Chapter 20
Accidents and Girls
1967; the wrestler ‘Killer Kowalski’ made mainstream press for applying
his dreaded ‘claw hold’ on talk show host Don Lane, it was around this time a
tragic outcome involving Tim devastated the Scotsdon’s and put an end to the
poised existence they toiled so intensively to achieve. Don’s brother became
quite a larrikin, but underneath the bluster stood a friendly, affable,
confident, good looking individual. He was a member of a pop group and
practiced relentlessly to improve his self-taught hankering to master the
strumming of a ‘bass’ guitar. The band would play gigs for any occasion such as
formals, weddings and parties, but their main source of bookings were in the
local pubs. He enjoyed the atmosphere of these events a great deal; the
advantages of alcohol, drugs, dim lighting and arousing music on the patrons
supplied him and his group with casual and delirious sexual rewards. The women
lacked a sense of restraint and responsibility due to the aura of free spirited
gatherings like this, and Tim was not one to complain of the tartness of girls,
but unfortunately it was not all festivities. With a noisy crowd of helplessly
inebriated hyperactive revellers these venues generated fiery tempers; problems
such as traumas, fights, ‘glassing’s’ and the usual bloody noses were frequent.
Other, more serious injuries included the loss of eyesight, permanent scarring,
and even death was witnessed.
Tim’s normal employment, together with his evening source of income from
music, allowed him the indulgence of trading his old car for the purchase of
another. The car of choice was a white ‘MG’ soft top convertible which
resembled an ‘E Type Jaguar’. One weekend night after performing at one of the
local ‘bars’, Tim and his friend began packing away their instruments, speaker
systems and other gear, when one of the more sober girls asked if he would give
her a lift home. He was not indulging in alcoholic beverages and saw no problem
with the request as he always gave people a ride home. He made it known to her
he had a friend with him and there were only two seats in the car, if she
wanted a ride she would have to sit on the console in the middle of the two
seats behind the gearstick. She agreed so they rolled back the canvas roof to
make more head room and happily drove off. About one kilometre from the place
of departure was a hairpin bend on which construction and road maintenance
workers had just resealed. The repair crew failed to clean the loose gravel of
the road leaving it slippery, and as Tim approached the bend the car spun out
of control and went hurtling forward under the four by four inch timber post
and rail fence. The driver, being Tim, and his male friend in the other seat
were unharmed, but the impact of the railing on the front window-screen had
dire consequences, it acted like a razor and decapitated the girl passenger. It
was a nightmare for Tim and the families involved. The next day Don saw his
mother soaking Tim’s bloodied clothes in a plastic bowl and told him of the
accident. They did not mention to him a death occurred, they thought it better
to withhold the shocking details because he was still regarded as a child,
therefore being unsullied by such sin and moral wrong. Don gradually learnt the
truth surrounding the accident but was shadowed by ignorance to a certain
degree from the reality of future proceedings. The following months were
pandemonium.
The dead girl’s father was a high ranking police officer who demanded
retribution and registered a litany of complaints. Any father would want his
daughter’s death avenged, he was no different, and it would be difficult to
understand the complexity of human behaviour in such catastrophic
circumstances. Yet he had no sentiment for Tim’s family. As one of the official
cohorts in the force he was resolute in the coercion of exaggerated police
reports, pushing his views on the lawyers to distort the truth in court
proceedings. The Scotsdon’s knew he was the main perpetrator seeking and
fighting for a ‘manslaughter’ charge to be served on Tim because his daughter was
not seated according to the law or the manufacturer’s specifications. Tim’s
glass eye was used against him to try and prove incompetence as the trial was
further cluttered with legal obfuscation, periodic court sessions and character
witnesses. Following each court session the lawyer’s evidence entertained the
media for a further few months until the judge finally made a ruling on his
decision. He described the case by saying:
‘There is a preponderance of
evidence against the defendant and I cannot see it in my powers as a servant of
the law not to administrate justice according to the facts put before me. With
the powers invested in me, and in using my judicial discretion, I order the
final verdict of ‘guilty of manslaughter’. It shall carry a one year sentence
in ‘Long Bay’ penitentiary.’
Tim was bewildered, scared and confused and the Scotsdon family was
overcome with sadness and grief. He was handcuffed, taken to the cells and held
incommunicado until transport was organised for the trip to Sydney for incarceration. The very next
morning he was placed in the back of a police van for the journey north.
Long Bay was constructed in 1898 and soon became known as an old, dirty
and rough prison. By 1967 it was much worse for wear with about twelve hundred
inmates squeezing into an area only capable of properly housing nine hundred.
