Two Crows Joy, Chapter 3
Two Crows Joy
a "Brokeback Mountain" fanfiction by Mad Lori
Prologue -- Chapter 1 -- Chapter 2
December 10th, 1983
CITY GAL
Adventures of an Urban Expatriate
by Liz Baskerville
When I tell people (and by “people” I mean “city people”) about my new life, I tend to hear the same reactions over and over again. They ask if I miss my favorite deli (yes, I do). They ask how I can stand to be so far away from everything (I’m not that far, really). They marvel that I just abandoned my life and left (to which I must respond with a question: what life?). Of all these reactions, the one that irritates me the most is when people muse about how much simpler things must be where I am.
Simple. I hear that word applied to my friends and neighbors, my town, and my whole life. If you believe popular opinion, I must live in a simple house on a simple farm surrounded by simple people.
The problem with this assessment is that to 99% of the people offering it, simple equals dumb. Unsophisticated. Uncomplicated. I’ve lived here for five months now, and I can tell you without hesitation that nothing here is simple. It’s just complicated in a different way. We might not be troubled by gridlock, but just try navigating most of the roads around here after a six-inch snowfall. The people here might not have to worry about being mugged, but teen drunkenness and drug use is a terrible problem when there isn’t much to do around town. A person’s odds of being knifed in the street may be smaller, but you would not believe the number of people who are hurt or killed in farm-related accidents. After hearing Peter talk about some of the things he’s seen at the hospital, I think I might prefer being knifed in the street.
I don’t have to look any further than my own adopted family to see the dangers of rural life. Jack was nearly shot a few years ago in a hunting mishap, and bears a scar on his arm as a souvenir. I personally saw Ennis thrown from his horse last summer. He walked away with a few bruises, but he could very easily have been killed. He flew through the air and landed on his back across the top rail of a fence, then fell to the ground. At the time, I thought he’d surely broken his back or his neck. I might add that this was not the first time he’d been thrown, nor was it the fifth, or even the tenth.
My friend Fred has three circular scars on his thigh. They are the result of a childhood fall into an empty grain silo. Empty, that is, except for the pitchfork concealed in the straw at the bottom, and which went clear through his leg. If the tines had struck his femoral artery, which they came perilously close to doing, he would not have lived. This past summer, the son of one of our neighbors lost three fingers while repairing the fan belts on a piece of machinery. Just a few months ago, a young man we didn’t know very well died from acute peritonitis after a horse he was trying to tame kicked him in the stomach.
These injuries and deaths, it must be said, are less numerous than the murders and assaults on the streets of New York. But as a percentage, and measured by their effect on everybody here, there is no comparison. I never gave a second thought to most of those crimes I read about in the paper, or saw on the evening news. But when we heard of that boy’s death, even though we didn’t know him, we read the newspaper’s account aloud, we sent flowers, and we went to his funeral.
Life is different here, it’s true. But it is anything but simple.
Ennis sat down on the edge of the bed with a weary sigh, turning his head from side to side, his neck cracking and popping.
“Long day, cowboy?” Jack said, turning the page in his book.
“They jus’ seem t’get longer ‘n longer the older I get.”
“Oh, ‘afore I forget, did you call…”
“Yeah, he’s comin’ out tomorrow. When’s the…”
“Next week. He ain’t gonna be back in time.”
“Then you better remember to…”
“I will.”
“Okay.” Jack looked up, blinking, then chuckled a little.
Ennis looked over his shoulder at him. “What’s so funny?”
“Listen to us. Anybody listenin’ in might think we were readin’ each other’s minds like an old married couple.”
Ennis snorted. “Well, ain’t we?”
“Ain’t we what?”
“An old married couple.”
Jack smiled. “I guess we are.” He marked his place and put his book aside. “Looks like the Doc’s makin’ house calls tonight.” He’d seen Peter’s car parked at the bungalow as he was locking up, which told Jack that he was spending the night with Lizzie.
Ennis grunted, swinging his legs into bed and stretching out at Jack’s side. “Tell me somethin’,” Ennis said, after a few moments’ silence.
“What?”
“Does that ever bother you?”
“Does it bother me?”
“Yeah. Y’know. Pete spendin’ the night.”
“Why would that bother me?”
“Aw hell, forget I brought it up,” Ennis grumbled, turning on his side.
“Ennis, cut that shit out. I guess it bothers you or you wouldn’ta said nothin’.”
Ennis flopped onto his back. “I jus’ keep thinkin’ ‘o them doin’ their thing in Lizzie’s room with Junior right across the hall…”
“And that bothers you.”
“Well, yeah! A little!”
“Ennis, Lizzie’s a grown woman.”
“I know.”
“And we cain’t tell her what t’do in her own place.”
