Fictitious Facts 1 'Cultivation of a Murderer' continued: "Ch 14 Helping the Collier’s."

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Chapter 14

Helping the Collier’s

Hardship and disaster was fast becoming a memory. With providence finally taking a turn to improve prospects, and life’s many challenges slowly turning positive results, the many neglected recreational indulgences could be appreciated. Don recovered from his injury and sought the company of friends once more. They swung back into all the typical routines of weekend play. This days games placed them between the school grounds and Sam’s place, off the highway and deep into the bush where a team of bedraggled ‘collier’s’ toiled making and selling charcoal; they had been processing the stuff in the same area for years. Not many knew of their existence because their hours of work were long and would go unnoticed when they did surface from the bush. It was always in the dark of morning when they started, and at day’s end few witnessed the handful of thin, wiry, sooty, black grimy men totter out of the airless humid bush and evaporate in different directions in what seemed to be a vanishing act; none had cars and it was doubted a home of any substance. One of the workers, probably the caretaker who lived on the premises of the charcoal-pit, housed himself in a makeshift ‘humpy’ made of barked saplings cut to size for the frame, and tin and boards for the roof and walls. It was one room only, no water or electricity, about nine foot square with a six inch steel round pipe for a vertical flue providing a narrow path for the smoke rising from the dirt floored fireplace. This is where he cooked and kept warm.

Don and his friends occasionally helped professionals undertake the delicate process of piling billets of wood end on end to form conical piles, then cover each pile with moist clay and dirt while ensuring air could be manipulated through the bottom and up through the middle of each one; a fire was lit at the bottom and made to slowly burn upwards and outwards by controlling the oxygen intake. This process turned wood into charcoal and had to be carefully regulated to stop it incinerating the wood to ash. It was hot sweaty work, especially in summer when the temperatures away from the fire reached over ninety degrees Fahrenheit. The dense bush locked out wafts of air breaking through, and failed to allow natural processes to cool the dripping perspiration on the men. The filthiest part of the job was removing the outer substance to collect and stack the charcoal. Don and his mates saw fit not to exert themselves too much in this section of the operation because it was too hard and dirty for boys so young; they would skedaddle for home in a timely manner and always got into trouble from their parents because of their begrimed state. Water was a scarce resource, especially in the dry season. The era was before the supply of township mains so waste was frowned upon. Problem being; their grungy bodies had to be cleaned. The water in the copper soon became tainted, offering it as useless for the next person. Fresh water was needed to replace the old and the copper burnt more fuel in the re-boil. Work in the coal pit was not seen as a popular pastime by their parents.

The area surrounding the charcoal district was abundant in wildlife with red and black ‘Bull-Ant’ nests and ‘Funnel Web’ vestibules prolific. Adaptation and confrontation with native creatures like the nasty crawlies growing and living in natural vegetation, together with the variety of snake species and the host of dangerous types of aquatic creatures was inevitable for those dwelling in Australia. Most learn to espouse a healthy respect for those species which can inflict pain, injury, or take a life, but even privileged knowledge in their habits did not distract Don and his friends from carrying out imperceptible acts of callosity on arthropods like myrmecia (Bulldog ants) and other small creatures. Myrmecia can grow to about one and half inches long and probably one of the most dangerous ants in the world; it bites with its jaws and stings its victim at the same time with a release of formic acid through an abdominal stinger. Some can jump and all are fast and aggressive when disturbed. Don and his mates enjoyed planting ‘firecrackers’ in their nests and negotiated expeditious escapes to seek a margin of safety, this was achieved by running to part a distance between themselves and the fractious airborne ants. Not always were they successful in attempts to eliminate the ants defensive mechanism, sometimes the blast would launch an ant or two onto the runner causing instant pain and instigating frantic gestures symbolic of a simpleton. With each ant having the ability to sting over and over again the burning sensation following each injection was agonizingly painful. Being truly territorial and utilizing extensive tunnel systems to escape or attack prey they proved very protective, even to the point of positioning sentinels around their mound. For another pastime Don would catch a few red ants and put them on the edge of a black ants nest, then watch the sentinels raise the alarm, swarms would emerge from the mound to protect their turf and in doing so fight anything ferociously until victory or death.

The hunt for the ‘Funnel Web’ spider was just as ludicrous, Don was fortunate never to be bitten from the many close calls. In numbers the ‘Bull Ant’ has been known to kill people and animals, but it takes only one ‘Funnel Web’ bite without treatment, and sometimes even with treatment to inflict excruciating pain or death. The spider can grow to about five centimetres long and the venom it inflicts through its fangs can offer all sorts of complications to the health and wellbeing of humans. The burrows they defend are not easy to spot for the uninitiated, they are about as round as a two shilling piece and usually have a silk like entrance, but this was not always the case as they nest under logs, in crevices or can be found just wandering around. They have been known to sit quiescent anywhere; in shoes, swimming pools, clothing, or in places completely unexpected, thus giving cause for panic when detection is realized. Any sudden flurry may cause the spider to react defensibly with a bite, if one was in striking range Don knew it best to stay calm and not annoy it. Looking directly down into a ‘Funnel Web’ hole one can see the eyes staring upwards and the silhouette of long fangs at the front of the legs. Often small ‘firecrackers’ were detonated to try and dislodge them from their nest, but the result was ineffective because it would kill them or send them deeper into the burrow. They always tunnelled an escape exit somewhere and one had to be careful not to stand near or over the hole because they would attack in ferocious battle to defend their habitat. Even if the spider was killed in the blast there was never evidence to prove their fate and they would not come out if wounded, so Don invented another strategy to coach them out, a piece of grass was used to titillate the opening, the spider would become curious and stick its head out, but once they identified the danger they quickly reversed to the safety of their tunnel. He experimented with numerous artifices to catch the spiders alive and found the best modus operandi to be the use of petrol. Only a small amount was required, it was poured down the hole, and then he would sit away from the spider’s peripheral vision of exit and wait. Only a minute or two passed before the spider cautiously departed the safety of its shelter. Don had to remain very still until it was satisfied the coast was clear, as it ventured out wholly to escape the effects of the fuel he would close the hole with a stone and cover the spider with a glass jar. After forcing it in the jar with a stick and pouring a little water in to dilute the petrol he secured the lid. Then, what was considered to be fun for a child; two were placed together on the ground to fight. When he was through with his macabre entertainment a match would be struck and thrown on them. The flame slowly burned the watered down inflammable causing popping and low crackling noises. These activities kept him amused on many occasions and paved the way for future homicidal outcomes.

The ‘collier’s’ did not mind the presence of youth hanging around the workplace and confirmed this with proud responses in conscientious efforts through praise and friendly communication. None had a secondary school education and most had no education at all. They simply did what was taught to them by their father’s; making charcoal. Their broader knowledge was limited only to the local area and bush heritage, they did not have enough money to change their lifestyle, travel or buy luxuries, but they spoke of many such dreams. They were hard, rough men, who had no time for the shenanigans and provocations from the opposite sex. Bias and bigotry initiated conversations crude and calumnious, and often construed attacks towards their own partner, or women they once knew. Talk persisted in reference to sexual encounters, female stupidity, a woman’s lack of understanding, and a lack of common sense they believed every woman demonstrated. They united in labelling women as useless by commenting;

       “They are only good for fucking and can’t do even that right most of the time, their own body even rejects them on a monthly bases; and they don’t ever stop bloody winging - ever.” Don was at an impressionable age and whether the mixing with people like the ‘colliers’, together with his locality of development in general had in effect any influence on his upbringing is probable; but uncertainty of relevance regarding the extent it influenced his future behaviours is debatable. He had a loving family and enjoyed every moment he spent with them, and from the area in general he took many pleasures and many disappointments in the friendships and bond he shared with peers such as Weepy, Sam and Fran. Where he lived should have prepared his growth for the appreciation and veneration of all living things; it was not to be.

