-enter the room … everyone questioned tells the truth, only the murderer must lie.’

  Tanya realised that over time she had forgotten the purpose of the game and guessed Ben, not one to concentrate on details at anytime, probably said, ‘Hmm, sounds complicated.’ And Helen no doubt added in her slow-emphatic-know-it-all-voice, before giggling to modify her cynical tone, ‘This will make the party truly unfor-get-table.’

  Tanya recalled somebody flicked off the light, possibly Danny who was barely able to speak coherently by then. Black-moonless-sultry-sticky-night. People shuffled and scurried, doors squeaked several times, more than one person left the room.

  A female scream penetrated the expectant atmosphere.

  Light switched on. People had rearranged themselves like chess pieces on speed and lay draped over lounges or spread on the shagpile carpet. It seemed like a surreal art performance the meaning of which was deliberately obscure. Bodies formed new patterns after every flick of the light switch. Insolvable puzzle. More screams. Parts of the riddle disappearing. People were bending the rules. Who needed rules after midnight? Mortgages, kids and tedious jobs seemed light years away. Thirty-something-year-olds became children, squealing, sloshing down drinks, throwing Black Forest cake onto Tanya’s white Indian cotton curtains, giggling. She had forgotten if any ‘murderers’ were ever revealed; only the visual drama stayed in her mind.

  Recalling these events this morning reminded Tanya in a strange way of when she was tea monitor in grade seven, a very trustworthy position. She would linger with the other two monitors in the teacher-deserted upstairs staffroom long after the second recess bell had sounded. After their chores, the girls would play hide-and-seek in tall, wooden cupboards amidst rolled charts and world maps, chalk and inkbottles; under tables covered with crisp cloths and behind heavy velvet curtains. Stolen time was delicious and breaking the teachers’ trust addictive.

  Lights off. Tanya remembered feeling a sweaty hand on her bare thigh reaching higher beneath her dress. She moved away but a warm bour
bon breath surrounded her, whispering ‘I want you … come with me to the back studio.’ A hot body pressed against her, strong insistent arms encircled her slight frame. Rick was pleading, ‘I want you now … Tanya, now.’ Rick, the charismatic and mature Rick, was begging her. ‘Tanya, nobody will know…’

  Tanya quivered as she recalled the aphrodisiac of feeling desired, and how the Screaming Orgasm she had downed before the game was swimming upstream in her head with the Fluffy Ducks from earlier in the evening. ‘Rick, no … not here.’ She meant to say ‘NO, never!’ but she was melting as were the lines between play, flirtation, lust and –

  Lights flicked on. She and Rick were illuminated on the lounge room floor in a groping kind of awkward hug, her slip-of-a-dress almost slipping off and the black queen rolling out of her hand. Tanya could never erase Helen’s glare from her memory – Helen’s frozen glare and long, thin white arm wielding a crisp, painful slap to Rick’s face. Helen, her once good friend. And Rick’s pathetic caught-in-the-headlights look. And Ben, gazing at the scene in a non-comprehendo-one-too-many-cocktails-manner as if saying ‘This really is a night of surprises’. And the other couples smirking, applauding, perhaps pleased their tactics and desires weren’t as obvious.

  Tanya pushed her reminiscence away as she got out of bed, pulled on her flannelette robe and wandered down to the scene of the ‘crime’ all those years ago, the lounge-room, where Ben was busy trying to slay a Playstation monster.

  It’s simply a game, it’s simply a game, she hummed as she wondered what to do for Ben’s sixtieth birthday next week. ‘Darling, what would you like for your birthday this year?’

  ‘No bloody surprises, that’s what I’d like,’ Ben snapped as he continued to zap the writhing, animated beast. Tanya appreciated gaming was his way of unwinding after a difficult week of teaching.

