Rhythm

by

John Terry Moore
 

CHAPTER 4

Garry had gone to Sydney for the weekend for a family function, and as usual, Patrick was excluded.  Adam knew it pissed Patrick off; that Garry’s family ignored their relationship and pretended they were ‘just very good friends’ at a time where society had moved on so completely that such attitudes were actually thought offensive by almost all Australians.  “Pats, why don’t you come home with me for the weekend?” he said.  “To the farm.”

“Look,” replied Patrick, “I know you mean well, trying to cheer me up, but I’d feel like I was intruding.” 

“Patrick,” roared Adam, “for Christ’s sake don’t be so bloody negative!  Mum and dad have been dying to meet you, as have Uncle Will and Maurie.  And I want you to come” he smiled, “to show you where I came from, but most of all to meet the folks, because they’re special and so are you.” 

“Yessir, how can I refuse, but aren’t you sick of me?  I mean, you see me almost all day, every day.  We train together, we study together, we eat together and we share a room together.  They’re even calling us The Odd Couple!” 

“Does that worry you?” said Adam with a smile, as Pat shook his head.  “Because I could never get sick of you and I think you must like my company as well; maybe that’s why we’re such a good team.  Now please get your bloody bag packed so we can get there this year and not next year!” 

*****

“Here they are now,” said Mary Church, as Adam’s old Ford drove into the back yard and parked in the barn.  Mary was a country girl, quite tall, healthy looking with fair hair and complexion, so obviously Adam’s mother, whilst Tom, her husband was stockier, with darker thinning hair and a receding hairline. 

Mary looked fondly at her son walking across the paved yard between the buildings, she wasn’t biased; she simply felt that Adam had all the looks in the family and that he had the kindest nature of her three children.  So he was perfect and she was a typical mother!  But her breath caught when the young man with him came into view.  Slightly taller than Adam, he had dark hair and a much darker complexion than her son, ‘perhaps even a hint of India there somewhere’ but he was simply stunning, she had to admit.  They walked into the kitchen; Adam embracing first his father, then his mother, turning at once to Patrick and introducing him.  “Welcome to the madhouse, Patrick,” said Tom Church, smiling broadly at their visitor.  “It’s lovely to meet you at last; Adam has told us so much about you we feel we know you already.” 

“Yes, welcome Patrick dear,” said Mary as she walked over and kissed him on the cheek.  “We don’t stand on ceremony here,” she smiled.  “Just help yourself to everything.  You’ve been a lovely friend to Adam,” she continued.  “Thanks to you he seems to be enjoying his life at uni to the max.” 

Patrick immediately felt at home; as if he had known the Church family all his life. They were totally unpretentious which was a big bonus; he was so sick to death of Garry’s pissy friends, and the welcoming atmosphere of a country kitchen and real people was in such complete contrast.  Suddenly, he was glad Adam had prevailed and realised he was enjoying himself more than if he had spent the weekend with his boyfriend.  They enjoyed their meal; Patrick thriving in an atmosphere where he was treated very much as an equal, and where his opinion was apparently valued.  The conversation centred on their newly discovered sporting career, (of course) and how Tom, Mary, Uncle Will and Maurie were planning to be at the regatta the following Saturday.  And things about his mum; how long she had been a widow, did she have a gentleman friend, (yes, his name is Brian and I try not to intrude too much).  And what was it like growing up a single child; did your mum and you have to struggle?

“Well yes, it was tight for a while, but dad left us reasonably well provided for, the house was paid off, school fees were mainly paid, but I did win scholarships and bursaries, and that helped.  And yes, I actually learned to cook as a result of mum working long hours, and generally to be self-sufficient.’  He looked at Adam and grinned.  “So if we get stranded on that little island on the river, you can catch the rabbits and I’ll cook ’em.” 

*****

The next morning was fine and quite warm; the ‘hill’ at the farm was about ten minute’s run away, and they tore up it, pushing each other.  The gradient and distance was much less than their ‘usual’, so they did it again, twice more and exhausted themselves, running back to the homestead at a leisurely pace to cool down and allow their energy levels to build again. 

Patrick studied the old homestead; it was beautiful, made of weatherboard and painted white with a grey corrugated iron roof, and had wide, cool verandas around the main building to keep it cool in summer.  But he was surprised at his own interest; he felt he had to find out how things worked, why farmers like Tom Church did certain things at certain times, what was the purpose of those funny looking machines in the big shed next to the barn.  “Oh they’re balers,” smiled Adam.  “One for hay, one for silage.  When the grass doesn’t grow in winter, you have to feed ’em something, you know,” he said, understanding Patrick’s lack of knowledge with a smile that said, ‘now I’ve explained that, don’t ask me again!’  ‘God I feel like a girl,’ thought Patrick, ‘but I really want to know.’ 

