(no subject)
Pairing: Ennis/Jack
Rating: PG-13 to NC-17 (Warning: violence !)
Summary: AU_AU. With this story I wanted to dive in the dark side of Brokeback Mountain. I wanted to experiment with fear, uncertainty and doubt. Ennis and Jack meet each other in the modern time.
Dedication: This story is dedicated to my German beta tanzmaeusi, who encouraged me to write this story. I also want to thank judy-blue-cat who helped me to understand the US-postal service and who also helped me to find the most suitable name for the city where this story takes place.
But tizi17 is the one you should thank the most if you like this story because she is the one who translates it. She is incredible and let me say she captures my writing perfectly. It's a great joy to work with her and I'm very happy I met her in this fandom. My special thank is dedicated to poppyhoney_67. She's our second native speaker besides Judy who is willing to help us catching the remaining errors. Thank you all !!
Feedback: Please !! It keeps all of us motivated...
* * *
Prologue: http://mel0804.livejournal.com/37179.html
1 Steel City: http://mel0804.livejournal.com/38777.html
2 Rust Town: http://mel0804.livejournal.com/46005.html
3 Iron District (part 1): http://mel0804.livejournal.com/51964.html
3
Iron District (part 2)
As Ennis del Mar woke up his eyes fell first of all on the cracked ceiling above him. It was a morning like all the others in his second life. His body felt numb. His thoughts were dull and in lethargy he counted the cracks.
And as every time, today again he couldn't remember where he had started and where he had ended, and during all that time he hadn't been able to find out how many cracks there actually were on that ceiling.
The inner disquiet that took him during the count, spreading from head to toes and making his body prickle as if he were under some power, was a well known side effect to his obsessional habit, and he awaited it - like on every morning - with a feeling of slight nausea.
Out of pure habit he looked at the watch near his bed. It was shortly before five a.m. - as every morning. He could rely on his body clock - had for years. This time of day was his time. Time where in a different life he got up quietly to walk to the barn, greeted by the warm-biting smell of fresh horse droppings and the friendly snort of the animals awaiting him happily, picking carefully with their tender lips some carrots from his hand which he put out to them while mumbling quietly into their soft ears.
It was the time where the world seemed to be alright, where he had the feeling to own a place, to be expected and needed.
During all those years his body hadn't forgotten this feeling - neither had his heart. As every morning, even now he brought his hand carefully to his face, breathed in and out deeply and it was as if the fluff of trembling nostrils would graze his hand. And in very rare moments he thought he would smell the scent of carrots - sweet and bitter it caressed his nose and a fluttering feeling of joy ran through him during these moments before the rough reality hit back with all its might.
He wasn't at home.
He was lying in a bed in an apartment in a town whose name he would have forgotten a long time ago if he wouldn't see it as an address every day on the postal deliveries he had to make.
Time of dawn was no time of rebirth any more - it was a moment where time stood still. Time where the loneliness and the uselessness of his life came to him in a terrifying way through the little ticking of the kitchen watch two rooms away. A time of rigor where his body's automatism kept him alive until half an hour later the peeping of the alarm clock gave the signal for the re-entry into an existence that had lost any goal for him.
+ + +
As Ennis walked into the post office this Saturday morning, outside it was already uncommonly hot. The morning sun - even if still low in the sky - made the asphalt flicker and beat down merciless.
In the expedition hall the air stood and it stank of sweat and bad breath as Ennis packed his bags - his tour and the one for district eight. An edgy apathy was in the air, and Ennis felt his throat tighten.
He packed his things quickly, pulled down his baseball cap deep into his face and with bowed head he left the building without bestowing one of his colleagues even with a look.
He drove his battered pick-up to his district and cursed under his breath as his usual parking place was blocked by a furniture truck. It took half an hour before he could find a parking place in that godforsaken district - the heat seemed to keep people in their homes.
Anxiety flickered up in him like a leaking fire as he took his bag and closed the car. He hated it when his daily routine was disturbed, any change to normality being a risk to him. A risk that his life might get out of place again, cutting the ground from under him - and every little tremble heralded a gigantic quake whose dimensions he could not foresee and whose results he believed to not be able to endure.
Despite the heat, goose flesh ran down his spine and he began his tour, shuddering slightly. He started at block A.
Into the hall, up the stairs, down the stairs. Open the letter slot, listening to the dark echo of falling mail, sensing vaguely the clang of the closing slot echoing through the deserted staircase. Out of the door, into the heat, to block B.
Into the hall, up the stairs, down the stairs, sort out the mail, repeating mechanically every move - and already in this block a massive déjà-vu got hold of him that morning.
Too early, he recognized annoyed - usually he was able to tune out up to block F before a sense of disorientation got hold of him and he started to ask himself in which staircase of which block was he in right now.
But today it was as if the conformity of his occupation wouldn't lull him into a soft feeling of security, but as if the dreadful monotony from hallway to hallway, from block to block, would tear at his nerves and drag him out of his self-chosen apathy.
With pounding heart and a sense of tightness in his chest he forced himself to continue, from floor to floor, from block to block until he finally - much later as usual - was done with his district.
Exhausted he went with his pick-up to district 8 - vaguely hoping to find his inner equilibrium again here.
He hardly knew this part of town, the names on the mail still sounded foreign, the streets and blocks hadn't burnt yet into his inner cartography.