On arrival two burly guards opened the van door to reveal the first glimpse of
Tim’s future anguish; a caged area consisting of vertical steel bars, many
sentries and visually dull. This was the processing stage in which “Yes Sir”
and “No Sir” were the only answers allowed to be spoken. Even before officers
took his details they undertook an undignified strip search in front of all
those present; this routine seemed to enrich the onlooker’s humour. He was
fingerprinted and supplied with drab grey trousers, green shirts, a jacket and
shoes; all ill-fitting. Then interviewed and given blankets, tableware (plastic
cups, plates, etc.), a haircut and a meeting with the prison doctor. Once compliant
to the many traumatic prerequisites he was split apart from the rest and put
into another steel barred compartment, a holding cell to wait until
finalization of initial procedures.
Once the formalities were over he was moved and locked away in a small
brick cell, roughly 2.5 x3.5 meters, it had in it a double steel bunk and a
putrid mattress, an open toilet, a chair, a small table and a cabinet. At first
he was alone and could hear the frightening rants and raves from other cells.
He thought the screams to be from the newcomers who could not handle the
realization, frustration, and solitude of prison; but was uncertain, the place
was full of lunatics. The malodorous walls were impregnated with excrement of
all sorts; like sweat and mucus, and the place reeked of shit, urine and
dampness. He was confined to his cell between twelve and sixteen hours a day,
the vile odours would soak into clothes and linger without break; the whiff
became accepted as normal but never was it inconspicuous. At least he got a
breath of fresh air when he was allowed open access to the exercise yard,
although it was without relief from the hate of being caged in because a larger
caged fortress consisting of brick walls, bars across the gates, and most areas
covered still resembled a jail.
Tim was classified as low security and a non violent detainee so he was
usually segregated from the hardened criminals, but only a week passed before
he was given a cell mate who called himself ‘Slash’. Slash was a tall, slender
and demonic and acne faced character; he hardly filled the clothes provided and
told Tim he was incarcerated for armed robbery for which he swears he did not
commit, but everyone Tim met in prison assured him they were framed. Slash had
no manners, his farting, burping and bad breathe were prolific and abundant,
adding insult to the rancidity already existing. He took great delight in
emptying his bowels on the toilet with as much noise and stink as possible,
leaving lumps of shit and stains scattered on the sides of the bowl and top;
there was no seat. Tim found the scenario of shitting in such circumstances as
a deprivation of privacy and inhumane; no one cared. It was not long before
Slash was moved on. Tim was glad to see the end of him. He had other cell mates
come and go, but a lot of his stay was spent in solitary; maybe to keep him
safe from the case-hardened felons. He heard stories of rape and murders
happening on the inside, and of atrocities on the outside organised by those
inside. He could not split the truth from the rumours because he never
experienced them first hand and never asked questions, but it was difficult to
keep wholly ignorant from all aspects of jailhouse culture. Drugs flooded the
inside market, the peer pressure of those using and selling ensured the
participation of those who were unwilling to experiment; if you refused
anything it would be forced upon you. He soon learnt, stuff like heroin was cut
with all types of additives, such as flour and baking soda, it mattered not at
the time what it was because one shot in the vein would make the time pass a
lot easier; besides if one did not inject it voluntary it would be done with
rapid persuasion; he chose to do it voluntary.
Loneliness was a huge hurdle to overcome. Tim was happy to rid himself
of Slash and other cell mates for his own privacy and a healthier stay, but it
did create conflicting needs, he missed the human interaction even as appalling
and disgusting as it was. Sleep was a great way to detach from reality and help
defeat the draining emotive predispositions accompanying his isolation. At
first he would try his hardest to pass the time in slumber, but any sleep was
near impossible because his mindset, the set timetable and strident roars kept
him awake; any thoughts relating to an overabundance of sleep was a
misconception on his part. Later, when he adapted to the disturbances and noise
and it became normal and sleep plentiful, trying was not a priority, there was
so much of doing nothing it came naturally. In the inevitability of wake time
his world consisted of vain attempts to avoid the bad elements and stay out of
trouble. Keeping to his self outside of his cell was difficult because everyone
wanted to involve themselves in his and each other’s business; usually for
personal gain or collectible favours. But in the end he found loneliness the
only way to remain safe. As hard as it was he would try to ignore those around
him and display the behaviour of an introvert.
In the adjacent exercise yard he witnessed a stabbing for basic toiletries.