This may be a sceptic and premature assessment so early in the story because he was not to know, in his future his virtue was to be tested. Within each of us rest circumstantial, social, psychological and intellectual phenomenon possibly effecting detraction from sane reasoning to deprive a good socially accepted character from moral standards. Don’s life to date may have suffered a deep seated emotional disturbance from the witness of his father’s murderous crime aboard the ship from England, and he had an ongoing adverse union of interpersonal situations with Sterge and friends, but he did not yet exhibit any real pathological or sociocultural dilemmas, or not yet lost anyone dear to him or been deprived of discipline or parental love to cause such syndromes, and was given the best affordable from his family. Maybe biological abnormalities, genetic, mental or emotional factors and the billions of neurons and the many glial cells occupying a brain can defect and trigger neurobiological and innumerable disorders, if this be the case it could cause irrational dysfunctional behaviours with unforgivable and unredeemable predatory actions. Even the lack of neurochemicals such as abnormally low serotonin or endorphin or hormonal indifferences can inhibit the perception of various stimuli thus allowing a person to function outside social norms. It is impossible to reason Don’s forthcoming behaviours, but whatever really actuated future events is immaterial because it resulted in turning septic his moralistic judgment, and considering the atrocities he will commit as a decision of revenge, it paved the way for what could be termed a ‘sociopathic personality disorder’, but then, and even today Don would dispute the fact he was in any way cruel, misogynistic or disposed to psychological variability’s, in any case he would rebuff the term ‘psychotic’ because he knew what he was doing and could rationalize each part of his decision making processes.

As for the future of his friends, Weepy, Sam, Fran and to some extent Sterge, Don will later reveal hypocrisy of the Pharisees in explanation for the reasons pertaining to their psychotic behaviour and not his. He believed the crimes they later commit with innate unmerciful attitudes could well have been supported and even germinated by the mundane and regressive lifestyle of not only the company of the charcoal men but their whole social upbringing and seclusion from main social order. The bush had no means for them to further themselves and the lack of rules and regulations gave them sovereignty over their own liberties.

Comprehension of this passage above analysis regarding Don’s past and future impeding dilemmas can only be seen as explicable when his whole life is looked at in context with upcoming mitigating circumstances. When evil within is activated by the demoniac monstrosities of friends it affects his stable ‘modus vivendi’ and causes traumatic change; – read on. WATCH THIS BLOG!

CH 13 Fictitious Facts 1: "Cultivation of a Murderer", continues.

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Chapter 13

Bad Luck in Three’s

In the same year as Rod Rob’s overdose Don’s brother decided he wanted to leave school. Although his grades were above average the school’s career advisers were as useless as ‘tits on a bullfrog’ and provided no initiative for a continuance in study or made any effort to assist in the forming of plans for employment. At his particular educational institution of attendance students were not informed of the types of occupations available or of their capabilities in achieving a career in relation to their grades; counselling was a word almost unprecedented. Because of this deficiency in the system and the schools neglect to supply recommendations germane to such information, he and others became conditioned to one ambition only; to get a job and earn money - any job. His parents wanted him to stay at school and get the best education possible but his interests were the same as most his age; it rest in cars, women, and money. Tim knew school could not provide those things, and his impulsive obstinance refused to see how education could offer hope for the future, alas, he remained adamant in refusal to change his mind. Ted and Rene had no alternative but to give their consent and conditioned it on the stipulation he would have a job waiting when he finally walked off the school grounds. Work was easy to find, as long as one was not fussy. The only prerequisites demanded for menial labour was to be fit, healthy, and display little bit of social nous; Tim had all those attributes. The first garage he walked into, on the first morning of job hunting, the owner showed interest in his application. It was his lucky day because they were about to advertise for a ‘driveway attendant’. After a few short questions he was given a realistic prospect of employment, all the owner required was for Tim to go home and seek his parent’s consent before induction.

Gaining meaningful employment happened much quicker than his parent’s envisaged but were ultimately bound by their word to let him leave school. A proud Tim gave notice to the principal and prepared for his first paying job. There was one snag to his enthusiastic jubilation; he failed to take into account travel to and from work. The school bus did not go into town early enough to allow him to start at the time specified by the manager; there was only one logical solution. Much to his parent’s displeasure he had to rely on one of them to drive him daily, or if fortunate bum a ride with one of the few customers stopping at the precise time for petrol or shop items. The obligation was draining on everyone; and expensive for Tim because he was made to pay for petrol and the time people spent on him. It was obvious to all those involved he needed his own car, his parent’s were completely fagged-out from so much travel and the responsibilities incommode everyone greatly.

Tim was four months short of legitimately making application for a car license. Naturally he was anxious to acquire independence without delay, so through his father he requested the police department give early approval of a special license to be used in working hours. Only the police knew the legalities of arrangement and judicial workings agreed upon, but one thing was assured, Ted was very resourceful and would have constituted the desired input to seal such a contract; whether his input was kosher or not was unknown to anyone but Ted and the police. Tim could drive well, probably better than most due to the years of practise around the open paddocks, and study of the road rules proved easy; he was ready. When the day came to sit the test he drove into town with Ted and Zoe as passengers. The young duty officer waiting had been informed by his superiors of Tim’s appointment and was set to put him through his paces. On sighting Zoe and taking an instant liking to her, he excluding duty-bound responsibilities for the time being because she became the focus of his attention; he could not resist persistent amorous glances while fraternising to promote cordiality. After extensive jolly from the officer he eventually remembered the task of his authority was to test Tim and told Zoe;

       “I won’t be long. I’ll accompany your brother for a drive around the block and be back soon.” Zoe could not care less but replied politely with a nod in agreement. On the rushed drive the officer asked Tim about a dozen questions, none related to the road rules, all pertaining to his sister’s love life. Tim answered to the best of his ability. When they finished the test the officer got out of the car, ignored Tim and made a beeline for Zoe. With the overbearing paragon of integrity most young policeman attempt to convey he said;

       “Tim did well and should pass.” After a brief pause he proceeded to woo her; “Would you like to go out with me this weekend to the beach or pictures or something?” Ted stood back watching and listening, he was well aware of his daughter’s beauty and it was not by mistake he brought her along; it was an ingenious plan. He knew she would take part attention away from the job at hand, no matter who the policeman was. Zoe was pleasant to him but gave no straight forward acceptance to his proposal;

       “Thankyou, it would be nice, but at the moment we’re really busy in the shop, every weekend actually, sorry (the policeman’s look was one of rejection), but I’m sure I would be allowed another day, on a weekend when times are quieter. Would another day be alright dad?” She stared at her father.

       “Yes. I’m sure we can work something out,” answered Ted without genuine interest, he knew his daughter adopted a strategic decorum to keep him dangling to satisfy her devilish suave femininity; it worked and was enough to give his ego a boost. He passed Tim and stamped his paperwork without asking any theoretical questions regarding the road rules.