Again he worked building after building and slowly he felt how he worked himself into that well known feeling of lethargy protecting him like a blowhole from all exterior influence. Step after step, letter box after letter box, until he arrived at the last block.
In the meantime the sun was burning merciless onto the city and the shimmering heat took Ennis' breath as he stepped into the hallway with a slight feeling of dizziness. Against his usual habit this time he started on the top floor and worked his way down, and as he arrived at the last door it happened.
Ennis took out all the mail addressed to a Victor Sevchenko and was putting it into the battered letter slot as one envelope made him suspicious. He took it out hesitantly from a pile of invoices and publicity. It was a letter from the judicial authority of Steel City - and he had to have the receipt signed for personally.
He pulled back his cap sighing and pushed the door bell. The sound came back dull to him and impatiently he listened for a sign of life from the apartment. Nothing. He pushed the bell again listening apathetically to the clanking signal that cut the silence in the hallway.
Nothing moved.
And just as he wanted to take out a consignment note from his bag he heard shooing steps and a hectic whispering inside the apartment. He rang for a third time and in concentration he adjusted some words in his mouth he had to say now, as the door was torn open abruptly.
“Whut?” A rough voice with a strong Slavic accent barked at him harshly and Ennis stepped back, aghast.
In front of him stood a man with the body of a wrestler. Little black eyes sparkled at him full of hatred. The bald shaved skull and his tightly-in-anger pressed lips gave him the aura of a raw bruiser.
Ennis took a deep breath and handed the letter from the judicial authority over to the man.
”Certified mail for you Sir, you have to sign this for me.”
The man looked at Ennis' put out hand and the letter. His muscle packs twitched slightly under his tight T-shirt as he stared at Ennis with hostility.
”And what if I don't want to sign?”
”You have to, Sir. If you don't the authority will get in touch with you personally,” Ennis mumbled mechanically. He had led such discussions uncountable times, and he had had enough of it. It made him sick.
”Are you going to sign that receipt or not?” he asked with a slightly impatient voice, looking from under his cap as the man in front of him stayed mute.
”Let's pretend I wasn't home,” the man said after some hesitation and further careful glances on the letter in Ennis' hand, and he exposed a sneaky grin.
”Sir, you opened the door. You are here. I cannot do what you suggest,” Ennis said, and he felt the air around him load. A queasy feeling crept up in him as he glanced into the man's shifty visage who had planted himself in front of him menacingly.
At this moment a whiney voice came from the apartment. ”Victor where are you? If you don't get back here I'll come and get you...”
Quickly Victor turned around. ”I'm coming sweetie, I'm coming,” he called with a disguised friendly voice before addressing Ennis in rage.
”Get the fuck out of here...,” he hissed furiously. ”If my hag sees you here and gets hold on that letter all hell will break loose...”
Ennis looked at the letter in his hand insecurely and then to the keyed up man in front of him, and his instinct told him to get out of here. But Ennis was tired, exhausted, the day had already held too many surprises for him and he felt an old well known feeling of defiance welled up in him. Defiance and stubbornness - a dangerous combination that had brought him loads of trouble in his old life and that he had been successfully suppressing for many years.
But something in that man provoked him, reminded him of times gone by, and so he made a little step towards him, looked him in the eyes and said forcefully: ”If you sign the receipt I will leave. If not, I will stay here until the cows come home. I've got my job to do here and...”
He didn't get much further. He only just saw from the corner of his eye a movement, felt for a split second the draft of a raised fist before a blinding punch hit his temple and knocked him to the ground.
”You damn fuckin' asshole! I don't give a shit about your job...,” he heard before the door closed with a loud bang and was locked. From inside wild hue and cry was heard and a slapping noise - then there was silence.
Ennis got up from the ground, moaning. He held on to the sticky handrail, staggering, as his vision blurred. For a few seconds he asked himself how he might ever be able to get home again, as a throbbing pain set in and took his breath away.
With trembling fingers he touched his temple and felt his skin slippery and warm under his groping movements. He looked at his blood stained hand hesitantly.
”Shit,” he mumbled and whipped off the blood on his T-shirt before walking with insecure steps up to the last apartment where he had to deliver mail today.
Trembling, he pushed the bell button. A red blotch remained there as he drew back his hand waiting for the door to be opened.
He waited patiently and as he heard insecure steps from inside the apartment he drew his cap down his forehead and took the last letters out of his bag.
Dully he heard the door open and perceived vaguely that a warm rivulet was running down his cheek as he heard Jack's voice.
”Damn, Ennis, where've you been? You're even later than usual. I'm waiting here and... oh shit, Ennis, what the hell happened?”
”Your damn neighbour is what happened,” Ennis mumbled without looking at Jack, and he passed him walking into the hallway, putting the mail on the table as usual. When he left his gaze fell onto the mirror near the door and he stopped for a second.
Under his cap blood was dripping down his cheek and under the temple a crusty blue bruise started to build that throbbed painfully the longer he stared at it. The collar of his shirt was sprinkled with red dots and on his chest he saw his own smeared hand print immortalized on the fabric.
”Damn,” he whispered and frowned. ”You got... you got maybe a rag for me?” he asked Jack hesitantly and dared for the first time look into his face. The deep concern mirroring in those crystal clear eyes embarrassed him and he felt his cheek start to glow.
”Yeah... yeah sure,” Jack stammered aghast, took his crutches and went on his way to the kitchen.