Everything regarded as trivial belongings on the outside transformed into
essential and valuable possessions on the inside. The stabbing was a silent
reprisal for the theft of such goods. One person already warned another to stay
away from personal items in his cell, but he did not heed the warning and
suffered the consequences in the exercise yard. The architect of the assault
produced a makeshift blade made from many plastic combs taped together. It had
a cloth handle and a jagged and pointy edge formed by sharpening on an abrasive
surface such as concrete. The instigator faced his victim and held him firmly
around the shoulders with one arm while repeatedly thrusting the implement into
his stomach and chest area with the other. Tim estimated about thirty stab
wounds were delivered causing blood to seep through his attire and spill onto
the cement floor; blood was everywhere. The guards were never in any hurry to
become involved, they eventually strolled over, and took great care not to
bloody their hands before detaining the one with the blade. There was no
endeavour to revive the wounded prisoner who was still and spread lifeless on
the floor, instead they waited for medical staff to arrive, put him on a
stretcher and carried him to the infirmary. Tim was not questioned as to his
eyewitness account and heard no more of the incident. He was unaware if the
person lived or died.
The whole vulgar and objectionable scenario of prison life took its
toll; Tim’s moral and mental state degenerated, and a loss of decency and
morale was evidenced due to the repugnant environment and hermitical element of
his existence being actively forced upon him. He thought it was a immoral
turpitude of society being locked in a cage like an animal and insisted the
judiciary system betrayed him. He believed his accident was more the fault of
the workers who did not properly remove the gravel from the road than it was
his decision to give the girl a ride; after all he gave many people a ride
without harm. Of course, now he had no choice but to suffer the ignominy of
imprisonment, but it was impossible to achieve clarity of mind to help overcome
psychological obstacles. He felt: ‘To
face facts and obstacles realistically and with determination, had been
decimated from the beginning by the cruelty and rigor of rules forced on the
system by a grieving parent’s revengeful campaign; this ended badly for me by
causing my falsely justified incarceration.’ Adding to his deterioration of
faith in humanity was his past friends on the outside; they deserted him. He
hardly heard from anyone except his immediate family and a few special people
who stood by his side; one of those whom he considered to be exceptional and
empathising was his young girlfriend. She persisted with him through thick and
thin and ended up being his wife not long after his sentence expired.
Naturally, Tim’s family would make the long journey to prison each week for
visitations. It was a great strain on their emotions and finances, but their
power to withstand hardship and stress had been tested before, and their
resilient nature and love for their family would prove superior in overcoming
such adversity.
Most weekends Don would go with his parent’s to visit Tim during his
year term at the governor’s pleasure. This meant spending less and less time
with his friends and enjoying only a few moments of habitual sex with Fran and
Kolora; slowly and unwittingly he was parting from everyone’s company and fast
becoming an acquaintance instead of a friend. Sam began seeing a lot more of
Kolora, in and out of school, resulting in both having minimal contact with
Don, eventually they excluded him from their social sphere to barely extending
the odd ‘hello’. He leaned towards befriending the school bully who took care
of him in times of need and judged his old friends to be a forlorn cause.
Sleepovers and adventures at Sam’s house became a rarity and his demeanour
changed; he became further reticent, an introspective thinker, recalcitrant,
and frequently sequestered in his room for long periods. Then out of nowhere
came an invitation from Sam asking Don to stay at his place to go rabbit
shooting, this was out of the ordinary, and in view of his last visit and the
way they now treated him he decided against it. His trust in them already
diminished and dwindled to a point beyond repair, so he made the sensible
choice to stay home and used the excuse of going with his parents to visit Tim;
but he did not go because he was getting bored and jaded driving for hours
listening to the monotonous stories and recollections of past events. Ted and
Rene made the trip to Sydney alone
and were not expected back until late that night; Don was happy to vegetate at
home alone.
He made himself comfortable in the lounge-room and played a few ‘forty
fives’ on his record player before choosing to listen to ‘Don’t Be Cruel’ by
Elvis Presley. He was keen to learn the words of particular songs and would
play the same record over and over while penning the lyrics on paper until the
whole song was down in print. The call of nature restricted his concentration
and beckoned the urgent need to relieve himself. He proceeded to urinate with a
gingerly approach because there appeared to be a creamy tinged suppuration from
the opening in his penis, while forcing his bladder to excrete the puss and
piss it stung like someone was pulling out barbed wire from his meatus; now he
was really alarmed. Venereal diseases were only a talking point in joke between
kids at school, so he was not educated in any way of their medical names,
symptoms or cures. Petrified his parents would become aware of his problem he
decided to keep it a secret and tend to it himself. He knew he could not ask
for permission to go to the doctors because everyone would want to know why,
instead he tried to be hygienic and dressed it with a clean handkerchief and an
elastic band to hold it in place. Sex was always unprotected in his youth,
latex condoms may have been around since the mid nineteen twenties but they
were not part of the sixties culture in his small hick town; especially for
someone going onto fifteen.
