Knots - Challenge Fic
Rating: G.
Disclaimer: Ennis and Jack were created by Annie Proulx. All laud and honour go to her.
Summary: This is a canon one-shot that takes place in Ennis' winter years, long after Jack's death. He is reminiscing about an event that shaped his life.
Thanks: As always to my dear
poppyhoney_67, who took the time out of writing her own fic to beta this for me. Also to my J-stalking buddy Missy who took time out of getting us tickets to the gala premiere of Rendition at the TIFF to beta this for me. What can I say? I have the best friends in the world.
A/N: Anyone looking for an update on The Dance, please read the note on my LJ. Thanks.
Knots
His Daddy was a champion roper. One of his earliest memories was sitting on his Mama’s knee, the crowd cheering around him, watching his Daddy’s work roughened hands tie knots that couldn’t be undone. Knots that tightened with every twitch of the struggling animal.
As he got older he was proud to stand by his Daddy, his Daddy’s work roughened hand on his shoulder. “This is my boy, Ennis, gonna teach him a thing or two. Yes, I am. Pass down the know-how, you bet I will.”
Ennis dreamed of the day his own work roughened hands would tie a rope with quick efficiency. He dreamed of following in his Daddy’s footsteps.
Until that day. When his Daddy’s hand on his shoulder became a noose around his neck. When he saw the remains of a rope that had been fastened with ruthless intent, cruel in its efficiency, the knots tightening with each twitch. He recognized his Daddy’s handiwork and the pride his Daddy took in it.
Daddy had passed down his know-how all right. Sure taught Ennis a thing or two….
“Poppa! Poppa?”
“Hush Tommy! Your Poppa’s havin’ a nap in his chair!”
“Naw, Mama! His eyes are wide open!”
Ennis herded his thoughts. It seemed harder and harder every day to control their wanderings, sometimes he would lose hours in the crags and valleys of his memories.
“Tommy, baby, just let your Poppa get his rest, will you please?”
“But…”
“It’s okay, darlin’,” he called out, his voice rusty from lack of use. “I’m awake. He don’t bother me none.”
“Okay then, Grandpa, but you tell him to shoo if he pesters you with too many questions,” said Christie, wiping her hands on her apron and kissing him tenderly on the forehead before heading out the door with the washing.
“Humph. Seems its my lot in life to be surrounded by people who never shut up,” he grumbled good-naturedly, gesturing for his great-grandson to come sit on his knee.
“You been collectin’ again, Poppa?”
“What’s that now?” Ennis asked, bending down to look in Tommy’s eyes.
“You been collectin’ them thoughts you keep losin’?” Tommy asked, eyes wide as saucers.
Ennis stared for a confused second, then began to chuckle, the corners of his mouth twitching with amusement. “You bet. Been re-collectin’.”
“’Bout what?”
“Oh…,” Ennis trailed off, that long ago hurt still an ever present ache. “’Bout my Daddy. Been thinkin’ ‘bout how he was a champion roper.”
“Really?” Tommy’s voice rose with excitement. “Did he teach you how, Poppa? Did he?”
Ennis looked out the window, the wide yellow strip of canola in full bloom almost blinding in its intensity.
“He surely did son. But I never quite got the knack of it. Seems my knots weren’t never tight enough to hold on to anythin’,” Ennis said softly, still looking out the window, beginning to drift again, this time upwards towards a mountain.
“But Poppa… Poppa!” Tommy jabbed him in the shoulder insistently, bringing him back. “Lookit here!” Tommy lifted his little feet straight in front of him, pointing proudly at his shoes.
Ennis looked down at the sloppily tied bows and began to laugh, feeling the moisture form in the corner of his eyes.
“Tommy, my boy, you did it!”
“Just like you taught me Poppa! And that knot’s been there since I tied up my laces this morning!”
Ennis bent down again and Tommy’s arms immediately went around his neck. He breathed in deep, wrapping himself in sunshine and fresh tilled dirt and the slightly pungent smell of hay bales stacked high.
Guess he’d learned to make some of his knots hold, after all.
