Chapter 23
Pain of love
Don was back working with a gang of seven on Monday, camping in bushland
in outdated yellow plywood caravans, each with few cupboards and a set of steel
double bunks inside. They were parked on a bridge building site miles from
nowhere deep in a valley preparing foundations. The crew consisted of a
foreman, two carpenters, a crane operator, a powder-man, and two labourers; one
of them being Don. All but Don was over the age of fifty, the oldest sixty five
and Don the youngest. It was the middle of winter and the temperature was never
above three degrees Celsius until the sunlight breached the mountainous tree
line around eleven ‘am’. The sun’s rays would penetrate for about four hours
before it once again sunk below the treetops. The purpose of the bridge under
construction was to bypass and replace the concrete causeway because it flooded
with superfluous frequency causing the stoppage of the large logging trucks meeting
their schedule.
After Friday’s operations when the work crew was permitted to return
home, Don went into town to the sports store to purchase a rifle. The store was
multifarious in supply and stocked a huge range of firearms. He admired the
gold engraving on the stock of a ‘Winchester-model 1892’. It was, or at least
looked the exact same as the one actor Chuck Norris used in the television show
called, ‘The Rifle Man’, around the early sixties. Unfortunately the cost of
around eighty dollars was above his means. The option of putting it on lay-by
was available but he wanted a rifle to take with him on Monday. The rest of his
work mates had guns and they regularly went spotlighting for feral pigs, he
wanted to be part of the hunting fraternity so settled for a cheaper .22 semi
automatic which fired fifteen shots from a cartridge clip. Being keen to try
the rifle he fired a few magazines into the scrub near his home and was pleased
with its rapidity in discharging bullets.
It was the start of another working week of camping on site. At first
the stormy weather gave no opportunity to fire his weapon in any kind of hunt,
but as it cleared and housekeeping duties, such as; cooking and cleaning and
the rituals of washing tin plates and mugs was complete, he rugged-up and
joined the ready and waiting group for an evening of hunting. The area was
alive with all types of wildlife, but it was the pigs they were pursuing. The
feral pig is an omnivore which can exceed one hundred and forty kilograms in
weight, and besides causing havoc to the natural balance of flora and fauna
they carry many diseases considered dangerous to the health of domestic
livestock. There was never a complaint from the community when pigs were being
culled for sport; it was encouraged. They spent an hour trekking deep through
the bush where the tell tale signs of pigs rummaging in the vegetation were
prominent, his mate made a sweeping search of the undergrowth with a powerful
beam of light, and not far away, hidden in the bushes, two shiny eyes reflected
the hideout of a huge black boar boasting enormous tusks. Because of his new
rifle Don was given the privilege of first shoot while the others stood quiet
and watched. He stalked his prey, after creeping to a distance of no further
than twenty five feet away and lifted his weapon to take aim. The group could
hear the grunting of more swine’s nearby and scanned the area with the
spotlight, taking it off the one Don was aiming at, it allowed the pig to
refocus and it took a defensive stance. Usually, if given the chance they run
away but this one went against the grain of normality, instead of scatting it
began charging at Don with its head down and tusks armed. He did not panic and
had a good clear shot, gently he squeezed the trigger, ‘click’, again ‘click’,
nothing happened, he pulled the trigger again without success. Terror was the
first thought to mind because the pig was heading towards him at full speed and
closing in fast, he dropped his rifle and scampered away in an undignified manner,
tripping and screaming to his friends. As he got closer to his mates the light
beamed again on the commotion, then shots from their guns whistled past his
ears and dropped the pig only metres away from his shaking body. Everyone but
he thought it to be a great joke as their laughter echoed through the cold
night.
“Great gun you’ve got
there,” was the first sarcastic remark. He was too stirred to give reply,
picked up his rifle, wiped the mud off it and sank slowly into an embarrassing
slump. They continued the hunt for a few more hours without the contribution of
Don’s firepower. The following weekend he took the gun back and had it repaired
but from then on the firing-pin would jam with regular monotony and
occasionally snapped in two. He knew he should have waited until he could
afford the ‘Winchester’ and never did bag a pig.