  Next to the widescreen television and on the cabinet between silver-framed photos of Tanya and Ben’s three adult children sat the Indian chess set, its pieces arranged ready for new players. The set was never the same after Ben’s thirtieth birthday party. The original black king, the white queen and several pawns were still missing. Ben’s attempts to carve new pieces and stain them to suit, stood out in a clumsy but practical way, and were an honest attempt to apply his artistic abilities. One summer’s night, decades ago, it was simply a game but there were a couple of small deaths, perhaps more than Tanya realised at the time.

  Ed: It is hard to write a story using the minutiae of life without either blowing that detail up into something it doesn’t deserve, or boring the reader to tears with it. This story manages to use minutiae effectively, cluing us in that drama is on the way which, when it eventually arrives, is handled quickly and quietly. There are no fights. No screaming. No violence. But thirty years later, in a different set of life's minutiae, we can see the bruises, the damage done …

  Saturday 24 August 2013

  The Bend In The Road

  Peter Goodwin

  Warilla, NSW

  We never came out of the bend in the road. The car was pressed into the steep bank, its windows smashed, its doors flung open and bent. I was on the floor beneath the passenger seat decorated in fragments of glass. You had been hurled from the car through the windscreen. I called your name, but no answer. I crawled out of the wreckage and saw you lying in a muddy ditch beneath the black trees stretching into the night sky. As I struggled towards you, you rose, staggered, and fell into my arms. The shattered glass had torn your face, your body damaged and bleeding from the fall. I sat on the ground with you draped across my arms, your head tilted backwards, your mouth slightly open, your eyes unfocused and lost. Your arms hung idly at your side, your hands open and useless. Are you all right? I whispered, my lips near your flesh. You just moaned. I did not know if I was hurt. It was hard to tell in the darkness and the rain, your body so close to mine. We could not have been far from home, but there was nothing to be done. I had no sense of time. I heard the sound of approaching footsteps. Out of the darkness, a figure draped in long, swaying garments came towards us, and then another figure trailing behind over the knotted roots of the trees came stumbling towards us. They shone a torch in our eyes searching for the dead only to find the two of us in each other’s arms quivering in the little cone of light. They separated us, and laid out in the mud like worms squirming in the soil, they wrapped us in blankets and carried us away.

  Sunday 25 August 2013

  The Travel Bug

  John Ross

  Blackheath, NSW

  ‘Good morning listeners. This is radio station KLX24. Thank you for tuning in to our breakfast show. As you just heard on the weather report it is a beautiful clear morning right across our city so it is time to get up and face another day. Don’t go away as straight after these important messages we have a surprise for you.

  ‘If you need more zip in your day try the revolutionary health tablets that are making a great comeback after some, now discredited, assessments. Yes Mr Rudd’s small, one a day, white tablets will get you zipping about in no time at all.

  ‘For relief from constant constipation we recommend Big Brother tablets. Just one tablet a week will give you the desired results.

  ‘Some good advice there.

  ‘My surprise. Well this morning we have our much respected travel expert here in the studio with me. He is affectionately known as the “Travel Bug”. Welcome home Jorn.’

  ‘Thank you. It is very nice to be back again in familiar surroundings.’

  ‘Well it is nice to have you back in our studio. We have all been following your very informative weekly reports with great interest. Last week you had just left the city of Madrid and were headed for London. You told us that you were expecting some quite cold weather there, even the possibility of snow. So how did it turn out?’

  ‘It did not snow but I found the city rather depressing weather wise. For my first three days there it rained constantly; not heavy, just a fine misty rain that was most annoying. If anyone intends travelling there make sure you take a rain coat and umbrella.’

  ‘What were some of the things you experienced there, apart from the rain?’

  ‘There are too many so I will just list a few. Their national dish of soggy potato chips with vile tasting vinegar is memorable. If you enjoy pomp and ceremony mixed with spine tingling excitement a high tea is not to be missed. A ride on the overcrowded, non air-conditioned, underground train system on a hot steamy afternoon is a sensory delight. There are many museums and historical sites such as the Tower, where you can view endless corridors of shiny body armour, tens of square miles of tapestries and learn a lot about the fact that in the past it was very dangerous to be married to a king. For a more detailed description of what to see and do your listeners will just have to buy my book, which will be available on-line in a few days.’

