Ennis Del Mar
Part 2 of 3
Ennis drove, curious about some of the buttons on the dash, kept looking at the metal box, thinking, hoping, praying, Jack would be there. Guess this is the right thing.
He had gone only ten miles or so, and knew something was not right. Jack was leaving Texas, that was for sure, but a piece of Brokeback Mountain, in the canvas sacks he had brought, was with him. He went for a sack, opened it, and sat the metal box in the warm moist earth. Ennis felt better.
Come the sign, WELCOME TO NEW MEXICO, Ennis looked over, for the blink of an eye, really saw Jack, smiling, eyes twinkling, smoking his cigarette, and the last sip of whiskey from the bottle, and sure as hell, well, maybe not so sure, fling the bottle out the window. Damn air conditioning.
Jack ain't no can of beans, where Ennis enjoyed the best part, and threw the can in the trash. How many times on the trip home did he say that to himself? Well, Ennis DelMar, you ain't no can of beans either, that Jack Twist enjoys, and then tosses the remains in the trash. WELCOME TO COLORADO. Getting closer buddy.
Ennis did his stops for gas, but no oil and fluid checks needed. Jack's truck nearly new. Tow bar still in check, lets go home.
Good and bad feelings mixed in Ennis's gut, like trying to put a fire out with gasoline sometimes, and other times vinegar, and sometimes water.
It was getting towards evening, and he knew he wouldn't make it home before dark. Maybe three or four in the morning, or later when Curt would be getting up for work.
Ennis knew he was getting close to the Wyoming line, and the last stop before, he pulled off and found a deserted resting spot.
"Jack," he said, didn't matter if Jack heard or not. Things gotta be said. Ennis reached over to the canvas sack and removed the metal box that contained Jack's ashes. Ennis leaned back, his back resting on the on the door, his boots on the opposite door. "Jack, I miss you so much, there are times I just
want to cry, and have you hold me, rub my hair, or my tummy, like you always did, play with the little beggar or whatever. I could talk, spill my guts outs, cry, laugh, speak my mind, you knew what I was saying, what I was feeling. Sometimes I think it hurt you worse than me, the way I felt." Ennis caressed the box, the hidden remains of Jack. Tears came to Ennis's eyes, runny nose, a hard dick, and itching in his asshole.
"Jack, its about time I get to be a man about this thing. I love you, from the bottom of my heart. Just wish you were here to hear them words."
"Jack, we gotta talk. You've been punching me in the gut, guess since you went on, and I'm a getting a little sick and tired of it. No more punching. And you know I'll fight dirty, if I have to, but I ain't keen on it, man's gotta play fair. But remember those times, we'd be rassling, and then get to grabbing ass, and wouldn't be long we would be grabbing nuts and cocks, and having one hell of a great time."
"Jack, I kept telling you that two guys, well fucking around all, you'd get killed. Wouldn't believe me, and look, I knew, it would happen. Jack, listen to me the next time."
"Goddamnit, Jack, I know we're a couple of horny bastards, but this is serious, and I mean it. No more punching me in the stomach. You want something, say so, or give me a sign, something easy on the old cuss."
"Now, why the hell didn't you tell me about the ranch. Thought you were just blowing gas out the ass every time you said it, didn't know it was for real. Making payments to Lureen, well, you did. Not holding against you. Not much different than a bank. Could have helped; you, well maybe I mean we, could have
had it a lot sooner."
"I got a divorce, well, Alma divorced me and dumped my ass, but you stayed married, and you kept saying we could have a good life together. Didn't see you waving no divorce papers like a red flag waved at a bull. It wouldn't be right, shacking up, and you not divorced. Hell, what would that make me? What’s fair
for one should be fair for the other."
"Yeah, I know, that fucking child support. Wouldn't be no ranch for sure then. I had child support, and well, there couldn't be a ranch and child support too. I know that.
Could've helped some. Or I could have worked the ranch some, lived in a tent and shit in the woods. Then when the ducks lined up, well, maybe it could have been. Hate promising; hate breaking promises too."
"It were like you were the prize fish in the river, and Lureen on one side fishing, and me the other. You'd swim back and forth, take a nibble of her worm, take a nibble of mine. Yeah, Jack, we nibbled on each other's worm quite a bit, and hell, I gotta admit it, enjoyed it one hell of a lot, either way it were done."
"Gotta look at things from my window Jack. Saw a few things different than you. I wouldn't take no charity, but you could have told me you were buying your uncle's ranch, and crap like that. Shit, I didn't know when we got together, you also went to your folks afterwards."
"And paybacks. Took your clothes, yeah we both know I can use them. Nice stuff...and I'll take good care of them, and use them proudly. Sort of a payback. You stole, well took, my shirt back 1963 when we left Brokeback Mountain. Thought I left it there, but didn't know how. Then when I was up to your folk's place, saw it in the closet, and took it, but showed your Ma first I was taking it, and she packed it up for me real nice. Guess your clothes makes us even, now, back then I only had three shirts, and losing one was a big loss. But you figured we wouldn't see the other, and needed something to remember me by, I guess, and I will admit it too, feels real good having your clothes next to my hide, and guess my clothes next to your hide felt real good too."
"And Lureen, did she know about us, you know. I guess my Alma did, the way she talked, calling you Jack Nasty and all. But down there in Texas she didn't let on anything like that was between us, well, not real sure. I think she's a crafty one. Not crafty enough to get the land and bonds away from you, well, yeah, you--and what your dreams were. Guess she got outsmarted by some dumb ranch stiff, and took her lumps like a man."
"Jack, thought I might have got hooked to that good life too, just like maybe you were, but now I know you were just playing your cards like a dumb ranch stiff, and coming home with the pot. Now, I am sitting here in your truck--well the title now says mine--a deed and bonds in my pocket, and wondering if I am hooked, or just got paid off. She didn't want no business of your name and my name heard in Texas. Had a story all made up that I was your half-brother, or shit like that. Nice bribe, if that's what it is. Maybe honoring your will, like she said she would do--although what options did she have?"
"So, Jack, I guess what I am trying to say, I'll be your fucking foreman, ranch stiff, whatever. Should have happened years ago, I guess. Now, I just need a sign, let me know you're hearing me, what I am doing is right/wrong/fucked up."
The siren broke the evening air, a short blast to announce the officer's presence. The blue and red lights flashed, and fucker, turn off your brights. Ennis rose to the occasion, putting Jack back into the canvas bag, and positioning
himself upright, and a quick zipper check to make sure nothing was out, or hard, or noticeable.
The officer came to Ennis, and from the side of the window, "Something wrong?"
"Officer, feeling a little pukey sick so pulled over for a minute."
"Well, you look okay now. Better move on, boy, back to Wyoming."
"Yes sir, will do."
Ennis breathed a quick sigh, then in gear and back to the road, and Wyoming. Jack, you son-of-a-bitch, get me tossed in jail yet.
The WELCOME TO WYOMING sign sure looked good. Then the long, well maybe not so long trip, home. Would be getting close to daybreak when he pulled into the drive. Dark in the house. Maybe he'd sleep a while in the truck; no sense in waking the house.
He slept, but was wakened by Curt, who was just going to work, and one smiling daughter. Ennis got out of truck, hugged his daughter, said farewells to Curt who was off to work.
"Daddy, what happened."
"Long and short, Jack's ranch needs a foreman."