“Listen, dickwad,” said Patrick none too gently.  “I know you think I’m a city slicker, but I do really want to know about everything here.  Don’t ask me why, I don’t know myself, but for the first time in ages I seem to have found something that I’m really interested in, rather than social dinner parties and screaming queens.  This place is so ----- peaceful,” he said, “but also it’s alive because it has to produce stuff like wool and beef.”  It was obvious Adam was taken aback and he apologised profusely. 

“Pats,” he said.  “I had no idea you were so interested, sorry ----- I promise to be your agricultural educator from here on in, so ask away.”  Obviously, Adam felt he hadn’t apologised enough because he gently pulled Patrick to him and kissed his cheek.  “I wouldn’t hurt your feelings for anything in the world, please don’t forget that we were meant to be a team and we’ve got to stay that way, so if I get out of line, just let me know.”  He emphasised his point by slipping his hand around Patrick’s waist and cuddling him. 

‘Well,’ thought Patrick, ‘teamwork’s his excuse, but I think my straight mate has just unconsciously made a pass at me!’  He smiled to himself and shrugged his shoulders; ‘I suppose it’s harmless, anyway, but do the women he’s been with ever understand what a prize he is ----- I doubt it somehow.’ 

After breakfast they made their way to the shearing shed where, even to a rural novice like Patrick, it was immediately obvious that Adam was an accomplished shearer.  “About two hundred a day in good sheep,” said Tom, “and he does such a good job of every one of them.  Getting harder and harder to get shearers at all let alone good ones like our Ads here as you call him.” 

“What are these, Tom?” he asked, pointing toward the pen. 

“These are thirty five ‘killers’ or sheep that have been culled out of the flock for some reason ----- they could have a fault in the wool, be smaller than the average size, have something genetically wrong with them or for some reason have missed the sale and be just too bloody old, like me,” he laughed.  “So we keep this mob close to the house, fatten them up and they’re our supplies for the table!”  Tom looked for a reaction but there was none; unlike most visitors Patrick seemed to accept the simple facts and then ask the next question.  Adam finished a sheep, pushed it through the trapdoor and stood up.  “He wants to learn everything, dad,” he said, seriously.  “We could use a few good workers at harvest time or shearing, so we’d better educate him!”  Patrick watched Tom pick up the fleece from the floor and throw it on the wool table, so that it fanned out flat, with the neck one end and the back legs at the other.  “Would you sweep the floor for Adam?” asked Tom.  Patrick quickly understood what had to be done; the off-cuts of wool had to be cleared from the board so Adam had a clear area to shear the next sheep.  “Thanks,” said Adam, “well done.” 

“You make that look so easy,” said Patrick.  ”Picking up and throwing a fleece like that must take a lot of practise.” 

“I’ll show you on the next sheep,” replied Tom.  “It’s much easier when you’ve got a good shearer like Adam.”  After several attempts, Patrick threw the perfect fleece and afterwards continued with each one.  Tom showed him the basics of skirting, and preparing the fleece, finally rolling it and placing it in the bale, ready for the press.  “Well done, Patrick, you’re a star, you really pick things up quickly,” he said.  Barney, a Border collie, and the farm’s best yard dog around the shearing shed, also approved.  He sat next to Patrick, touching him with his paw.  “What’s he doing, Tom?” he asked. 

“Well, he seems to like you too, Pat; he just wants to shake hands!”

*****

They cleaned up the shed, Barney drove the mob into a holding paddock next to the creek, and they walked to the house.  An old red Mercedes in mint condition sat near the back door.  “Uncle Will’s got the baby out tonight,’” said Adam, “you’re honoured.”  Just then, the back door swung open and two men in their late 40s emerged; Will was slightly taller than his younger brother, hair also thinning like Tom, but a much slimmer build, with twinkling eyes that welcomed everyone to his world.  Maurice Chapman had a slighter build, not as tall, but there was an inner physical strength in the way he moved, ‘like a panther’ thought Patrick.  ‘A mixture of strength and elegance,’ he decided.  He had a crowning mantle of grey hair, parted down the middle.  A cheeky smile lit up his face, as they approached.  “Ah, here we are, another princess in the pastures,” he laughed, holding out his hands to Patrick in a gesture of welcome. 

“Takes one to know one,” shot back Patrick, in a millisecond, and they were friends for life.  Adam, Tom and Will roared with laughter.  “Told you our Pats would liven things up a bit,” Adam laughed. 

“Don’t forget,” said Maurie, with his arm around Patrick’s broad shoulders, “we do bring some tone to this place, Patrick and I!  And we don’t even get paid to entertain the troops down here!” 

*****

Dinner was funny.  A beautiful meal, but it was funny.  He and Maurie’s personalities combined to keep the conversation flowing, and it was over so quickly, no one realised where the time had simply vanished to.  Adam and Patrick excused themselves; they had some excess to work off the next morning, and their training regime required they be properly rested.  Maurie and Will helped Mary clean away, kissed her and Tom good night and drove home.  “He’s a lovely boy, Will.” 