Later in life when he thought back to this day he could never have
imagined vending machines spitting out these things in public places; but for
today, for one so young, he was much too embarrassed to purchase them from the
chemist. They were not on the shelves in public view, one had to request them.
To add to the risk of pregnancy for the female was birth control education and
the pill were not readily available and still regarded as a taboo subject.
Every time Don had sex he relied on luck or reflexes. Most of the time he would
pull out and believed because of his age his sperm count was too low to do
damage. He never took into account diseases and reckoned by a logical process
of elimination it could only have come from one of two people; Fran or Kolora;
the camping trip was long gone. He knew Fran was a flibbertigibbet and
degenerate who had many partners and surmised her to be the culprit but could
not omit Kolora. After doing his best to free his mind of the problem he went
back to his songs.
It was the middle of the day when he was startled by a knock on the
front door. With concern of exposure to ridicule he made himself presentable by
ensuring the bulge in his pants from the hanky was not obvious to inquisitive
eyes, he did this by tucking his wrapped up penis down between his thighs; it
was still visible for anyone with a depth of perception but he hoped his act of
deception would suffice. After lifting the stylus from the record and opening
the door, another astonished look took effect;
“Hi Don.” Kolora exhaled
softly before continuing. “This is my girlfriend Cardinia.” She turned and
pulled her friends elbows forward in a welcoming gesture.
“Hi,” she said reacting to
Don’s ogling eyes and flirtatious smile. “What are you doing?” She was very
attractive and presented a cleavage to make difficult any attentive focus for
polite logical conversation. Both wore mini-skirts and conducted themselves
with amorous intentions. Don inattentively stated;
“Nothing, my parents are out
and …,” he stuttered and answered without thinking, then thought: ‘Idiot. I shouldn’t have mentioned my
parents are out. Now I’ve no excuse to reject any of their proposals.’ He
would have liked to invite them in, but under the circumstances regarding his
problem he was ill at ease with their presence. Fran made it difficult for Don
to refuse entry because she tried inviting herself in with brash assertiveness,
he held them off at the door by closing it a tad, Kolora asked;
“What’s wrong? Can we come
in for a while? We’re bored and our mum and dad’s are out too.” Don thought: ‘Meaning they have plenty of time. I can’t
tell them to go away and I don’t want to entice them in. I’ll try to baffle
them with crap.’
“I guess so, for a while,
but my parents will be home any minute, they won’t like you being here.” Don had the idea, if they knew his
parents were returning shortly it would turn them away but it did not deter
them they were adamant in their quest for access, so he let them in.
“We thought we’d go for a
walk next door. (In the bush). Do you want to come with us?” asked Kolora. Cardinia’s cherubic smile had him
spellbound as she nodded to commit her inclusion. Don could not believe his bad
luck. He already experienced several encounters with Kolora and was acquainted
with her urges and expressions of desire, but never had the opportunity arose
to have sex with two girls; a threesome. His heart pounded with disappointment
because his condition would not allow such pleasures. It was a struggle to
sound genuine in response;
“No. I can’t. My parents
will be back any minute and they told me to stay in and wait because we have to
go somewhere. If I go out I’ll be grounded forever.” Kolora’s infuriation over
Don’s refusal sounded with firm rebuke;
“So what! Com’on; we’ll only
be a while. Don’t be a party pooper. Sam told me you’re wussy and a scaredycat;
what’s your problem?”
“Yes, it will be fun;
com’on,” said Cardinia in a more reconciliatory fashion. Don wanted to go and
was getting worried about his will to refuse, but, although sometimes deficient
in the common sense department, he was well aware of the necessity to be
resolute in his attempt to rid himself of them. While walking towards the door
with a meaningful indication of leading them out, his voice snapped;
“No! I said, I can’t and
you’s will ‘ave to go home, my parents will be here any second.” Kolora once
again responded bitterly as they made their way to the door;
“You’re just a fuckin’
idiot. Scared of your parents are ya? Or ya just scared you don’t know what to
do. Okay we’ll go. Fuck you, but don’t ever talk to me again! Sam was right
about you.” Don did not know what rumours Sam had been spreading, but when he
finally got them out of the house he thought: ‘Shit, fancy missing out on fucking two girls. Cardinia was beautiful.
Oh well, I know I’m already on the ‘out’ with everyone else; what’s a couple
more. I wonder if there’ll be any repercussions further on down the track.’