”Wait...,” Ennis mumbled and barred his way. ”Wait... tell me where... I can... you needn't...,” he stopped helplessly and his look fell onto Jack's crutches. Jack snorted quietly.
”Ennis, I usually move in my apartment. It's not a nice view, but I can handle it...,” he said with a bitter undercurrent that made Ennis listen up.
He blushed in shame. ”I didn't mean... didn't want to....” His insecure gaze entwined with Jack's. They stared at each other for seconds, and suddenly the air exuded a vibrating tension of unspoken words.
Ennis felt his heartbeat increase and he lowered his gaze in irritation.
”It's ok, Ennis...,” Jack whispered quietly and reluctantly - nearly regretting - he took his crutches and went to the kitchen. Ennis followed behind, and indecisively he stood in the door frame, took off his cap and kneaded it insecurely in his hands.
”Go sit on the sofa, Ennis,” Jack called from the kitchen and clattered with the cupboard. Ennis heard Jack turn on the faucet and the water running into the sink splattering and gurgling.
He sat shyly on the edge of the sofa and looked around carefully. The living room was sparsely furnished. A sofa, an end table and a shelf were the only furniture besides an enormous TV set standing on the floorboards in front of the sofa. Obviously the only luxury Jack had treated himself to, because it was one of the newer models.
One Ennis would have loved to own, but had never bought, not knowing this sort of abundance. Where he came from one was happy with little and left the quest for higher to others.
Ennis had a little black and white tv set he had bought at a rag-fair. In his beginnings in Steel City when he had no job but a lot of boredom, people on TV were his only acquaintances.
Not much had changed in that situation besides the fact that now he had a well paid job offering him all the security and social efficiency that an employee could wish for in the United States these days - but he still was as closed out from the world as he had been at the beginning of his time in this city.
And now that little TV set had become some sort of habit, and a new one would have meant to get used to a new item in his apartment and in his life - and the idea of it scared him.
But as he now took in Jack's apartment, listening to the cosy sounds of a human being living within these walls, he quietly asked himself how it might be to watch the evening TV program on a big screen and to see the protagonists of a Western film in colour when they rode lonesome over the hills, got drunk in bars far away from home or kissed their beautiful chosen one under a romantic starlit sky.
“Lean back, Ennis,” Jack said dragging Ennis out of his daydream, who startled at what Jack had told him to do.
Jack had left his crutches in the kitchen to be able to carry the bowl with water and the little bottle of iodine he had pressed under his arm. With staggering steps he came closer, his right leg continuously bending, and the pain was written all over his face as he stepped closer, leaving a dripping track behind him.
Ennis stood up quickly and made the last two steps towards him.
“Hey... could have said something...,“ he mumbled and stood clumsily in front of Jack who continued to walk undeterred, pressing his lips tightly in strain.
“Let me be...,“ Jack gasped and pushed him aside weakly but with intention. “I want to do this... I... I can make it...,“ he added eagerly and as Ennis saw the determined look on his face he stepped aside silently and let him pass.
As Jack arrived at the end table he looked at Ennis hesitantly and for a split second Ennis watched him fight with himself before asking quietly: “Ennis... could you... would you...?“
And what his lips weren't able to articulate he signalled pleadingly with his clear eyes, and Ennis walked quickly up to him, took the bowl from his hand, put it on the table and held his trembling arm as he slumped onto the sofa with a painful groan, closing his eyes.
Ennis sat down near Jack in some distance and waited. Seconds passed and became minutes, and only both men's breathing was heard in the room, as calm spread between them that lay comfortably heavy in the room and threw them into a state of nearly disembodied gravity.
“You... you're ok again?“ Ennis asked quietly after some time and looked at Jack expectantly who opened his eyes startled at Ennis' voice so as if he had forgotten there was somebody else in the room. He nodded without words, pushed up laboriously from near lying to sitting and pulled the table with the water bowl towards him.
The table legs squeaked quietly over the floorboards and the water chortled in the bowl. Silently Jack took a rag out of the bowl, wrung it and pressed it carefully to Ennis' still slightly bleeding wound.
Ennis backed startled as the rag touched his bruised and burningly throbbing skin, and as he felt Jack's soft ministrations on his face, triggering an onrush of emotions in him at whose mercy he felt helpless. He couldn't remember the last time he had felt the caring touch of another person, and the need to just roll up and let go became nearly overwhelming.
Rejecting Jack's help almost harshly, he took the rag out of Jack's hand without a word, pushed it hard to his wound, and with fierce satisfaction he felt the sharp pain that drove off in an instant the memory of Jack's careful touch.
He frowned painfully.
“Not right something like this happening to you,“ Jack mumbled and stared blindly before him.
“Not the first time,“ Ennis replied and shrugged indifferently. “That's the way it is.“
He washed the rag in the bowl, stared into the water where red streaks appeared circling slowly around his own hand as he took out the rag again and wrung it.
“Gonna call the police?“ asked Jack and a reluctant hesitation lay in his voice as he looked at Ennis expectantly.
Ennis considered. “No...,“ he finally said and dabbed off his wound. “Leads to nothing. Brings trouble. To me. To him... and I can't stand the cops...,“ he added, slightly aggressive.
Jack nodded. “Police, your aid and assistance...,“ he said bitterly. “I had my share of that, too.“ He looked at Ennis.
