Chapter 7
Primary School –
continued......
Some months passed and each member of the family was settling into their
daily schedule with improved optimism. At work Ted quickly overcome his
inability to perform the proper operational workings of the grader, thanks to
his sheer determination and tenacity he successfully masked the truth behind
his initial incompetence. Rene became accustomed to all the functions and
processes required to run the business effectively. Tim was doing well at
school but hinting on leaving to undertake an apprenticeship in panel beating
and spray painting, and Don who would never like school adjusted to the
obligation of turning-up each day. Zoe, well Zoe was doing her work and coping
reasonably well but still had intense feelings for Bing. His ‘absence made her
heart grow fonder’, so the saying goes, and in this case it was very true,
mainly because there were no other boys around her age in close proximity or
any social outlets to help take her mind of him. A cause for the continued and
consistent writing to one another, Ted knew of this correspondence, yet still
believed distance to be a great divider. He assumed Bing’s work would keep him
away and justify to Zoe his absence, thus allowing the blame to be taken away
from him for making her leave; but this was not to be. Bing would ‘hitch-hike’
from Ingleburn to the shop to see Zoe
at every opportunity he could afford. On most of the trips ventured he would
try cadging a ride straight after work on Friday, and usually, if successful,
he would arrive very late at night or early the next morning. Rides were
accepted with all kinds of characters and each arduous journey would have one
or more tales to it.
On one such journey Bing arrived late in the next day. It was well past
the time Zoe expected him and caused her much concern. She had been very upset
because of the possible misfortunes or dangers she conjured in her mind; all
plausible from past reports of his travels. She took one look at his face and
knew something was wrong;
“Oh dear. What happened to
you?” He told her he had a few troubles on the way and asked not to tell her
parents of his tribulations in travel as they may take it the wrong way, then
he rambled about his manner of conduct in relation to the horrible journey just
experienced and of his ordeals in dealing with the undesirables who chose to
exploit his vulnerability. She listened while he told in detail his distressing
exploits and tacked onto every word, expressing concern and offering compassion
and wanted desperately to provide tender loving care; she mollycoddled him like
a baby while he spoke.
His story went like this. When he finished work at camp on Friday and
while still dressed in his army uniform he gathered his duffle bag and as per
usual set off hitch-hiking. He wore his army uniform because he felt people
were more prone to offer him a ride, he believed it presented to them a non
threatening personality and an assuming security in character. In his duffle he
packed the usual assortment of clothes and as on all trips something different
to play with on the Scotsdon’s property, this time it was an army pistol to be
used in target practise. On his person, for protection, stored safely in its
leather pouch he concealed beneath his jacket a WWII ‘Kabar’ fighting knife.
Never had the need to use it materialised but its presence gave him comfort and
a defensive reassurance in the event of any unforeseen or imminent danger.
Following his first ride, after dusk, somewhere between Sydney and Wollongong he stepped out of the ‘Holden’ and thanked the driver
who came to the end of his journey. He then waited on the side of the highway
for another ride. In the middle of nowhere in the dark of the night once again
he waved the thumb in a horizontal motion at the few cars travelling the road,
but no-one stopped. Walking with nothing but crickets breaking the silence made
the hours seem like days, only a few trucks and less cars passed in the chilly
dampness of the night air. He could hardly feel his nose as droplets of nasal
mucus dripped profusely over his upper lip. Another set of headlights could be
seen approaching in the distance: ‘Maybe
this time,’ he thought waving his arm in expectation of them stopping. The
car went speeding by at first, and then the driver had second thoughts and came
to a skidding halt further down the road. Bing’s knowledge of cars was
exceptional due to the amount of travel and the variety of lifts he accepted,
he used such knowledge to his advantage by utilising those observations as a
source of conversation. So as he approached the car he immediately identified
it as a green ‘1955 Chevrolet Bel Air’. One short tubby untidy fellow in his
early thirties with torn trousers and a baggy jersey jumped out of the
passenger side and said;
“Gooday mate. Where ya
going?” Bing replied;
“Wirrageen.” The passenger held the door open;
“Not sure where or what this
‘Wirra..’ joint is, but we’ll take you as far as we’re going.” He took Bing’s
duffle, threw it over onto the back seat and gestured with a flick of his hand
for Bing to slide in the front between himself and the driver. Bing was happy
for their generosity, he got in willingly, immediately thanked them, and
started meaningless conversation; a beginning he employed in most instances to
relax a tense or formal atmosphere.
“Nice looking Chevy you’ve
got here. ‘55’ isn’t it?”
“Yea maybe, not sure, we
just only stole it,” said the driver without any intensity of humour normally
associated with satirical send-ups. Still Bing thought nothing improper about
the two, he took it as a joke and laughed it off with an unresponsive stare.
The driver was a cagy looking individual, his face long and eyes deep set under
a fringe of short scruffy hair, his name could well have been predicted as
‘stretch’ in recognition of his build. One of the first things Bing noticed as
they raced off spinning the wheels in the loose gravel was the stench of
alcohol. There were cans, bottles, and a generous mess of other material such
as food scraps and paraphernalia strewn over the floor.
The passenger opened two tall bottles of beer and offered one to Bing
who politely refused by telling them he was a teetotaller. They tried forcing
him to accept by belittling his convictions but Bing stayed true to his
decision and watched them guzzle both bottles. Their driving became more chaotic
and speech brash with constant lairizing and a total disregard for road rules
or safety. The circumstances stirred Bing into a numb like quiescence as he
became increasingly concerned by their skittish conversation and mood change;
their disposition turned more and more conspicuously towards Mephistophelian
scheming. Fully realizing his predicament while being trapped between the two,
and under sufferance with the disconcerting knowledge he only had a ‘Kabar’ for
defence, began an urgent brooding for his gun to be in hand instead of being
packed out of reach in his duffle. At a loss for what action to take he knew
his fearful prognostications were well founded and was left without recourse to
influence any immediate changes.
Unbeknownst to Bing the passenger had a knife of his own, and without
notice put his arm around Bing’s neck and pressed the blade firmly against his
throat. The driver laughed while the passenger showed no emotion in demanding
obedience;
“Give me your wallet? Any trouble
and I’ll slash your throat.”
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