Ennis Del Mar
Ennis Del Mar
Part 3 of 3
Ennis sort of went back to his old ways, not talking much, keeping to himself. He helped out on the folk's ranch, and some on his, Jack's, their ranch.
Fences were shot there, and the house, well, go inside and look up and see the sky. Was dangerous to go inside, he was warned, but gotta check out the timbers and all. Maybe take the house down, stick by stick, and salvage what he could, and put some back--not a big house, but a nice cabin, like Jack had drawn
in his plans.
Ennis worked when he could, helped build a house, and took home, with permission, any scrap 2x4, or crooked ones, or knotted ones, or those with too many nails no one wanted to pull. Tarped them well, and some day, someday I promise you Jack, we will have our cabin.
But he didn't mind living with the folks. Good food, Jack's bed and things, though there wasn't much--never had been. Ma, as he sometimes called her, and she insisted he did, knew how to set a fine table. Old man was there, had to be, and didn't call him Pa, and both were happy about that. Ennis felt he was
sitting next to Jack, and at times Jack sat across the table from him. Didn't really matter. A family, the old fart at the head of the table, Ma at the end; the good boys in the middle.
Ennis lost his folks at fourteen. Almost like a new set to continue his life with. And Jack's Ma, well she liked the sounds Ennis made, comforted her. A few problems had to be worked out, like Ennis, living alone or on the range, usually didn't have his clothes or towel with him going between taking his bath, and it was a distance between the bathroom and Jack's room. Jack's Ma said she had diapered Jack, and he told her it had been nearly forty years since he last wore a diaper.
But she agreed to do her knitting or darning in her room when Ennis used the bathroom. But a place of their own--Jack and Ennis--sure did sound good.
It had been brewing all night to be a mean day. Thunder, lightning, wind, dark clouds, cold, wet dampness that went right through you. Lightning was close, and the house might get struck, or worse, a cow.
Ennis and the old man took the tools to mend a fence. They crossed the pasture, keeping an eye on the weather, not caring the other was there.
They found the fence post, rotted at the ground and barely hanging at an angle, supported by its neighboring fence posts, and a rusted strand of barbed wire.
"Fucking Jack Twist," snorted the old man. "Couldn't build a fence to last a day."
Ennis looked. If Jack had put that fence post in, it had to have been twenty years ago. What the fuck did the old man expect?
"Look here," Ennis's steam rose. "Old man, you say one more goddamned bad word about Jack, and so help me, I'll shove more than this fucking hammer up your fucking ass."
"Jack Twist talk. But let me tell you. It will be you that will eating dirt and your teeth, and walking with that fancy twitch, til you shit that hammer in two days."
"Shit," Ennis responded.
Ennis never saw the punch coming, but he felt it and flew backwards landing on his ass, and sliding a yard or two on the slippery grass. The old man came down on Ennis, and began flailing like a combine through the wheat.
The lightning bolt hit real close, and the thunder, and both men shit their pants, and took real close notice. The fence wire was jumping with sparks, and singing a song, like sopranos singing. The old man ran for cover, while Ennis crawled a ways in the other direction. Tall objects on a flat pasture don't mix. Both men had seen trees struck, and cattle stuck, and knew what the outcome would be, should they be a one in a million.
Ennis's body felt the beating the old man had given him. He cleaned the blood the best he could with mud puddle water. He took a bath in the mud puddle, couldn't go home stinking like a kid that shits his pants all the time, and his shirt and jeans just as well. If anyone ever said Ennis was full of shit, Ennis
could reply and tell them just how much would come out--to the pint, or pound, however you wanted to measure it.
Ennis admitted, well, the bruises cuts, scrapes and sores kind of proved it, the old man got the better of him. No lying about it. But at least Ennis did not walk that twitching walk, nor shit no hammer. But just may have, he reckoned. Next time, if there were a next time, Ennis knew the rules, or the lack thereof, or thought maybe he had forgotten some of the rules. But if Ennis had gotten in a lucky punch, or a dirty punch, maybe things would be a bit different...not that Ennis enjoyed fighting dirty, but there comes a time.
Yup, my own fault. Let my guard down for less than a second. Though, didn't think the old man had it in him. Mr. Kozinski warned him to never take his eye off the mean dog, but Ennis did, and paid for it. And Ennis found out why they call Lightning Flat, Lightning Flat.
Ma did some doctoring on Ennis. Stuff she used stung like hell, but he didn't need no infections, and would help it heal--the bruises, she added. "Son, take your bitter pill with one part love and nine parts forgiveness. I have, many
times."
"Yes, ma’am," Ennis answered. But more like keep it down with a shot glass full of revenge, he thought.
The men would share the same dinner table, for Jack's Ma, but a pointing fork said pass the potatoes, and never a tongue would they speak to the other. And come to work, there was plenty of it, they could always find on opposite sides of the ranch.
Ennis and Jack's Ma would go the cemetery every so often. Pick up sticks and remove the fallen branches. First time, she showed Ennis the family graves. Her folks, long gone. Brother Harold, and his wife, and seven babies, five boys and two girls, none living to be more than six days old.
There were grandparents, some aunts and uncles, cousins and the whatnot. No Twist people; he came from somewhere else. Ennis knew, in time, it would be his sole duty to tend the graves, clean up after the weather and nature; put some flowers, or just rake. Some day, he thought, maybe he should go to his folk's grave, not sure where it was, not sure where his sister was, and if she would remember. Unmarked graves, no money, and like time, forgotten.
Not all days were good for Ennis...then again, for anyone else either. He came home late one stormy night, raining fierce at times, and the muffler sounds like some one had stomped on a grizzly bear's tail, and that bear was getting meaner and meaner.
He drove to the barn, got out and drenched just to open the doors, and drove in. Shook off the rain like a dog, and began his tantrum. God damn fucking son of a fucking bitch. Why me Lord? What the fuck did I do--nothings turning out right no more. Give up this fucking ownership, and have a good ranch stiff's life, owning nothing, having nothing. Fuck, shit. Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck.
The hammer hit the side of the barn and fell to the floor. Ennis searched the old feed bin and found the whiskey, and downed the sonofabitch, almost a full pint, nonstop. Then the bottle crashed into floor and scattered the glass. He kicked a big piece back into the corner.
Turning, he saw Ma. Shit.
"Sorry," he said.
"Barn talk is barn talk; house talk is house talk; and don't forget."
Ennis's fist smashed into the side of the truck. It dented, but Ennis pulled back a throbbing wrist. Damn. "I don't know."
"Ma, I got work to do," he said, then turned to look at her. She held out a broom.
"Animals can get hurt on broken glass; so can men."
"Yes, ma’am," Ennis replied, and head down low, went for the broom, and cleaned up the mess he had made. And he even found some glass from some prior happening.
When done, he threw the broom into the corner.
"Ennis, you put that broom back proper, and the hammer too. It don't belong on the floor."
There weren't no 'yes ma’am'; just did it. And some of the other tools that had been neglected as well; guess most of the untidiness was his; the old fart didn't leave things like that.
Ennis looked about for Ma. Found her sitting on a bale of hay, her half, another half for anyone who wanted to sit beside her.
"Ennis, you done throwing punches and tools?"
He walked over to her and sat beside her. No one spoke first, but some one had better, or it would be a long night.
"Sorry, language and all."
"Barn talk. Didn't hear a word."
"I drive a fu...."
"Looking for the word fucking, are you?"
"Ma, oh, shit. Drove a fucking one hundred and fifty miles for the part. Ain't got it they said. They called and said the order was in, just turned out my part wasn't in the order they received. Fucking kids wouldn't know nothing, except
how to call the sheriff."