Early morning starts in his job were customary and sleep was a luxury
each took seriously. Determined to interrupt the work-crew’s slumber was one
in-particular ‘logger’ driving a ‘Kenworth’ semi trailer. He had a warped sense
of humour, around four every morning as he crossed the flooded causeway he
thought it hilarious to blast his air horns. Don and his mate’s caravans were
in close proximity to the crossing. The noise was alarming, frustrating and
deprived them of precious sleep. Men would jump out of bed in ready to throttle
him, but by the time anyone rose to scream their discontent his truck was long
gone. The powder-man, named Joe, had enough of this ratbag behaviour; he did not
find it funny and forewarned the crew of his intentions to put a stop to it.
The next morning he set a detonator in a half stick of ‘gelignite’, put it next
to the causeway in the water and lay in waiting up on the ridge with his
plunger. The strategy was to wait until the perpetrator blew his air horns and
push the plunger to explode the charge; it was an impressive plan and would
hopefully give the desired effect of scaring the shit out of him. No-one wanted
to miss the outcome so all got up early in the damp freezing morning to witness
the prank, besides, the vans were so close to the blast site it was assumed to
be safer up the ridge with Joe than in the warmth of the van. The sound of the
truck approaching could be heard from a distance away and gave plenty of time
to prepare. They took it for granted the driver coming was the culprit
disturbing their sleep each morning and all was good to go. As the ‘logger’
slowed to a crawl to negotiate the streaming causeway he let loose the noise of
his air horns and held the racket continuously. When he reached the middle of
the causeway Joe shouted ‘man in the hole’, he did this just for the fun of it,
it had no significance for the safety of the logger because he could not hear
the warning, then he pushed the plunger; Kabooooom! A resounding full
‘BOOOOMMM’ blasted a wave of water and stones in the air meeting the driver and
giving him the shock of his life. He ran off the line of the causeway before
correcting his path and came to sudden halt on the other side. When he
staggered out of his truck he was in such a fluster with stutter and abuse he
was ready to punch the nose of the first person who engaged him. Luckily there
were many of Don’s crew and only one of him because he was a large irate
character. Joe took it upon himself to explain the situation and threatened he
not blow his horns again or next time the blast would be underneath his truck.
The driver’s only recourse was to suck in his hurt pride and carry on with
business as usual. He went off in a huff, but it worked, and it was the last
they heard of him or his horns. The customary morning ruckus so rudely
interfering with their craving for a deep and torpid sleep was again minimised
to the idle of the engines of trucks passing and a satisfying slumber could be
enjoyed.
Working so far away from home only to return on the weekends added a
range of complexities to Don’s life proving equal in distributing the many
pressures familiar to teenagers; the physical and emotional urges for female
companionship, the need for friendships with people of the same age, the hanker
for homely comforts, and of course Cardinia’s touch. Prior, his once healthy
fortitude in childhood had been withered away by the many intimidating
scenarios endured; now it was seclusion rendering it impossible for any clarity
of conviction to pass into normal adulthood. Plus, any balanced reasoning
regarding maturity was impaired by his hyperactive hormones controlling most
thought patterns. Weeks passed and Don had not heard from Cardinia. Sitting by
the phone on weekends and driving past her house countless times trying to get
her attention proved futile. The few Saturday mornings he went to her place of
work she was absent. By now he believed she was being evasive and had
reservations as to her predilections for him. He was not about to give in just
yet, but chose not to take the direct approach by knocking on her front door
for fear of rejection from her or her parents, so his certitude tilted towards
the formation of a scheme to get noticed and aspire her to approve his persona.
He remembered her parents were devout churchgoers, so his plan was to
heathenize himself by attending her church on Sunday Mass.
The church opened its doors early. He parked across the road listening
to the ringing of the bells for what seemed an eternity whilst waiting and
watching for Cardinia to appear. Finally, vehicles filled with people swarmed
on the small chapel, so many it blocked his vie, making it difficult to spot
any particular individual. Now standing next to his car searching the horde he
caught a glimpse of her about to alight from one of the cars, he was certain it
was not her parents driving so took his chance by leaning in the window of his
car and hooting the horn to nominate himself as the centre of attention; it
worked. He attracted everybody’s attention, but most importantly when his
identity was recognized it was her who responded. She acknowledged him with a
wave and advanced in his direction. As she crossed the road he admired her
knockout figure and drooled at the way she paraded a pleated white short skirt
and a shaded brown mohair cardigan with her hair long and the sides brushed
back in plated tails to flaunt such flawlessness in woman.
“Hello,” she said, “What are
you doing here?” Don replied;
“You didn’t ring so I
thought I would come and see you. I wasn’t game to come around your place and
you weren’t at work, so I thought this would be the best place to find you.”