A license was the first step to easier travel, now he had to buy a car. For a while the need to rely on others persisted because of an obligation to pay travel fees as well as a small weekly allowance to his parents for lodgings; it took a large slice of his pay. Unknowingly to him, the reality of his situation implied his weekly expenditure to be cheaper than buying, servicing and paying running costs for a car, but insightful types of judicious reference only comes with experience, besides relying on others was seen as overly time consuming and tedious. Nevertheless, after his weekly outlay the remaining money would be allocated to a savings plan. He was quite stingy and within a short time managed to save a sufficient amount to purchase a 1959 ‘Goggomobile Dart’ convertible. It had a red fibreglass body with two small seats, a toy steering wheel and was powered by a 300cc twin cylinder two stroke engine. It ran on the smell of an oily rag, was about ten foot long, weighed around 850lbs and revved out at a top speed of sixty five miles per hour. Like all cheap cars of the day, mechanical malfunctions were frequent and repairs played a vital role in getting to one’s destination, but it did the job, in-between breakdowns it served the purpose and ended up being his pride and joy.

Everything was going well for Tim. He enjoyed his work. The staff and management spoke highly of his likable and honest character, and of his enthusiasm towards allocated tasks. A year into his job, half way through a normal day his father was informed of an accident at Tim’s work. Ted wasted no time in shutting down and locking his grader before driving home to inform Rene; she was shattered. They felt helpless being unaware of the seriousness of his injury and wanted to be with him, but commitments had to be considered. Logically they took stock of the situation and determined the best option for everyone was for Rene to stay and look after the business, as she was accustomed while Ted went to the school to collect Don and drive through to Wollongong hospital; a good sixty miles away. When he went to collect Don for an early finish, he told him;

       “Tim’s an accident and we’re going to the hospital to see him.” Don’s first thought was a car accident and asked;

       “What happened dad? Is he okay?” Ted replied.

       “I’m not too sure exactly, but I think they said he shoved a screw-driver into his eye. Somehow it slipped and went into his eye. I don’t really know but the ambulance took him to hospital.” When they arrived Tim was still being attended to by the doctors who had not yet received test results so information was limited. The medical staff knew the eye had been severely damaged and were sceptical as to the possibility of its recovery. It was well bandaged and he seemed comfortable, but his sensory faculties were lacking orderly continuity due to the amount of drugs and painkillers absorbed in his system to assist in the relief of somatic symptoms. These helped put him in good spirits; unusual considering his ability to remember all the gory details. When Don asked him what happened, he said;

       “When I was doing up a hose clip, the screwdriver slipped off and went in my eye. It didn’t hurt but when I pulled it out and looked in the mirror a clear thick liquid mixed with blood oozed out so I called out to Mitch (his boss) who put a rag over my eye and called an ambulance, it didn’t hurt, just a funny tingling feeling when I pulled it out.” Ted squirmed at the thought and tried to allay Tim’s worries with a few kind supporting words;

       “Okay, you’re in good hands now. You’ll be okay. We won’t know much more until the doctor’s….,” he choked with emotion and paused. “It’s getting late. We’ll head off home your mother will be getting worried. I’ll try to come back in the morning. Will you be okay? Is there anything you want?”

       “No dad, I’ll be okay, see ya tomorrow,” replied Tim. They waved as they left the ward. On the trip home not much was said. It would have been difficult for Ted to take verbal refuge in a child of Don’s age. When they got home Rene was emotionally spent. The knowledge her son was lying in hospital without her and being oblivious to the permanency of his injury added extra strain. She stated in categorical terms;

       “We should never have let him leave school.” Ted replied;     “We can’t blame ourselves, after all what choice did we have?”  “I’m going tomorrow. Bugger the shop. We’ll close the doors. The business can go to hell.” Zoe was unable to manage alone. It was not safe. The next day they locked the doors and spelt out their reason for closing by writing with a white marker on the front window. The sign read;

‘CLOSED FOR DAY DUE TO ACCIDENT IN FAMILY’.

Don went to school on the day of their visit. News from the doctor’s diagnoses and test reports were; the eye could not be saved because the damage done by the sharp object went right through the pupil nicking the optic nerve then into the eyes leathery cavity at the back of the socket, it was damaged beyond repair resulting in the eye needing exenterating immediately after the swelling subsided. Everyone was devastated by the news but accepted the fact it could have been worse, apparently he was fortunate the screwdriver did not break through the orbit of the skull into the brain. His stay in hospital was a drain on the Scotsdon’s resources and constituted a change in their work patterns with necessary periods of absenteeism adding to the enormous stress on finances and stability. Even following the operation and the lengthy stay in hospital was expected months of therapy. Once the dressing was permanently removed Tim was doomed to wear an eye patch until he could be fitted with an artificial eye made of glass, doing nothing to improve his condition but a lot for aesthetics. The passage of time regarding Tim’s medical care caused debilitating issues for his parent’s until finally the months of passing slowly delivered a form of routine. Tim was now recovering well at home therefore eliminating the obligation of excessive amounts of travel and allowing monetary rewards to be re-established in the business.

Ostensibly cursed, their destiny was not yet meant to be carefree it was shaping to endure another calamity. While Tim was still in the process of having his final fitting with a glass eye, the family were once again presented with a misfortune, this time involving the main income earner; Ted. He enjoyed his work with the Council immensely and was given further gratification because the derelict WWII type ‘grader’ he operated daily had been replaced with an up-to-date ‘Caterpillar’. This machine was a lot more advanced than the old one. He had been operating it effectively for about six weeks when the manufacturers decided to send a qualified instructor to his place of work to demonstrate its workings and maintenance procedures. When he was told of this nonsensical insult he offered opinion as to the irrational arrangement;

       “Their a bit bloody late aren’t they? I’ve been using it for months now.” A reasonable sarcasm considering he was left alone for the past six weeks or so to figure it out for himself. Obviously he was already accustomed to its functions and upkeep by reading the operations manual and from the practical need of executing his work duties; thus mocking administrations late effort as a waste of time was well justified.

While operating the machine in his regular environment, miles away from any town and in close vicinity to only a couple of farm houses, Ted saw the dust billow in the distance from a vehicle approaching over the crest. There was hardly any traffic on the road he was ‘grading’, it was only used by those few living there so he was sure it was the person arriving to give the demonstration. He pulled over to the side of the road, on a flat grassy area, lowered the blade and switched off the machine. The visitor stopped and sat in his car fiddling with papers for a while then decided to make his-self known. When he got out of his car Ted thought he looked like a real ponce. He would have been about mid forties and dressed in a suit minus the tie and jacket which were both hanging from a hook in the back seat of his opulent company vehicle. His was short and fat with hair dyed jet black, ‘Brylcreamed’ thick, and pasted back to look like a ‘Mafia’ godfather. He moved like a bad dancer when approaching to acquaint himself, awkwardly like he had a broomstick shoved up his bum, and took great care to dodge any powdery dirt so as not to get his shiny patent leather shoes dirty; he introduced himself as Cyril. Ted tried to contain his manifestation of ridicule as he extended a spirit of friendship by shaking his limp grip, but he could not help a muffled chuckle because Cyril spoke like he had a plumb in his mouth. Ted thought: ‘This bloke is definitely a pansy’.

Cyril turned out to be a real know-it-all. He wanted to exert his authority but really had no interest in being there and gave the impression it was an imposition to have to give instructions. Ted did not want him there either, but had to go along with the charade. There was no pleasantries in conversation such as; “How are you?” or “Do you live local?” etc. He simply wanted to do what he felt he had to do and get out of there as quick as possible. He said with a lisp;

       “Firstly I’ll show you where the grease nipples are because they are hard to find and then I’ll show you the easy way to change the direction of the blade in rotation and various other manoeuvres.” Ted thought to himself: ‘What a fucking idiot’, but went along with his inanity, he reckoned the quicker he went through his steps of monotonous and pretentious twaddle the quicker he could get rid of him. After walking around the machine pointing to all the well greased nipples Ted had obviously greased, he climbed up the steps into the cabin and positioned himself in the operator’s seat.