"Things have not changed much."
"But they were expecting another shipment in, in the fucking afternoon, like I ain't got no fucking work to do here. So, I scratched them, and had to think what to do. Wasted time and gas to get there; wait or try again. Or tell them to shove the fucking part up their assholes, and all they said there would be a fifteen percent restocking charge."
"Not like ordering from Sears and Roebuck."
"So, I goes outside. Half way to the truck, down comes the rain. Shit sunshine in the morning, and the hay is ruined now. Spent time and money cutting it, drying it; now its ruined. The old fart said I should wait until next week to cut it."
"There have been times we have lost a cutting too. And he knows it as well. But you'll get a second or third cutting from it; animals won't starve; can always buy, but will mean some lean times too."
"I guess. But I ain't done yet. On the way to the truck, fucking rain coming down like piss, and drop my keys, and into the goddamn storm drain. Probably the only drain they got in town, but I found it. Kept looking down there, lucky the rain didn't wash them away; but couldn't reach them anyways, so should
have washed them away."
"Well."
"Hell yes a well. If it were a well I could have climbed down and got them. Stopped raining, and keys still there, million miles away. Part store, asses that they were, called the county drain people, but they wouldn't get around to it for a day or so. Couldn't pull the drain lid off or nothing. Wouldn't do any good to bust the truck windows, cause no key, no go."
"Called, and Pa would have come and got you. You got an extra set upstairs?"
"Well, trucker said he'd give me a ride; but wasn't leaving until tomorrow."
"So how did you get your keys?"
"Well, went to store, thought a magnet on a string might do the trick. Man had string, but didn't think he had a magnet. But found one, but keys are made of brass and aluminum, and guess Mr. Leazenby taught me magnets only work on iron."
"Could be."
"Could call a locksmith, but he wanted forty bucks to come out, and a little short, twenty or so. Got hungry, went to diner and wait. Meatloaf must have been one half lard and one half shit and burned like charcoal; potatoes were instant, mushy and watery, you would have thought they came from a baby's rear end. And not hardly a speck of gravy, and corn had more cob in it than corn; and flies all over the pie, and didn't eat none."
"Come into the house. Dry clothes, and Ma's meatloaf."
"Not done with story; ain't half done. Well, got some string and fish hooks, and went fishing, sort of. Got my keys. Fucking part didn't come in with afternoon shipment either. Went to the grocer and had their popcorn on sale, last bag, too, and nearly half price. Outside raining like shit, bag of popcorn split open, lost most of the corn."
"You do like your popcorn."
"Cheap. But salvage a fourth or so; rest for birds, and should be a good crop next year."
"Spilt milk."
"Ain't crying about it. Just bitching. Guess I figured out why women bitch so much; feel better afterwards. But what pisses me off, popcorn all over the place, not popped, but still there, and some pigeon shits on me. Big glob. So, I takes my shirt off to wash it, and who shows up. Deputy. Says I can't go
around town half-naked. Told him mind his own business, or I'd pop him in the nose."
"Ennis, we told Jack we would not bail him out of jail ever. You too."
"Knows that. Anyways, pigeon shits on deputy, and pigeon is waiting in jail now, I guess. But Ennis ain't so dumb. Talked once with Mr. Kozinski, and he said he'd come if needed. And just in case Mr. Kozinski weren't around, preacher said he would, but didn't like the bargain he made. Either sit in jail or sit in church; don't know which is worse. So, all done, I comes home."
"Ennis you are going to get a chill. Need to get out of these wet clothes."
"Well, ain't caught a chill yet; don't think I will. Half way home, hit a dog, but turns out it was a coyote. Killed instantly."
"One less."
"Ran out of gas. Walked eleven or twelve miles or more to get some more, rained every step of the way, but it didn't rain no gas, that's for sure. Got darker than fuck that's for sure. Got my gas; truck started and all, things looking up. Almost hit a deer; good venison, except repairs to truck would have been making it a hundred bucks a pound."
"Ennis."
"Oh, I forgot, some asshole at the restaurant didn't put the fucking cap back on the salt shaker right, so got it all on my food--which couldn't help it any. Tried to scrape it off, but salt goes deep in wounds too. So no deer, but did get a skunk. Well, maybe say he got me. Smelled it all the way home."
"Ennis."
"Oh, forgot, don't look Ethel, broke the zipper on my jeans."
"Ennis. They can be repaired."
"The muffler starts roaring, and wouldn't you know it, think I can see the lights burning in the home windows. Bam she goes, blowout. Rain or no rain, got out, sure as shit. Tire no good, but think I can make it home, rim should be okay if I take it easy."
"Done?"
"Done."
"Into the house, these wet clothes off and your hide before the fire, Ma's meatloaf, and hot vegetable soup too. No pie though."
"Can't. Already three days behind in work. Get this tire changed, and see about fixing the muffler, and who knows whats else, what the fuck else I will find."
"Then I will tell you about my day. After the men folk left, I mopped the floors and waxed them, knowing men would be back with dirty boots. Went to the cellar for a jar of pickles you like so much, last jar, need to can more, dropped them on newly waxed floor, and had a mess. No pickles with the meatloaf."
"Happens."
"Saw a mouse in the house."
"Cat will get him."
"Broke the needle on my sewing machine, so will be a while to mend the jeans."
"Don't look Ethel, what I always says. Don't bother me none."
"Got the electric bill."
"Figured."
"It started to rain, and knew the hay would be ruined. Prayed you wouldn't go out and get drunk, and get into a fight, or something."
"Prayers answered."
"Preacher called and said he would visit. Wanted to bake some cookies for him, and for you too, Ennis, and Pa."
"Share."
"Dropped the flour sack on the floor, and another mess, but I have plenty of flour. Didn't have no cinnamon."
"Cooking always tastes good."
"Burned a batch of cookies, even Ennis wouldn't eat."
"Try."
"Washed out the teacups for the visit. Broke the handle of the teacup. Was a set of twelve my folks gave me for a wedding present; now they're all a matched set again."
"Good to hear that."
"Preacher said the squirrel has been missing you."
"Tell the squirrel hunting season may be closed for some folks."
"Preacher wanted to know if you wanted to go fishing some time. Maybe next week."
"Hell, the man would get me in a boat and baptize me for sure."
"He said Elmer's grandson may have cancer, and only nine years old. Shame."
"Little Billy? Hell, looked good to me. Why, two Sundays ago, at the pig and eat, him and me got into a rassling match about the last piece of cherry cake, and had me pinned good for the three hundred and three, and even wanted to wail the crap outta me after I gave a hundred times. But he let me up, let me cut the cake in half, but I let him take the piece he wanted. Sheet. Gotta take the boy fishing, and when he gets older, hunting and all. Sheet."
"Doctors are running tests."
"Sheet."
"I worried about Ennis, getting home late, the rain and all. Worried a bit."
"Here."
"Want to know about Pa's day, how it went?"
"No."
"Then about the preacher's day?"
"No."
"Want to hear what they said on the radio about the President's day?"
"No."
"Want to hear the sound of soup bubbling on the stove?"
"Three days behind already."
"Ennis, the body is telling you something, the soul is telling you something. Your body needs food, and sleep. The harder you work, the less you eat, the farther behind you will get. Tomorrow is a better day, you will see."
"Well, should have stayed home and got some of the hay on the wagon and in the barn. Old fart."
"You are coming to the house, and no punching hole in my walls either."
Ennis may have needed his ear tugged on to get him into the house. But it was late, the woman was right. Too tired to argue. Too mad to see straight.
They dodged the rain drops, letting up, but still a big one coming down every so often. The house was warm, but Ennis was not. The old fart let down the newspaper and looked at him.