“Yes, they wouldn’t let me
go to the pictures. Besides we’ve been away to see a relative. Let’s go for a
drive.”
“What about your church?
Where’s your parent’s?” He asked while looking anxiously throughout the crowd.
“Oohh don’t fret, its okay I
can miss church. My parents couldn’t come today. As long as I get back in time
for my friends to take me home it’ll be okay, they won’t mind.”
“Won’t they tell you
parents?” She was decisive in reply;
“No! I just said they won’t
miss me! Let’s go.” Don did not have to be told again. Feeling his own heart
beat in perfect rapture, awed by her poise and feminine pulchritude, and elated
with the pleasure of her company he sped off; another bonus in thought was he
did not have to attend church. They drove a few kilometres along a river bank
to an old disused and derelict boat ramp. The view was picturesque with a
bridge in the foreground engulfed by colourful sailing skiffs, on the other
side power boats skimming the calm waters with skiers in tow; it set the scene.
He knew it to be a perfect spot for a conversation and hopefully a bit of
canoodling. They spoke of many things, and whether for fun or satire she made
reference to her active friendship with Kolora and laughed at the day he kicked
them out. Don was tiring of this story because it had been told many times
before, he asked;
“You’ve mentioned this a few
times, does it still bother you?”
“Nooo, don’t be silly. I
find it amusing now, that day is just a silly memory. He could have asked a
hundred questions because the way she answered was not convincing to him, but
he picked up on a tetchy pout and did not want to ruin the opportunity of love
by creating friction.
Don knew there was no freeing himself from enslavement; she was an
obsession of passion and he would have bent head over heels on request. They
had a kiss or two, and without further to do proved her patience was far
superior to his sexual drive, she said;
“I had better get back now,
they’ll be finished soon.” He did not want to take her back but was not going
to upset her by chancing an argument, so he respectfully agreed, wriggled his
genitals in place and started the car for the trip back.
“Okay if we must.” She ran
her fingers through his hair and stated the obvious;
“You sound disappointed?”
“Of course I am. Why
wouldn’t I be? We’ve only been here fifteen minutes.”
“Tell you what? When I get
home I’ll tell my parents I saw you at church, and maybe, if you can come next
week they’ll get to know you a bit better.” Don could think of nothing worse
than getting to know the old warthogs, let alone going to church, but surmised
her recommendation to be a small inconvenience, a contribution of fortune for
many possible engaging liaisons; wholeheartedly he agreed it well worth
concurring to her terms.
“I’ll be there with bells
on. I’ll see you there.”
Sunday mornings were reserved outright for church. Much to Don’s
astonishment on his first visit he saw the ‘collar’ as being none other than
‘Father Punty’. He thought: ‘I was sure
‘Punty died long ago, I guess not; shame. Shit he must be well connected to
people in high places; the old bastard.’ Fortuitously for Don he did not
recognise him. Her parents were long-faced when Cardinia presented him as a
promising disciple and it took weeks for them to lower their guard. For Don
Church was a means to an end, a charade he tolerated for months. It was not
enjoyable, especially the obtrusive exaggerated pietism befitting individuals
of clans falsifying their allegiance; he hated the insincerity of the rituals,
the faked religious zeal and the affected righteous order of the Catholic
faith. But the suffering and toleration paid dividends because it was not long
before Cardinia’s parents afforded him the consent to date her and responsively
they took full advantage of the controlled, limited and small frames of freedom
allotted to them. Their rendezvous of compromise with her parent’s was a double
feature at the pictures to see ‘On her
Majesty’s Secret Service’ starring ‘George Lazenby’ as James Bond. They strolled hand in hand and sat watching the film
ablaze with passionate dedication to each other. Both established the same
conditional response like mental telepathy leading to the second feature being
inconsequential because they never saw the end of the first; instead they
skipped the theatre and departed to allow private time together; parking at the
boat ramp was their place of choice.