       “Stand clear,” he ordered as he started the engine and played with a few controls as if to familiarize his-self with their function. He eventually raised the blade and shouted out the door while pointing; “I’m going to demonstrate blade rotation. To rotate the blade you need to remove those two ‘cotter pins’, one on each side.” Ted was getting angry he thought it ridiculous this person who had no idea what he was doing was showing him basic operations and shouted back to him;

       “Yea I know what the pins are for.” But there was no stopping him he carried on regardless with idiotic instructions;

       “Now pull them both out so I can demonstrate the various angles of blade positioning.” Ted was hesitant about getting near the machine with him at the controls and later regretted ignoring his own judgment. To remove the pins it was necessary to stand in what he knew was a precarious and dangerous position but thought nobody could be stupid enough to touch the controls whilst he was doing the task asked of him; he was wrong. As Cyril got off the seat and went to shout a command out the door he bumped a lever forward just enough to drop the razor sharp blade on Ted’s toes; both feet were jammed tight between the soft ground and the hard blade. He screamed out in agonising pain;

       “Aaahh, you fuckin’ idiot, get it off, lift it up; lift it up.” Cyril panicked and took what seemed ages to decide which lever to pull to raise the blade. Finally he raised it twelve inches and turned the engine off. Ted dropped to the ground in agony. Cyril went to his aid shaking, apologetic, and addled in mind;

       “Are you okay? Sorry, I’m sorry, sorry.” Ted had ‘gum boots’ on at the time. They were steel capped safety boots. The force of the blade crushed the steel section bending it into his toes, therefore jamming the boots on. He was a little fortunate in the fact; under his feet lay soft grass and uneven ground, but this was not enough to escape permanent injury. The discomfort of blood loss was evident when he saw red fluid oozing out through the cuts in his boots, Cyril was totally useless and tried to pull the boots off hurting him even more. Ted screamed at him;

       “Fuck off, you’ve done enough damage. Lock the grader, get me to your car and take me to a doctor.” The pain was more than he could bear or he would have driven his own car just to be free of Cyril. Once in the safety of a doctor’s care they filled him with morphine and cut away his boots. His toes stayed mostly connected to his feet but two on the left foot could not be saved and the rest were broken with deep lacerations through to the bone. They reckoned if he was not wearing ‘steel caps’ he would have had all his toes chopped off. Needless to say he never saw Cyril again. When he saw Rene his sense of humour returned with words of comedy;

       “This is the only time in my life I’m glad to see the arse end of a poof.”

Another lengthy stay in hospital for another family member, the primary breadwinner, guaranteed this accident not only had physical consequences, it also added oodles to the economic and mental anguish of the recent events they were striving so hard to recover from. The repercussions of such stupidity seriously affected their income and they found it impossible to repay debt. When he was released from hospital the injuries took a long time to heal, and while lying idle at home he underwent traumatic assumptions, those being; he was letting the family down because he was sitting around being mollycoddled. To add to his troubles, compensation in the form of weekly pay was not forthcoming for four weeks and when it did arrive it was not full pay because he was only entitled to part-payment. There were no total indemnification or insurance policies to claim from and he still had to pay for medications and travel. Suing for negligence within the realm of existence was not popularised as it was in American society, besides it would never enter the mind of most those days, he was from the old school in which patriotism and loyalty was perceived as essential to the welfare of good relations; later he would regard such a view as ridiculous. Alas as always they lived day by day, weathered the storm and survived another dismal affliction from trying so hard to hinder and impede their struggle to bolster a comfortable lifestyle. The Scotsdon’s were tainted with unnecessary and unforeseen troubles resulting from unfortunate events. Each step of progression was thwarted by frustrating and damaging influences. Ted was not healing as quickly and as satisfactorily as he wished, yet there was no alternative, he had to go back to work early. The doctor opposed his decision and told him more recuperation time was necessary. Ted convinced him otherwise and considering his employer was not bound by rules to supply less demanding work limiting his involvement to ‘light duties’, he went back to his normal job and endured the pain.

Shortly after, within the same year, Don was on one of his usual weekend outings at Sam’s. The three of them Don, Sam and Weepy made a catapult each. It was normal play for them to invent and use imagination, each was proficient in the construction of such toys. A green fork in a tree limb would be cut, the longest being the handle and the other two shanks used for knotting the rubber strap between them. The wood was debarked, a groove cut in the top of both shanks, and the rubber cut to size from a bike or car tube. It was cut into a one inch thick strip, thin enough for an easy but strained retraction. In the middle of the rubber band would be a two inch square piece of leather to hold a missile, usually a stone or glass marble, but this was not always part of the assembly as it worked just as well without the leather attachment. They were powerful toys and could easily break the thick porcelain conductors forty foot up the wooden poles holding the overhead electric cables, naturally this was not the sole purpose of their creation, they would be fired at anything seen as fun. One main target was the cicada. Every primary student learnt about the Cicada, an insect similar to a grasshopper or locust but much larger, with bulb type eyes set wide apart and transparent conspicuous thick veined wings. Most names of the Cicada species were tested in exams, such as: ‘cherry nose’, ‘brown baker’, ‘red eye’, ‘green grocer/green monday’, ‘yellow monday’, ‘whisky drinker’, ‘double drummer’ and ‘black prince’. The ‘green grocer’ is amongst the loudest insect in the world, all as one they resonate a unique sound, and in season, in abundance, singing in unity, they present a deafening shrill humming tone. They do not usually bite or sting but do have a long proboscis used for feeding and sucking and Don knew from experience of the pain associated when it pierced human skin, but this was a rare occurrence.

Due to the seasonal infestation of these insects, Don and his friends felt no guilt in their butchery; still, it did not take long to become bored with such easy prey so the games often turned into a war between themselves. In their pursuit of fun and games the dangerous pastime of firing at each other demanded instinctive reflexes when ducking for cover. This day they entered a dry creek bed covered by a double concrete culvert supporting the main road. The idea of the game was for each person to station himself at different positions and shoot end to end and along the edges of the concrete shell; hiding, running, using their prowess to claim victory over the other with a direct hit. Stones were flying everywhere, stinging the body and leaving red welts, then just as Don poked his head out and around the edge of the wall to take aim, Weepy had loaded his weapon and pulled the rubber back to release a shot; he was in pursuance of a counterattack. As he did, in one split second, a stone ricocheted off the wall and deflected into Don’s right eye. The pain was excruciating, he fell to the ground with both hands clasped over his eye and cried and howled without stop. Weepy and Sam had no qualms in continuing firing at each other, they considered a direct hit to be the purpose of the game, but Don’s wailing and lack of participation gave insight to his predicament and eventually they helped him to his feet and assisted him in walking back to the closest house; Weepy’s place. Mrs Rob was never in perfect health but managed to bathe and cleanse Don’s eye as best she could; she could do no more, they did not have a phone or car, nor did anyone else living in close proximity. Sterge was present and commented as to how much of a ‘sissy’ Don was for the constant whimpering. The other two soon got bored and left him inside with Mrs Rob and went back outside to play. He wanted desperately to go home to the comfort of his family and knew the only way was to walk. After saying his farewells, still crying, he began the long walk. With one agonizing mile travelled by foot and one more to go, his brother, whom was driving home from town, saw him staggering head down and holding his hand over one eye. Don was never more pleased to see his brother. They drove home as fast as the ‘Dart’ could go.