Ennis swallowed. "Guess I should have waited a week to cut the hay, like some one said," Ennis said before the old fart had a chance to say, not out loud, but with a nod or wink or whatever that sent the message.
"No guessing," the old fart replied, but Ma kept still, but the men knew she knew all the secrets.
"You get changed and I'll warm the meatloaf."
"Maybe a sandwich, or two, mayo, soup sounds good."
Ennis went to his room, pealed off the clothes and naked wrung the clothes as dry as he could. He shivered, but not when he would be around Ma, and dried. If he laid down on the bed, he would be out, lights burning or not, not saying to Jack the words he always said. But he got some dry clothes on, and went down.
The old fart was gone, probably to bed, and sandwich made to order, and hot soup. Like a hobo that ain't eaten in days, Ennis went at it.
Finished, room for a cookie or two. "Tomorrow, Ennis, tomorrow."
It was raining fierce outside now, and Ennis figured the tire could wait until tomorrow. "Yes, ma’am."
They retired, and Ennis did his salute, scratched his balls still a little damp, and crawled into the warm bed. Lord, forgives me, he murmured. And Lord, about Billy, I mean, if someone's got to go, and you don't care who, then take me.
Billy, he's a good kid, will make one hell of a good man. Although, I do ask you send me where Jack was sent. Now if he made it with you, and I won't, well, got some figuring to do on that. Maybe a bargain? But Billy, just a case of measles, or some green apples, huh? Amen. Then sleep.
Birds were singing in the morning. Mud puddles they could take their baths in, and worms coming up from the drenched land. Some one was happy, Ennis thought, should be him too. He got ready, making his plans; tire first; muffler can be taped for a while, but put one on order and if you didn't mind the noise,
can go a while. Hay field, nothing you can do about that except clean up the mess and wait for the next crop, and check the weather reports better.
Downstairs, Ma was at the stove.
"Just coffee," he said.
"Ennis."
"Well, works gotta be done."
"And it can wait. You will work better on a full stomach. But you can go get Pa. He didn't come back from the barn last night. Must have fallen asleep waiting for the rain to stop."
"Yeah," Ennis answered.
"Bacon eggs toast and hot coffee when you get back."
"Yes, ma’am."
It took a while for Ennis to return. Ma was getting concerned. Ennis came into the house. Almost like some one had taken a frying pan and smashed his face flat. Eyes back, sullen.
"Ennis? Ennis? Something wrong?"
"Don't touch no people like that. Never had."
The woman sternly walked to the barn, knowing the results of this journey before she arrived.
The newspaper account read:
"Mr. John C. Twist, a long-time resident of Lightning Flat, died as a result of a tragic accident on his ranch last Tuesday. A tire that he was working on, exploded, and massive injuries occurred when the rim of the tire came in contact with his body. Mr. Twist married .... And he will be missed by family
and friends. Arrangements pending."
Left out of the report, drowned in his own blood before he was found.
Long overdue, Ennis thought. Within a few minutes after the undertaker took the old man away, Jack's Ma gave Ennis two deeds. One to the cemetery plot next to Jack, and the other to her ranch.
"Put it back to one piece, like my folks had it. Harold's and mine. No one else to leave it to, no one else but you that I'd care to leave it to, except Jack. Can't do that."
The old man's funeral was attended, as usual, not necessarily for the old man, but for the widow, though she wouldn't be grieving that much. Ennis had no troubles throwing that dirt, and leaving the stones and roots in the grave. Not
Christian, just the feeling.
That evening Ennis studied the deeds. They had been made out, and recorded, days after Jack's funeral. More land can be a burden, sure is nice, but not more taxes, and more work.
Ennis was a thinker at times, and something was gnawing on his gut again. Two day's after the funeral, an hour or so before dawn, Ennis rose and went to the cemetery.
He stood on the old fart's grave. "This is for Jack, and if Jack has already done it, or says I shouldn't, then it's from me, or maybe it's for your widow, or wife, I am doing this. But you better believe, it's from the bottom of my heart."
Ennis unzipped, and whipped out his dick.
"Old man, it should have been me, could have been me, would have been me; and you standing here now." With hands on his hips, he pissed. Maybe a quart or more. The recently disturbed earth captured the piss, and it easily traveled down
through the broken earth, and found the heart of the target. Done, or just about, Ennis shook the lamb's tail a couple of times for the last drops, then tucked henry away, and zipped.
He went back to the truck, then turned and went back to the grave. "And old man, any trouble out of you, and I'll be back, and shit on you good. And if that don't cure you, I'll dig you up and haul you to Texas and plant you there. You'll never find your way back; no one to bring you back either."
"Should have been me, could have been me, would have been me."
Ennis went to Jack's grave, knelt by the stone. "Jack, you know, maybe it was the rim that got you, like Lureen said. Sure as hell thought it was my old man taught me right. Maybe my old man had it all wrong all these years? Hell, maybe I had it wrong all these years? I don't know. Hell, if Jesus came down and told me it was Martha, not Mary, that was His mother, I think I could believe that first."
Ennis returned to his truck and went home, and had a damn good breakfast.
Jack's dream of a cabin, for him and Ennis, was put on hold. Ma needed Jack's help. When chores weren't so heavy, Ennis would go to Uncle Harold's place, remove some timbers and boards, put them under a tarp, some day, build Jack's cabin.
A few years later, Ma died. No more cherry cake, unless Lureen would send one up. It was sad, but Ma told him she was ready to go, would be meeting up with Jack and friends, and husband perhaps. And they would all be waiting for Ennis, when it's his time, not one second before. Don't be sad; don't cry, but I know why you will. But going to a better place.
"She's a good woman. Lots of good things to say about her, talk all day. Guess I'm most proud to say, she was my teacher. Taught me to believe. And like all my schooling, test day comes sooner or later. Today's the day. I think I'll pass. In fact, know I'll get an 'A'. Probably the only one I ever got."
After her funeral, a few days later, in the afternoon, Ennis made a pot of tea, took a couple of cups, and sat on the ground, next to her grave. Talked a little. Had a couple of cups of tea, even though Ennis couldn't stomach the taste.
Wondered if she'd know next time it might be whiskey, almost had the same color.
As Ennis grew older the grandkids did too. When younger they liked coming to the ranch, mostly to play. They liked riding on the hay wagon or driving the tractor, playing in the barn, roaming the woods and pastures, even flinging cow patties at one another. Something their grandpa must have taught them.
He also carried a switch with him, and kept them in line. But loved them all dearly.
And they liked camping out, and popping real popcorn on the stove, like Ennis did when he was little. But there weren't no tv, and no microwave oven, just a wood burning stove that served Ennis very well. Could even bake a cherry cake if he had a mind too.
As age set in for all the generations, the kids lost interest. None of them knew what an easy day's work was, let alone a days work, and sure as hell, not a hard day's work. So, guess the dream will end with Ennis--Jack's dream and Ennis's too.
Lureen came off and on, never married, brought a tear or two and some flowers.
Ennis grew a mustache, rather than boobs, and ran a good ranch, had a good life, at least by his standards. Most would say it weren't worth much, but for nothing but a ranch stiff, he did pretty darn good. Had Jack to thank for that. The land, money, inheritance, that made the difference. Ennis admitted that to himself. Had no problem with it. If, and there's that dirty word, if only Jack had told him, and showed Ennis that it was more than gas out of the ass.
But some auctioneer will give it to some young kid who doesn't know any better. Maybe make a go of it. His girls, and mostly the grandkids will be interested in the money the ranch will bring. Guess they'll be a little disappointed, but more than the one-third twenty-four dollar share he got from his
folks. Not counting the two mortgages.