"And???"
"And I'm thinking on it."
"Daddy, it would be permanent, and you can put down roots, and you'd make the goddamndest best foreman in the world."
"Language darling. I'm thinking on it. Breakfast sure would sound good. Oh, manners, by the way, say high to Jack. He's in the metal box there in the canvas sack."
"Tell me everything."
"Just did."
Ennis had breakfast, rested. He thought a while about calling Jack's folks, talking it over with them. Didn't know what for. Spects he knew the answer before he asked it.
And after the phone call was made, Ennis thought it was more Jack's father that felt that way, but then Jack's Ma had leanings that way too. You're suppose to bury the dead, not cremate them. But the fire had been done to old Jack, and Jesus, what the hell will He do when He comes back a second time, and all there is, is a bunch of ashes. Jesus will have his work cut out for him getting Jack back together.
But the folks wanted a funeral. A traditional funeral as Jack's mother said. Well, Ennis could only scratch his head. Told him he would be up in three or four days, bringing the rest of Jack with him. Then have their funeral.
He also told them the wife wanted Jack's ranch to come true--that'll be the day the old man grumbled. Ennis would be the foreman, and again the old man's stomach turned with piss and vinegar.
The three days passed quickly, Ennis loaded up Jack's truck, might as well make the old man have a heart attack or something. And went to Lightning Flat, like Jack had driven many times, Childress to Ennis to Lightning Flat. Except, for Jack, that would be the last time.
He arrived, and was welcomed in.
"You're more then welcome to use the boy's room," Jack's mother said, with eyes that said she did not want to hear the word 'no'. Ennis followed her up the stairs, second time to make that journey. The room was the same as he had left it before.
In the room, she touched Ennis on the back. "Pa said you wouldn't be back, said you would though, and I knew you would."
"Well, ma’am, took a while, maybe too long."
"Like Jack, would come back, but never stayed more than a week or so. But he's home, for good, now."
"Yes. ma’am, pains me to say, for good; but that's what the good Lord .... ".
"Last time you here, you didn't take everything. Don't you want the diaries?"
"Truth. Didn't know they were there."
She went to the closet and pointed to the hiding place. "Jack is my boy, and love him dearly. Knows he loved you as much. And I can love you too, as much, as much you are of Jack as me, I reckon. Putting a big burden on you, almost being my Jack. Won't hold it against you if you don't want to. Room is yours. Stay as long as you like. I mean forever, if a mind. Good to hear a young man's footsteps on the stairs again. Though, if you want a place of your own, I will understand. Jack wanted his own place too. Mothers always understand. Just don't be a stranger."
"Jack has a ranch to be built, run."
"I know. And do read Jack's diaries. Lot about you. Loved you. Don't burn them, but keep them safe."
"Keep them till the day I can't read no more. Promise."
"Thank you. Memories may fade, but words don't."
She left. Ennis moved in, but didn't know if he would settle in. Thunder downstairs, and all.
The funeral plans came to order. A man came with the makings for a coffin, wood, pine, cut to order and mitered, just needing to be nailed together. A coffin, pine, like he had seen other folks buried in. Cowboy style, simple, wood, nothing fancy, as these were not fancy folks, and neither was Jack. The
man stayed, and together the man, Mr. Kozinski, and Ennis assembled the coffin, showing Ennis where to hide the nails where they won't show, but make it a strong vessel. With care, love, perfection, nothing too good for Jack, but keep it simple.
Jack's old man found some place else to be. And Ennis was told by Mr. Kozinski, a friend talking to a friend, to let the old man be. That was the way he was all his life, will be after death too, I guess. But never to take your eye off of a mean dog.
The coffin was brought inside, placed on sawhorses in the parlor, like maybe had been done for a hundred years or more.
Jack's ma and some ladies took over the job of laying Jack out. Ennis wanted to, but when it came to pretending it was Jack there, he had a hard time with it.
The coffin had a bed of Brokeback Mountain spread about the floor, and a new quilt, something his Ma had made, put in it, and a pillow that Jack's mother had crocheted as well.
Jack's boots were placed first, then a pair of jeans, fresh laundered, belt was put through the loops, and the bull riding buckle Jack was so proud of. And a shirt and vest Ennis had seen Jack wear a dozen times or more. Ennis played a quick short note on Jack's harmonica, then placed it in the shirt pocket. A copy of a face picture of Jack was placed for the face. The two canisters that held Jack's ashes were placed under the shirt and vest where his shoulders would be. Made a fine looking man with some muscle, but the rest of him was flat.
The ladies adorned the inside of the coffin with wild flowers, maybe the kind Jack himself would have chosen. Some pine boughs, and Ennis, when they were not looking, managed to slip in a bottle of whiskey and a pack of smokes, and a can of beans. Can't go nowhere without beans. Ennis wasn't sure there was an afterlife, not like those Egypt people thought, but what's a man to do? What's right? What's wrong? Maybe Jack's 30/30? Well, when Ennis suggested it, his Ma said maybe enough. The Lord will provide.
Jack's mother added a Bible, Jack's from when he was small, placing it where his folded hands would be. Another lady added a cross. Strangers would come, each adding something. Something that reminded them of Jack, though it maybe been thirty some years since they had last seen him.
Except for the body, Jack looked pretty good.
The old man looked at Ennis. "Well," he said, "make yourself useful." Ennis followed the old man to the tool shed, and a shovel was slapped into Ennis's hand. The old man drove Ennis to the cemetery, and walked to the gravesite.
Here, the old man more motioned than said, then with a stick scratched some lines in the grass, about three by eight. Keep the walls straight, if you can, he said, then went back to his truck and left.
Ennis teared up. Yeah, a grave needed to be dug, he didn't know if he had the stomach to do it or not. Why didn't the old man just take a shovel and whomp Ennis on the backside?
The first shovelful was the roughest. Its Jack's time to be laid to rest.
Ennis dug about a foot of the grave, when Mr. Kozinski showed up with a backhoe. "We ain't dug one by hand in years. Ennis, you're a good man. Our community needs good men like you."
One bucket on the backhoe, full at a time, made quick work of it. Dirt piled to the side. Ennis searched the piles and found the rocks he tossed in another pile, and roots in another. The rocks, well, they ain't seen the light of day, well, since when God put them there. They'll make a good border around the three by eight. In time the sod will lose the grave, but the rocks, they will make it easy to find.
The machine was stopped, and Mr. Kozinski jumped into the bottom of the grave. With the shovel he began to finish the work that the backhoe could not do. Ennis approached the grave and was about to leap.
"Whoa, there, Ennis, one of us will have to help the other out."
"I should be doing it," Ennis said. He helped Mr. Kozinski out, then jumped into the grave. Nice sides, color changes in the earth as it went deep. Cool, nice, under the shade of a tree.
Ennis completed the chore, and both men were satisfied it was level, and a good grave. The concrete vault was installed, ready and all for Jack. Mr. Kozinski lowered the bucket on the backhoe, and brought Ennis up.
"Hey daddy," came the woman's familiar voice.
"Junior, what are you doing here?"
"See who I brought?"
Ennis looked about and saw Lureen. Jesus, supposed he would never see her again, or at least here. Make some happy she be here, others, like that old fart, not sure.
"Got up here quick," Ennis said.
"She flew up. Once I talked to her on the phone, she said she had to be here, and I picked her up at the airport, and here we are."