“Hmmm?” said Will absent-mindedly, as he piloted his old treasure towards their home in the local town. 

“Patrick, Will, he’s absolutely gorgeous,” shouted Maurie, frustrated at his partner’s mood. 

“Sorry darl,” he said.  “Yes he certainly is gorgeous, looks, personality and intelligence.  But it’s Adam I’m worried about.” 

“Why, is there something wrong?” said Maurie fearfully. 

“I don’t know,” responded Will, “but I was watching him at the dinner table.  There was such a mixture of emotions on his face; like he was so proud of Patrick one moment and next time I looked, there was almost an expression of hurt.  That’s not normal for a lovely hetero kid like Adam.” 

Maurie smiled wistfully, and found Will’s hand on the seat, lacing his fingers through it as he steered the old car with the other hand.  “I know you always say that I think everyone’s gay,” he said, “but I can only repeat what I said some time ago.  Adam doesn’t look like you on the outside very much, but I’m certain he’s just like you on the inside.  You have just verbalised what has been troubling me about Adam for years.  We just have to be there for him when he needs to talk to us, and he will. And also Tom and Mary, bless their hearts.  Because tonight, I believe, we witnessed the same process that we went through nearly 28 years ago.  Adam and Patrick don’t even know about it yet, all we can do is to be there for them both when it happens.”  He smiled across at Will.  “And give the process a little nudge along if that’s what it takes!” 

*****

It was a hot day at Denholme.  The cars surrounded the big freshwater lake and there was almost a picnic atmosphere.  Boat trailers were lined up outside the local club house, and there were more entries than usual, a sign the sport was thriving.  The university had done well; they had won the Junior Fours and the Senior Fours, but had run third in the Senior Eights.  The competition in the eights was as expected; intense.  The King’s Cup would be held earlier than normal because selection for the crews to represent Australia would naturally be based on the results of that race.  Michael Mitchell knew the facts of life very well, and so did his squad of senior oarsmen.  They were realists, but ‘they were great participators,’ thought Michael, as he watched his only hope of national recognition for the university pull away from the ways in this, their first race. 

Adam and Patrick felt good; a little apprehensive, of course, but totally focussed on the job ahead of them.  Their current titleholders had decided to dedicate their time and energy to the eights, but the crew they defeated the previous season by only half-a-length, were racing and had tried to wind them up with a bit of old-fashioned bullshit at the clubhouse toilet which had failed miserably.  “Having a nervous one are we?” their stroke had said to Patrick as he completed his turn at the trough. 

“No darling,” smiled Patrick sweetly, “but you look like you need a good shit!”  Adam lost it and roared with laughter, probably the best tension breaker they could have had.  They sat on the line, complete with their little radio microphone and earpieces Michael had insisted they not only wear but become thoroughly conversant with.  They talked quietly to each other, waiting for the start, both strangely calm.  Adam watched for the smoke from the starter’s gun, and they jammed their blades through the water, in a brilliant start.  As per their instructions, they sat out in front, feeling good at the 500 metre mark and even stronger at the 1000 metre peg.  Adam whispered, “Let’s take another length,” and they reached out, increasing their length through the water but not their rating, settling back into their natural rhythm again.  Suddenly, the ‘smartarses’ as Patrick called them, started to sprint, catching up much of the distance between them, but crowding over into their lane. 

“Wait for it,” said Adam as the umpire in the following speedboat shouted at their competitors to straighten up or be disqualified.  The moment they began to correct, Adam muttered, “Now, long, strong and up two points,” and they surged forward, smoothly and powerfully increasing their lead, and with a slightly elevated rating (strokes per minute).  They settled back, rowing the race that Michael had planned, so as not to draw too much attention to themselves, and flashed over the line, winning by a comfortable two-and-a-half lengths.  Michael smiled quietly to himself.  The boys had done everything asked of them in training and followed his race instructions to the letter.  There were no ego issues, which made some athletes hard to handle, but there was instead a healthy dialogue between the three of them which he knew was a great safety valve and a future race winner.  In the meantime, the University Boat Club had gone ballistic on the ways, together with Adam’s family and Patrick’s mother who had driven up for the event.  There were hugs and kisses; and a broad smile from the Dean herself who quietly melted into the background and drove off, after shaking Michael’s hand.  “Party!  Party!” roared Lance, the gigantic, dark seven man from the eight, joined quickly by his mad room-mate, Darcy, the ‘social secretary’.  Adam and Patrick smiled, not willing to alienate their good friends, but also not prepared to put their training at risk.  “Just one glass boys, for me,” said Adam, “and Patrick has to go to Melbourne anyway.”