The night was still with a chill conducive to necking. The lights of the
buildings on the opposite bank reflected and twinkled on the serene surface of
the water encouraging romantic interest. Not much was said, he was lost for
words in the belief she could enamour any man’s heart and wondered; ‘Why would she be interested in me? There’s
must be heaps of guys chasing her.’ This question nagged at his
insecurities causing perpetual instability. He wanted to ask her that very
thing but was scared of upsetting the mood:
‘I would have to be dumb to ask her, any mistake in my stupid thinking at this
moment would only prejudice glorious privileges to her warmth.’ The outside
visibility was being marred by the fogging of windows letting concentrations to
be re-focussed, and her seraphic looks made known the feelings of mutuality
towards tender play. Gently he leaned across the tiny seat to engage in an
affectionate embrace and she countenanced the move; a lasting kiss had him pining
for more. The steamy air turned into dripping condensation; their bodies hot
and turned on. Don had his fingers manipulating every part he could reach, she
was responding favourably with sounds emanating cravings for lust. They
contorted their bodies awkwardly between the two front seats to climb through
to the back, then Don hastily tried in vain to remove her cardigan but it
suited like a hauberk; he needed help. She leaned to one side and with a sultry
titter and tut she slowly discarded her vesture and other clothing underneath;
he was in heaven and could not ignore the pressure of the blood rushing through
his veins. It was now impossible to repress or control his sexual hunger. While
frantically stripping off his shirt they hugged and kissed; arms were thrashing
everywhere. Nearly nude, the feeling of her bare breasts against his chest
added another dimension to his already inflamed exhilaration, he kept rubbing
her clit to maintain the initiative, she was ready, and she knew exactly what
she wanted. She took off her underwear and lay back as best as one could in the
back seat of a ‘Mini-Cooper’ and although a little cumbersome in manoeuvre he
removed the remaining of his clothing.
She spread her legs and moulded his penis in her hand to guide it home;
he was throbbing with gratitude. Already an extoller of her superb virtues, the
slow entry into her sodden, tepid, tight hole, together with abrupt perfervid
thrusts removed all logical implications from his senses; he was mentally and
physically hers. Her nails dug in his back and her breathing erratic. He
plunged deeper and deeper with only the final chapter in mind. Her muffled
screams and grinding arches triggered the effusion of sperm upstream to its
breach, his body quivered, hers in tremulous salutation clutched to him firmly
constricting his movements, he burst into deep groans and finally the climax
filled her full of his gamete; the gush was like an oil well erupting. Panting
and perspiring heavily from exertion they rested for a period. Blood was
abundant, defloration assured, yet too dark to properly ascertain the amount of
blood lost, she used a towel to clean what she could. Smoking, drinking and
chatting was a formality with natural conclusions; it was not long before the
urge for coitus again provided more intimacy and the second as pleasing as the
first.
In remembrance of Fran falling pregnant and blaming him, serious
considerations regarding birth control of adequate form nullified the mood for
a third encounter. He implicated his mind-set by fixating on the impact
pregnancy could have on their lives, thinking rationally he wanted to prove
himself to be an attentive suitor capable of focussing on the future with
gallantry. His discussions began by relating them to his own incompetence;
“I’m sorry I didn’t pull
out. I got carried away as usual. I’ve never had access to ‘french letters’;
sorry. I hope everything will be okay. I’m more than willing to take full
responsibility if; you know?” Without
reply she took a sip of her drink. Don failed to comprehend why she showed such
a casual disregard for his concerns. He waffled-on; “I promise I’ll get condoms
from somewhere, or at least pull out in time.” Then he sought to justify his
lack of control due to the intense pleasure. “It was the best feeling ever and
I didn’t think of anything but;....well anything really.” Still she remained
quiet and he promised again he would satisfy any wishes she had to safeguard
their future together. “If we were so unlucky for you to fall pregnant the
first time I would stand beside you; promise. Composed without the impetuosity
of a fretful woman she finally spoke, and in a faintness of voice evinced
little concern while giving an assurance on the subject;
“Don’t worry about it. I’m
on the pill.” Don was bowled over, rather relieved and yet curious, he thought: ‘Fuck me, you could have told me that
before and stopped all my worry.’ And clearly puzzled by her statement: ‘She told me she was a virgin; I believed
her because of the vaginal blood stains on the back seat. I don’t get it.’
he asked;
“How? Why? What for?” She
explained;
“I’ve been on the pill for a
couple of years because I get bad menstrual pains and it eases them. I’ve
always been bothered with pain down there.” He could not believe his luck and
thought: ‘I have a girlfriend who cannot
get pregnant, meaning we can have sex anytime without the worry of mistakes.’
She saw the assuaging effects of blessedness on his face;
“Does the news make you
happier?”
“You bet,” he answered
beaming in complete concurrence.