“You hurt badly?“ he asked, pointing his head to Ennis' temple. “I got pain killers. They work. At least most of the time...,“ he said and rolled his eyes. “With what I consume it's just about the quantity that works, but with you one should be enough...“
Ennis shook his head repelling. “It's ok,“ he mumbled. “What about you?“ he asked hesitantly and looked at Jack's leg.
“That won't ever be ok again,“ Jack answered equivocally and again there was that bitter sound that Ennis had got to know in the meantime.
“What happened?“ he heard himself say to his own surprise, and he looked shamefully to the ground as he found out that he was actually interested in the answer.
Jack sighed out. “It's a long story,“ he said quietly and slumped back into the cushions.
“I... I got time,“ Ennis replied falteringly, leaned back too and looked at Jack. Their eyes met and for a split second they talked to each other undisguised, showing the loneliness both felt deep inside of them. Loneliness and the desire to share the own pain.
“Well...,“ Jack whispered quietly and broke the gaze. He fold his hands over his belly and his look went to the ceiling.
“Was at Christmas five years ago,“ he said voiceless and cleared his throat. “Christmas five years ago... I was at a bar at home in Lightning Flat, and on my way back I got bashed by three guys with baseball bats. They left me there on the street and I was brought to hospital nearly frozen. Been in coma for about two months, woke up and nothing was the same,“ he resumed with trembling voice and looked back at Ennis.
“They had smashed my hip. My right leg had multiply fractures, my ribs and one arm too. Doctor said in the beginning I would be able to walk again but then...,“ he stopped, trembling, and snuffled.
With a nearly angry move he whipped the back of his hand over his nose and his gaze went blurry as he continued. “Played baseball once. College team. Even won the championship in Wyoming once. And now? Look at me...,“ he said and laughed out bitterly. “Can't even carry a damn water bowl to help a friend,“ he hissed in frustration and kicked the table with his left leg.
“Don't...,“ Ennis whispered and touched his shoulder. Jack looked at him in surprise.
“Don't...,“ Ennis repeated and drew away his hand embarrassed. “Don't do that. Let be... If you can't fix it you gotta stand it, Jack,“ he whispered and looked directly into his eyes.
Jack responded to his look and for seconds no one spoke.
“You got experience in that, right?“ finally Jack asked with rough voice from which came not a bit of resentment but a sad certainty.
Ennis nodded and pressed his lips together.
“Thought so,“ Jack whispered and smiled at him wistfully. “We're a pair of deuces, aren't we?“ he tried to make a joke, but none of them was in the mood for laughing.
“Why couldn't you walk right again?“ Ennis asked carefully and looked at Jack's leg that hung so terribly useless on his body.
“Ahh...,“ said Jack and a suppressed sound escaped his throat. “That's a good night story I'm gonna tell you another day,“ he said with a broken voice and pressed his finger to the bridge of his nose. “I'm sorry but I don't want to talk about it Ennis,“ he whispered with suffocated voice, looking helplessly at him.
“I understand,“ Ennis said quietly and stood up. “Guess I... I better go now...,“ he continued silently and looked down at Jack reluctantly who looked up to him distraught.
“I'm sorry Ennis. I didn't want to... you can stay if you want..,“ he said, hating himself that very moment for the need that spoke from his words.
Ennis shook his head. “I still want to go home. My... my head hurts and...“
“Oh, ok...,“ Jack replied quickly and stood up laboriously. He stood in front of Ennis, swaying a bit, face frowning in pain, as he took an insecure step forward.
“Wait... wait...,“ Ennis said hastily and held Jack at his arms. “I'll go and get your crutches, ok?“ he said tenderly and looked at him.
Jack nodded acquiescently, and Ennis went to the kitchen and came back with the walkers.
“Thanks,“ Jack said quietly and looked at him with glassy eyes before he turned around, walking to the door. He opened it in silence and watched Ennis as he reluctantly walked by him, stepped into the hallway, and he had the feeling that with Ennis also a comforting warmth was disappearing, something he had not felt for many, many years.
“You'll come back?“ Jack called behind Ennis quietly, and an urging hope sounded within his voice, shaking Ennis to the core, and at the same time frightening him. He stopped awkwardly and turned around.
“Sure... I... deliver your mail daily...,“ he said with a forced noncommittal voice, listening irritated to his guilty conscience as he saw Jack's face cloud like a summer sky shortly before the storm. Jack who had called him friend a few minutes ago.
A friend.
“Sure. What a stupid question...,“ Jack answered voiceless, bit his lip and lowered his gaze.
Like feathers his dark lashes lay on his clear, nearly white cheeks and caressed the soft skin. Ennis stared dazed at the man before him, offering this very moment such a genuine vulnerability that it caused him physical pain just to look at him because he knew it so well - so endlessly familiar like the feeling of coming home after a long trip. And he felt, for the first time after many, many years, how a ray of warmth crept into his dark, tight cage where he had closed himself in such a long time ago.
And like a wonderful flower burgeoning curiously and full of power from the bleak ground after a tentatively desert rain, Ennis felt all of a sudden life kiss him, releasing him from his cold rigor.
Hesitantly and with pounding heart he made a step towards Jack, put out his hand and raised his chin softly. With trembling breath he watched the black wings rise, and he looked into bright, deep blue that reminded him of the sky at home.
