(no subject)
KISS, Chapter 7
Fall, 1985
His truck was in a wrecker's yard, his daughter in a hospital bed, and the life he had known lay irrevocably behind him. It had been a fool's paradise, he realised that now. Once he'd reached Laramie, he had rung Aileen, could have counted the harsh words she spat at him on the fingers of his two hands, but had learned what he needed to know. At least she's okay, he told himself, at least my girl is okay. The knowledge should have brought him comfort, yet the white-hot anger burned, the all-consuming loathing which made him want to tear at his entrails, cut out that filthy part of himself which craved the touch of other men. If he'd never gone up that mountain, if he'd never been introduced to the irresistible taste of forbidden fruit, then he might have married and lived a half-life of satisfaction with that old sweetheart of his. Strange how he could no longer bring her face to mind, yet the face of that youth on the mountain was as clear as if he stood before Ellis.
A few days' casual labor around the stock yards had given him sufficient capital to afford a cheap room until he found steady work on a ranch. Sleeping rough up to that point had been no hardship: panicked fury had left little time for sleep anyway. He felt in his pockets, decided there was enough cash for a drink or two. Dammit, he needed a drink.
On East Ivinson he found a bar with a rough and friendly atmosphere and enough of a clientele to wrap him in anonymity. George Strait was playing on the jukebox, and no-one paid Ellis any attention as he entered. He sat at the bar, remembered to discreetly ogle the waitress's modest cleavage, and ordered a beer, then immediately changed his order to whiskey - why waste valuable drinking time? The sea of voices rose and fell around him, trills of laughter occasionally breaking the surface, and once the alcohol had blurred the edges a little he twisted around on the stool and began taking in his surroundings.
It was a mixed crowd, a few genuine oldtimers and more than a few wannabe cowboys and girls hoping to get a vicarious taste of the Old West. At a nearby table, a young couple sat, their conversation idling along. The woman kept glancing around, the young man mostly looked over his partner's shoulder as he spoke. Once or twice his eyes briefly met Ellis's, slid the length of his body then drifted off onto someone else. The man was the best looking thing in the bar, not on account of his slender frame, nor his quick laugh, but because of the veiled hunger which sometimes darkened his bright eyes. Ellis knew that look, recognised it from both sides.
From the bottom of his fifth whiskey Ellis observed a steel-straight cowboy walk in the bar and over to the table where the couple sat. The woman stood, kissed the newcomer and then, bending to her erstwhile companion, touched his shoulder, murmured something, and left arm in arm with the cowboy. Once they'd gone the kid approached the bar, sat a stool or two away from Ellis, and ordered another beer - “One for the road.” The waitress's smile was friendly enough, but she didn't lean over to him the way she'd leaned over to Ellis. Ellis ordered another whiskey, slammed it down while the kid was still knocking back his beer, and prepared to leave.
Out on Ivinson again, he paused to light up a smoke. Beside the bar ran a wide alleyway servicing the backs of neighboring businesses. Thirty more seconds of dragging on his cigarette then he slowly strolled down the alley. There were rubbish skips, doorways, loading bays, many pockets of gloom where the streetlights never penetrated. He settled on a short side alley leading to a locked steel door, waited until the clip of boots on asphalt told him he'd guessed correctly, then slipped into the darkness. The kid - his name was Brett, as Ellis would come to learn - sidled in behind him. Whatever Brett started to say didn't penetrate into Ellis's brain, and was cut short anyway as his body was slammed against the wall. Ellis had the advantage in height, weight, years and experience as he buried his face in Brett's throat, their hands tangling in the effort to unfasten belts and flies. It was Ellis who hit the ground first, working feverishly, desperately, until the young man came, biting back a low groan as he did so. Then Ellis, back on his feet, shoved Brett down on his knees, grabbed his hair, treated him more roughly than was called for, although the kid didn't seem to mind.
When they were done, jeans readjusted, mouths wiped, there was an awkward silence. Ellis turned away. Go, he thought, just fuckin go, but instead of going, Brett came closer again, a sliver of moonlight catching the rodeo buckle on his belt. He reached out to touch Ellis's shoulder.
“Don't go,” he said, in a whiney, pathetic voice. “We could go get a drink someplace else?”
“Get the fuck off me!”
“Aw, don't be like that.” He was right up close now, pleading puppy-dog eyes inches from Ellis's face. “Just a few minutes, huh?” And mistaking the sudden stillness for consent, he moved in for a kiss, his mouth wet and open and hot on Ellis's.