They saw a lot of each other after that night and their sexual impulses
were met and fulfilled at every opportunity. Don was scared of losing her, so
much so he was subservient; his deference to her every wish was honourable and
he stayed true to her every whim. Later they exchanged friendship rings and
become an exemplary and simpatico young couple. She introduced him to all her
churchy friends whom were a lot more convivial than past company kept, but
still he found it hard to feel accepted. Kolora hardly ever attended church but
remained a friend of Cardinia’s, so he had a few encounters with her, who like
Cardinia thought that day of past rejection from him now quite funny. She held
no malice towards him and in conversation explained;
“I don’t see Sam anymore. He
was wrong about you. I found out what he was really like. He was becoming
obsessive and spiteful.” The world was a great place to be in at this
particular time for Don, everything was going his way. He was very happy and
getting a bit more confident in himself; but as always nothing stays the same.
About six months into their relationship Cardinia’s parents upset Don’s
peaceful relations and caused great emotional disturbance by disclosing plans
to move to Sydney. Cardinia protested
against their intensions and with tears she objected by stating a blatant
refusal to go. They sprouted religion and moralistic preaching’s and ordered
her to join them. She continued her unorthodox behaviour and refused to act in
accordance with their directive, creating an awkward period of conflict; there
was a lot of unrest. Eventually the months turned into weeks, and as the move
became evident and their seriousness about proceeding beyond doubt, with only
one week to go Cardinia realised the blood connecting kinship was too hard to
forsake; together with the oppressive atmosphere and the threat of renouncing
their daughter created many indifferences which persuaded an obligation to
conformity. Their move was impendent, both Don and Cardinia were inconsolable,
they could not bear to be torn apart but the result was inescapable; she was
going to Sydney. Don wept profusely,
with her parent’s permission he made a heartfelt commitment; he promised he
would remain courting her by travelling to Sydney
each Friday night, sleep over, and return home Sunday afternoons. Between them
it was the best scenario they could muster until Don could organize to move
nearer.
The weeks following her departure were filled with melancholic
despondency. Don was dejected, lonely, and in a state of mild depression. The
first weekend of his visit could not come quick enough. Leaving after work on a
Friday afternoon he arrived at Cardinia’s about seven at night, then the
unexpected happened, her mother and father were standoffish. He was made
unwelcome and they kept a watchful eye over their daughter’s every move. They
were never sociable to him but now it was worse. With each physical or verbal
exchange between Don and Cardinia was a requirement to defend himself from
stymieing inquisitions. It was frustrating every meet because they worked to
thwart loving affections. He did not accede easily to their meddlesome
bumptiousness and week after week he kept his promise of driving the distance;
Friday after Friday he set off for the long drive.
Don’s father rarely got involved in his social life, he believed he
would learn by his mistakes, but on this occasion he offered Don the benefit of
his wisdom and told him he was mad, but no-one could change his mind; he loved
her and equated his hardship and travel to his brother-in-law’s experiences and
ideals when courting Zoe; he achieved the apotheosis of honourable in her
father’s eyes and Don hoped if he persisted the same would happen with
Cardinia’s parent’s. Alas, what began as an amative weekly jaunt became
physically draining and arduous journies. He concluded the trip would be easier
and more comfortable without the compactness and jarring suspension of his
small ‘Mini’, so he traded it on a ‘1968 GTS Holden Monaro, 307 Coupe’. The
Chevrolet V8 made it a more comfortable drive but regretfully more expensive
and the reality of his decision to buy another car was only an adjunct in the
treatment of the infection; it was a desperate pretence to find a solution to
an unsolvable problem.
Cardinia was in constant debate with her parents over the imposed
restraints prohibiting her power to act, speak, or think for herself. She was
still friendly with Weepy’s sister Sally and kept in touch by pen, and thought
if she could get Sally to stay overnight then maybe her parents would let them
have a bit of freedom. On one of Don’s stays Cardinia asked him if he would
like to bring Sam and Sally to her place for a weekend. She said she had spoken
to her parents and they said it was okay and they would all be allowed to visit
Luna Park and Taronga Zoo. Don was not impressed with the idea. He remembered
well the way Sam treated him in the past but agreed for a few reasons; he
thought Sam would act differently out of the company of the others, and he
desperately sought to spend quality time with Cardinia, and off course he
wanted to keep her happy. When Don returned home to Naretha he established strained communication with Sam and told him
of Cardinia’s request. Sam said;
“Sally hasn’t said anything
to me yet. I’ll get in touch with her and let ya know later.” The news was
good. Sally was aware of the plans and dictated to Sam the circumstances; they
both said ‘yes’. Don picked them up early one morning and took the hours or so
trip to Sydney. On the way Don was pleased
with the informal exchange of views, the recall of humorous circumstances and
the interchange of ideas and information, the discussions were light hearted
and in the best form of courteous and social mannerisms; he thought, ‘Maybe Sam has changed for the better, or
Sally has disciplined him. Still anyone would go mad mixing with those other
two; Weepy and Sterge. I wonder why Sally’s so different. She’s so nice and the
best looking girl out of everyone; even better looking than Cardinia. But I’ve
never stood a chance with her; she’s all for Sam for some strange reason......