“It’s our place.”
“Which she is takin’ a pay cut t’live in, so that makes it hers same as if she was payin’ us rent.”
Ennis grunted. “I guess.”
“And Junior ain’t no kid no more. She’s nineteen, she knows the birds ‘n the bees.” Jack hesitated. “Y’know, she’s probably already…”
Ennis held up a hand. “You stop right there, bucko. I ain’t hearin’ that.”
Jack chuckled. “You’re jus’ an old-fashioned boy at heart, ain’t you?”
“Guess I am.”
“Y’know, if Junior ain’t comfortable with Pete spendin’ the night, that ain’t none of our affair. She ‘n Lizzie oughta work that out between themselves.”
“I know,” Ennis sighed. He turned his head and looked at Jack. “Maybe I’m jus’ kinda jealous.’
Jack frowned. “Jealous? Of what?”
“Y’know. Lizzie ‘n Peter. They’re still in that place when courtin’s fun, and excitin’, and you jus’ cain’t wait t’see each other all the time.”
“And we ain’t there no more?”
“Jack, we weren’t never there. I never got t’go on dates with you, y’know? We never got to make out at the drive-in or pick each other up at six with flowers.”
“Damn, you are an old-fashioned boy.”
“I guess I’m jus’ sorry that it weren’t never normal like that. I remember how it was when I was courtin’ Alma. Tryin’ t’make nice with her mamma and daddy while I waited for her t’be ready. Promisin’ t’have her home by ten. Sneakin’ a kiss on the front porch, hopin’ her daddy weren’t watchin’ out the window.”
“Don’t see how any ‘o that was so great, Ennis. I mean, hell. With her, y’got a lousy stolen kiss on the front porch. With me, y’got them nights in our tent on Brokeback. Y’tellin’ me that you’re all nostalgic for the stolen kiss?”
Ennis sighed. “Yeah, kinda. I mighta gone home with blue balls but it was jus’ the way ‘o things. Her daddy mighta played at being harsh on me, but it was okay with him. It was always okay, ‘cause we was a boy and a girl and that was how it was s’posed t’be.”
“And ‘cause we’re both boys, nothin’ we got ain’t never gonna measure up to that kiss on the porch, that what you’re sayin’?”
“Aw hell, Jack. That ain’t what I meant.” He turned on his side to face him. “Them nights in our tent was so much better. But that kiss on the porch had the goddamn Good Housekeeping seal of approval.”
Jack slid closer. “Them disapprovin’ ain’t nothin’ new, cowboy,” he murmured. “Besides, ain’t it more fun bein’ bad?”
That got a little smile out of Ennis. “We ain’t bein’ bad,” he whispered. “We’re jus’ bein’ true. Some folks get scared ‘o the truth.”
Jack slid his arms around Ennis and kissed him. Ennis pulled him over on top of him, returning the kiss with interest. “I’d rather be bad,” Jack said.
Ennis chuckled, his hands full of Jack’s ass. “You been a bad boy, rodeo?”
“Oh, don’t get me started.”
“Too late, I think.”
“Brokeback Ranch, this is Liz speaking.”
“Hey, Liz.”
“Greta! How are things in the big city?”
“Awful. I fucking hate winter in New York.”
Liz hesitated. “And, uh…how’s…”
“Charlie? He sucks. And not in a good way.”
She smiled. “Glad to hear it.”
“That secretary who moved in with him?”
“Yeah?”
“Word is that she gave him crabs.”
Liz burst out laughing. “I’ll send him a new set of bedsheets and a Norelco.”
“I’m sure he’ll appreciate it.” A pause. “So, I sent up your first load of reader mail today. You ought to get it in a few days.”
“Did you read any of it?”
“Some.”
“And?”
“Like we thought. Twenty percent love, five percent hate, and seventy-five percent asking if Jack and Ennis are gay.”
Liz sighed. “I guess I’ll be addressing that in next week’s column. I was going to talk about Christmas in a small town…”
“You’ve got a few weeks yet to talk about that.”
Liz could sense Greta’s hesitation. “Are you waffling on this?”
“No! No, I’m not waffling.”
“Boy. I’m so reassured by that resounding denial.”
“Look, I just don’t want your column to become about them.”
“It won’t. But I have to talk about them, they’re huge parts of my life.”
“I know you do. And if you want to acknowledge that they’re homosexual, and they’re okay with that, then I’m okay with that. I just want to be the paper running the column about the city girl living in the country, not the paper running the column about the gay ranchers.”
“You do realize that no matter what I write, no matter how minimal their visibility in the column, it will be the column about the gay ranchers, don’t you?”
Greta sighed. “Yes, I know. I’d think that’d bother you, though.”