"I can see that."
Junior drove them to the house. Introductions were made, coffee served. Lureen, well, these are poor folks, and haven't got much, almost nothing better way to say it. Not like the big house and furniture and all she has down in Texas, that other world.
But Lureen, sort of a surprise to Ennis, fit in like a glove. Didn't seem shocked or nothing. Maybe a better way to understand of where Jack came from, who Jack was, who Jack is, and will always be. Jack.
Lureen had a locket for Mrs. Twist. Silver, and inside, some hair from Jack. The old woman cherished it, and Lureen showed the locket she wore around her neck as well.
She visited the coffin, and though some would think hicksville, she touched Jack's clothes like he was there, and just sleeping. From an envelope she took some hairs, Jack's, and placed them as they should be. A token, but a good thought.
Then she excused herself while she adorned her lips with some red lipstick, and that opened some eyes real wide. Then she kissed her handkerchief, leaving her lip print, and folding so the print showed, placed it in Jack's pocket. She excused herself again, and removed the excess paint. And they appreciated it.
Slowly the crowd left. Supper was good food the neighbors had brought in, just like they would when any family had a loss. All tried to smile, and they did. Some talk about Jack liked this or that, the weather, the trip Lureen had made, Jack's ranch, the new foreman, and quiet times, save the eating of food, sounds of dishes and silverware.
Ten o'clock tomorrow would be here soon enough. They retired. Ennis went to Jack's room, well, maybe he should think of it as his room, not Jack's. The bed was small, a boy's bed, but Jack could sleep there, so could Ennis. And Ennis sure did wish Jack was in the sack with him, well, maybe not with folk so close by.
"And Jack, I'll be reading the diaries later, so let me get some sleep."
It was a good day for a funeral. Ennis dressed in some of Jack's, well his finer clothes. Lureen saw him, smiled, said he was a spiffy man. Sun, a royal blue sky with big white clouds in the sky, the kind angels could sit on and look down, and if it rained, it was cause the angels were crying. Folks again came, and so did ten o'clock.
In fact, too many folks come, well, too many for the house to hold that is. Never enough folks at a man's funeral. The pall bearer's Ennis in the lead, took the coffin outside, and on the saw horses, sat it under the cool of the big shade tree. Older folks took chairs to sit; younger ones to stand, or maybe a
blanket on the grass, or men sitting on their haunches.
The preacher, he said his words, from the book, and diverting with the promises of our Lord Jesus Christ, and days of reckoning soon at hand.
"Would anyone like to speak?" the preacher asked.
His ma stood, "Jack was a boy this mother is proud of. A good boy, a good man."
"I taught him his letters, when he was little."
"We had some fights, he'd lick me good, and I guess the better guy won."
"He is my daddy's best friend. I only met him a few times, and I thought he was real cute."
"Yeah, Jack, he is, was, is my best fishing and hunting buddy I know. Been twenty years, wished it could be a hundred more."
"He helped me fix a flat tire once."
"Learned his lesson well about eating too many green apples."
"Jack is my husband, and will be forever. I love him, I miss him, as we all do. Yes, we had our ups and downs, but I remember Jack best for all the ups. I could spend hours, but Jack knows what is in our hearts. His dream was to have a ranch here in Lightning Flat. He worked on it for years, buying the property, and making plans. And I am now proud to say the ranch will become a reality. Mr. DelMar has agreed to be the foreman, and I am sure he will make Jack happy."
"I think I loaned him a dime once, and he never paid it back. But he can keep it; I don't need it."
"It's good he is home, and with the Lord."
"He was good at finding Indian arrowheads."
"Never shared any of his Ma's cherry cake."
"Caught him and my boy with matches once, in the barn. Tanned both their hides real good."
"Could always bum a cigarette from him, if he had one."
"He got my tractor stuck in the mud once, all the way up to the axles. I think I learned him a few words he had never heard before, but by himself, took him three days I remember, he dug it out of the mud."
"Helped when my man was sick, broke his arm."
"We stole some watermelons once, and skinny dipped."
"Seem to always have a smile, and a smoke and a ... well guess I better shut-up and sit down."
"Nice laugh."
"Tried hard."
"Would have had a good life here."
"I'm only five years old."
"Always talked about the pay before the job, and drove a hard bargain, but I always got my money's worth. And he made sure his Ma got some for his keep, times being what they were, and are."
"I thank the kids who have stayed here, rather than going away. But Jack, he came back for visits, more than most of our kids that have moved away. And I'll bet a million dollars, he was the only kid that came back and did some hard work, just didn't visit for a hour or so, bored, and have to leave."
"Time to get him in the ground."
Everyone had something to say. Truth, frosted over maybe, but nonetheless, true. Overall, Jack was a good good good man.
Each person rose and filed past the coffin, and one last time for respects, a tear, a God Bless, prayer, or whatever. Outside they waited, six men, Ennis one of them, to be pall bearers. Ennis heard the hammer hitting the nails, like the nails being pounded into Christ's hands, and the lid held in place.
The bearers went to the coffin, and three on a side, Ennis in the lead, to the truck. He could have almost carried the coffin by himself, light as it was, but there were a couple of stumbles the other bearers took in stride. Ennis didn't look for the old fart, but knew now was no time to make a ruckus--that's what people would always remember.
The procession was slow, maybe five or ten miles an hour. Again the pall bearers took the coffin to the grave side, and placed it on the bier.
Final words from the Word from the preacher.
The first song was Amazing Grace. Ennis didn't know the words, but had heard the song before, and nodded along. Just a Closer Walk with Me; Swing Low, Sweet Chariot; The Old Rugged Cross; It is Well With My Soul; Water-Walking Jesus.
Ennis's mind went back to Brokeback Mountain, and Jack singing that song--Water-Walking Jesus. Tears clouded his eyes, and only a strong man could hold back the pain.
At the end of the second chorus, Ennis cried out, "Jack," and fell to his knees, holding back the sobbing. The song stopped, a grown man crying.
Jack's mother went to Ennis, and to her knees and she and Ennis were face to face, and eye to eye, and she embraced him like she would her own child, or her own son.
"Do you believe?" her voice echoed in the trees. Ennis cried, and again her voice, "Do you believe?"
Ennis dried his eyes, but were still cloudy, and cheeks wet with tears.
"Believe," he finally said, then smiled. She kissed him. Hands came from the folks, the believers, and were placed on Ennis's shoulders, head, any place on Ennis that another hand was not at.
"Believe," Ennis repeated. Then he stood, the best he could, like a wobble-legged new born calf, or a man just going through the baptism.
"Let us pray, The Lord's Prayer," the preacher said. The unison began and went through the words, felt in most hearts. Ennis just followed along.
The six pall bearers took the ropes in hand, and began a slow steady lowering of the coffin into the grave. A seventh hand came and steadied Ennis's hand, lest his rope would not go down equally with the others. Then bottom, the ropes retrieved.
Jack's mother lifted a handful of Brokeback Mountain, and with determination, said a final good-bye. She stepped back, and others came and showed their final respects, a toss of the rich clean earth, and walked away, whispering amongst themselves, not looking back.
Jack's mother took Ennis's hand and filled the palm with Brokeback Mountain. "Time," she said. Ennis nodded, tears still in his eyes, "Jack, good buddy, have a good life." And let the earth fall through his fingers, and from his palm. He too, walked back a step or two, and with arm in arm, whom steadying whom, woman and man left the cemetery.