The first punch send him reeling against a rubbish skip, the second took him to the ground, and after that it didn't matter - he was beyond consciousness and beyond help. Then Ellis retrieved his hat and ran, away from Ivinson and south onto Grand Avenue, where a small knot of people stood arguing their next move.
“Call an ambulance,” Ellis mumbled, gesturing back at the alley, “guy's been beaten up real bad.”
When the police came to arrest him, as he knew they would, Ellis felt almost peaceful. Wasn't this the perfect outcome to his lousy life? Wouldn't the world be a better place if a man like him, violent and perverted, was locked away for all time, or better still, destroyed like a mad dog? Yet the survival instinct was strong, and when his lawyer asked if maybe he had been provoked somehow, if perhaps the young man had made an unwarranted assumption, Ellis found himself agreeing. Yes, he'd gone down the alleyway for a piss, the kid had read it all wrong, had come at him aggressively, and Ellis, confused and affronted and just a little cloudy in his judgment, had lashed out, horrified that this man was suggesting he might be homosexual.
As he lay in his prison cell, feeling the rot spreading within him, his lawyer kept him up to date about the progress of his victim, rallying at first after some paramedical heroics in the alley, then slipping away as the overwhelming insult of numerous vicious punches finally won out. In time. Ellis came to know better the face of the young woman in the bar, now a bereft sister, who sat with the steel-straight cowboy every day of the trial. The waitress, nervous and flushed, swore on oath that it was Brett and not Ellis who had seemingly made the moves in the bar. As she stepped down, she cast a quick smile in the direction of the man in the dock but by then he was staring resolutely at the floor, fighting back the waves of self-revulsion. When the jury, swayed just a little by the thought that any man with red blood flowing through his veins might react similarly were their honor impuned in such a fashion, returned a verdict of manslaughter, the judge looked long and hard at Ellis. In his homily from the bench he took into account the possible provocation - and out of the corner of his eye, Ellis caught the cowboy leaning in to whisper to Brett's sister - but insisted that such mindless violence should not be countenanced in the fair city of Laramie, that gem of the Equality State. He handed down a sentence of fifteen years, noting sourly that only the waitress's evidence stopped him imposing the maximum twenty. It made no difference to Ellis: as he was led away he wished only for oblivion.
* * *
“Coulda been me you killed.”
The sound of Jesse's voice slowly pulled Ellis back out of the deep well of memory. He blinked, as if this bright, unexpected present hurt his eyes.
“Coulda been any man who said or done the wrong thing that day.”
“But he was gay, all he did wrong was be gay.” Although he was trying hard to remain steady, a tremor of shock ran through Jesse's voice.
Ellis forced himself to look over at his friend. “You think I don't know what a cunt of an act that was? You imagine I don't think about what I done ta that kid a dozen times a day? It's like he's here,” - he touched his shoulder - “all the goddamn time, whisperin in my ear, remindin me what I done. I see someone stand a certain way, or hear a voice, or catch a smell like that alleyway, the taste a spunk in my mouth, light flashin off of metal - hell, a million things set me off thinkin. Like knives jabbin in my skin, get so used to 'em they're just part a bein alive, like breathin, and there ain't nothin I can do about it. I don't need you to tell me what a piece a filth I am.”
Suddenly, Jesse found himself with a need for fresh air. He went outside and stood on the verandah a while, breathing in the sweet Texas air until his thoughts eased their hammering against his skull. When he returned, Ellis hadn't moved. His eyes, ashamed and resigned, followed Jesse back to his seat. He started to rise.
“Guess I should--”
“Sit down!”
“If you--”
“Shut up. Let me say what I gotta say. I reckon I'm a good judge of a man's character. Ain't made too many mistakes so far, and I didn't make one about you. Yeah, you just took the wind outta my sails but ...” He stared over Ellis's right shoulder. “Anythin else you want a tell me?”
“No. Yeah, there is.” Ellis's voice, already low, dropped further until Jesse had to lean forward to catch the murmured words. “I hated you that day in Laramie. Right then, I hated you. I hated you for what I'd become.” He reached out and stroked Jesse's jaw, ignoring the sudden flinching away. “Remember that day we parted? All I wanted to do was get away, pretend none of it had happened. But you know what? A part a me was hopin and prayin you'd stop me. If you'd a grabbed my arm, asked me to go with you, I might a done it. Or I might a punched you in the head again. Then afterwards, when I saw I couldn't just get married and be like them real men, I wanted you to come for me so bad, but I was too damn gutless to go lookin for you myself. Mighty dumb, huh? - I punched you in the jaw and expected you to come lookin for me. Guess that sums up my whole fucked-up life.”