  ‘You have been away travelling now for over a year so you must have had some interesting experiences and seen some wonderful things. Can you give the listeners just a glimpse of what to expect in your book?’

  ‘Yes it has been a fabulous time and you are right, I have seen some amazing things. Most of these I have spoken about in the book. I don’t want to give too much away but ...’

  ‘I am sure that our listeners would like to hear just a few of the highlights.’

  ‘Ok. Just a few teasers.’

  ‘The pyramids in Egypt; all that beautiful stone available to be recycled yet they build their houses out of mud bricks. Walking along the ancient Roman Forum where in the past they had a strange habit of loaning each other their ears. The massive water fall at Niagara; why they didn’t harness it for hydro electricity is a mystery. The new parliament house in Canberra; they buried most of it under dirt to keep all the hot air inside. A Grand Prix car race in Monaco; I must admit a bit of a disappointment after witnessing the traffic in both Rome and Paris.

  ‘So what is the next destination in your continuing travels?’

  ‘I am booked to trav
el to the planet designated Epsilon 36 in the Sigma quadrant next week. Unlike our planet, and the planet Earth where I have just been, it is uninhabited by intelligent life, so it will be a very different experience.’

  ‘Well a safe journey “Travel Bug”. Wow, fifteen planets visited over the past 10 years. What a lucky man!’

  Monday 26 August and Tuesday 27 August 2013

  Boy

  Hettie Ashwin

  Port Douglas, QLD

  The winds that blow in North Queensland are sometimes called the Mango winds, and the heat that precedes the winds and the impending wet can set a man’s mind to madness.

  I was waiting for the last transport to head south before the monsoons came. It was while I waited in the Magee Hotel in Collinsville that Faraday, the hotel publican, told me the story of Boy.

  Faraday settled back, and with a fresh rum and a cigarette, began …

  ‘Murray Webb, some said was born in the saddle. His life, if you cared to inquire, consisted of horses and cattle, and not much else. Spider, as he was known, in the dusty parts of the Australian north, where no man goes by choice, was a stockman. A ringer with a reputation. Rumours followed him around like the relentless flies. Men who knew Spider knew enough to keep their distance. He may have been the best drover this side of the border. He might have killed every wild dog or dingo within a 50 mile radius of the station but all that anyone could really say with any certainty was that Spider didn’t have a merciful bone in his body.

  ‘What had happened to Murray in his youth had coloured his life, and the scars of suffering ran so deep, they touched his heart and left their mark.

  ‘Spider came to Collinsville looking for work. The drought had been hard, and the wind had laid bare the backbone of the land. Men wandered from one town to the next in search of a wage to stem their hunger and keep their self esteem. Honest labour can make a man and the lack of it can break him. Spider was on the hunt for a job. The one station that still had a few head of cattle and some feed, needed a drover.

  ‘Sizzling Rock Station stood out in the shire as an example of good land and better management. The Stenton family had steadily built the land around the cattle and because they held the water, not much happened that didn’t have their stamp on it. The last leading hand died, some said of bad blood. No-one wanted to say more, but plenty had an idea where the bad blood came from and none wanted to say. Tanner had run the cattle for Sizzlin’ Rock for about ten years and he knew just about every inch of that station. Ol’ man Stenton used to say he was a chip off the ol’ block and we all knew what he meant. Tanner had the ol’ man in him al’right, but, well, he wasn’t strong enough and when the bush calls ’em, the black in ’em can’t resist. Tanner went bush for a bit and when he finally came back well … the mixed blood always has a way of testing a man’s mind and strengths and Tanner wasn’t up to the fight. The white in him fought the black and he just up and died. Laid down on his bed, closed his eyes and never woke up.