Maybe Jack's boy would want it. Had never seen him, talked to him or anything. Could be dead, or maybe making Jack some grandkids left and right. Should write Lureen some time, and check some things out.
Ennis thought he would see two young men--ranch stiffs, in love with each other, and with a dream that would be almost impossible for them to achieve. Just needing a start, that first kick in the ass. They gotta love the other, until death they part, and beyond.
But most young men were not worth a bean fart--just like was always said about Jack Twist and Ennis DelMar.
Ennis would spend his quiet summer evenings, after the work was done, rocking on the front porch. Always had a knife and piece of wood in his hand, carving animals, mostly horses that he knew best. Spects his carvings will be about the only legacy he'll be leaving anybody. Then Ennis would look over at
the other rocking chair on the porch, and see it rock, even when there wasn't a breeze, and knew, by some boy's definition, this was a good life, a real damn good life.
As Ennis aged his daughters were also getting after him about moving away from Lightning Flat. Everyone else seems to be leaving, or dying there. Nags, he thought, but would not budge. Ennis built him a little shack where no one could find him, and kept it stocked, just in case they came with ropes to drag him off. If he got a shot out of there, he knew he could hole up until they left.
Life is like a funnel, filled with water. When you're young its so big, you can't swim across, and you think the water will last forever. As you get older, and the water comes out the funnel end, the sides of the funnel begin to cast shadows, and you have to look up to see the sky. And the water begins to flow
faster. Ennis would wonder at times, if only he had swum down to the bottom of the funnel, and came out the spout, maybe him and Jack would have had a real good life together, fifty, sixty, seventy years or so. But Ennis never swam down, instead stayed on top, floated when the breeze blew, doing what others thought he should do, thinking that was right.
If Ennis would have ever spoken on the matter, maybe he would say he had been left-hand celibate, though Jack would know that for sure.
"Jack, I love you." Then Ennis died, the undertaker came and did him fine. The daughters came, and a few grandkids, but most were too busy or too far away. Neighbors came and did him proud as an earlier generation or so had done Jack, and the folks, and others. They laid him to the final rest next to Jack
Twist, as good hunting and fishing buddies should be. Death departed, death re-united.
Reports came from Brokeback Mountain of two young men, about nineteen. They camped and rode their horses, hunted and fished, sang and played a harmonica, fought and wrestled and frolicked.
The Last Minute
of
Ennis Del Mar
Ennis studied the apple, wondering if someday he would peel the apple, and have its peeling as long as he was tall. Talked about it last time with his grandkids a while back, and one said if he knew pi-r-squared, and he told them old grandpa knew it was pie-are-round, and the only pie he knew was apple, cherry, rhubarb and pumpkin and others, many of which he has eaten, and baked a few too.
And the young man told his grandfather you could figure the area of a cylinder, and Ennis told him he didn't know no silly dear. Guess they both gave up talking about what neither knew of.
All Ennis knew, for sure, was if you cut the peeling too narrow, it could not bear its own weight, and would break, and if you peeled it too wide, there weren't enough peeling to get very long.
Ennis looked up to see the car, its lights on, down the road a piece. He knew he'd get them an apple too, if they stopped, or wave his hand if they kept on going.
Maybe have some meatloaf tonight, though some chicken sounded good. Maybe ask the preacher to go fishing, and fish sounded good too.
As the old 1950 Chevrolet pulled into the driveway, the apple was the first to hit the porch, and then the knife. Then the body. Life was breaking out of the corral we know as Ennis DelMar. The timbers of the corral were creaking with the strains life was putting on the corral. It would only be seconds now, if
even that.
The last words, barely audible, slowly spoken as if one letter at a time was said, "J-a-c-k, I l-o-v-e y-o-u."
And then the corral collapsed, and life exited, finally, at last.
Unseen, they came, prepared the spirit of Ennis DelMar in robes, and took him to God.
Ennis sat with God, and they talked.
Ennis, my son, He said.
Yes, Sir.
You disappointed me. But we sometimes talked when you did wrong, and I listened.
Yes, Sir.
Overall, you were a good man. Times, you made me happy. You were good to our animals. Tried to be fair. You helped this old lady with her groceries, and gave this old man a quarter. You gave me food and water when I knocked on your door. You didn't know who I was, but you gave it to them.
Yes, sir.
Do you know your ten commandments?
Well, sir, preacher talked about them a couple of Sundays ago. Didn't know there would be a quiz. Well, lets see. Do not kill, or was it murder?
And did you ever murder?
No, I don't think so.
No, you did not. And the other nine?
Will have to think on that. Oh. Stealing. I know what the answer to that will be.
Pies, but nothing too terrible. But you know.
Yes, Sir.
Ennis, if there is one thing that would make you happy, what would it be?
Sir, I know you know. No sense in lying to you. Guess that's another one, ain't it? Well, it's Jack. Reckon you don't approve of that one.
I gave you Jack. No one listened to me. Satan, I am afraid got to all of you, you, your father, Jack, Alma, every one that I made. Yes, I gave many laws, and my son told me, even the ten were too hard for my children to keep.
Glad that you understand then.
Ennis, I have a question for you. Which is the worst: Doing the sin, not asking forgiveness of the sin, or telling me of your neighbor's sin.
Well, guess you shouldn't sin in the first place, and then if you do, guess you should ask forgiveness. Then why would anyone want to tell you of their neighbor's sins since you know it already.
Perhaps you need some more time to think on that. Now, Ennis, ask that question that is bothering you right now.
Well, okay, which came first, the chicken or the egg?
I thought it should be logical. And the other question you have.
Well, is it here or there?
Ennis, for very few, I am sorry to say, heaven will be for them. And even sorrier to say, that even for one, hell is for them. Like all those that go neither to heaven nor hell, I am giving you my blessing, and one more chance for true, eternal happiness. A land where you will feast on your memories. Go,
they are waiting for you.
Thank you, sir.
And Ennis, I am not really old. Life is just beginning.
Ennis left God, and was taken back to his body. He saw it, lying there, lifeless, but he did not enter it.
The old 1950 Chevrolet, two-tone paint, like his folks had, a long time ago. The doors opened, a man and woman, dressed as he had remembered them to be last dressed, came out. He ran, greeted them and hugged them, the nine year old boy, the man, the old man.
They hugged, kissed. Pa told his son, Ennis, you got every right to punch me a good one. Steered you wrong, about some things. You should have had happiness, what God gave to you. Sorry.
It's okay, Pa, Ma. Missed you.
You turned out a nice, good man. Proud of you.
I know.
The Twists are fine folk too. You did them well too.
You met?
Yes.
Remember us, they asked. And made cherry cake.
Hugs and kisses, hand shakes and all.
Remember me.
Billy?
Yeah, and cherry cake time too, soon.
Remember me? Have to tell you the count was better than I had hoped for, but back then, didn't know how good of a ranch stiff you really were.
Mr. Agguire.
Call me Joe. Most folks do, now.
Joe.
Looking for me?
Jack.
Heard you every night. Jack, I love you. Did you hear me say, Ennis, I love you.
Figured it was you.
Well, bud, brought the horses, and after they lay you to rest, we will be heading up to Brokeback Mountain.
Bud.
But first, we need to have our time together, me, you, my folks, your folks, even Joe here, and others. We will attend your funeral, listen to the words the other side will say.
I was proud what they said. Made me feel good. Real good.
Mr. DELMAR.
Yes Billy.
We don't eat over there, with them. Our table is over there.
Okay, Billy.
And we will cut the cherry cake into thirds this time.
You bet we will.
After the sentiments and tears, the ride, to Brokeback Mountain.