The gathering was good. Food, talk in low tones, but in time, the level and clarity of voices rose. Alma Junior encouraged Ennis to eat, but instead went outside, to be alone. Some of the men passed a bottle, but Ennis shook it off and took none. Thought about giving it up.
Men patted him on the shoulder, "Okay, son," some would say, knowing a good man said good-bye to another good man.
Ennis found a cool space, almost concealed, under a shade tree, and wanted to bawl, but could not. Folks said a lot of nice words, kind words, hope most of it was the truth, about Jack. A Jack Ennis never knew. Then again, the trip to Texas opened Ennis's eyes a lot, and now, even more.
Ennis stared at Jack's old GMC, growing over with weeds and rust, having finally given up the ghost years ago, like Jack had given up his ghost as well. Well, good buddy, its over, I guess. Wonder if maybe I had said you and I had the best man-sex two men could have, wonder what the good folks would be saying about you. me. now? Some might know, suspects, other. Maybe old Jack, you had a few of these old boys, or maybe they had you.
Just know, I had you, and you had me, I lost you, and you lost me. Lost a good life.
"Shall we talk?" came the voice beside him.
Ennis, stirred and looked up and saw the preacher. "Oh, preacher, minister, reverend."
"Father, rabbi, and the others," he laughed. "No, keep seated," he said, and then sat down on the ground next to Ennis. "Dan," he said offering his hand.
"Dan? Dan? Dan?, oh, Dan." They shook. The preacher had a firm grip, and Ennis knew he weren't going nowhere until the preacher said he could go.
"Ennis. Relax. Would like to talk to you for a few minutes, if I may."
"Sure."
"Ennis, its okay to use words like shit, fuck, goddamnit, piss, cunt, whatever you are comfortable with. Me, well, the parishioners won't let me. But if that is your normal way of speaking, say it. I know what the words mean, and if you had to stop and think about every word you said, a sentence would take an hour or so to say."
"Yes,sir. Thanks."
"Call me Dan. Would like to see you in church, but I have to warn you. If I see a parishioner nodding off to sleep, I will whistle a lot one, and point at the sleeper. I have a trained squirrel that sees where I am pointing, and will run to the sleeper. And up their leg lickity split, the squirrel will go, and you should see the commotion then. You would think it was the Holy Spirit that had grabbed their balls, or in the case of a lady ..."
Ennis laughed, and between chortles, "Preacher, usually I don't wear no underwear."
"I'll try to remember that," he said patting Ennis on the shoulder. "But what I came here to say, noticed maybe you have a little problem with death, and the beyond?"
"Oh, I know Jack's in a better place. Just wish he were here, now. And I knows there a better plan and all."
"Yes, there is, if you believe."
"I guess the only other funeral I remember was my folks.
Both killed in an auto crash. Was Fourteen. Don't think I cried then. Maybe bottled up, I guess."
"If ever you need to talk. Day or night; drunk or sober; rain or shine."
"Thinking about getting me a piece of that cherry cake. Jack's favorite."
"All gone. Had the last piece myself, though, had to break Elsie's arm to get it; she just wouldn't let go of it. But the fight was worth it."
"Preacher, Dan, keep telling stories like that, and either you are going to hell, or you've got a dick a mile long."
They laughed. "Ennis, come and eat. The soul has been nourished. Its now time for the body."
They went to the house. People lingered about, and the house was full and standing room only. Darn preacher was right. All the cherry cake was gone, save the crumbs and a bit of frosting.
Shit, Ennis thought to himself, these are down home folks. He picked up the cake dish and with a fork--got some manners--scraped the dish for the tasty crumbs and frosting that remained.
"Just like my Jack would have done," Jack's Ma said. Ennis did know some good manners and didn't lick the plate clean--Jack might have, but Ennis didn't. But if he had been alone, good licking would have come.
Ennis poured his eyes over the table of food. He picked up a plate, and not wanting to offend any cook there by not taking a sample of each and every dish, he heaped his plate.
With plateful in hand, people came, mostly men and their wives, or the unmarried, widows and widowers. A pat on the back, a handshake, greetings, name, Ennis won't remember and where the folks lived, north, south, east, west of here. Someday, he will know all their names, their homes, everything. But too many for
today.
"Married?" was a question.
"Was. Divorced now. Two beautiful daughters. One's around some place here. 'Once burned', but never again--'Once burned'."
A "Here, here," was heard, and a dozen or more men were slapped or swatted by their women. Well, answered the question. Bachelor, but not eligible. Not a rival.
Mostly it was good folks welcoming Ennis as new blood to the community--a community where the young had left for the most part, or the old were dying, like columns of marching soldiers.
A new neighbor.
That evening the neighbors went home, and the house seemed lonely, but filled with a new kind of love. Lureen had photo albums of Jack, her, Texas, their life. Ennis left and went outside, a bit sad that he did not have a photo album of
him and Jack, and their good times. But some pictures are meant to only be memories, not some silver image.
Night came, and bed. Ennis went to his room, Jack's room he wanted to say, but knew it was his room, now, maybe forever.
In the stillness of the night Ennis found the diaries. The first had a big "#1" on it, and he opened it, and read.
PAGE 1. "I, Jack Twist, being only twelve years old, know I am different than the other boys. And if I don't keep it to myself, I will be run off the ranch, or better yet, for the better, I sometimes figure, killed."
ANOTHER PAGE. "Here it is, to the day, three years later. Proud to say, I am a queer. Oh, girls get the pecker charged up, but it's the boys, well men, I really like. But no one knows, am still at home, and not killed. Just looking, ain't had none of any, yet. Signed, Jack Twist."
ANOTHER PAGE. "Ennis DelMar, he be the first, best too, I reckon. Loved the man from the first day, no first hour, first second. Guess he was the answer to prayers."
Jesus Christ Jack. Well, lets put this diary away, and read when I know what I am reading. Ennis put the diaries back into their hiding place. Like the promise to his Ma, he'll read, and save the diaries until he can't read no more.
Finally Ennis stared at the picture of Jack. Thanks, Lureen, he mumbled. It was a good picture of him. Wished he had one of Jack and him, but none ever took.
Ennis saluted Jack. "I loved you," he said softly, then eased the salute and scratched his balls. He climbed into the small bed, but he'd make room for Jack any time. Sleep was slow in coming tonight, as it usually was. Close his eyes, and laid his head on a palm.
"Damn it, Jack," he said half aloud, half silent. Ennis rose, turned on the light and went to the picture of Jack. He stood at attention, best he knew how, saluted Jack, then said, "I love you, not loved as if it were over. I love you, then, now, forever. I love you Jack." (Just wished I had said it sooner.)
Then off the light, the bed seemed extra warm, and sleep came easy--after the promise he would say those words every night from now on, and maybe even the day too--just in case he should forget.
God won't give me a second chance to make it right -- gives no one a second chance. Now I gotta live a long time just wishing. Gotta believe, some day, when it's my turn, a second chance.
Well, maybe I better think on this a little. God gave me twenty years of second chances, 1963 to 1983. Made my mistakes. Gave me twenty years, Jack and me, but like all bottles of good and bad whiskey, they do have a bottom. Just got to my bottom before I wanted it to.
I can only say it to a picture, and a memory. Just can't say it to you. Only myself.