The next week at school was the same as the last; most ignored him. He
tried to be amicable but as obdurate as ever they brushed aside his
pleasantries; sadly he was growing accustomed to their snubs. As a rule Kolora
once sat with him on the bus but now she sits with her girlfriends, looking and
sniggering at him with malice and sneer. He was finding school awkward, the
people bitter, and was miserable and crumbling inside. She hang-out more-so
with Sam now than she did with her girlfriends, maybe in defiance of Don’s
rejection of her, or to make him jealous, or maybe because she found Sam more
approachable; Don was unsure of the reasons why and became even more withdrawn.
It was like everyone was conspiring to evade him; the whole hapless saga
together with the festering from his penis caused much emotional and physical
pain.
The burning sensation was a continual suffering, especially when
urinating. It was not often Don went to the school library but he had to find
an explanation for his health issues. Typical of backward thinking educators,
it was poorly resourced and gave no answers; the subject was probably labelled
as voodoo, too sexually explicit and never shelved. There was a larger main
library in town where he found the relevant information for sexual diseases, it
was apparent he had all the symptoms of ‘gonorrhoea’, or as he heard it called
by others; the ‘clap’. Still too ashamed to contemplate going to the doctors he
tore the page from the book and took it home for further study. Successful
relief came after weeks of bathing it meticulously and bandaging it
religiously; much to his delight and without anybody discovering his secret it
eventually recovered and healed none the worse for wear.
A few months later in the school grounds, Sam who had not approached Don
for a while, did so and started a conversation, Don thought this highly
unusual. Sam’s aim was not praise, but discredit Don by portraying him as a
loser;
“I heard of your run-in with
Kolora.”
“How? Who told you?” He was
sure it was Kolora mouthing off. “Sally
is friends with Cardinia; she told Sally and Sally told me. When I asked Kolora
she told me about the lily-livered excuses you made in front of her and
Cardinia. You’re a fuckin’ idiot mate, a moron. You missed out on a threesome
fuck. What’s wrong with you?” Don gave no real reply; he shrugged his shoulders
and mumbled;
“Nothing.” Sam’s next
revelation set him back a step;
“Ohh, guess what fuckwit?
Fran thinks she’s pregnant and she accused you of the act.” He turned and
walked away chuckling. This news hit Don like a ton of bricks, he was
distraught because he knew this was no simple peccadillo to be ignored if
wanting to escape culpability; it was a major predicament and one which was
possible. Whether or not he was the scapegoat and being ensnared by her or the
guilty suspect was immaterial. More than likely he was the victim, but he knew
he could not prove differently. If she come forward and named him as the
perpetrator then he would be held liable and accountable. This was a fear
provoking and overcoming supposition for Don.
Mental affliction was a precursor to a broad and deep case of malaise.
He was just old enough to leave school and go to work and the last thing he
wanted was to be a father and provider in support of a family. He portrayed
Sam’s assertions as diabolical innuendo but was intimidated because he did not
know if it was true or not. Over these months nobody informed him of any
progress in the pregnancy, or even if she was pregnant. He faced his dilemma
alone and head-on in hope it would go away. After a school day he went to the
sports store to drool over the variety of rifles on sale, from inside he saw
Fran walking on the other side of the street and could see by her frame she was
not gravid with child. After plucking up enough courage he approached her, and
without formalities just blurted a question;
“I heard you were pregnant,
is it true?”
“Not now. I thought I was
but I’m not now,” she answered with relief, yet no shame. Don stated;
“Sam said you were and it
was me who did it.” She retorted with venom in her voice:
“Well we all thought it was
you.” He resented her implications;
“But why me? Sam, Weepy,
Sterge and whoever else you let fuck you could have done it? Why’d I get the
blame?” She remarked in a bitchy tone;
“Well, it probably was you.”
Don was not happy with her arrogant claim, yet it provoked pity more-so than a
counterblast; besides his body gave feelings of wonderful frissons from the
news. As his blood settled from a state of anxiety to one of reassurance,
although still galled, he decided to be polite for the rest of the pathetic
discussion; when she finally stopped whining he went about his business. He was
certain they were all in cohorts to exonerate themselves from recriminations,
and it was easier for Fran to hold Don responsible because he was not a
neighbour and his parents had more money and quality of life than them; he was
the better catch.
Now he was definitely and surely free from confusion and doubt as to
whom his friends were; it was none of them. They never once stuck up for him
and blamed him for all the wrongs. It seems; distance bred contempt far too
challenging to resolve the conflict between them and if there was any doubt in
his mind it was now settled; he would not go out of his way to befriend them again.
No comments:
Post a Comment