The End
Part 3 of 3
Ennis sort of went back to his old ways, not talking much, keeping to himself. He helped out on the folk's ranch, and some on his, Jack's, their ranch.
Fences were shot there, and the house, well, go inside and look up and see the sky. Was dangerous to go inside, he was warned, but gotta check out the timbers and all. Maybe take the house down, stick by stick, and salvage what he could, and put some back--not a big house, but a nice cabin, like Jack had drawn
in his plans.
Ennis worked when he could, helped build a house, and took home, with permission, any scrap 2x4, or crooked ones, or knotted ones, or those with too many nails no one wanted to pull. Tarped them well, and some day, someday I promise you Jack, we will have our cabin.
But he didn't mind living with the folks. Good food, Jack's bed and things, though there wasn't much--never had been. Ma, as he sometimes called her, and she insisted he did, knew how to set a fine table. Old man was there, had to be, and didn't call him Pa, and both were happy about that. Ennis felt he was
sitting next to Jack, and at times Jack sat across the table from him. Didn't really matter. A family, the old fart at the head of the table, Ma at the end; the good boys in the middle.
Ennis lost his folks at fourteen. Almost like a new set to continue his life with. And Jack's Ma, well she liked the sounds Ennis made, comforted her. A few problems had to be worked out, like Ennis, living alone or on the range, usually didn't have his clothes or towel with him going between taking his bath, and it was a distance between the bathroom and Jack's room. Jack's Ma said she had diapered Jack, and he told her it had been nearly forty years since he last wore a diaper.
But she agreed to do her knitting or darning in her room when Ennis used the bathroom. But a place of their own--Jack and Ennis--sure did sound good.
It had been brewing all night to be a mean day. Thunder, lightning, wind, dark clouds, cold, wet dampness that went right through you. Lightning was close, and the house might get struck, or worse, a cow.
Ennis and the old man took the tools to mend a fence. They crossed the pasture, keeping an eye on the weather, not caring the other was there.
They found the fence post, rotted at the ground and barely hanging at an angle, supported by its neighboring fence posts, and a rusted strand of barbed wire.
"Fucking Jack Twist," snorted the old man. "Couldn't build a fence to last a day."
Ennis looked. If Jack had put that fence post in, it had to have been twenty years ago. What the fuck did the old man expect?
"Look here," Ennis's steam rose. "Old man, you say one more goddamned bad word about Jack, and so help me, I'll shove more than this fucking hammer up your fucking ass."
"Jack Twist talk. But let me tell you. It will be you that will eating dirt and your teeth, and walking with that fancy twitch, til you shit that hammer in two days."
"Shit," Ennis responded.
Ennis never saw the punch coming, but he felt it and flew backwards landing on his ass, and sliding a yard or two on the slippery grass. The old man came down on Ennis, and began flailing like a combine through the wheat.
The lightning bolt hit real close, and the thunder, and both men shit their pants, and took real close notice. The fence wire was jumping with sparks, and singing a song, like sopranos singing. The old man ran for cover, while Ennis crawled a ways in the other direction. Tall objects on a flat pasture don't mix. Both men had seen trees struck, and cattle stuck, and knew what the outcome would be, should they be a one in a million.
Ennis's body felt the beating the old man had given him. He cleaned the blood the best he could with mud puddle water. He took a bath in the mud puddle, couldn't go home stinking like a kid that shits his pants all the time, and his shirt and jeans just as well. If anyone ever said Ennis was full of shit, Ennis
could reply and tell them just how much would come out--to the pint, or pound, however you wanted to measure it.
Ennis admitted, well, the bruises cuts, scrapes and sores kind of proved it, the old man got the better of him. No lying about it. But at least Ennis did not walk that twitching walk, nor shit no hammer. But just may have, he reckoned. Next time, if there were a next time, Ennis knew the rules, or the lack thereof, or thought maybe he had forgotten some of the rules. But if Ennis had gotten in a lucky punch, or a dirty punch, maybe things would be a bit different...not that Ennis enjoyed fighting dirty, but there comes a time.
Yup, my own fault. Let my guard down for less than a second. Though, didn't think the old man had it in him. Mr. Kozinski warned him to never take his eye off the mean dog, but Ennis did, and paid for it. And Ennis found out why they call Lightning Flat, Lightning Flat.
Ma did some doctoring on Ennis. Stuff she used stung like hell, but he didn't need no infections, and would help it heal--the bruises, she added. "Son, take your bitter pill with one part love and nine parts forgiveness. I have, many
times."
"Yes, ma’am," Ennis answered. But more like keep it down with a shot glass full of revenge, he thought.
The men would share the same dinner table, for Jack's Ma, but a pointing fork said pass the potatoes, and never a tongue would they speak to the other. And come to work, there was plenty of it, they could always find on opposite sides of the ranch.
Ennis and Jack's Ma would go the cemetery every so often. Pick up sticks and remove the fallen branches. First time, she showed Ennis the family graves. Her folks, long gone. Brother Harold, and his wife, and seven babies, five boys and two girls, none living to be more than six days old.
There were grandparents, some aunts and uncles, cousins and the whatnot. No Twist people; he came from somewhere else. Ennis knew, in time, it would be his sole duty to tend the graves, clean up after the weather and nature; put some flowers, or just rake. Some day, he thought, maybe he should go to his folk's grave, not sure where it was, not sure where his sister was, and if she would remember. Unmarked graves, no money, and like time, forgotten.
Not all days were good for Ennis...then again, for anyone else either. He came home late one stormy night, raining fierce at times, and the muffler sounds like some one had stomped on a grizzly bear's tail, and that bear was getting meaner and meaner.
He drove to the barn, got out and drenched just to open the doors, and drove in. Shook off the rain like a dog, and began his tantrum. God damn fucking son of a fucking bitch. Why me Lord? What the fuck did I do--nothings turning out right no more. Give up this fucking ownership, and have a good ranch stiff's life, owning nothing, having nothing. Fuck, shit. Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck.
The hammer hit the side of the barn and fell to the floor. Ennis searched the old feed bin and found the whiskey, and downed the sonofabitch, almost a full pint, nonstop. Then the bottle crashed into floor and scattered the glass. He kicked a big piece back into the corner.
Turning, he saw Ma. Shit.
"Sorry," he said.
"Barn talk is barn talk; house talk is house talk; and don't forget."
Ennis's fist smashed into the side of the truck. It dented, but Ennis pulled back a throbbing wrist. Damn. "I don't know."
"Ma, I got work to do," he said, then turned to look at her. She held out a broom.
"Animals can get hurt on broken glass; so can men."
"Yes, ma’am," Ennis replied, and head down low, went for the broom, and cleaned up the mess he had made. And he even found some glass from some prior happening.
When done, he threw the broom into the corner.
"Ennis, you put that broom back proper, and the hammer too. It don't belong on the floor."
There weren't no 'yes ma’am'; just did it. And some of the other tools that had been neglected as well; guess most of the untidiness was his; the old fart didn't leave things like that.
Ennis looked about for Ma. Found her sitting on a bale of hay, her half, another half for anyone who wanted to sit beside her.
"Ennis, you done throwing punches and tools?"
He walked over to her and sat beside her. No one spoke first, but some one had better, or it would be a long night.
"Sorry, language and all."
"Barn talk. Didn't hear a word."
"I drive a fu...."
"Looking for the word fucking, are you?"
"Ma, oh, shit. Drove a fucking one hundred and fifty miles for the part. Ain't got it they said. They called and said the order was in, just turned out my part wasn't in the order they received. Fucking kids wouldn't know nothing, except
how to call the sheriff."
"Things have not changed much."