Ennis drove, curious about some of the buttons on the dash, kept looking at the metal box, thinking, hoping, praying, Jack would be there. Guess this is the right thing.
He had gone only ten miles or so, and knew something was not right. Jack was leaving Texas, that was for sure, but a piece of Brokeback Mountain, in the canvas sacks he had brought, was with him. He went for a sack, opened it, and sat the metal box in the warm moist earth. Ennis felt better.
Come the sign, WELCOME TO NEW MEXICO, Ennis looked over, for the blink of an eye, really saw Jack, smiling, eyes twinkling, smoking his cigarette, and the last sip of whiskey from the bottle, and sure as hell, well, maybe not so sure, fling the bottle out the window. Damn air conditioning.
Jack ain't no can of beans, where Ennis enjoyed the best part, and threw the can in the trash. How many times on the trip home did he say that to himself? Well, Ennis DelMar, you ain't no can of beans either, that Jack Twist enjoys, and then tosses the remains in the trash. WELCOME TO COLORADO. Getting closer buddy.
Ennis did his stops for gas, but no oil and fluid checks needed. Jack's truck nearly new. Tow bar still in check, lets go home.
Good and bad feelings mixed in Ennis's gut, like trying to put a fire out with gasoline sometimes, and other times vinegar, and sometimes water.
It was getting towards evening, and he knew he wouldn't make it home before dark. Maybe three or four in the morning, or later when Curt would be getting up for work.
Ennis knew he was getting close to the Wyoming line, and the last stop before, he pulled off and found a deserted resting spot.
"Jack," he said, didn't matter if Jack heard or not. Things gotta be said. Ennis reached over to the canvas sack and removed the metal box that contained Jack's ashes. Ennis leaned back, his back resting on the on the door, his boots on the opposite door. "Jack, I miss you so much, there are times I just
want to cry, and have you hold me, rub my hair, or my tummy, like you always did, play with the little beggar or whatever. I could talk, spill my guts outs, cry, laugh, speak my mind, you knew what I was saying, what I was feeling. Sometimes I think it hurt you worse than me, the way I felt." Ennis caressed the box, the hidden remains of Jack. Tears came to Ennis's eyes, runny nose, a hard dick, and itching in his asshole.
"Jack, its about time I get to be a man about this thing. I love you, from the bottom of my heart. Just wish you were here to hear them words."
"Jack, we gotta talk. You've been punching me in the gut, guess since you went on, and I'm a getting a little sick and tired of it. No more punching. And you know I'll fight dirty, if I have to, but I ain't keen on it, man's gotta play fair. But remember those times, we'd be rassling, and then get to grabbing ass, and wouldn't be long we would be grabbing nuts and cocks, and having one hell of a great time."
"Jack, I kept telling you that two guys, well fucking around all, you'd get killed. Wouldn't believe me, and look, I knew, it would happen. Jack, listen to me the next time."
"Goddamnit, Jack, I know we're a couple of horny bastards, but this is serious, and I mean it. No more punching me in the stomach. You want something, say so, or give me a sign, something easy on the old cuss."
"Now, why the hell didn't you tell me about the ranch. Thought you were just blowing gas out the ass every time you said it, didn't know it was for real. Making payments to Lureen, well, you did. Not holding against you. Not much different than a bank. Could have helped; you, well maybe I mean we, could have
had it a lot sooner."
"I got a divorce, well, Alma divorced me and dumped my ass, but you stayed married, and you kept saying we could have a good life together. Didn't see you waving no divorce papers like a red flag waved at a bull. It wouldn't be right, shacking up, and you not divorced. Hell, what would that make me? What’s fair
for one should be fair for the other."
"Yeah, I know, that fucking child support. Wouldn't be no ranch for sure then. I had child support, and well, there couldn't be a ranch and child support too. I know that.
Could've helped some. Or I could have worked the ranch some, lived in a tent and shit in the woods. Then when the ducks lined up, well, maybe it could have been. Hate promising; hate breaking promises too."
"It were like you were the prize fish in the river, and Lureen on one side fishing, and me the other. You'd swim back and forth, take a nibble of her worm, take a nibble of mine. Yeah, Jack, we nibbled on each other's worm quite a bit, and hell, I gotta admit it, enjoyed it one hell of a lot, either way it were done."
"Gotta look at things from my window Jack. Saw a few things different than you. I wouldn't take no charity, but you could have told me you were buying your uncle's ranch, and crap like that. Shit, I didn't know when we got together, you also went to your folks afterwards."
"And paybacks. Took your clothes, yeah we both know I can use them. Nice stuff...and I'll take good care of them, and use them proudly. Sort of a payback. You stole, well took, my shirt back 1963 when we left Brokeback Mountain. Thought I left it there, but didn't know how. Then when I was up to your folk's place, saw it in the closet, and took it, but showed your Ma first I was taking it, and she packed it up for me real nice. Guess your clothes makes us even, now, back then I only had three shirts, and losing one was a big loss. But you figured we wouldn't see the other, and needed something to remember me by, I guess, and I will admit it too, feels real good having your clothes next to my hide, and guess my clothes next to your hide felt real good too."
"And Lureen, did she know about us, you know. I guess my Alma did, the way she talked, calling you Jack Nasty and all. But down there in Texas she didn't let on anything like that was between us, well, not real sure. I think she's a crafty one. Not crafty enough to get the land and bonds away from you, well, yeah, you--and what your dreams were. Guess she got outsmarted by some dumb ranch stiff, and took her lumps like a man."
"Jack, thought I might have got hooked to that good life too, just like maybe you were, but now I know you were just playing your cards like a dumb ranch stiff, and coming home with the pot. Now, I am sitting here in your truck--well the title now says mine--a deed and bonds in my pocket, and wondering if I am hooked, or just got paid off. She didn't want no business of your name and my name heard in Texas. Had a story all made up that I was your half-brother, or shit like that. Nice bribe, if that's what it is. Maybe honoring your will, like she said she would do--although what options did she have?"
"So, Jack, I guess what I am trying to say, I'll be your fucking foreman, ranch stiff, whatever. Should have happened years ago, I guess. Now, I just need a sign, let me know you're hearing me, what I am doing is right/wrong/fucked up."
The siren broke the evening air, a short blast to announce the officer's presence. The blue and red lights flashed, and fucker, turn off your brights. Ennis rose to the occasion, putting Jack back into the canvas bag, and positioning
himself upright, and a quick zipper check to make sure nothing was out, or hard, or noticeable.
The officer came to Ennis, and from the side of the window, "Something wrong?"
"Officer, feeling a little pukey sick so pulled over for a minute."
"Well, you look okay now. Better move on, boy, back to Wyoming."
"Yes sir, will do."
Ennis breathed a quick sigh, then in gear and back to the road, and Wyoming. Jack, you son-of-a-bitch, get me tossed in jail yet.
The WELCOME TO WYOMING sign sure looked good. Then the long, well maybe not so long trip, home. Would be getting close to daybreak when he pulled into the drive. Dark in the house. Maybe he'd sleep a while in the truck; no sense in waking the house.
He slept, but was wakened by Curt, who was just going to work, and one smiling daughter. Ennis got out of truck, hugged his daughter, said farewells to Curt who was off to work.
"Daddy, what happened."
"Long and short, Jack's ranch needs a foreman."
"And???"