His parents took him to hospital. The medical staff saved his eye but the force of a direct hit ruptured the retina which rendered it a serious injury because the vitreous liquid leaked through the tear and pooled under the retina resulting in permanent defective vision. The corollary of the injury was a hole in the pupil leaving two black dots (pupils) in the one eye and a loss of twenty percent vision. It was a stupid, avoidable, and inauspicious incident, another catastrophe for Don’s parents who still had not found a state of equilibrium from past mishaps. As parents do, they accepted the fact choices were non-existent and tolerated the situation to go on living day by day. Don was considered to be lucky by the doctors when comparing his injury to his brother’s loss of an eye, but for his family any thoughts of blessings gave no solace to tangible results; after three accidents in one year in one family they could not believe their string of bad luck. To make matters worse Ted was off work suffering from Malaria more frequently than past attacks. It seemed as if ‘lady luck’ had forsaken them. Finances were dwindling to catastrophic levels due to Ted’s sick days at home, and the necessity for medical attention incurred more expense than the income from the shop could provide; transport expenses, medications, and a slump in business trade all souring to what seemed insurmountable heights. Rene’s devout faith was being tested, her doubts relayed inner contradictions, waning her pietistic values; the rest of the family simply wondered what else could go wrong?

Dejected, demoralized, and filled with disheartenment and gloom brought about a determination, a fighting spirit and belief things would change for the better. Life has a way of flexing ones faith from the doldrums to possibilities of hope and fulfilment. Just as they hit rock bottom, and with wishes of optimism and good fortune, they purchased a lottery ticket. At last, they were blessed with a two thousand pound win. The money was a welcome relief. It was not enough to settle all liabilities but sufficiently conducive to easing mental and fiscal strain; it helped alleviate the aggressive debt collectors, allowed freedom from stress, gave them breathing space, and afforded peace of mind. Once necessities were taken care of a treat was in store, Ted purchased a wireless and stereo combination to replace the old box radio, with it came a record titled; ‘South Pacific’, and they played it over and over and over again until it was too scratched to work. The windfall offered the rare experience of a positive outlook and served to encourage enthusiasm.

Fictitious Facts I "Cultivation of a Murderer". CH 12 continued

Fictitious Facts I "Cultivation of a Murderer" continued:

CH 12 

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Chapter 12

Delinquency

Sterge was nearly fifteen and nothing at all changed, he was always in trouble; in and out of school hours. The teachers and hierarchy within the educational establishment wanted him gone, together with such grandiloquent jibe in decree they gave him no alternative but to leave. When he was told of their wishes it was obvious by Sterge’s scurrilous cachinnation and impious tone he could not wait to go. In their wisdom the bureaucrats governing the system said;

       “We can’t educate you anymore. It would be better for you to prepare for the complexities of life by finding employment.” They were unperturbed he had no job to go to and no leads to follow, or the problems he would encounter due to his likeness to ‘Quasimodo’. Just one look at him had the ability to turn the humanitarian into a benevolent dissenter and resist offering eleemosynary relief. Besides it was difficult for anyone to get a job within the immediate area because of the lack of industry and the remoteness of his home. But they insisted he would be in a more fortunate and prosperous situation by staying clear of them and the education system; they wanted rid of him.

Sterge had plenty of spare time at home. To fill in the day he scavenged old timber and tin and built himself a shed of sorts. It had a distorted roof with three gnarled walls and an abundance of deformed shelves made out of anything he could lay his hands on; wooden crates, logs, timber cut-offs and other surplus material. The purpose was to house an array of plants. He acquired an interest in flora of all sorts, and spent most of his day in that shed procrastinating and amusing his-self while frittering away the time. The effects of spending lengthy periods alone attending to his myriad of greenery was a direct causative contribution to his exacerbating sociopathic personality. The plants he grew were not all legitimate; he did dabble in marijuana and was very secretive and egocentric regarding the arcanum of acquiring revenue.

An old chair and small table positioned in the corner of the shed was used for potting amongst other things. The shelves carried a variety of fertilizers and insecticides and a few personal possessions such as lighters, candles, books and tools. He even kept special toothpaste handy to rub in his gums when pain persisted; maybe the marijuana also helped ease acute discomfort. In the corner a hoard of fireworks was wrapped securely in plastic to keep dry, they were easy to obtain and afforded from the sale of ‘weed’. Mostly he detonated them for his own amusement in recreation, but sometimes his over productive imagination and odd fetishes dominated a taste for bizarre activities and they became a matter of barbarous fascination. Don and the others used fireworks to blow up bull ant nests and in general use them for stupid unsafe measures like throwing at each other, but Sterge was different he targeted animals and hurt them from wanton cruelty.

Recurrent attempts were successful in catching magpies by way of a wooden crate balanced on one end with the other end up in the air and held in place with a stick; the stick had connected to its base a long cord which he controlled from afar. The idea was to put bread crumbs under the crate and when the bird entered he would pull the cord to dislodge the stick and the crate dropped trapping the bird. Sterge held all animals captive for only as long as he aspired to their extinction, and before their death he took great pleasure in senseless torture. Diverse methods were applied, such as; putting a cat in the inverted crate with the bird, or throwing firecrackers around the crate to scare them, or using a knife to cut off one wing and let it flap helplessly around the yard. When he got bored with such spite he secured a healthy bird by tying string around its wings to keep it secure and taped a tuppeny ‘bunger’ to its chest, then undid the string, lit the fuse and let it fly away. The ‘bunger’ would explode mid air and eviscerate the bird. Don thought it was one of the sadist exhibitions of cruelty he ever witnessed. Sam and Weepy laughed as if it was a big joke, but inwardly Don shed tears of sadness and rage, he had no alternative but to hold back visible tears and opinion because he did not want to show his weakness or encourage physical annihilation; mainly from Sterge. Another time he put a firework under a dog’s collar and watched it run around in circles in a funk while trying desperately to snap at the sizzling powdery trace of burning fuse. Animal abuse was in accordance with conventional intelligence for Sterge, the others hardened to the cruelty because of the magnitude of its occurrence. He was always throwing firecrackers at animals and took great delight in catching the chickens for dinner, placing them on the ‘chopping block’, and testing his skill with an axe by half lopping their heads from their body and letting them run around the yard with their neck dangling until lifeless; Sterge, Weepy and Sam would bet on the duration of its suffering. Don was enraged with all his merciless acts but once again powerless because of Sterge’s intimidating nature. While the others regularly attached themselves to his inhuman treatment of animals Don was too petrified to animadvert openly because he wanted to remain friends.

Over time Don witnessed many spiteful, vindictive and callous treatments of animals, and was shocked by Sterge’s vitriolic diatribes and physical abuse to those who disagreed with his activities. He would rant and rave over any denunciation to his actions and was too uncontrollable for his mother, or anyone else who tried to assert a positive influence. Look wrongly at him or disagree and he would inflict harm, it did not take long to learn he was best left to his own company. Don especially had to be extra careful around him because his thoughts of Don could be likened to foibles such as; a spoilt, rich, timid, brat who displayed no backbone. Sterge took every opportunity to cajole his followers to his side and turn Sam and weepy against him. A constant barrage of crude, crushing remarks and domineering tactics were forthcoming at every instant due to his erratic and vehement resentments. Don, even others considered themselves fortunate when just being submitted to verbal aggression because he usually ruled by brute force. His derelictions was not just contained to animals and acquaintances, he was mean to his family and was said to have been involved in his younger brother’s death.