Women?
When they arrived at Cardinia’s there was rejoice and jubilation as each
gave and received hugs and kisses. Although still closely monitored by her
parents they enjoyed talking about past adventures and were given permission,
as promised, to drive to Circular Quay.
They caught the ferry to Luna Park
and spent the day on the rides and amused themselves in Coney Island. The four got on very well together and it was a day
of fun with spontaneous good spirits. On return to Cardinia’s they did not
deserve tedious vigilant chaperonage with such dilatorily tactics as practiced
by her parents, it dampened what delights the evening could have afforded. When
it was time for bed the atmosphere was electric with suspicion. Her parents
made sure Sally and Cardinia went to the same room together and closed the
door, leaving Sam and Don to the improvised bedding on the lounge room floor.
Intentions of sneaking in to the girls room was impossible because the ‘oldies’
kept their bedroom door open and it had to be passed before a prize could be
granted. The next day they went to the Zoo. A lot of petting took place but
they could not fully appreciate each other’s lascivious nature because in the crowded
scene of the daytime menagerie there was never going to be a favourable
combination of circumstances permitting sexual congress; her parents knew all
too well more than two was a crowd.
Putting aside the discontent associated with the restrained setting of
every weekend, there were some memorable times for Don and he was free to
embellish Cardinia’s image and show his fondness and admiration, but it was all
about to unfold; she would beguile his heart. Months went by and further visits
to date had been harshly manipulated by her parents, even moreso than
previously. Don was not sure what had happened or who said what, or why, but
the mood transformed from one where they at least tolerated him to one of
dramatic condemnation. Her parents dictated every part of their lives,
especially the sleeping arrangements which always robbed them of the
opportunity to bond; sexually or emotionally. Cardinia possessed a refined
muliebrity with merits of gentleness and compassion, but her overweening sexual
needs were denied and suppressed; Don knew the feeling well. For her, the
pressures of Don’s absence, the loathing of him her parents so openly posited,
and having to abide to a lot of unwieldy rules and regulations became an
insuperable hurdle to jump for both of them. She panged for male companionship
and Don could not even satisfy her basic needs, let alone her sexual desires,
he was stifled and beaten by her obnoxious keepers; she was drifting away from
his love for her.
Unknowingly, on what was to be his last visit she explained she met one
of Kolora’s friends from Naretha whom
now lives near her and it was her intentions to court him. Don should have seen
this coming, but ‘love is blind’, he had no idea who the person was or his
name, and the callous, cold, shattering news broke his heart. She wanted to end
the relationship immediately. He was stunned, the sorrow was soon replaced with
loss and intense anger; he threw his ring at her feet and stormed out. While
racing home in his car he thought: ‘How
could someone change from one so loving to such an unlovable insensitive bitch
in such a short period of time.’ The incident changed his perspective of
women forever, he promised himself he would never offer adulation as he
afforded her with such sincerity, and never would he succumb to idolatrous and
ardent devotion again. He had to admit to himself his long series of
misapprehensions about her feelings towards him, and of his extreme gullibility
in thinking intimacies could blossom; each played a role in his heartbreaking
exercise in futility.
Life is like a stable ecosystem, if a change is forced upon it then it
usually undergoes a debilitating effect on other parts of the environment. The
consequences of the breakup for Don bore reactions of a similar occurrence; it
came at a psychological cost taking affect on everyday living. The whole sordid
termination of events took its toll on his ability to make candid convictions
because his true sweetheart, who he thought could do no wrong, had betrayed
him; she flirted with other men and dumped him. He was not yet to the end stage
of a lonely misanthrope, but Cardinia rebuilt his faith in humanity only to
demolish it beyond its former state. The dreams of foregone times were now
replaced with alienation and scepticism; his trust in women forever violated.