“Jack, I swear...,“ Ennis whispered. “I'll be back.“
Rating: PG-13 to NC-17 (Warning: violence !)
Summary: AU_AU. With this story I wanted to dive in the dark side of Brokeback Mountain. I wanted to experiment with fear, uncertainty and doubt. Ennis and Jack meet each other in the modern time.
Dedication: This story is dedicated to my German beta tanzmaeusi, who encouraged me to write this story. I also want to thank judy-blue-cat who helped me to understand the US-postal service and who also helped me to find the most suitable name for the city where this story takes place.
But tizi17 is the one you should thank the most if you like this story because she is the one who translates it. She is incredible and let me say she captures my writing perfectly. It's a great joy to work with her and I'm very happy I met her in this fandom. My special thank is dedicated to poppyhoney_67. She's our second native speaker besides Judy who is willing to help us catching the remaining errors. Thank you all !!
Feedback: Please !! It keeps all of us motivated...
* * *
Prologue: http://mel0804.livejournal.com/37179.html
1 Steel City: http://mel0804.livejournal.com/38777.html
2 Rust Town: http://mel0804.livejournal.com/46005.html
3 Iron District (part 1): http://mel0804.livejournal.com/51964.html
3
Iron District (part 2)
As Ennis del Mar woke up his eyes fell first of all on the cracked ceiling above him. It was a morning like all the others in his second life. His body felt numb. His thoughts were dull and in lethargy he counted the cracks.
And as every time, today again he couldn't remember where he had started and where he had ended, and during all that time he hadn't been able to find out how many cracks there actually were on that ceiling.
The inner disquiet that took him during the count, spreading from head to toes and making his body prickle as if he were under some power, was a well known side effect to his obsessional habit, and he awaited it - like on every morning - with a feeling of slight nausea.
Out of pure habit he looked at the watch near his bed. It was shortly before five a.m. - as every morning. He could rely on his body clock - had for years. This time of day was his time. Time where in a different life he got up quietly to walk to the barn, greeted by the warm-biting smell of fresh horse droppings and the friendly snort of the animals awaiting him happily, picking carefully with their tender lips some carrots from his hand which he put out to them while mumbling quietly into their soft ears.
It was the time where the world seemed to be alright, where he had the feeling to own a place, to be expected and needed.
During all those years his body hadn't forgotten this feeling - neither had his heart. As every morning, even now he brought his hand carefully to his face, breathed in and out deeply and it was as if the fluff of trembling nostrils would graze his hand. And in very rare moments he thought he would smell the scent of carrots - sweet and bitter it caressed his nose and a fluttering feeling of joy ran through him during these moments before the rough reality hit back with all its might.
He wasn't at home.
He was lying in a bed in an apartment in a town whose name he would have forgotten a long time ago if he wouldn't see it as an address every day on the postal deliveries he had to make.
Time of dawn was no time of rebirth any more - it was a moment where time stood still. Time where the loneliness and the uselessness of his life came to him in a terrifying way through the little ticking of the kitchen watch two rooms away. A time of rigor where his body's automatism kept him alive until half an hour later the peeping of the alarm clock gave the signal for the re-entry into an existence that had lost any goal for him.
+ + +
As Ennis walked into the post office this Saturday morning, outside it was already uncommonly hot. The morning sun - even if still low in the sky - made the asphalt flicker and beat down merciless.
In the expedition hall the air stood and it stank of sweat and bad breath as Ennis packed his bags - his tour and the one for district eight. An edgy apathy was in the air, and Ennis felt his throat tighten.
He packed his things quickly, pulled down his baseball cap deep into his face and with bowed head he left the building without bestowing one of his colleagues even with a look.
He drove his battered pick-up to his district and cursed under his breath as his usual parking place was blocked by a furniture truck. It took half an hour before he could find a parking place in that godforsaken district - the heat seemed to keep people in their homes.
Anxiety flickered up in him like a leaking fire as he took his bag and closed the car. He hated it when his daily routine was disturbed, any change to normality being a risk to him. A risk that his life might get out of place again, cutting the ground from under him - and every little tremble heralded a gigantic quake whose dimensions he could not foresee and whose results he believed to not be able to endure.
Despite the heat, goose flesh ran down his spine and he began his tour, shuddering slightly. He started at block A.
Into the hall, up the stairs, down the stairs. Open the letter slot, listening to the dark echo of falling mail, sensing vaguely the clang of the closing slot echoing through the deserted staircase. Out of the door, into the heat, to block B.
Into the hall, up the stairs, down the stairs, sort out the mail, repeating mechanically every move - and already in this block a massive déjà-vu got hold of him that morning.
Too early, he recognized annoyed - usually he was able to tune out up to block F before a sense of disorientation got hold of him and he started to ask himself in which staircase of which block was he in right now.
But today it was as if the conformity of his occupation wouldn't lull him into a soft feeling of security, but as if the dreadful monotony from hallway to hallway, from block to block, would tear at his nerves and drag him out of his self-chosen apathy.
With pounding heart and a sense of tightness in his chest he forced himself to continue, from floor to floor, from block to block until he finally - much later as usual - was done with his district.
Exhausted he went with his pick-up to district 8 - vaguely hoping to find his inner equilibrium again here.
He hardly knew this part of town, the names on the mail still sounded foreign, the streets and blocks hadn't burnt yet into his inner cartography.