“I kissed you.”
“Yeah, you kissed me, and I laid you out cold for it. And then I cursed you for abandonin me. What a friggin headcase.”
“And I would've come, promised myself I'd look you up again, even went back the followin year in case you'd turned up again.”
Ellis's face brightened a little. “You did?”
“Yeah. Last brave act I done. Use to drive back to Wyomin, see the folks, think about lookin you up. Never did.”
“Why the fuck would you want to? I didn't give you no reason to.”
“Oh yes, you did. I remember your eyes. You said you'd see me around, and I don't know what was hurtin me the most, my friggin jaw or the look in your eyes.”
“Pair a deuces,” Ellis sighed, “'Cept you done all the right things and I fucked up so bad I ruined too many lives. Too late to ask forgiveness from that guy I killed, or his goddamn sister, or Caitlyn, or Aileen, or that girl I was engaged to, or all the other ones ...”
“Ain't never too late to make amends, not while you still got breath in your body.”
Jesse stood, took a pace forward, lifted Ellis's chin, bent down. Slowly, slowly, he brought his lips down on that tense mouth, flicked his tongue against the fearful, yearning lips, eased them into something soft and yielding, a mouth made for kissing. He put everything he had into that kiss, all the sorrow and joy, the longing and loneliness of his sixty-three years. With his body he tried to say what he couldn't convey in words: this is how it should be, how it can be, not just a slaking of need, a battle against nature, but loving and honest, two into one, first and last, you and me. Only when Ellis timidly responded, pulling Jesse gently into his arms, did he let himself sink into the embrace, feel the barriers dissolve, lose himself in the moment.
He awoke from a dream of fish, great shoals of them, twisting and dancing like smoke clouds in a capricious breeze. Was it morning yet? He half-expected the smell of coffee to be wafting down from the kitchen, but the heavy arm which was draped, relaxed and comfortable, across his waist told him otherwise; Ellis was still deep in sleep, his bubbling breath tickling the back of Jesse's neck. From under a barely opened eyelid, Jesse noted that the room was only just taking shape in the early light. Plenty more time to lie there and remember the previous evening.
In a way, it had all seemed like something out of a badly written romantic movie. Once they had wordlessly established that Ellis indeed wanted to kiss Jesse until their lips turned numb, Jesse had eased him down to the master bedroom and into the master's bed. And there, with the skills which had never quite deserted him, he rode out the last vestiges of fight left in this splendid old animal until Ellis lay quiet in his arms at last.
The serious talking didn't begin until the following evening. Over supper, Jesse began spreading printouts across the table, properties in Wyoming and Colorado which met his criteria. For Ellis, the reality was all proving too much.
“I don't deserve none a this,” he muttered.
“Shut the fuck up, wouldya? Now look, a place this size, we could run a small cow and calf operation alongside the breedin herd and the bulls, and that way ...” And on and on, bridging finance, herd size, market values, employees ...
Finally, he pulled an envelope out from under everything else.
“Promise you won't get mad? I ... well, I done some snoopin. Here.”
* * *
Wyoming
Spring 2008.
Way up in the north-west, where the high peaks of the Rockies faded into hazy indigo, a mass of darkness was moving rapidly across the sky, bands of blue hail and lightning flashes roiling within it, but the field where Ellis rode was bathed in pure sunshine. There'd be no storms crossing the ranch today. From the low ridge which defined the property's eastern boundary there was a good view in all directions: to the north and east, the plains erupted here and there into the ragged, rocky outcrops and spirit-level buttes he'd grown up with and had missed so badly down in Texas, although he would never have admitted such a thing out loud; on the western horizon the Rockies presented that unchanging strength, the backbone of his life; away to the south rolled the open country all the way down through Colorado to Texas where Jesse was; and down in the valley at the axis of his world, just a white speck in a sea of spring-fresh green, was the house, their house, the first house Ellis had ever owned. Owner or not, he'd be putting in a solid day's work before he finally turned his horse's head towards the stables.
The warmth of the day lapped around him. He closed his eyes and raised his face to the sun. The sounds of lowing cattle, the dogs yapping, sharp whistles from the men and the drone of motorcycles blended into a soothing lullaby. He wondered lazily if the great flocks of sheep still flowed up to the open pastures of the mountains, if right now there were young men preparing to endure an isolated summer of hardships and discovery.