"And I'm thinking on it."
"Daddy, it would be permanent, and you can put down roots, and you'd make the goddamndest best foreman in the world."
"Language darling. I'm thinking on it. Breakfast sure would sound good. Oh, manners, by the way, say high to Jack. He's in the metal box there in the canvas sack."
"Tell me everything."
"Just did."
Ennis had breakfast, rested. He thought a while about calling Jack's folks, talking it over with them. Didn't know what for. Spects he knew the answer before he asked it.
And after the phone call was made, Ennis thought it was more Jack's father that felt that way, but then Jack's Ma had leanings that way too. You're suppose to bury the dead, not cremate them. But the fire had been done to old Jack, and Jesus, what the hell will He do when He comes back a second time, and all there is, is a bunch of ashes. Jesus will have his work cut out for him getting Jack back together.
But the folks wanted a funeral. A traditional funeral as Jack's mother said. Well, Ennis could only scratch his head. Told him he would be up in three or four days, bringing the rest of Jack with him. Then have their funeral.
He also told them the wife wanted Jack's ranch to come true--that'll be the day the old man grumbled. Ennis would be the foreman, and again the old man's stomach turned with piss and vinegar.
The three days passed quickly, Ennis loaded up Jack's truck, might as well make the old man have a heart attack or something. And went to Lightning Flat, like Jack had driven many times, Childress to Ennis to Lightning Flat. Except, for Jack, that would be the last time.
He arrived, and was welcomed in.
"You're more then welcome to use the boy's room," Jack's mother said, with eyes that said she did not want to hear the word 'no'. Ennis followed her up the stairs, second time to make that journey. The room was the same as he had left it before.
In the room, she touched Ennis on the back. "Pa said you wouldn't be back, said you would though, and I knew you would."
"Well, ma’am, took a while, maybe too long."
"Like Jack, would come back, but never stayed more than a week or so. But he's home, for good, now."
"Yes. ma’am, pains me to say, for good; but that's what the good Lord .... ".
"Last time you here, you didn't take everything. Don't you want the diaries?"
"Truth. Didn't know they were there."
She went to the closet and pointed to the hiding place. "Jack is my boy, and love him dearly. Knows he loved you as much. And I can love you too, as much, as much you are of Jack as me, I reckon. Putting a big burden on you, almost being my Jack. Won't hold it against you if you don't want to. Room is yours. Stay as long as you like. I mean forever, if a mind. Good to hear a young man's footsteps on the stairs again. Though, if you want a place of your own, I will understand. Jack wanted his own place too. Mothers always understand. Just don't be a stranger."
"Jack has a ranch to be built, run."
"I know. And do read Jack's diaries. Lot about you. Loved you. Don't burn them, but keep them safe."
"Keep them till the day I can't read no more. Promise."
"Thank you. Memories may fade, but words don't."
She left. Ennis moved in, but didn't know if he would settle in. Thunder downstairs, and all.
The funeral plans came to order. A man came with the makings for a coffin, wood, pine, cut to order and mitered, just needing to be nailed together. A coffin, pine, like he had seen other folks buried in. Cowboy style, simple, wood, nothing fancy, as these were not fancy folks, and neither was Jack. The
man stayed, and together the man, Mr. Kozinski, and Ennis assembled the coffin, showing Ennis where to hide the nails where they won't show, but make it a strong vessel. With care, love, perfection, nothing too good for Jack, but keep it simple.
Jack's old man found some place else to be. And Ennis was told by Mr. Kozinski, a friend talking to a friend, to let the old man be. That was the way he was all his life, will be after death too, I guess. But never to take your eye off of a mean dog.
The coffin was brought inside, placed on sawhorses in the parlor, like maybe had been done for a hundred years or more.
Jack's ma and some ladies took over the job of laying Jack out. Ennis wanted to, but when it came to pretending it was Jack there, he had a hard time with it.
The coffin had a bed of Brokeback Mountain spread about the floor, and a new quilt, something his Ma had made, put in it, and a pillow that Jack's mother had crocheted as well.
Jack's boots were placed first, then a pair of jeans, fresh laundered, belt was put through the loops, and the bull riding buckle Jack was so proud of. And a shirt and vest Ennis had seen Jack wear a dozen times or more. Ennis played a quick short note on Jack's harmonica, then placed it in the shirt pocket. A copy of a face picture of Jack was placed for the face. The two canisters that held Jack's ashes were placed under the shirt and vest where his shoulders would be. Made a fine looking man with some muscle, but the rest of him was flat.
The ladies adorned the inside of the coffin with wild flowers, maybe the kind Jack himself would have chosen. Some pine boughs, and Ennis, when they were not looking, managed to slip in a bottle of whiskey and a pack of smokes, and a can of beans. Can't go nowhere without beans. Ennis wasn't sure there was an afterlife, not like those Egypt people thought, but what's a man to do? What's right? What's wrong? Maybe Jack's 30/30? Well, when Ennis suggested it, his Ma said maybe enough. The Lord will provide.
Jack's mother added a Bible, Jack's from when he was small, placing it where his folded hands would be. Another lady added a cross. Strangers would come, each adding something. Something that reminded them of Jack, though it maybe been thirty some years since they had last seen him.
Except for the body, Jack looked pretty good.
The old man looked at Ennis. "Well," he said, "make yourself useful." Ennis followed the old man to the tool shed, and a shovel was slapped into Ennis's hand. The old man drove Ennis to the cemetery, and walked to the gravesite.
Here, the old man more motioned than said, then with a stick scratched some lines in the grass, about three by eight. Keep the walls straight, if you can, he said, then went back to his truck and left.
Ennis teared up. Yeah, a grave needed to be dug, he didn't know if he had the stomach to do it or not. Why didn't the old man just take a shovel and whomp Ennis on the backside?
The first shovelful was the roughest. Its Jack's time to be laid to rest.
Ennis dug about a foot of the grave, when Mr. Kozinski showed up with a backhoe. "We ain't dug one by hand in years. Ennis, you're a good man. Our community needs good men like you."
One bucket on the backhoe, full at a time, made quick work of it. Dirt piled to the side. Ennis searched the piles and found the rocks he tossed in another pile, and roots in another. The rocks, well, they ain't seen the light of day, well, since when God put them there. They'll make a good border around the three by eight. In time the sod will lose the grave, but the rocks, they will make it easy to find.
The machine was stopped, and Mr. Kozinski jumped into the bottom of the grave. With the shovel he began to finish the work that the backhoe could not do. Ennis approached the grave and was about to leap.
"Whoa, there, Ennis, one of us will have to help the other out."
"I should be doing it," Ennis said. He helped Mr. Kozinski out, then jumped into the grave. Nice sides, color changes in the earth as it went deep. Cool, nice, under the shade of a tree.
Ennis completed the chore, and both men were satisfied it was level, and a good grave. The concrete vault was installed, ready and all for Jack. Mr. Kozinski lowered the bucket on the backhoe, and brought Ennis up.
"Hey daddy," came the woman's familiar voice.
"Junior, what are you doing here?"
"See who I brought?"
Ennis looked about and saw Lureen. Jesus, supposed he would never see her again, or at least here. Make some happy she be here, others, like that old fart, not sure.
"Got up here quick," Ennis said.
"She flew up. Once I talked to her on the phone, she said she had to be here, and I picked her up at the airport, and here we are."