Again he worked building after building and slowly he felt how he worked himself into that well known feeling of lethargy protecting him like a blowhole from all exterior influence. Step after step, letter box after letter box, until he arrived at the last block.
In the meantime the sun was burning merciless onto the city and the shimmering heat took Ennis' breath as he stepped into the hallway with a slight feeling of dizziness. Against his usual habit this time he started on the top floor and worked his way down, and as he arrived at the last door it happened.
Ennis took out all the mail addressed to a Victor Sevchenko and was putting it into the battered letter slot as one envelope made him suspicious. He took it out hesitantly from a pile of invoices and publicity. It was a letter from the judicial authority of Steel City - and he had to have the receipt signed for personally.
He pulled back his cap sighing and pushed the door bell. The sound came back dull to him and impatiently he listened for a sign of life from the apartment. Nothing. He pushed the bell again listening apathetically to the clanking signal that cut the silence in the hallway.
Nothing moved.
And just as he wanted to take out a consignment note from his bag he heard shooing steps and a hectic whispering inside the apartment. He rang for a third time and in concentration he adjusted some words in his mouth he had to say now, as the door was torn open abruptly.
“Whut?” A rough voice with a strong Slavic accent barked at him harshly and Ennis stepped back, aghast.
In front of him stood a man with the body of a wrestler. Little black eyes sparkled at him full of hatred. The bald shaved skull and his tightly-in-anger pressed lips gave him the aura of a raw bruiser.
Ennis took a deep breath and handed the letter from the judicial authority over to the man.
”Certified mail for you Sir, you have to sign this for me.”
The man looked at Ennis' put out hand and the letter. His muscle packs twitched slightly under his tight T-shirt as he stared at Ennis with hostility.
”And what if I don't want to sign?”
”You have to, Sir. If you don't the authority will get in touch with you personally,” Ennis mumbled mechanically. He had led such discussions uncountable times, and he had had enough of it. It made him sick.
”Are you going to sign that receipt or not?” he asked with a slightly impatient voice, looking from under his cap as the man in front of him stayed mute.
”Let's pretend I wasn't home,” the man said after some hesitation and further careful glances on the letter in Ennis' hand, and he exposed a sneaky grin.
”Sir, you opened the door. You are here. I cannot do what you suggest,” Ennis said, and he felt the air around him load. A queasy feeling crept up in him as he glanced into the man's shifty visage who had planted himself in front of him menacingly.
At this moment a whiney voice came from the apartment. ”Victor where are you? If you don't get back here I'll come and get you...”
Quickly Victor turned around. ”I'm coming sweetie, I'm coming,” he called with a disguised friendly voice before addressing Ennis in rage.
”Get the fuck out of here...,” he hissed furiously. ”If my hag sees you here and gets hold on that letter all hell will break loose...”
Ennis looked at the letter in his hand insecurely and then to the keyed up man in front of him, and his instinct told him to get out of here. But Ennis was tired, exhausted, the day had already held too many surprises for him and he felt an old well known feeling of defiance welled up in him. Defiance and stubbornness - a dangerous combination that had brought him loads of trouble in his old life and that he had been successfully suppressing for many years.
But something in that man provoked him, reminded him of times gone by, and so he made a little step towards him, looked him in the eyes and said forcefully: ”If you sign the receipt I will leave. If not, I will stay here until the cows come home. I've got my job to do here and...”
He didn't get much further. He only just saw from the corner of his eye a movement, felt for a split second the draft of a raised fist before a blinding punch hit his temple and knocked him to the ground.
”You damn fuckin' asshole! I don't give a shit about your job...,” he heard before the door closed with a loud bang and was locked. From inside wild hue and cry was heard and a slapping noise - then there was silence.
Ennis got up from the ground, moaning. He held on to the sticky handrail, staggering, as his vision blurred. For a few seconds he asked himself how he might ever be able to get home again, as a throbbing pain set in and took his breath away.
With trembling fingers he touched his temple and felt his skin slippery and warm under his groping movements. He looked at his blood stained hand hesitantly.
”Shit,” he mumbled and whipped off the blood on his T-shirt before walking with insecure steps up to the last apartment where he had to deliver mail today.
Trembling, he pushed the bell button. A red blotch remained there as he drew back his hand waiting for the door to be opened.
He waited patiently and as he heard insecure steps from inside the apartment he drew his cap down his forehead and took the last letters out of his bag.
Dully he heard the door open and perceived vaguely that a warm rivulet was running down his cheek as he heard Jack's voice.
”Damn, Ennis, where've you been? You're even later than usual. I'm waiting here and... oh shit, Ennis, what the hell happened?”
”Your damn neighbour is what happened,” Ennis mumbled without looking at Jack, and he passed him walking into the hallway, putting the mail on the table as usual. When he left his gaze fell onto the mirror near the door and he stopped for a second.
Under his cap blood was dripping down his cheek and under the temple a crusty blue bruise started to build that throbbed painfully the longer he stared at it. The collar of his shirt was sprinkled with red dots and on his chest he saw his own smeared hand print immortalized on the fabric.
”Damn,” he whispered and frowned. ”You got... you got maybe a rag for me?” he asked Jack hesitantly and dared for the first time look into his face. The deep concern mirroring in those crystal clear eyes embarrassed him and he felt his cheek start to glow.
”Yeah... yeah sure,” Jack stammered aghast, took his crutches and went on his way to the kitchen.