"But they were expecting another shipment in, in the fucking afternoon, like I ain't got no fucking work to do here. So, I scratched them, and had to think what to do. Wasted time and gas to get there; wait or try again. Or tell them to shove the fucking part up their assholes, and all they said there would be a fifteen percent restocking charge."
"Not like ordering from Sears and Roebuck."
"So, I goes outside. Half way to the truck, down comes the rain. Shit sunshine in the morning, and the hay is ruined now. Spent time and money cutting it, drying it; now its ruined. The old fart said I should wait until next week to cut it."
"There have been times we have lost a cutting too. And he knows it as well. But you'll get a second or third cutting from it; animals won't starve; can always buy, but will mean some lean times too."
"I guess. But I ain't done yet. On the way to the truck, fucking rain coming down like piss, and drop my keys, and into the goddamn storm drain. Probably the only drain they got in town, but I found it. Kept looking down there, lucky the rain didn't wash them away; but couldn't reach them anyways, so should
have washed them away."
"Well."
"Hell yes a well. If it were a well I could have climbed down and got them. Stopped raining, and keys still there, million miles away. Part store, asses that they were, called the county drain people, but they wouldn't get around to it for a day or so. Couldn't pull the drain lid off or nothing. Wouldn't do any good to bust the truck windows, cause no key, no go."
"Called, and Pa would have come and got you. You got an extra set upstairs?"
"Well, trucker said he'd give me a ride; but wasn't leaving until tomorrow."
"So how did you get your keys?"
"Well, went to store, thought a magnet on a string might do the trick. Man had string, but didn't think he had a magnet. But found one, but keys are made of brass and aluminum, and guess Mr. Leazenby taught me magnets only work on iron."
"Could be."
"Could call a locksmith, but he wanted forty bucks to come out, and a little short, twenty or so. Got hungry, went to diner and wait. Meatloaf must have been one half lard and one half shit and burned like charcoal; potatoes were instant, mushy and watery, you would have thought they came from a baby's rear end. And not hardly a speck of gravy, and corn had more cob in it than corn; and flies all over the pie, and didn't eat none."
"Come into the house. Dry clothes, and Ma's meatloaf."
"Not done with story; ain't half done. Well, got some string and fish hooks, and went fishing, sort of. Got my keys. Fucking part didn't come in with afternoon shipment either. Went to the grocer and had their popcorn on sale, last bag, too, and nearly half price. Outside raining like shit, bag of popcorn split open, lost most of the corn."
"You do like your popcorn."
"Cheap. But salvage a fourth or so; rest for birds, and should be a good crop next year."
"Spilt milk."
"Ain't crying about it. Just bitching. Guess I figured out why women bitch so much; feel better afterwards. But what pisses me off, popcorn all over the place, not popped, but still there, and some pigeon shits on me. Big glob. So, I takes my shirt off to wash it, and who shows up. Deputy. Says I can't go
around town half-naked. Told him mind his own business, or I'd pop him in the nose."
"Ennis, we told Jack we would not bail him out of jail ever. You too."
"Knows that. Anyways, pigeon shits on deputy, and pigeon is waiting in jail now, I guess. But Ennis ain't so dumb. Talked once with Mr. Kozinski, and he said he'd come if needed. And just in case Mr. Kozinski weren't around, preacher said he would, but didn't like the bargain he made. Either sit in jail or sit in church; don't know which is worse. So, all done, I comes home."
"Ennis you are going to get a chill. Need to get out of these wet clothes."
"Well, ain't caught a chill yet; don't think I will. Half way home, hit a dog, but turns out it was a coyote. Killed instantly."
"One less."
"Ran out of gas. Walked eleven or twelve miles or more to get some more, rained every step of the way, but it didn't rain no gas, that's for sure. Got darker than fuck that's for sure. Got my gas; truck started and all, things looking up. Almost hit a deer; good venison, except repairs to truck would have been making it a hundred bucks a pound."
"Ennis."
"Oh, I forgot, some asshole at the restaurant didn't put the fucking cap back on the salt shaker right, so got it all on my food--which couldn't help it any. Tried to scrape it off, but salt goes deep in wounds too. So no deer, but did get a skunk. Well, maybe say he got me. Smelled it all the way home."
"Ennis."
"Oh, forgot, don't look Ethel, broke the zipper on my jeans."
"Ennis. They can be repaired."
"The muffler starts roaring, and wouldn't you know it, think I can see the lights burning in the home windows. Bam she goes, blowout. Rain or no rain, got out, sure as shit. Tire no good, but think I can make it home, rim should be okay if I take it easy."
"Done?"
"Done."
"Into the house, these wet clothes off and your hide before the fire, Ma's meatloaf, and hot vegetable soup too. No pie though."
"Can't. Already three days behind in work. Get this tire changed, and see about fixing the muffler, and who knows whats else, what the fuck else I will find."
"Then I will tell you about my day. After the men folk left, I mopped the floors and waxed them, knowing men would be back with dirty boots. Went to the cellar for a jar of pickles you like so much, last jar, need to can more, dropped them on newly waxed floor, and had a mess. No pickles with the meatloaf."
"Happens."
"Saw a mouse in the house."
"Cat will get him."
"Broke the needle on my sewing machine, so will be a while to mend the jeans."
"Don't look Ethel, what I always says. Don't bother me none."
"Got the electric bill."
"Figured."
"It started to rain, and knew the hay would be ruined. Prayed you wouldn't go out and get drunk, and get into a fight, or something."
"Prayers answered."
"Preacher called and said he would visit. Wanted to bake some cookies for him, and for you too, Ennis, and Pa."
"Share."
"Dropped the flour sack on the floor, and another mess, but I have plenty of flour. Didn't have no cinnamon."
"Cooking always tastes good."
"Burned a batch of cookies, even Ennis wouldn't eat."
"Try."
"Washed out the teacups for the visit. Broke the handle of the teacup. Was a set of twelve my folks gave me for a wedding present; now they're all a matched set again."
"Good to hear that."
"Preacher said the squirrel has been missing you."
"Tell the squirrel hunting season may be closed for some folks."
"Preacher wanted to know if you wanted to go fishing some time. Maybe next week."
"Hell, the man would get me in a boat and baptize me for sure."
"He said Elmer's grandson may have cancer, and only nine years old. Shame."
"Little Billy? Hell, looked good to me. Why, two Sundays ago, at the pig and eat, him and me got into a rassling match about the last piece of cherry cake, and had me pinned good for the three hundred and three, and even wanted to wail the crap outta me after I gave a hundred times. But he let me up, let me cut the cake in half, but I let him take the piece he wanted. Sheet. Gotta take the boy fishing, and when he gets older, hunting and all. Sheet."
"Doctors are running tests."
"Sheet."
"I worried about Ennis, getting home late, the rain and all. Worried a bit."
"Here."
"Want to know about Pa's day, how it went?"
"No."
"Then about the preacher's day?"
"No."
"Want to hear what they said on the radio about the President's day?"
"No."
"Want to hear the sound of soup bubbling on the stove?"
"Three days behind already."
"Ennis, the body is telling you something, the soul is telling you something. Your body needs food, and sleep. The harder you work, the less you eat, the farther behind you will get. Tomorrow is a better day, you will see."
"Well, should have stayed home and got some of the hay on the wagon and in the barn. Old fart."
"You are coming to the house, and no punching hole in my walls either."
Ennis may have needed his ear tugged on to get him into the house. But it was late, the woman was right. Too tired to argue. Too mad to see straight.
They dodged the rain drops, letting up, but still a big one coming down every so often. The house was warm, but Ennis was not. The old fart let down the newspaper and looked at him.