Disclaimer: Ennis and Jack were created by Annie Proulx. All laud and honour go to her.
Summary: This is a canon one-shot that takes place in Ennis' winter years, long after Jack's death. He is reminiscing about an event that shaped his life.
Thanks: As always to my dear
poppyhoney_67, who took the time out of writing her own fic to beta this for me. Also to my J-stalking buddy Missy who took time out of getting us tickets to the gala premiere of Rendition at the TIFF to beta this for me. What can I say? I have the best friends in the world.
A/N: Anyone looking for an update on The Dance, please read the note on my LJ. Thanks.
Knots
His Daddy was a champion roper. One of his earliest memories was sitting on his Mama’s knee, the crowd cheering around him, watching his Daddy’s work roughened hands tie knots that couldn’t be undone. Knots that tightened with every twitch of the struggling animal.
As he got older he was proud to stand by his Daddy, his Daddy’s work roughened hand on his shoulder. “This is my boy, Ennis, gonna teach him a thing or two. Yes, I am. Pass down the know-how, you bet I will.”
Ennis dreamed of the day his own work roughened hands would tie a rope with quick efficiency. He dreamed of following in his Daddy’s footsteps.
Until that day. When his Daddy’s hand on his shoulder became a noose around his neck. When he saw the remains of a rope that had been fastened with ruthless intent, cruel in its efficiency, the knots tightening with each twitch. He recognized his Daddy’s handiwork and the pride his Daddy took in it.
Daddy had passed down his know-how all right. Sure taught Ennis a thing or two….
“Poppa! Poppa?”
“Hush Tommy! Your Poppa’s havin’ a nap in his chair!”
“Naw, Mama! His eyes are wide open!”
Ennis herded his thoughts. It seemed harder and harder every day to control their wanderings, sometimes he would lose hours in the crags and valleys of his memories.
“Tommy, baby, just let your Poppa get his rest, will you please?”
“But…”
“It’s okay, darlin’,” he called out, his voice rusty from lack of use. “I’m awake. He don’t bother me none.”
“Okay then, Grandpa, but you tell him to shoo if he pesters you with too many questions,” said Christie, wiping her hands on her apron and kissing him tenderly on the forehead before heading out the door with the washing.
“Humph. Seems its my lot in life to be surrounded by people who never shut up,” he grumbled good-naturedly, gesturing for his great-grandson to come sit on his knee.
“You been collectin’ again, Poppa?”
“What’s that now?” Ennis asked, bending down to look in Tommy’s eyes.
“You been collectin’ them thoughts you keep losin’?” Tommy asked, eyes wide as saucers.
Ennis stared for a confused second, then began to chuckle, the corners of his mouth twitching with amusement. “You bet. Been re-collectin’.”
“’Bout what?”
“Oh…,” Ennis trailed off, that long ago hurt still an ever present ache. “’Bout my Daddy. Been thinkin’ ‘bout how he was a champion roper.”
“Really?” Tommy’s voice rose with excitement. “Did he teach you how, Poppa? Did he?”
Ennis looked out the window, the wide yellow strip of canola in full bloom almost blinding in its intensity.
“He surely did son. But I never quite got the knack of it. Seems my knots weren’t never tight enough to hold on to anythin’,” Ennis said softly, still looking out the window, beginning to drift again, this time upwards towards a mountain.
“But Poppa… Poppa!” Tommy jabbed him in the shoulder insistently, bringing him back. “Lookit here!” Tommy lifted his little feet straight in front of him, pointing proudly at his shoes.
Ennis looked down at the sloppily tied bows and began to laugh, feeling the moisture form in the corner of his eyes.
“Tommy, my boy, you did it!”
“Just like you taught me Poppa! And that knot’s been there since I tied up my laces this morning!”
Ennis bent down again and Tommy’s arms immediately went around his neck. He breathed in deep, wrapping himself in sunshine and fresh tilled dirt and the slightly pungent smell of hay bales stacked high.
Guess he’d learned to make some of his knots hold, after all.