”Wait...,” Ennis mumbled and barred his way. ”Wait... tell me where... I can... you needn't...,” he stopped helplessly and his look fell onto Jack's crutches. Jack snorted quietly.
”Ennis, I usually move in my apartment. It's not a nice view, but I can handle it...,” he said with a bitter undercurrent that made Ennis listen up.
He blushed in shame. ”I didn't mean... didn't want to....” His insecure gaze entwined with Jack's. They stared at each other for seconds, and suddenly the air exuded a vibrating tension of unspoken words.
Ennis felt his heartbeat increase and he lowered his gaze in irritation.
”It's ok, Ennis...,” Jack whispered quietly and reluctantly - nearly regretting - he took his crutches and went to the kitchen. Ennis followed behind, and indecisively he stood in the door frame, took off his cap and kneaded it insecurely in his hands.
”Go sit on the sofa, Ennis,” Jack called from the kitchen and clattered with the cupboard. Ennis heard Jack turn on the faucet and the water running into the sink splattering and gurgling.
He sat shyly on the edge of the sofa and looked around carefully. The living room was sparsely furnished. A sofa, an end table and a shelf were the only furniture besides an enormous TV set standing on the floorboards in front of the sofa. Obviously the only luxury Jack had treated himself to, because it was one of the newer models.
One Ennis would have loved to own, but had never bought, not knowing this sort of abundance. Where he came from one was happy with little and left the quest for higher to others.
Ennis had a little black and white tv set he had bought at a rag-fair. In his beginnings in Steel City when he had no job but a lot of boredom, people on TV were his only acquaintances.
Not much had changed in that situation besides the fact that now he had a well paid job offering him all the security and social efficiency that an employee could wish for in the United States these days - but he still was as closed out from the world as he had been at the beginning of his time in this city.
And now that little TV set had become some sort of habit, and a new one would have meant to get used to a new item in his apartment and in his life - and the idea of it scared him.
But as he now took in Jack's apartment, listening to the cosy sounds of a human being living within these walls, he quietly asked himself how it might be to watch the evening TV program on a big screen and to see the protagonists of a Western film in colour when they rode lonesome over the hills, got drunk in bars far away from home or kissed their beautiful chosen one under a romantic starlit sky.
“Lean back, Ennis,” Jack said dragging Ennis out of his daydream, who startled at what Jack had told him to do.
Jack had left his crutches in the kitchen to be able to carry the bowl with water and the little bottle of iodine he had pressed under his arm. With staggering steps he came closer, his right leg continuously bending, and the pain was written all over his face as he stepped closer, leaving a dripping track behind him.
Ennis stood up quickly and made the last two steps towards him.
“Hey... could have said something...,“ he mumbled and stood clumsily in front of Jack who continued to walk undeterred, pressing his lips tightly in strain.
“Let me be...,“ Jack gasped and pushed him aside weakly but with intention. “I want to do this... I... I can make it...,“ he added eagerly and as Ennis saw the determined look on his face he stepped aside silently and let him pass.
As Jack arrived at the end table he looked at Ennis hesitantly and for a split second Ennis watched him fight with himself before asking quietly: “Ennis... could you... would you...?“
And what his lips weren't able to articulate he signalled pleadingly with his clear eyes, and Ennis walked quickly up to him, took the bowl from his hand, put it on the table and held his trembling arm as he slumped onto the sofa with a painful groan, closing his eyes.
Ennis sat down near Jack in some distance and waited. Seconds passed and became minutes, and only both men's breathing was heard in the room, as calm spread between them that lay comfortably heavy in the room and threw them into a state of nearly disembodied gravity.
“You... you're ok again?“ Ennis asked quietly after some time and looked at Jack expectantly who opened his eyes startled at Ennis' voice so as if he had forgotten there was somebody else in the room. He nodded without words, pushed up laboriously from near lying to sitting and pulled the table with the water bowl towards him.
The table legs squeaked quietly over the floorboards and the water chortled in the bowl. Silently Jack took a rag out of the bowl, wrung it and pressed it carefully to Ennis' still slightly bleeding wound.
Ennis backed startled as the rag touched his bruised and burningly throbbing skin, and as he felt Jack's soft ministrations on his face, triggering an onrush of emotions in him at whose mercy he felt helpless. He couldn't remember the last time he had felt the caring touch of another person, and the need to just roll up and let go became nearly overwhelming.
Rejecting Jack's help almost harshly, he took the rag out of Jack's hand without a word, pushed it hard to his wound, and with fierce satisfaction he felt the sharp pain that drove off in an instant the memory of Jack's careful touch.
He frowned painfully.
“Not right something like this happening to you,“ Jack mumbled and stared blindly before him.
“Not the first time,“ Ennis replied and shrugged indifferently. “That's the way it is.“
He washed the rag in the bowl, stared into the water where red streaks appeared circling slowly around his own hand as he took out the rag again and wrung it.
“Gonna call the police?“ asked Jack and a reluctant hesitation lay in his voice as he looked at Ennis expectantly.
Ennis considered. “No...,“ he finally said and dabbed off his wound. “Leads to nothing. Brings trouble. To me. To him... and I can't stand the cops...,“ he added, slightly aggressive.
Jack nodded. “Police, your aid and assistance...,“ he said bitterly. “I had my share of that, too.“ He looked at Ennis.