“Not really. When I first wanted to write about them, that’s what I wanted. To show the world the real lives of a couple of ordinary gay men. I can’t turn their lives into an expose anymore, but I can make mine into one, and include them alongside me.”
Greta cleared her throat. “So, uh…tell me something. Your cowboys.”
“Yes?” Liz could already hear an idea working its way into Greta’s pragmatic skull.
“Are we talking sexy Gary Cooper cowboys, or sloppy Dan Blocker cowboys?”
“What possible difference does that make?”
“Just curious.”
Liz shook her head, smiling. “What kind of an angle are you working, Greta? Hoping to rope the gay readership into slavish devotion?”
“So they’re sexy, then?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You strongly implied that the gay readership might be roped into slavish devotion.”
“I’m not getting into this with you. I refuse to pimp out my guys for the sake of your circulation numbers.”
“Ah-ha! I knew they were sexy! Send me a picture.”
“Good-bye, Greta.”
“I promise I won’t print it!”
“I’ll talk to you later,” Liz said, chuckling as she hung up the phone.
Junior was going through the mail when Liz came back to the bungalow at four thirty. Her exams were over, and she was on holiday break until after the new year. “What do you want to do for dinner?” she asked Liz.
Liz frowned. “We’re not eating up at the house?”
“Jack didn’t tell you?”
“I guess he didn’t.”
“He’s taking Daddy out, or something. He acted like it was a big secret. It isn’t some kind of special day, is it?”
Liz thought for a moment. “I don’t think so. It isn’t anybody’s birthday or anniversary.”
“Probably just some Jack thing that we wouldn’t understand.”
“Wouldn’t be the first. Let’s order pizza and see what trash is on TV tonight.”
Junior held up a large manila envelope. “Liz! This is from Signal, it must be the pictures!”
Liz took the flat envelope, marked “Photos, Do Not Bend” and stiffened with cardboard. She exchanged an excited glance with Junior and turned on the light above the kitchen peninsula. “Oh, this means we have an important decision to make.”
“It’s getting down to the wire. Is this going to be done in time?”
“The photographer said that once we pick the print we want, he will overnight the negative to a photo lab in Burlington that can do the enlargement, and then they can send it to be framed. We’ve got three weeks, that ought to be plenty of time.” She slit the envelope and withdrew a short stack of eight-by-ten photographs. Each had a white border marked with a number and the name of the Signal-based Western photographer Liz had dug up the week before.
She began paging through the photographs, all of them depicting Brokeback Mountain from different angles, distances and altitudes. “Wow,” she breathed. The images were breathtaking. Brokeback soared into the blue sky, craggy and snow-capped, trimmed with ruffles of green trees and rushing white water streams. Each new angle revealed another of the mountain’s many distinct faces. “It’s so beautiful,” she said. “God, it’s no wonder. I think I could fall in love with a one-eyed dwarf if I was with him here.”
Junior seemed less impressed. Liz surmised that she was accustomed to such scenery, having been born and raised in Wyoming. “I don’t know,” she said. “These are so picture-postcard. Too happy-happy. Doesn’t seem right for Daddy and Jack.” Liz rifled through the photographs. More of the same, more of the same…then they both sucked in a breath at the same moment, and Junior grabbed Liz’s arm. “That one,” Junior said.
“Oh, hell yes,” Liz said. The photograph was from a significant distance; you could see most of the mountain. The sky behind the peaks on the left of the picture was dark and stormy, but the stormclouds twisted away into a tentative blue sky on the right side. The sun was coming out, and the light pierced the cloudbanks in visible beams that illuminated the mountainside so that it glowed against the purple-black background.
“Damn, that’s an amazing picture,” Junior said. “He must’ve waited all day to get just that trick of the light.”
Liz sighed. “Sure we’re not going overboard with the symbolism here?”
“No, I don’t think so. I think it’s just the right amount of symbolism.”
Junior held up the photo. “How big will it be?”
“Well, the finished piece, including frames and mats, will be 32 inches by 40 inches,” Liz said, holding up her hands to approximate the size. “So the picture will be a bit smaller than that.”
“This isn’t going to be cheap, is it?”
Liz sighed. “Professional framing is kind of pricey. But I don’t want you to worry about that. Your dad and Jack pay me, and I barely spend any of it. It’s just been accumulating in my bank account. I can afford it.”
“But it’s supposed to be from both of us!”
“It is! You helped me think of the idea, and pick out the photo…and…” Junior looked dubious about the importance of her contribution. “You can go to Burlington and pick the thing up when it’s done, okay?”
Junior made a face. “And I’m gonna wrap it, too.”