Ennis swallowed. "Guess I should have waited a week to cut the hay, like some one said," Ennis said before the old fart had a chance to say, not out loud, but with a nod or wink or whatever that sent the message.
"No guessing," the old fart replied, but Ma kept still, but the men knew she knew all the secrets.
"You get changed and I'll warm the meatloaf."
"Maybe a sandwich, or two, mayo, soup sounds good."
Ennis went to his room, pealed off the clothes and naked wrung the clothes as dry as he could. He shivered, but not when he would be around Ma, and dried. If he laid down on the bed, he would be out, lights burning or not, not saying to Jack the words he always said. But he got some dry clothes on, and went down.
The old fart was gone, probably to bed, and sandwich made to order, and hot soup. Like a hobo that ain't eaten in days, Ennis went at it.
Finished, room for a cookie or two. "Tomorrow, Ennis, tomorrow."
It was raining fierce outside now, and Ennis figured the tire could wait until tomorrow. "Yes, ma’am."
They retired, and Ennis did his salute, scratched his balls still a little damp, and crawled into the warm bed. Lord, forgives me, he murmured. And Lord, about Billy, I mean, if someone's got to go, and you don't care who, then take me.
Billy, he's a good kid, will make one hell of a good man. Although, I do ask you send me where Jack was sent. Now if he made it with you, and I won't, well, got some figuring to do on that. Maybe a bargain? But Billy, just a case of measles, or some green apples, huh? Amen. Then sleep.
Birds were singing in the morning. Mud puddles they could take their baths in, and worms coming up from the drenched land. Some one was happy, Ennis thought, should be him too. He got ready, making his plans; tire first; muffler can be taped for a while, but put one on order and if you didn't mind the noise,
can go a while. Hay field, nothing you can do about that except clean up the mess and wait for the next crop, and check the weather reports better.
Downstairs, Ma was at the stove.
"Just coffee," he said.
"Ennis."
"Well, works gotta be done."
"And it can wait. You will work better on a full stomach. But you can go get Pa. He didn't come back from the barn last night. Must have fallen asleep waiting for the rain to stop."
"Yeah," Ennis answered.
"Bacon eggs toast and hot coffee when you get back."
"Yes, ma’am."
It took a while for Ennis to return. Ma was getting concerned. Ennis came into the house. Almost like some one had taken a frying pan and smashed his face flat. Eyes back, sullen.
"Ennis? Ennis? Something wrong?"
"Don't touch no people like that. Never had."
The woman sternly walked to the barn, knowing the results of this journey before she arrived.
The newspaper account read:
"Mr. John C. Twist, a long-time resident of Lightning Flat, died as a result of a tragic accident on his ranch last Tuesday. A tire that he was working on, exploded, and massive injuries occurred when the rim of the tire came in contact with his body. Mr. Twist married .... And he will be missed by family
and friends. Arrangements pending."
Left out of the report, drowned in his own blood before he was found.
Long overdue, Ennis thought. Within a few minutes after the undertaker took the old man away, Jack's Ma gave Ennis two deeds. One to the cemetery plot next to Jack, and the other to her ranch.
"Put it back to one piece, like my folks had it. Harold's and mine. No one else to leave it to, no one else but you that I'd care to leave it to, except Jack. Can't do that."
The old man's funeral was attended, as usual, not necessarily for the old man, but for the widow, though she wouldn't be grieving that much. Ennis had no troubles throwing that dirt, and leaving the stones and roots in the grave. Not
Christian, just the feeling.
That evening Ennis studied the deeds. They had been made out, and recorded, days after Jack's funeral. More land can be a burden, sure is nice, but not more taxes, and more work.
Ennis was a thinker at times, and something was gnawing on his gut again. Two day's after the funeral, an hour or so before dawn, Ennis rose and went to the cemetery.
He stood on the old fart's grave. "This is for Jack, and if Jack has already done it, or says I shouldn't, then it's from me, or maybe it's for your widow, or wife, I am doing this. But you better believe, it's from the bottom of my heart."
Ennis unzipped, and whipped out his dick.
"Old man, it should have been me, could have been me, would have been me; and you standing here now." With hands on his hips, he pissed. Maybe a quart or more. The recently disturbed earth captured the piss, and it easily traveled down
through the broken earth, and found the heart of the target. Done, or just about, Ennis shook the lamb's tail a couple of times for the last drops, then tucked henry away, and zipped.
He went back to the truck, then turned and went back to the grave. "And old man, any trouble out of you, and I'll be back, and shit on you good. And if that don't cure you, I'll dig you up and haul you to Texas and plant you there. You'll never find your way back; no one to bring you back either."
"Should have been me, could have been me, would have been me."
Ennis went to Jack's grave, knelt by the stone. "Jack, you know, maybe it was the rim that got you, like Lureen said. Sure as hell thought it was my old man taught me right. Maybe my old man had it all wrong all these years? Hell, maybe I had it wrong all these years? I don't know. Hell, if Jesus came down and told me it was Martha, not Mary, that was His mother, I think I could believe that first."
Ennis returned to his truck and went home, and had a damn good breakfast.
Jack's dream of a cabin, for him and Ennis, was put on hold. Ma needed Jack's help. When chores weren't so heavy, Ennis would go to Uncle Harold's place, remove some timbers and boards, put them under a tarp, some day, build Jack's cabin.
A few years later, Ma died. No more cherry cake, unless Lureen would send one up. It was sad, but Ma told him she was ready to go, would be meeting up with Jack and friends, and husband perhaps. And they would all be waiting for Ennis, when it's his time, not one second before. Don't be sad; don't cry, but I know why you will. But going to a better place.
"She's a good woman. Lots of good things to say about her, talk all day. Guess I'm most proud to say, she was my teacher. Taught me to believe. And like all my schooling, test day comes sooner or later. Today's the day. I think I'll pass. In fact, know I'll get an 'A'. Probably the only one I ever got."
After her funeral, a few days later, in the afternoon, Ennis made a pot of tea, took a couple of cups, and sat on the ground, next to her grave. Talked a little. Had a couple of cups of tea, even though Ennis couldn't stomach the taste.
Wondered if she'd know next time it might be whiskey, almost had the same color.
As Ennis grew older the grandkids did too. When younger they liked coming to the ranch, mostly to play. They liked riding on the hay wagon or driving the tractor, playing in the barn, roaming the woods and pastures, even flinging cow patties at one another. Something their grandpa must have taught them.
He also carried a switch with him, and kept them in line. But loved them all dearly.
And they liked camping out, and popping real popcorn on the stove, like Ennis did when he was little. But there weren't no tv, and no microwave oven, just a wood burning stove that served Ennis very well. Could even bake a cherry cake if he had a mind too.
As age set in for all the generations, the kids lost interest. None of them knew what an easy day's work was, let alone a days work, and sure as hell, not a hard day's work. So, guess the dream will end with Ennis--Jack's dream and Ennis's too.
Lureen came off and on, never married, brought a tear or two and some flowers.
Ennis grew a mustache, rather than boobs, and ran a good ranch, had a good life, at least by his standards. Most would say it weren't worth much, but for nothing but a ranch stiff, he did pretty darn good. Had Jack to thank for that. The land, money, inheritance, that made the difference. Ennis admitted that to himself. Had no problem with it. If, and there's that dirty word, if only Jack had told him, and showed Ennis that it was more than gas out of the ass.
But some auctioneer will give it to some young kid who doesn't know any better. Maybe make a go of it. His girls, and mostly the grandkids will be interested in the money the ranch will bring. Guess they'll be a little disappointed, but more than the one-third twenty-four dollar share he got from his
folks. Not counting the two mortgages.