  ‘There was pragmatism in Faraday’s words. Here was a man who had run an outback pub and probably seen more than his fair share of life at the sharp end, and yet he spoke the words with no more consideration than reading a label on a bottle.

  ‘He just never woke up,’ Faraday reiterated and supped his rum.

  ‘Lance Stenton the business man, was on the lookout for a hand. Lance Stenton, the father, kept his feelings to himself. But we all knew it would have to be someone with talent to take the place of Tanner at Sizzlin’ Rock. So when Spider came into town Stenton sought him out. Some fellas, no matter what their ugly past, just seem to land on their feet. Spider was like that. He stood over six foot, and in the saddle he towered over most men. He had a crag of a face, like a weathered rock. His dark eyes squinted at everything and he carried a permanent sneer the way some men carry a cigarette on their lip.’

  Faraday looked at me earnestly, ‘I never saw him take off his hat, not ever. I don’t think he’d look the same without that hat. It was just part of him, part of what he was, and what he had become.’

  I took a long draught of my cold beer and watched the ceiling fan endlessly turn, giving little comfort, except to the flies that followed it. Faraday continued.

  ‘Whatever drove Spider it was relentless. He’d no more feelings for his fellow man than the stray dogs he would shoot, and the only saving grace he possessed was his way with cattle. He just knew how to handle ’em. What they’d be thinkin’ and what they wanted. It was, some said, a gift. So it was that Lance Stenton engaged Murray Webb for a muster, and possible further employment, at Sizzlin’ Rock Station.

  ‘Lance’s second man was Boy. Boy had grown up at Sizzlin’ Rock and when Tanner up and died Boy expected to get the job. No-one knew where Boy had come from; just walked right out of the bush and Tanner took him in. There was something about Boy, a kinda feeling that he could see right through you, that made you look away. It was as if he was too old for the skin he was in, and so he kinda became invisible to the folks around these parts, lest he look too deep into a man’s heart. Whenever Tanner came to town, Boy wasn’t far behind, but he never drank. Tanner would take a lemonade out to him, but Boy, even when he was well above the age, never set foot in the bar. It’s like that sometimes. The black fellas are afraid if they start they’ll never stop. Tanner preferred to drink outside with Boy rather than up at the bar. I guess the colour of your skin is a dictate of your friends, no matter what’s on the inside.’

  As a magistrate I knew the truth in these words, having witnessed prejudice many times on both sides of the fence.

  ‘Sizzlin’ Rock is a large station. The cattle are feral most of the year so it’s a long haul when they bring them in. Tanner used to go bush living on what he could find and it was a natural thing for him and Boy. I heard he killed a roo with his bare hands once but what is the truth and what is drink talkin’, sometimes it’s hard to tell.

  ‘There were a couple of other blacks in the saddle the day Spider left for the muster and you could have cut the air with a knife as they rode through town. If Boy had a fight in him he kept it close to his chest. If Spider had any hope of those blokes following him he needed to make a stand.’

  Faraday drew heavily on his cigarette then flicked the stub out the window in a practised movement. I wondered how many butts lay on the other side from a lifetime behind the bar.

  ‘So the new man chose his moment, and just as he passed the hotel, he pulled his whip from his saddle and cracked it over Boy. That leather just caught the shirt and no more, but it was enough. Boy never said a word, but they all knew who was boss that day.

  ‘But that wasn’t the first time they had met. When Spider first blew into town he walked right past Boy on the verandah, but he hadn’t downed his first drink when he came over all queer.

  ‘“Somebody walk over your grave?” I asked.

  ‘“Nah, just the heat,” he said, “and the damn wind.”

  ‘“Yeah – the wind,” I said to him. It can make sane men crazy. I’ve seen it before, but I could tell it was something more than just the wind, and all the while Boy just sat there, not sayin’ a word.

  ‘It’s a hard life on the land, but for those fellas that choose it, it’s second nature. The team found their head of beef and started to bring them home, but there was trouble brewing. Spider began to goad Boy.