"I can see that."
Junior drove them to the house. Introductions were made, coffee served. Lureen, well, these are poor folks, and haven't got much, almost nothing better way to say it. Not like the big house and furniture and all she has down in Texas, that other world.
But Lureen, sort of a surprise to Ennis, fit in like a glove. Didn't seem shocked or nothing. Maybe a better way to understand of where Jack came from, who Jack was, who Jack is, and will always be. Jack.
Lureen had a locket for Mrs. Twist. Silver, and inside, some hair from Jack. The old woman cherished it, and Lureen showed the locket she wore around her neck as well.
She visited the coffin, and though some would think hicksville, she touched Jack's clothes like he was there, and just sleeping. From an envelope she took some hairs, Jack's, and placed them as they should be. A token, but a good thought.
Then she excused herself while she adorned her lips with some red lipstick, and that opened some eyes real wide. Then she kissed her handkerchief, leaving her lip print, and folding so the print showed, placed it in Jack's pocket. She excused herself again, and removed the excess paint. And they appreciated it.
Slowly the crowd left. Supper was good food the neighbors had brought in, just like they would when any family had a loss. All tried to smile, and they did. Some talk about Jack liked this or that, the weather, the trip Lureen had made, Jack's ranch, the new foreman, and quiet times, save the eating of food, sounds of dishes and silverware.
Ten o'clock tomorrow would be here soon enough. They retired. Ennis went to Jack's room, well, maybe he should think of it as his room, not Jack's. The bed was small, a boy's bed, but Jack could sleep there, so could Ennis. And Ennis sure did wish Jack was in the sack with him, well, maybe not with folk so close by.
"And Jack, I'll be reading the diaries later, so let me get some sleep."
It was a good day for a funeral. Ennis dressed in some of Jack's, well his finer clothes. Lureen saw him, smiled, said he was a spiffy man. Sun, a royal blue sky with big white clouds in the sky, the kind angels could sit on and look down, and if it rained, it was cause the angels were crying. Folks again came, and so did ten o'clock.
In fact, too many folks come, well, too many for the house to hold that is. Never enough folks at a man's funeral. The pall bearer's Ennis in the lead, took the coffin outside, and on the saw horses, sat it under the cool of the big shade tree. Older folks took chairs to sit; younger ones to stand, or maybe a
blanket on the grass, or men sitting on their haunches.
The preacher, he said his words, from the book, and diverting with the promises of our Lord Jesus Christ, and days of reckoning soon at hand.
"Would anyone like to speak?" the preacher asked.
His ma stood, "Jack was a boy this mother is proud of. A good boy, a good man."
"I taught him his letters, when he was little."
"We had some fights, he'd lick me good, and I guess the better guy won."
"He is my daddy's best friend. I only met him a few times, and I thought he was real cute."
"Yeah, Jack, he is, was, is my best fishing and hunting buddy I know. Been twenty years, wished it could be a hundred more."
"He helped me fix a flat tire once."
"Learned his lesson well about eating too many green apples."
"Jack is my husband, and will be forever. I love him, I miss him, as we all do. Yes, we had our ups and downs, but I remember Jack best for all the ups. I could spend hours, but Jack knows what is in our hearts. His dream was to have a ranch here in Lightning Flat. He worked on it for years, buying the property, and making plans. And I am now proud to say the ranch will become a reality. Mr. DelMar has agreed to be the foreman, and I am sure he will make Jack happy."
"I think I loaned him a dime once, and he never paid it back. But he can keep it; I don't need it."
"It's good he is home, and with the Lord."
"He was good at finding Indian arrowheads."
"Never shared any of his Ma's cherry cake."
"Caught him and my boy with matches once, in the barn. Tanned both their hides real good."
"Could always bum a cigarette from him, if he had one."
"He got my tractor stuck in the mud once, all the way up to the axles. I think I learned him a few words he had never heard before, but by himself, took him three days I remember, he dug it out of the mud."
"Helped when my man was sick, broke his arm."
"We stole some watermelons once, and skinny dipped."
"Seem to always have a smile, and a smoke and a ... well guess I better shut-up and sit down."
"Nice laugh."
"Tried hard."
"Would have had a good life here."
"I'm only five years old."
"Always talked about the pay before the job, and drove a hard bargain, but I always got my money's worth. And he made sure his Ma got some for his keep, times being what they were, and are."
"I thank the kids who have stayed here, rather than going away. But Jack, he came back for visits, more than most of our kids that have moved away. And I'll bet a million dollars, he was the only kid that came back and did some hard work, just didn't visit for a hour or so, bored, and have to leave."
"Time to get him in the ground."
Everyone had something to say. Truth, frosted over maybe, but nonetheless, true. Overall, Jack was a good good good man.
Each person rose and filed past the coffin, and one last time for respects, a tear, a God Bless, prayer, or whatever. Outside they waited, six men, Ennis one of them, to be pall bearers. Ennis heard the hammer hitting the nails, like the nails being pounded into Christ's hands, and the lid held in place.
The bearers went to the coffin, and three on a side, Ennis in the lead, to the truck. He could have almost carried the coffin by himself, light as it was, but there were a couple of stumbles the other bearers took in stride. Ennis didn't look for the old fart, but knew now was no time to make a ruckus--that's what people would always remember.
The procession was slow, maybe five or ten miles an hour. Again the pall bearers took the coffin to the grave side, and placed it on the bier.
Final words from the Word from the preacher.
The first song was Amazing Grace. Ennis didn't know the words, but had heard the song before, and nodded along. Just a Closer Walk with Me; Swing Low, Sweet Chariot; The Old Rugged Cross; It is Well With My Soul; Water-Walking Jesus.
Ennis's mind went back to Brokeback Mountain, and Jack singing that song--Water-Walking Jesus. Tears clouded his eyes, and only a strong man could hold back the pain.
At the end of the second chorus, Ennis cried out, "Jack," and fell to his knees, holding back the sobbing. The song stopped, a grown man crying.
Jack's mother went to Ennis, and to her knees and she and Ennis were face to face, and eye to eye, and she embraced him like she would her own child, or her own son.
"Do you believe?" her voice echoed in the trees. Ennis cried, and again her voice, "Do you believe?"
Ennis dried his eyes, but were still cloudy, and cheeks wet with tears.
"Believe," he finally said, then smiled. She kissed him. Hands came from the folks, the believers, and were placed on Ennis's shoulders, head, any place on Ennis that another hand was not at.
"Believe," Ennis repeated. Then he stood, the best he could, like a wobble-legged new born calf, or a man just going through the baptism.
"Let us pray, The Lord's Prayer," the preacher said. The unison began and went through the words, felt in most hearts. Ennis just followed along.
The six pall bearers took the ropes in hand, and began a slow steady lowering of the coffin into the grave. A seventh hand came and steadied Ennis's hand, lest his rope would not go down equally with the others. Then bottom, the ropes retrieved.
Jack's mother lifted a handful of Brokeback Mountain, and with determination, said a final good-bye. She stepped back, and others came and showed their final respects, a toss of the rich clean earth, and walked away, whispering amongst themselves, not looking back.
Jack's mother took Ennis's hand and filled the palm with Brokeback Mountain. "Time," she said. Ennis nodded, tears still in his eyes, "Jack, good buddy, have a good life." And let the earth fall through his fingers, and from his palm. He too, walked back a step or two, and with arm in arm, whom steadying whom, woman and man left the cemetery.