Maybe Jack's boy would want it. Had never seen him, talked to him or anything. Could be dead, or maybe making Jack some grandkids left and right. Should write Lureen some time, and check some things out.
Ennis thought he would see two young men--ranch stiffs, in love with each other, and with a dream that would be almost impossible for them to achieve. Just needing a start, that first kick in the ass. They gotta love the other, until death they part, and beyond.
But most young men were not worth a bean fart--just like was always said about Jack Twist and Ennis DelMar.
Ennis would spend his quiet summer evenings, after the work was done, rocking on the front porch. Always had a knife and piece of wood in his hand, carving animals, mostly horses that he knew best. Spects his carvings will be about the only legacy he'll be leaving anybody. Then Ennis would look over at
the other rocking chair on the porch, and see it rock, even when there wasn't a breeze, and knew, by some boy's definition, this was a good life, a real damn good life.
As Ennis aged his daughters were also getting after him about moving away from Lightning Flat. Everyone else seems to be leaving, or dying there. Nags, he thought, but would not budge. Ennis built him a little shack where no one could find him, and kept it stocked, just in case they came with ropes to drag him off. If he got a shot out of there, he knew he could hole up until they left.
Life is like a funnel, filled with water. When you're young its so big, you can't swim across, and you think the water will last forever. As you get older, and the water comes out the funnel end, the sides of the funnel begin to cast shadows, and you have to look up to see the sky. And the water begins to flow
faster. Ennis would wonder at times, if only he had swum down to the bottom of the funnel, and came out the spout, maybe him and Jack would have had a real good life together, fifty, sixty, seventy years or so. But Ennis never swam down, instead stayed on top, floated when the breeze blew, doing what others thought he should do, thinking that was right.
If Ennis would have ever spoken on the matter, maybe he would say he had been left-hand celibate, though Jack would know that for sure.
"Jack, I love you." Then Ennis died, the undertaker came and did him fine. The daughters came, and a few grandkids, but most were too busy or too far away. Neighbors came and did him proud as an earlier generation or so had done Jack, and the folks, and others. They laid him to the final rest next to Jack
Twist, as good hunting and fishing buddies should be. Death departed, death re-united.
Reports came from Brokeback Mountain of two young men, about nineteen. They camped and rode their horses, hunted and fished, sang and played a harmonica, fought and wrestled and frolicked.
The Last Minute
of
Ennis Del Mar
Ennis studied the apple, wondering if someday he would peel the apple, and have its peeling as long as he was tall. Talked about it last time with his grandkids a while back, and one said if he knew pi-r-squared, and he told them old grandpa knew it was pie-are-round, and the only pie he knew was apple, cherry, rhubarb and pumpkin and others, many of which he has eaten, and baked a few too.
And the young man told his grandfather you could figure the area of a cylinder, and Ennis told him he didn't know no silly dear. Guess they both gave up talking about what neither knew of.
All Ennis knew, for sure, was if you cut the peeling too narrow, it could not bear its own weight, and would break, and if you peeled it too wide, there weren't enough peeling to get very long.
Ennis looked up to see the car, its lights on, down the road a piece. He knew he'd get them an apple too, if they stopped, or wave his hand if they kept on going.
Maybe have some meatloaf tonight, though some chicken sounded good. Maybe ask the preacher to go fishing, and fish sounded good too.
As the old 1950 Chevrolet pulled into the driveway, the apple was the first to hit the porch, and then the knife. Then the body. Life was breaking out of the corral we know as Ennis DelMar. The timbers of the corral were creaking with the strains life was putting on the corral. It would only be seconds now, if
even that.
The last words, barely audible, slowly spoken as if one letter at a time was said, "J-a-c-k, I l-o-v-e y-o-u."
And then the corral collapsed, and life exited, finally, at last.
Unseen, they came, prepared the spirit of Ennis DelMar in robes, and took him to God.
Ennis sat with God, and they talked.
Ennis, my son, He said.
Yes, Sir.
You disappointed me. But we sometimes talked when you did wrong, and I listened.
Yes, Sir.
Overall, you were a good man. Times, you made me happy. You were good to our animals. Tried to be fair. You helped this old lady with her groceries, and gave this old man a quarter. You gave me food and water when I knocked on your door. You didn't know who I was, but you gave it to them.
Yes, sir.
Do you know your ten commandments?
Well, sir, preacher talked about them a couple of Sundays ago. Didn't know there would be a quiz. Well, lets see. Do not kill, or was it murder?
And did you ever murder?
No, I don't think so.
No, you did not. And the other nine?
Will have to think on that. Oh. Stealing. I know what the answer to that will be.
Pies, but nothing too terrible. But you know.
Yes, Sir.
Ennis, if there is one thing that would make you happy, what would it be?
Sir, I know you know. No sense in lying to you. Guess that's another one, ain't it? Well, it's Jack. Reckon you don't approve of that one.
I gave you Jack. No one listened to me. Satan, I am afraid got to all of you, you, your father, Jack, Alma, every one that I made. Yes, I gave many laws, and my son told me, even the ten were too hard for my children to keep.
Glad that you understand then.
Ennis, I have a question for you. Which is the worst: Doing the sin, not asking forgiveness of the sin, or telling me of your neighbor's sin.
Well, guess you shouldn't sin in the first place, and then if you do, guess you should ask forgiveness. Then why would anyone want to tell you of their neighbor's sins since you know it already.
Perhaps you need some more time to think on that. Now, Ennis, ask that question that is bothering you right now.
Well, okay, which came first, the chicken or the egg?
I thought it should be logical. And the other question you have.
Well, is it here or there?
Ennis, for very few, I am sorry to say, heaven will be for them. And even sorrier to say, that even for one, hell is for them. Like all those that go neither to heaven nor hell, I am giving you my blessing, and one more chance for true, eternal happiness. A land where you will feast on your memories. Go,
they are waiting for you.
Thank you, sir.
And Ennis, I am not really old. Life is just beginning.
Ennis left God, and was taken back to his body. He saw it, lying there, lifeless, but he did not enter it.
The old 1950 Chevrolet, two-tone paint, like his folks had, a long time ago. The doors opened, a man and woman, dressed as he had remembered them to be last dressed, came out. He ran, greeted them and hugged them, the nine year old boy, the man, the old man.
They hugged, kissed. Pa told his son, Ennis, you got every right to punch me a good one. Steered you wrong, about some things. You should have had happiness, what God gave to you. Sorry.
It's okay, Pa, Ma. Missed you.
You turned out a nice, good man. Proud of you.
I know.
The Twists are fine folk too. You did them well too.
You met?
Yes.
Remember us, they asked. And made cherry cake.
Hugs and kisses, hand shakes and all.
Remember me.
Billy?
Yeah, and cherry cake time too, soon.
Remember me? Have to tell you the count was better than I had hoped for, but back then, didn't know how good of a ranch stiff you really were.
Mr. Agguire.
Call me Joe. Most folks do, now.
Joe.
Looking for me?
Jack.
Heard you every night. Jack, I love you. Did you hear me say, Ennis, I love you.
Figured it was you.
Well, bud, brought the horses, and after they lay you to rest, we will be heading up to Brokeback Mountain.
Bud.
But first, we need to have our time together, me, you, my folks, your folks, even Joe here, and others. We will attend your funeral, listen to the words the other side will say.
I was proud what they said. Made me feel good. Real good.
Mr. DELMAR.
Yes Billy.
We don't eat over there, with them. Our table is over there.
Okay, Billy.
And we will cut the cherry cake into thirds this time.
You bet we will.
After the sentiments and tears, the ride, to Brokeback Mountain.
The End