  ‘Some men would snap. I’ve seen it at the bar. A word said that goes over the line and the first punch is thrown. Some men like a fight – it clears the air, and you can get on with living. But Boy wouldn’t fight. He wouldn’t take the bait. No matter what insult, what remark, Spider came away with nothing. Spider went from the antagonist to the victim. With every snub he felt slighted. It was a twisted logic that left him wanting revenge. It all came to a head at Sizzling Rock. It’s a flat piece of rock stuck out in the middle of bloody nowhere. A black kind of rock that just shouldn’t be there. A strange sort of place that can make you scratch the back of your neck, like someth
ing’s just not right. It catches the sun by day and by God you could fry an egg on it.’

  Faraday leaned in close and confided, ‘I went there once. As a lad, just before the wet. It was one of those days when it’s too hot even to breathe. Your shirt sticks to your back and you wonder if you are already dead and this is your private hell. I can tell you, it’s a crazy business waiting for the rains. So I get to the rock and it’s still. Not a breath of wind. Just the sun. The rock was so hot it was all shimmery and it made you wonder if it was really there or just one of those mirages. The doorway to Hades. The blacks keep away from it, and I don’t blame them. I wanted to touch it and was just plucking up the courage when it started to rain. Just a few drops at first and as they hit the rock it was like they didn’t want to be there. The water was steaming, and dancing to get off that rock. Sizzlin’ and steaming. That rock just spat the water back and then it gave a moan. A low rumbling moan. I tell you I ran so fast I beat the rain back to town.’

  Faraday lit a smoke and sat back. ‘Like something’s just not right, stuck out in the middle of nowhere,’ he finished, and dragged on his cigarette.

  ‘When Spider’s droving party finally got back to town it only took two schooners at the bar for the news to hit.

  ‘Boy was missing.

  ‘The talk was, Boy had gone walkabout. Lance Stenton said it was bound to happen one day and left it at that, content with his profit. The other two men in the muster left town pretty quick and the story of what really happened went with them, or so we thought.’

  The wind found its way inside the pub and worried the naked light bulbs hanging over the bar. Faraday looked up and their weak light flicked over his features as they swung. The air was oppressive, yet expectant with rain. The few customers in the bar sat silent and still, with nothing to do but sweat.

  ‘I wish it would bloody rain.’

  It was a sentiment we all agreed upon. Faraday wiped his brow with his shirt sleeve and poured a beer.

  ‘With the wet just around the corner, the cattle in, and not much else to do, Spider took to drinking. He hadn’t been in the top end before and it’s not an easy thing. It can make a man crazy for some relief. The heat can sap your energy until you’ve nothing left but a bad temper or a mighty thirst. Spider had both. He drank, and when he drank, he talked. We all listened.

  ‘He’s the kinda man that has been all over and done things some of us could only imagine. He told us about mustering in the Kimberleys and having to fight off crocs that wanted the cattle. He’d tell us about hunting roos so big they could rip a horse to pieces and then on other days he’d describe the outback so vividly we all could feel the dust and the heat and the empty spaces that make your eyes hurt and your heart ache for the horizon. He took us to the gorges in the centre where pools of water lay still and deep, where the shadows are cool and the chasms echo your words and dreams. We rode with him to the Blue Mountains and the snow and listened as he described the bitter wind, the cold ground and the ache in your bones that long for the sun. But most days he talked about killing dogs, until, about a week into his binge, he let it slip he had killed a man.

  ‘No one wanted to believe him. After all he had been on a bender for a good week. But people round here were quick to put two and two together and come up with Boy.

  ‘Word got around to Sizzling Rock Station and Ol’ man Stenton came to town to figure it out. It was a stinking hot day when Lance walked into the bar, took off his hat and wiped his brow with his shirt sleeve and called for Spider. Spider had been renting a room upstairs and he slowly made his way down and put his money on the bar. Lance just stood there and watched that craggy face. Spider never blinked.