Rod died in the early sixties of an accidental drug overdose at age eight. Somewhere or somehow he obtained a handful of unspecified illicit drugs and took them without consent or knowledge of their terminal effects. People suspected the drugs were stashed by Sterge in his garden shed for his own use but no-one knew for sure. Rod could have got them from the people Sterge dealt with in the marijuana trade, but the truth was never clear. Don heard Sam and Weepy speaking together in confidence about their theories and Sam even confessed to police his assumptions. He hinted the drugs could have been from Fran’s older brother because they knew he smoked marijuana. The police undertook extensive questioning, especially with Sterge, but failed to find incriminating evidence against any of the suspects. Even if there was suspicion surrounding Sterge’s involvement they probably thought the damage done was enough punishment for the family as a whole. While the police were carrying out their investigations, Sterge made comment to their relentless harassment and mistreatment and it resulted in him harbouring an even stronger intense dislike for them or any other authority. In the months following, his mother, Mrs Rob turned into a sickly, cadaverous women. The loss of her youngest anguished her deeply and the sustainable nurturing of her other three children dwindled to levels of nonchalant disregard. Her parental skills were never militant, far from it, but now she lacked integrity, had no gumption and even less motivation to steer her children on the straight and narrow.

With so much freedom and even less parental control than before, sex, alcohol, cigarettes and bad behaviour was an accepted part of their formative years, and they developed as an avocation many abominable and scandalous misdeeds. On a regular basis such one intentional wrongdoing was when Weepy, Sam and Don stalked the corner shop after dark in wait for the owner to close. They knew he went on his usual once-a-week trip into town to treat himself to a good feed and a night of properly deserved relaxation. The plan was to break and enter undetected and take a few cigarettes, matches if required, and sweets. They never took money, did not steal more than their needs, and never pilfered enough supplies to attract suspicion. If anything was moved or accidently bumped it was always put back where it belonged; partly why they were never caught. They grew criminally proficient in furtive thievery and would be congratulated by any malefactor because the owner was never aware, or at least never admitted or acknowledged any wrongful conduct or error referring to his losses. They took great care in the realization fingerprints could be lifted from the crime scene if ever there was suspicion or investigation, so precautions were taken. There was always one timber framed window ajar, and being young and easily influenced by television and film they wore socks on their hands to prevent part biometric identification if ever the place was forensically examined; therefore providing hope if suspected. Weepy was always the first to be hoisted through the window, then Sam helped Don get in by giving him a leg up. Sam rarely went inside he was usually trusted with the important duty of being the person employed as sentinel in case of unanticipated disturbances.

While they were inside rummaging around, Sam in his restricted wisdom decided to go for a ‘crap’ on the ‘thunder box’ which was situated towards the back of the yard. They were unaware of his call to nature as they moved stealthily about their looting. Through the window they saw the reflection of car lights from afar travelling the straight highway towards them. At that time of night cars were few and far in-between, although it was always expected a few would appear, so they were accustomed but cautious to passing traffic and usually not overly troubled; but this was different. As the lights got closer a sixth sense hinted danger, they looked at each other in discombobulated belief, the car was nearing and veering towards the shop, the headlights beamed through the large front windows lighting up the inside and come to a halt. The owner was back early from his jaunt. Don’s first thought was: ‘SHIT! What happened to Sam? Why didn’t he warn us?’ Weepy whispered with trembling panic in his voice;

       “Fuck, let’s get out of ‘ere, it’s the owner.” He did not have to tell Don twice. It was a race and a battle for floor space to be the first to dive out the window, and both achieved the task with great alacrity. They hit the ground running and scampered to the safety of the scrub, but in their haste to escape neither one closed the window. Weepy took it upon himself to make a dash back before the owner unlocked the front door, he got there in the ‘nick of time’ and gently pulled down the framed glass shut before returning to the safety of cover.

       “Shit! That was a close call,” he said perspiring profusely.

With pounding hearts they crouched behind a large stump, mystified by Sam’s absence. The wonder of his location was worrying, yet more importantly they could not understand why he did not do his part and raise the alarm. They stayed hidden and out of sight in an uneasy silence, remaining vigilant with eyes fixed on the back of the shop together with frequent systematic scanning of the paddock in search for Sam. The owner switched on the back porch light. Don and Weepy ducked to conceal their shadows and peeked around the stump and through the stalks of grass. The light must have been an unexpected intrusion for Sam because it flushed him out of hiding with warning and fright, in doing so he broadcast his position to Don who was first to spot him; Don nudged Weepy to indicate Sam’s precarious locality. Luckily the back door did not open and the owner stayed inside, but Sam was not to know, so with the elasticity of a rabbit’s spring he jumped out of the ‘dunny’ with his pants down around his thighs, inelegantly and frantically trying to pull them up for better mobility while scurrying like a field mouse across the open paddock into the refuge of the bush. It was impossible to contain their cackle. Fear of endangering the risk of divulging their hideaway saw them leave without delay; they made a desperate sprint for home. Sam caught view of their passing and quickly followed in full flight. The propinquity of their legs in the race for safety created chaotic stumble and roaring sounds of amusement, even they were unsure as to how the owner did not hear them.

On return to the protection of the bush and closer to home they stopped for a breather and sighed relief while heckling simultaneous nervous words of mockery to each other’s darting flight. As a realization of how lucky they were not to get caught became clear, it was evident, except for experience, the only other thing they obtained from their daring break-in was one useable piece of merchandise; a lousy box of matches. There was an unwanted bonus for Sam, noticeable it was the beginning of his collection of grey hair. They took comfort in seating near the glow of their much frequented setting around a campfire and related to each other their desire to not gain illegal entry again. They agreed the narrow escape was bloodcurdling and one heart attack was enough, but this deliberation was brief in continuance because as the interval of time passed, each gasconaded his vulnerability to the titillation and excitement of avoiding capture; ultimately transferring dread into exhilaration and giving them delusive courage causing later branching out into other filching adventures. The more they looted the easier and less worrisome it became. So far, none were ever taken captive or questioned for their misdemeanours.

Overall the night ended well for Don for two reasons; the first was because of their tribulations the bond between them was reinforced with a bit more mateship. The second was; Fran joined the group around the fire and in servile tones expressed her immediate sexual desire with anyone who wished to partake in the union. In the back of the Robs’ paddock next to her place was an old plywood caravan, it was well weathered, about twelve feet long and rested on bricks stacked under its hubs with the wheels removed. It had stumps under each corner for stabilization. Years ago it was the Sturt’s accommodation whilst they built their house and was later used as a play pen for the kids. When it outlived its usefulness they sold it to the Rob’s fully outfitted with worthless fixtures like a set of iron bunk beds and a few torn blankets, but this was more than enough to saviour the forbidden delights of Fran’s generosity. Sam and Weepy stayed by the fire while Don and Fran went into the caravan. She was craving for a quick fix; sex was like a drug to her. She was not concerned about how her partner attained satisfaction as long as he exerted a level of fineness for her own delectation. She positioned herself on her back on the bottom bunk, without underclothes, and with legs spread open in waiting. Don removed his trousers and instantly she grabbed his dick, jerking it a few times to ensure its readiness. He did not need extra stimulation because he had been hard for a while thinking about it, the opposite transpired, he was finding it difficult to subdue his nascent surge of semen. While endeavouring to accomplish the simple tactical manoeuvre of getting on top of her he hit his head on the top bunk and rubbed it briskly to ease the hurt. She was not going to let anything interfere with her exigent desideratum for sex, she pulled him towards her and guided his dick in the juicy opening, then she held her hands over each cheek of his bum while wriggling her hips up, down, and around, suspiring pleasurable moans and sending vaginal palpitations surging through his penis; Don lasted for about thirty seconds before climaxing. It felt like a bucket of crows flying out of his dick and giving a stinging sensation but with a peculiar blissful contentment. Fran pushed him off her onto the floor in disappointment and used a rag to clean herself out.