“You hurt badly?“ he asked, pointing his head to Ennis' temple. “I got pain killers. They work. At least most of the time...,“ he said and rolled his eyes. “With what I consume it's just about the quantity that works, but with you one should be enough...“
Ennis shook his head repelling. “It's ok,“ he mumbled. “What about you?“ he asked hesitantly and looked at Jack's leg.
“That won't ever be ok again,“ Jack answered equivocally and again there was that bitter sound that Ennis had got to know in the meantime.
“What happened?“ he heard himself say to his own surprise, and he looked shamefully to the ground as he found out that he was actually interested in the answer.
Jack sighed out. “It's a long story,“ he said quietly and slumped back into the cushions.
“I... I got time,“ Ennis replied falteringly, leaned back too and looked at Jack. Their eyes met and for a split second they talked to each other undisguised, showing the loneliness both felt deep inside of them. Loneliness and the desire to share the own pain.
“Well...,“ Jack whispered quietly and broke the gaze. He fold his hands over his belly and his look went to the ceiling.
“Was at Christmas five years ago,“ he said voiceless and cleared his throat. “Christmas five years ago... I was at a bar at home in Lightning Flat, and on my way back I got bashed by three guys with baseball bats. They left me there on the street and I was brought to hospital nearly frozen. Been in coma for about two months, woke up and nothing was the same,“ he resumed with trembling voice and looked back at Ennis.
“They had smashed my hip. My right leg had multiply fractures, my ribs and one arm too. Doctor said in the beginning I would be able to walk again but then...,“ he stopped, trembling, and snuffled.
With a nearly angry move he whipped the back of his hand over his nose and his gaze went blurry as he continued. “Played baseball once. College team. Even won the championship in Wyoming once. And now? Look at me...,“ he said and laughed out bitterly. “Can't even carry a damn water bowl to help a friend,“ he hissed in frustration and kicked the table with his left leg.
“Don't...,“ Ennis whispered and touched his shoulder. Jack looked at him in surprise.
“Don't...,“ Ennis repeated and drew away his hand embarrassed. “Don't do that. Let be... If you can't fix it you gotta stand it, Jack,“ he whispered and looked directly into his eyes.
Jack responded to his look and for seconds no one spoke.
“You got experience in that, right?“ finally Jack asked with rough voice from which came not a bit of resentment but a sad certainty.
Ennis nodded and pressed his lips together.
“Thought so,“ Jack whispered and smiled at him wistfully. “We're a pair of deuces, aren't we?“ he tried to make a joke, but none of them was in the mood for laughing.
“Why couldn't you walk right again?“ Ennis asked carefully and looked at Jack's leg that hung so terribly useless on his body.
“Ahh...,“ said Jack and a suppressed sound escaped his throat. “That's a good night story I'm gonna tell you another day,“ he said with a broken voice and pressed his finger to the bridge of his nose. “I'm sorry but I don't want to talk about it Ennis,“ he whispered with suffocated voice, looking helplessly at him.
“I understand,“ Ennis said quietly and stood up. “Guess I... I better go now...,“ he continued silently and looked down at Jack reluctantly who looked up to him distraught.
“I'm sorry Ennis. I didn't want to... you can stay if you want..,“ he said, hating himself that very moment for the need that spoke from his words.
Ennis shook his head. “I still want to go home. My... my head hurts and...“
“Oh, ok...,“ Jack replied quickly and stood up laboriously. He stood in front of Ennis, swaying a bit, face frowning in pain, as he took an insecure step forward.
“Wait... wait...,“ Ennis said hastily and held Jack at his arms. “I'll go and get your crutches, ok?“ he said tenderly and looked at him.
Jack nodded acquiescently, and Ennis went to the kitchen and came back with the walkers.
“Thanks,“ Jack said quietly and looked at him with glassy eyes before he turned around, walking to the door. He opened it in silence and watched Ennis as he reluctantly walked by him, stepped into the hallway, and he had the feeling that with Ennis also a comforting warmth was disappearing, something he had not felt for many, many years.
“You'll come back?“ Jack called behind Ennis quietly, and an urging hope sounded within his voice, shaking Ennis to the core, and at the same time frightening him. He stopped awkwardly and turned around.
“Sure... I... deliver your mail daily...,“ he said with a forced noncommittal voice, listening irritated to his guilty conscience as he saw Jack's face cloud like a summer sky shortly before the storm. Jack who had called him friend a few minutes ago.
A friend.
“Sure. What a stupid question...,“ Jack answered voiceless, bit his lip and lowered his gaze.
Like feathers his dark lashes lay on his clear, nearly white cheeks and caressed the soft skin. Ennis stared dazed at the man before him, offering this very moment such a genuine vulnerability that it caused him physical pain just to look at him because he knew it so well - so endlessly familiar like the feeling of coming home after a long trip. And he felt, for the first time after many, many years, how a ray of warmth crept into his dark, tight cage where he had closed himself in such a long time ago.
And like a wonderful flower burgeoning curiously and full of power from the bleak ground after a tentatively desert rain, Ennis felt all of a sudden life kiss him, releasing him from his cold rigor.
Hesitantly and with pounding heart he made a step towards Jack, put out his hand and raised his chin softly. With trembling breath he watched the black wings rise, and he looked into bright, deep blue that reminded him of the sky at home.
“Jack, I swear...,“ Ennis whispered. “I'll be back.“