  ‘“Where the bloody hell is Boy?” Lance said. Sweat was dripping down his face and he looked just about ready to melt.

  ‘“Dunno.”’

  ‘“Bullshit.”’

  ‘“He just fuckin’ walked off the job,” Spider said and took a swig of his beer.

  ‘“That’s not what I heard Mr. Webb.”’

  ‘“Well you heard wrong Mr. Stenton.”’

  ‘Ol’ Stenton was just about to have a go at Spider, when I had to reach for the baton.

  ‘“There’ll be no fightin’ in my bar gentlemen. Take it outside.” Lance stormed off and Spider called for a refill, but we all had a creepy sort of feelin’ then that something wasn’t right – Spider wasn’t even sweating.

  ‘The rains eventually came and Spider moved on. Ol’ man Stenton wouldn’t have him on the block. He said he’d have him arrested if he came around these parts again, but as there was no body or anyone to talk, it all just became a good yarn on those days when there is nothing much to do except wait for the rains.’

  I wondered if that was the end of the story when Faraday grabbed my arm and asked, ‘Do you believe in ghosts Mr Weatherness?’ I supped my drink and remained a fence sitter.

  Faraday lit another cigarette and began again.

  ‘It was a full year, and a lot can happen in a year up here, but about one year to the day Boy walked into town and sat down on the front verandah. Someone suggested we call Stenton, but I wasn’t so sure. I felt that prickle on the back of my neck and it didn’t seem right, so I said just leave it alone. If he wanted to go to the station, well, that would be his business. It was a mighty hot day that day and we watched as Boy sat not drinking his lemonade the missus took out to him. He sat there all day with his back to the wall until the sun dipped behind Wallunup Ridge, then he just got up and left. It was then we saw the scars on his back. Now I’ve seen plenty of roughed up men in my time, but these scars were vicious. Three strikes across his back.’

  Faraday held up three fingers to emphasise the point.

  ‘The sun casts long shadows and can blind a man if he’s trying to look too hard into the future ... or past. Boy just walked towards the sunset and try as I might to follow him with a squint he was gone. For three days he came to the pub. On the third day we had quite a crowd in and Ol’ man Stenton came to town. No-one could get Boy to talk and he just sat. It was creepy and there were plenty of stories going round about his visit, but none that came near to the truth. Nothing stays secret for long up here and Spider soon heard the stories. Someone had seen him in Alice Springs and news came back that he was drinking hard.’

  Faraday flicked another dead butt out the window and looked at the flyblown calendar on the wall.

  ‘It was a year of terrific rains. The ground just drank it up and the cattle grew fat. People said they had never seen it so good. Not for a long time, and Ol’ man Stenton was rubbing his hands together. We were all feeling pretty good and then Boy arrived.’

  The barman looked at me and expected some sort of reaction. I duly obliged with a question. ‘And was he the same?’

  Faraday nodded. ‘Exactly the same. He came the next year and by then we were kinda expecting it.’

  ‘And Spider?’ I asked.

  ‘He picked up a bit of work here and there, but something changed him. He was withering away.

  ‘Spider had heard of Boy and it was a festering sore. It ate into his bones and sapped his strength leaving him a shambling wreck even though he was only in his fifties. The word was he worried himself to death.

  ‘He died three years to the day.’ Faraday swung his head over to the calendar. ‘Three years to the day Boy disappeared. And then,’ Faraday absently picked his teeth with a toothpick, ‘and then Boy stopped coming. Just like that.’

  The clock above the bar chimed the hour and I jumped, then felt a strange tingling sensation on the back of my neck. I rubbed it and wiped my brow.

  ‘Hot eh?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I wish it would bloody rain. Waiting for the rains can make a man crazy,’ Faraday said, then lit another cigarette.