       “You finished quick,” she complained. Don had a jubilant grin. He was happy with his performance and replied;

       “Yeah.”

Fran’s traits could be judged as below standard expectations in the possession of ethics, decency and principles, but one good thing about her was, she was not persnickety. Although Don’s short encounter did not even get close to satisfying her needs it did not matter because, on this occasion Weepy and Sam were still full of energized tension from their bungled aspiration to pillage, and were promised favourable attention from Fran after she finished with Don. Prior, when Don and Fran departed to the caravan for their forbidden interlude the other two expressed their eagerness to take turns and told Don to ‘hurry up’. Hurry up he did, even if not intentional, nevertheless he was very happy she allocated him preferential treatment by letting him go first, and hereafter succeeded in spending many great times together; each meeting enhanced his sexual proficiency.

CH 11 Fictitious Facts "Cultivation of a Murderer" continued.

Continued Chapter 11

More Mischief

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A few weekends later at the end of a balmy Saturday, just before the sun set completely, Don and Sam pooled their available wealth from the remnants of the pittance received from pocket money and rode their bikes to the corner shop for merchandise of an improper sort. They asked the serving owner;

       “Can we ‘ave a pack of ‘ten’ please.”

       “What sort?” queried the shopkeeper. He knew what Sam’s father smoked and always made inquiry by showing some effort to try and determine with certainty whom the cigarettes were really for, but he was only covering his ‘butt’; in reality he knew they were not for Sam’s father.

       “Capstain,” said Don speaking out of turn.

       “Yea Capstain for dad please,” echoed Sam. Both always gave a rehearsed answer with deceitful sincerity to validate their conviction of choice. The shop owner knew them well and never really challenged the accuracy of their motives, he just needed to satisfy the rules of asking who the purchase was for in case of parental query; in looking back whatever the actual truth he could not care less as long as he received his two shillings. On many occasions due to inadequate finances they would buy just a single cigarette and share it; he still did not ask questions. Back at Sam’s they went to a common meeting place in the bush, camped well out of sight, and satisfied their physical well-being by perching themselves comfortably on a fungi strewn log situated beside the track midway between their houses. Don lit a small smoulder with the abundant tinder while Sam stoked it with dry sticks and fallen branch bits to ignite a flame capable of giving out warmth and light. They lit a ‘smoke’ and talked about past adventures and tomorrows possibilities. The main topic of conversation was about sex or leaving school and how much fun they were going to have in the future when they could go to work, buy a car and go to pubs legally.

Feeling jolly, jovial and full of good humour, their mirthful laugh robbed the dark night of its silence, until without warning the fun was interrupted by footsteps snapping twigs, and faint rustling sounds grabbed their utmost attention. Spooky noises immediately impeded the flow of conversation. Sam whispered;

       “Quick!” He threw his cigarette into the fire and with facial gesture implied Don do the same. “It might be dad, throw it away hurry,” he muttered and stoked the fire to hide the burning cigarette. To Don’s way of thinking this was a dire emergency so he followed suit, just not according to plan, he went one better. In an urgent attempt to conceal the cigarettes and in thought of what could be serious repercussions if caught smoking he threw his ‘ciggy’ together with the whole packet into the fire. Sam gave Don a look of scowl and bewilderment and had no choice but to stir the fire more to cover the evidence of a burning packet. They sat poised in quiet, watching the flames flicker as if nothing happened, and listened as the footsteps got closer. Still no glimpse of identity, then a few yards away out of the blackness a figure emerged and said in a calm voice;

       “It’s only me. What are yas doing?” It was Weepy. Sam responded;

       “It’s only you. Ya fuck’n idiot, ya scared the shit out’f us. We thought ya were dad.” Weepy chuckled and offered them a drink from the two bottles of beer he brought along.

       “Great,” they replied while he used his opener to flip the lids and pass them on. Sam was still baffled as to Don’s reaction in discarding the cigarettes, he asked;

       “Why did you throw the ‘pack’ in the fire?” He looked at Weepy and said; “D’ya know this fuckin’ dumbshit just threw a whole packet of ciggys into the fire.”

       “I did ‘cause you did; I didn’t won’t to get caught with them,” Don said in hopeful exoneration of his actions. Weepy piped up;

       “Ohh don’t worry about it.” Sam was upset and still ranting. He did not see the funny side of events and his further criticism cut deep into Don’s feelings because it was said with such malice and a closed fist;

       “Yea, but I didn’t throw the bloody whole packet in, (pointing to Don) you did. You Fuckin’ idiot.”

       “Don’t worry I said,” repeated Weepy. “I told Fran to meet me here. She’ll be here soon; she’s always got ‘fags’.” This was the first time one of his friends, excluding Sterge, was fiercely abusive to him. Don’s amiable propensity towards mateship seemed far from amicable and this episode shed light on a revelation; even at this early stage of his life he could never fit into their group.

There was an abrupt transformation to Don’s disposition, mainly because of Sam’s scathing attack, but also from the mention of Fran’s name. The concept of her joining them and maybe wanting sex again caused a panic-stricken release of verbal energy;

       “Why is she coming? Girls are a pain. Tell her to stay home.”

       “Why? What’s your problem? At least we can get a smoke,” said Sam still not able to suppress his contemptuous accent. Don’s anxiety became blurred with an eagerness to repeat the situation of his near celebration regarding a full sexual encounter. After five minutes of self-bedevilment Fran arrives and says;

       “Ya can hear yus from my place.”

       “Got any smokes?” blurts Sam.

       “Yea, hang on; I just fuckin’ got ‘ere. Here ya are,” she said, throwing the packet in his lap. Sam took one and threw them back. She sat on the log and did not give Don a second glance. It was as if nothing happened between them those few weeks back. He was still captivated by insular nostalgia and felt he should at least be rewarded with some form of recognition. She reached back into her dress pocket and once more pulled out the packet and held them at arm’s length to Don in gesture of his acceptance. He spoke in appreciation but moreso to gain attention;

       “Yea, I’ll ‘ave one.” She turned and offered Weepy one and took one herself. All were alight and puffing happily away. As the frivolity continued Don became to realise the folly on the day they shared those weeks ago was, for her, simply an ephemeral infatuation, he was a nonentity of no great relevance to her, so without logical alternatives he mellowed into the group and tried to reignite his standing by joining in the fun of the moment.

Once again the darkness misted unwelcome guests as the crackling of twigs reverberated through the aura of Don’s debarment; they never had so many uninvited interruptions. Everyone reacted instinctually and hid their cigarettes and bottles, Fran hid the articles behind her back, two tossed them close by, and again Don panicked and flung his ciggy into the fire. The visitor this time was Weepy’s sister; Sally.

       “What are ya doing here?” Weepy asked with spiteful grimace and grumble at the risk of her annoying him. When everyone realised proper it was Sally, all but Sam and Weepy showed amusement towards Don’s actions of once again throwing his cigarette into the fire. The rest went about finding theirs for another puff. Weepy said to Don;

       “Sam’s right. You’re a pomme dickhead aren’t ya?” Don ignored his tirade.

       “Told you,” said Sam. Weepy shook his head in disgust before turning the debate back to Sally. He hated his sister hanging out with him because she spoilt his fun and bribed him by threatening to tell his mum about his monkey business. If she did not get her own way she invented lies to stir trouble. Also he knew she had a crush on Sam and found their consorting to be bothersome towards his friendship with him.

       “What ya want?” Weepy snapped in need of answer to his prior question, which he repeated; “Why ya here?”