The gathering was good. Food, talk in low tones, but in time, the level and clarity of voices rose. Alma Junior encouraged Ennis to eat, but instead went outside, to be alone. Some of the men passed a bottle, but Ennis shook it off and took none. Thought about giving it up.
Men patted him on the shoulder, "Okay, son," some would say, knowing a good man said good-bye to another good man.
Ennis found a cool space, almost concealed, under a shade tree, and wanted to bawl, but could not. Folks said a lot of nice words, kind words, hope most of it was the truth, about Jack. A Jack Ennis never knew. Then again, the trip to Texas opened Ennis's eyes a lot, and now, even more.
Ennis stared at Jack's old GMC, growing over with weeds and rust, having finally given up the ghost years ago, like Jack had given up his ghost as well. Well, good buddy, its over, I guess. Wonder if maybe I had said you and I had the best man-sex two men could have, wonder what the good folks would be saying about you. me. now? Some might know, suspects, other. Maybe old Jack, you had a few of these old boys, or maybe they had you.
Just know, I had you, and you had me, I lost you, and you lost me. Lost a good life.
"Shall we talk?" came the voice beside him.
Ennis, stirred and looked up and saw the preacher. "Oh, preacher, minister, reverend."
"Father, rabbi, and the others," he laughed. "No, keep seated," he said, and then sat down on the ground next to Ennis. "Dan," he said offering his hand.
"Dan? Dan? Dan?, oh, Dan." They shook. The preacher had a firm grip, and Ennis knew he weren't going nowhere until the preacher said he could go.
"Ennis. Relax. Would like to talk to you for a few minutes, if I may."
"Sure."
"Ennis, its okay to use words like shit, fuck, goddamnit, piss, cunt, whatever you are comfortable with. Me, well, the parishioners won't let me. But if that is your normal way of speaking, say it. I know what the words mean, and if you had to stop and think about every word you said, a sentence would take an hour or so to say."
"Yes,sir. Thanks."
"Call me Dan. Would like to see you in church, but I have to warn you. If I see a parishioner nodding off to sleep, I will whistle a lot one, and point at the sleeper. I have a trained squirrel that sees where I am pointing, and will run to the sleeper. And up their leg lickity split, the squirrel will go, and you should see the commotion then. You would think it was the Holy Spirit that had grabbed their balls, or in the case of a lady ..."
Ennis laughed, and between chortles, "Preacher, usually I don't wear no underwear."
"I'll try to remember that," he said patting Ennis on the shoulder. "But what I came here to say, noticed maybe you have a little problem with death, and the beyond?"
"Oh, I know Jack's in a better place. Just wish he were here, now. And I knows there a better plan and all."
"Yes, there is, if you believe."
"I guess the only other funeral I remember was my folks.
Both killed in an auto crash. Was Fourteen. Don't think I cried then. Maybe bottled up, I guess."
"If ever you need to talk. Day or night; drunk or sober; rain or shine."
"Thinking about getting me a piece of that cherry cake. Jack's favorite."
"All gone. Had the last piece myself, though, had to break Elsie's arm to get it; she just wouldn't let go of it. But the fight was worth it."
"Preacher, Dan, keep telling stories like that, and either you are going to hell, or you've got a dick a mile long."
They laughed. "Ennis, come and eat. The soul has been nourished. Its now time for the body."
They went to the house. People lingered about, and the house was full and standing room only. Darn preacher was right. All the cherry cake was gone, save the crumbs and a bit of frosting.
Shit, Ennis thought to himself, these are down home folks. He picked up the cake dish and with a fork--got some manners--scraped the dish for the tasty crumbs and frosting that remained.
"Just like my Jack would have done," Jack's Ma said. Ennis did know some good manners and didn't lick the plate clean--Jack might have, but Ennis didn't. But if he had been alone, good licking would have come.
Ennis poured his eyes over the table of food. He picked up a plate, and not wanting to offend any cook there by not taking a sample of each and every dish, he heaped his plate.
With plateful in hand, people came, mostly men and their wives, or the unmarried, widows and widowers. A pat on the back, a handshake, greetings, name, Ennis won't remember and where the folks lived, north, south, east, west of here. Someday, he will know all their names, their homes, everything. But too many for
today.
"Married?" was a question.
"Was. Divorced now. Two beautiful daughters. One's around some place here. 'Once burned', but never again--'Once burned'."
A "Here, here," was heard, and a dozen or more men were slapped or swatted by their women. Well, answered the question. Bachelor, but not eligible. Not a rival.
Mostly it was good folks welcoming Ennis as new blood to the community--a community where the young had left for the most part, or the old were dying, like columns of marching soldiers.
A new neighbor.
That evening the neighbors went home, and the house seemed lonely, but filled with a new kind of love. Lureen had photo albums of Jack, her, Texas, their life. Ennis left and went outside, a bit sad that he did not have a photo album of
him and Jack, and their good times. But some pictures are meant to only be memories, not some silver image.
Night came, and bed. Ennis went to his room, Jack's room he wanted to say, but knew it was his room, now, maybe forever.
In the stillness of the night Ennis found the diaries. The first had a big "#1" on it, and he opened it, and read.
PAGE 1. "I, Jack Twist, being only twelve years old, know I am different than the other boys. And if I don't keep it to myself, I will be run off the ranch, or better yet, for the better, I sometimes figure, killed."
ANOTHER PAGE. "Here it is, to the day, three years later. Proud to say, I am a queer. Oh, girls get the pecker charged up, but it's the boys, well men, I really like. But no one knows, am still at home, and not killed. Just looking, ain't had none of any, yet. Signed, Jack Twist."
ANOTHER PAGE. "Ennis DelMar, he be the first, best too, I reckon. Loved the man from the first day, no first hour, first second. Guess he was the answer to prayers."
Jesus Christ Jack. Well, lets put this diary away, and read when I know what I am reading. Ennis put the diaries back into their hiding place. Like the promise to his Ma, he'll read, and save the diaries until he can't read no more.
Finally Ennis stared at the picture of Jack. Thanks, Lureen, he mumbled. It was a good picture of him. Wished he had one of Jack and him, but none ever took.
Ennis saluted Jack. "I loved you," he said softly, then eased the salute and scratched his balls. He climbed into the small bed, but he'd make room for Jack any time. Sleep was slow in coming tonight, as it usually was. Close his eyes, and laid his head on a palm.
"Damn it, Jack," he said half aloud, half silent. Ennis rose, turned on the light and went to the picture of Jack. He stood at attention, best he knew how, saluted Jack, then said, "I love you, not loved as if it were over. I love you, then, now, forever. I love you Jack." (Just wished I had said it sooner.)
Then off the light, the bed seemed extra warm, and sleep came easy--after the promise he would say those words every night from now on, and maybe even the day too--just in case he should forget.
God won't give me a second chance to make it right -- gives no one a second chance. Now I gotta live a long time just wishing. Gotta believe, some day, when it's my turn, a second chance.
Well, maybe I better think on this a little. God gave me twenty years of second chances, 1963 to 1983. Made my mistakes. Gave me twenty years, Jack and me, but like all bottles of good and bad whiskey, they do have a bottom. Just got to my bottom before I wanted it to.
I can only say it to a picture, and a memory. Just can't say it to you. Only myself.