  Wednesday 28 August 2013

  A Man Under A Tree

  Vita Monica

  Southbank, VIC

  Under the shade of a cedar tree

/>   A man with a bamboo hat dreams

  When the gentle breezes come

  He is carried away

  The sun shines bright and the air keeps warm

  Heavy breath and wrinkles tell a life

  Upon the green he lays back

  A simple sheepman of herds

  From far people see

  A deep sleep in time of rush

  Wearing a piece of rag clothes, one pair of tongs

  They look, what a peace he has found

  Have we sought too far when life has shown itself?

  Thursday 29 August 2013

  A Good Death

  David Anderson

  Woodford, NSW

  The 1971 Holden Monaro GTS pulled up outside the Merivale Nursing Home. Light sleet drifted down, and Andrew Bailey shivered, turned up the collar of his long coat, and pulled his beanie down around his ears as he locked the car. He made his way inside to the nursing station and was given permission to visit his father in Room 75. Andrew tried to dismiss the odour of disinfectant and stale urine that overwhelmed his nose, and entered his father’s room to see him sitting up in bed tapping on the keyboard of his lap top. He stopped typing, smiled and removed his glasses, then shut the lid.

  ‘Hey Andy, what’s the news?’

  Andrew pulled up a chair. ‘Heather got the job, so that should help with the bills. And the kids are doing well at the new school.’

  Gordon Bailey pulled himself up in the bed and reached for a urinal bottle. ‘That’s great news, Son.’ He began to pass urine and his face looked strained. ‘They won’t even let me out of bed to piss. I could still take on that smart arse male nurse that gave me cheek this morning. Takes me longer to pee than having a crap now days.’ He laughed. ‘I wouldn’t worry too much about bills. Things will work out very soon I reckon.’

  ‘Yeh – sure Dad, I don’t think. By the way, when you phoned me, you said Colin was coming to see you yesterday?’

  Gordon placed the bottle on his cupboard. ‘He came in just after lunch.’ He shook his head. ‘Great pair of brothers you are, not seeing each other for six months. Maybe he’s jealous because I gave you the car? But then, I always promised it to you. It’s over forty years old now you know, and probably worth finishing the restoration.’

  Andrew shook his head. ‘I brought it tonight for a run to get the cobwebs out. But I don’t think either of us would bother, Dad. Too old for my league and Colin loves Fords.’

  His father laughed. ‘So it’s here eh? Some great nights in that old car when you were kids, and the nights I had it filled up with the old band gear.’ He sighed and gave Andrew a solemn look. ‘They’ve all gone you know – all my mates, your mother, and now this bastard eating out my prost ...’

  ‘Dad, what can I say? I’d have you home with us in a minute, but the doctor says you’re too ill and have to stay here.’

  ‘Well they’ve got me going in for more treatment to hospital next week.’ He laughed. ‘Said it will give me a few more months. A few more months of bloody what? Last month I was doing three hour bushwalks and lifting weights. Went for my annual blood tests and ... Shitville.’ He spat out the word with disgust, as Andrew reached over and held his father’s hand

  Gordon’s eyes brightened and he leant over and gripped Andrew’s hand tighter. ‘You work for a pharmaceutical company Son, and you won’t give your father something to finish it for me.’

  Andrew pulled away angrily. ‘Sure Dad. Haven’t you ever heard of an autopsy? How would I support the family then?’

  Gordon calmed down. ‘You’re right Son, it might look suspicious. So there goes Plan A.’

  ‘Dad. I’m sorry, but I really have to go. There’s a darts tournament tonight at the footy club and ...’

  Gordon cut him off. ‘Yeh, piss off then Son, just like your prodigal brother. See you in about a month as usual I suppose.’ He opened his eyes wide in a mock smile. ‘Oh no I won’t. I’ll probably be a stiff by then.’ Gordon was sorry he said this and gestured to Andrew to move in for a hug. ‘Sorry Andy. Goodbye Son. Love you.’

  Both father and son felt their eyes moisten. Andrew instigated the hug.

  ‘Bye Dad. Sorry I can’t do what you want. But I do love you.’

  Gordon held him closer. ‘I love you too Son. But can you do something for me ...’