“Hey, boss!” Ramon's voice startled him out of his reverie.
“For fuck's sake, don't call me that.”
“No, boss.” The foreman's grin split his face. “That's the last of the herd up.”
“Uh-huh.”
Before the silence stretched too far, Ramon added, “Was thinking perhaps we could start on those fences you mentioned, up on the north side. If that's okay with you.”
Ellis nodded, and thanked the day Ramon had decided to throw in his lot with him and Jesse.
“You do that. I'll be down later. Just want a ...” Just want a stay here a while, convince myself this is all real, that it will still be here tomorrow, like it was yesterday and the day before. “Just want a double-check everthin's okay here.” He looked out across the field where the cows and calves were spreading out, finding their own patch of pasture. It was a ragtag herd at present, some from down in Texas, some which had come with the purchase of the ranch, a few which they'd picked up at sale, keen to get going. This time next year, however, when the calves were brought in for branding, they'd all have a newly-registered brand scorched into their hide, J and E conjoined. “Pretty sight, huh?”
“Sure is.” Ramon touched a finger to the brim of his hat, turned his motorcycle around, and headed back to the men. Let the old cowboy have his space. From what Ramon had gathered, he'd earned it long ago, one way or another.
It was gone seven by the time Ellis returned to the house, determined to work at least as long as the men he now employed. The kitchen phone was blinking. “All finished,” came Jesse's voice from the answering machine, “back tomorrow.” There was a pause, then, “Can't wait to be back home. G'night.”
Home tomorrow. Thank god for that. He just wasn't comfortable with being the top dog, never would be, and this last trip by Jesse to Texas, to draw a final line under the sale of the Staple ranch, had been a feat of endurance for him. But it was more than that, much more. He'd at last allowed his battered heart to care again, and with caring came missing and memories and a need for resolution.
He padded down the hall to his bedroom, the smallest of the four and his sanctuary in the times when this warm and shiny life threatened to overwhelm him. From under the bed he retrieved the envelope Jesse had shown him many months ago. He tipped the contents onto the bedspread, as he had done a hundred times before, and examined each piece of paper yet again: the sheet with a bunch of phone numbers scrawled in Jesse's hand and under them the words, “Aileen Ferrer, d Easter 04 - dau. leases ranch out” and then, “1247 Nightowl Ln”; the blurry satellite shot of a long ranch-house set on an acre or so of green field - how Ellis had puzzled over that one until he realised that the wide open spaces along Nightowl Lane in Lander had long since disappeared under development; and lastly, the printed-out article with the photo which had stopped his heart.
Vet practice a family affair
Fremont Veterinary Clinic welcomes
the newest partner to the firm.
Dr Caitlyn Welling joins husband Chris
as a junior member of the Fremont team.
Caitlyn, seen here with Chris and their
two sons, will be working part-time in
our farm and ranch division.
Ellis looked at the clock - 8:05. Too early or too late? Maybe they were having supper, maybe she was getting the kids to bed, reading them a story, or maybe she and her husband were out somewhere, living the life he knew nothing about. Or maybe he was just delaying the inevitable. He took a deep breath and picked up the phone, dialed the last number on Jesse's note which was circled twice and underlined three times, so hard that the paper had shredded a little. One ring, two, three - he thought his chest might burst.
“Hello. Caitlyn Welling speaking.” A mature voice, professional, warm.
“I ... uh ... I don't know ... uh ...” He cleared his throat and said what he'd rehearsed. “I been wantin ta call you for a while now, darlin. That's if you want a talk to me again. If you hang up now, I'll understand ... Caitlyn? You still there?”
In the silence which came down the line he had time to construct a hundred bad outcomes, then -
“Daddy? Daddy, is that you?”
The End
Thank you to everyone who read this story. Your support has been much appreciated. The issue of Ennis's violent response to perceived threats, which Annie Proulx set up so beautifully in her story, was one which I wanted to explore, but at the same time I wanted to remove the characters a little way from the original Jack and Ennis, i.e. No Earl and Rich, and no boyhood abuse by Mr Twist. The setup of the punch on the mountain in the short story is very specific - in my opinion, Jack's death is like a twenty-year-late reaction to that first punch - and I also wanted to avoid that aspect of the original story.
If anyone wants to discuss these points - or anything else - you are welcome to do so over on Planet Heath Ledger on our BBM discussion threads. You don't have to be a member (unless the spammers get too bad, in which case the threads will revert to members only). The threads can be found here:
http://www.heathledgerplanet.com/forum/viewforum.php?f=122&start=0