       “I don’t have to tell you,” she said with confrontational smugness; “I was walking over to see Doris. Anyway, I don’t see why you do this stupid meet on the track; it’s dumb and a waste of time. Everyone knows your here.” The real truth for her intrusion was, Weepy was not at home and she knew they were congregating. Her plans to join in the fun were only to see Sam.

       “Go’n, keep going then,” instructed Weepy. “You can see Doris isn’t here.”

       “No! Why should I? I’ll go when I’m ready.” She stepped back a pace when Weepy took a step towards her, and hesitated before threatening him;

       “If you hit me I’ll tell mum about your drinking and smoking. Where’d you get them anyway?”

       “None of ya fuckin’ business; you’re a prick. Go home,” he commanded. She turned and sat next to Sam in defiance of his direct order and added the statement;

       “No. You can’t make me.” Weepy mumbled under his breath and let things ride. It did not take long before she and Sam were arguing; this was not unusual. She proved to have a lot more maturity and expected a lot more affection than he was capable of knowing how to give. Another problem was, when Sally was in their company she tried to control Sam and wanted to be the centre of attention, but she did not fit in with the group because she communicated in an intellectual superior manner, and ignored all but Sam; he was the only one she would couple with, and as Don was told, the only one she ever copulated with. Naturally Sam enjoyed this extracurricular activity when it suited him, but she was very demanding and wanted to be with him most of the time. Ultimately he would not only miss out on having fun with his mates, he knew it made him look pathetic and seen as lacking the ‘balls’ to exclude her from play. They did not stop arguing for ages. Name calling continued until Sally started crying and ran home. Weepy shouted loudly for the benefit of her hearing;

       “Thank fuck she’s gone.”

His ducts were shedding tear drops more than usual due to the smoke from the fire so he sponged his eyes with a hanky and used eye drops to soothe the sting, then his hand wandered to explore Fran’s leg.

       “Get out. Wait till later.” She said, grinning from ear to ear sounding a prurient snigger. Fully resonating through the air was Sam’s mother’s voice;

       “SAAAMMM, SAAAAMMM, DOONNNN; time to come home.” Sam stood up and screamed out in reply;

       “COMMMINNNGGG. Won’t be long.” Don did not want to leave, he was jealous of the fact Weepy and Fran would be alone, but he had no choice in the matter. Both Sam and Don said their farewells, even before they were out of earshot they could hear mischievous giggling.

When they got home Mrs Clay ensured they washed their hands, face and behind their ears with a wet flannel and sent them straight to bed. Due to the lack of space they were required to share one bed, usually a head to foot arrangement allowing for whisper in relation to the day’s events. Sam mellowed in his attitude towards Don for know and presided over the tomfoolery of imaginations regarding the carryings-on between Fran and Weepy. Talk of illicit association between the two aroused Don into a secret state of penile erection, he wanted to be doing what their spoken deliberation suggested Fran and Weepy were doing. Eventually the long day took its toll and tired them into a deep sleep in ready for the next day’s outing.

Sunday brought with it another glorious sunny day. A unanimous decision by Don and Sam, of course with Mrs Clay’s permission, cleared them to go for swim and a picnic at the Falls. This water hole was located within one mile of Sam’s place, adjacent to Wirrageen Primary school. It was called Wirrageen Falls. It inherited its fourteen foot deep and two hundred feet diameter existence from a creek running down a thirty foot waterfall; hence eroding the softer rock below. The water in the creek ran wide and fast in the rainy season and streamed over a flat rocky plateau until it reached the point of flow over the fall. Except in drought, the flow of water was continuous in effort to keep algae and other foreign matter from clogging up the outlet, maintaining an exceptionally clear supply suited for swimming. The water escaped and continued its meandering journey for about eight miles into the salty waters of Skishon which ran into Visarg Bay; the place Don and his family first visited on holiday from the ‘Hostel’. On warm days Don and his friends would pack drinks and sandwiches and spend the day exploring, snake hunting, following the bush turkeys up and down the slopes, and teasing and bothering the girls with scampish banter and laughter. A short climb down the cliff face permitted the use of the many caves for shelter and imp like play, and offered access to the use of the large flat stone surfaces surrounding the basin for lazing and sun-baking. It was a secluded and private place. Because of its solitude, natural beauty and charm, Don visualised it making the perfect site to build a tourist retreat; his young unfledged intellect could assume dewy-eyed dreams with astonishing verisimilitude.

Before their departure, Sam ran across and told Weepy of their plans and asked he convey the message to Fran if he wished, and to meet them there. Mrs Clay packed lunch, mixed jars of cordial to drink and put it all in a hessian sack. She hinted to Sam his sisters may follow later. Don was pleased to hear this but Sam did not share the same enthusiasm and could not get out of the house quick enough. Before they got to the Falls they made a detour to the school to steal a few bottles of soft drinks stockpiled in the storeroom. They did this on many occasions by crawling under the floor and removing a couple of loose planks; it was easy. They could get any school supplies they wanted this way and were careful not to take so much at any one time it would be noticed as missing. Nicked with the drinks were a few bonus items stored from Friday’s P&C ‘tuck-shop’ and ‘jumble sale’; those being lemon cupcakes and toffee apples. They left with full hands, sweaty and ready for a swim.

Because of the extra time taken everyone beat them there, including Sally and Sterge. Normal play such as jumping off rock ledges into the water, chasing and swimming soon turned promiscuous; the boys were touching the girl’s private body parts at every opportunity. Sally would only let Sam touch her inappropriately, or otherwise, and would scream and scold if Don attempted such liberties. Except for Doris, Sam’s sisters would not have any part of sexual shenanigans, and Doris’s raunchy acts would only happen when out of view of her sister’s antics of threatening dobbing to get their own way; she designed every move to attract Weepy’s attention. All those present were aware of the relationship between Sally and Sam, and Weepy and Doris, and they knew Fran was prone to sexual conduct and coarse and licentious behaviours. Fran on the other hand never concerned herself with the feelings of others; her nature was, always look after number one and satisfy one’s own needs. These relationships were accepted within the clan and Doris’s sister’s threats never mounted to anything, each knew if they dare say anything to parents or other adults about any of business, rumoured or otherwise, they themselves would find the wrath of the rest being nothing short of ostracism.

All day Don tried his hardest to win Fran’s attention, yet for some reason Sterge had a cult personality where she was involved and both had their own ideas of play. They cast Don aside, he felt abandoned and alone. The rest were playing as a group in their selected pairing and he had no-one. He wanted Fran but there was no way he could stand up to Sterge; besides Fran was not showing any interest in him. A moment in thought left him clueless as to how or why Fran could let someone of Sterge’s grotesque, odd, ludicrous looks and diabolical behaviour touch her; his own enquiry would perplex him for many years to come. He thought her better than him and a whole lot easier on the eyes. Sterge was distorted and unnatural in shape and size; rude, abnormal, hideous and oppressive. The answer to her putting up with him could lie in any number of pretext on which to judge, such as; she might be too scared of him to reject him, she may feel sorry for him, or she may actually likes him. The last reason begs belief because no one liked Sterge.

The following day Don felt even more exposed to his feelings of rejection and pangs of envy. He never learnt to accept Fran’s choice in partners, and there was to be plenty of them. In hindsight it may have turned out for the better if she completely ignored him because she did share herself around way too much. Nevertheless as time went by things changed, and for many years after, they got together frequently to satisfy their urges and pander sexual impulses. She enticed him to relish sex as a pastime rather than an obsession and it became a natural ingredient in the weekends play. The education he received far surpassed readings learnt by correspondence out of ‘Playboy’ publications.