Ennis stamped the snow off his boots outside the back door, shivering. Jack had knocked off fifteen minutes ago, pleading business in town. He expected that dinner would be cooking by now, and he’d come inside to find Marianne ready to hand him a cup of coffee. Marianne was there, all right, but she wasn’t cooking dinner. She was making Christmas candy. She did, however, have a cup of coffee ready for him. “What’s goin’ on with dinner?” he asked her.
“Jack said you weren’t eating in tonight,” she said.
Ennis grunted. “First I’ve heard of it. Maybe we’re goin’ to Fred ‘n Arlene’s. Have the girls been up?”
“No. I haven’t seen them.”
“I guess they ain’t comin’, then.” He hung up his coat and looked over Marianne’s shoulder. “Hmm. Is that what I think it is?”
“It’s fudge, as you know perfectly well.”
Ennis snaked out a hand and snatched a cut square from one of the containers she was filling. He took a bite, then grimaced. “There’s nuts in here.”
“I’m making half without nuts for you, just like I always do, so calm down. You know Jack likes nuts.”
Ennis snorted. “I could say somethin’ but I won’t.”
Marianne laughed. “Any other requests for this year’s Christmas baking?”
“I really liked them brownies you made last year with the mint inside.”
“Oh, I liked those, too. Okay.” She paused to make a note on one of her many lists.
“And peppermint bark. That’s my favorite.”
“I know, which is why I make it every year. No need to ask for that one.”
Ennis watched her for a moment, stirring the sugar and butter with metronomic steadiness while she kept her eye on the candy thermometer, chunks of chocolate waiting to go into the fudge she was making. He went to her side and gave her a rough hug with one arm, stepping away quickly.
Marianne looked up at him, puzzled. “What was that for?”
“Oh, y’know.” He met her eyes. “You look after us awful good, Marianne.”
“You pay me to look after you.”
“You do us a right sight better than what we pay you for.”
She glanced at him before turning back to her fudge. “If you’re trying to make me emotional, Ennis, it won’t work.”
He smiled. “I know it won’t. Jus’ wanted t’make sure y’know that…well, we appreciate it.”
“You better. My mother says I should be charging you double, because most housekeepers only have one slobby man to look after and I have two.”
Ennis sat in the living room, watching the news, wondering where the hell Jack had gotten off to. Assuming that they were going out, he’d showered and changed and had now been cooling his heels for the better part of an hour.
Just before six, there was a knock at the door. Ennis got up, frowning. He wasn’t expecting anybody.
He opened the door to find Jack standing on the porch. He opened his mouth to ask him why the hell he was knocking on the door of his own house, but then he actually looked at him. He’d somehow shaved and showered without Ennis seeing him, and he’d changed into nicer clothes. He was holding a bunch of flowers. When Ennis opened the door, Jack took off his hat and held it in front of him, like…Ennis sighed. Like a man picking up his date. “Evenin’,” he said, grinning like a fool.
Ennis crossed his arms and leaned against the doorjamb, one eyebrow arched. “What the hell you think you’re doin’?”
“Ain’t you gonna invite me in?”
“No, I ain’t, I don’t invite crazy people into my house.”
“But I’m just…”
“I know what you’re doin’. You been thinkin’ about all that stuff I said about not ever gettin’ t’date you, and how I was jealous ‘o Lizzie and Peter, so you got it into your damn fool head t’show up on my doorstep like some lovesick kid on his first real date, bringin’ me flowers like I’m some dame who’s gonna swoon into your waitin’ arms.” Jack’s face fell a little at being called out on his plan. “Ain’t that it?”
Jack sighed. “Yeah. But you gotta go ‘n spoil it like that?”
Ennis shook his head, chuckling. “Rodeo, jus’ ‘cause I get a mite nostalgic for my courtin’ days don’t mean I want ‘em back again, ‘specially not if I’m the girl in this scenario.”
“Hey! I’m the one folks usually joke about bein’ the woman! It’s about damned time you took your turn!” he exclaimed, shaking the flowers at him. “I’m tryin’ t’make a romantic gesture here, asshole! Ain’t you even the slightest bit charmed?”
Ennis sighed. “You are twenty pounds of bullshit in a ten-pound bag, Twist, but yeah, I’m charmed. Hang on a second, lemme get my coat.” He started to shut the door. Jack put out a hand.
“You seriously ain’t gonna ask me in?”
“Hell, no. My daddy’d hide me if I invited a strange boy inside on the first date.” He shut the door.
Marianne, who’d been watching from the kitchen doorway, was struggling to contain her laughter. “Come on, Ennis. Are you going to let him stand out there in the freezing cold?”
“It ain’t that cold on the porch. He’s got a good coat on. Besides, if he’s that cold, he can damn well drop the act and just come in his own damned self.”
“I think it’s an adorable gesture.” She eyed him. “And so do you. You just enjoy making him squirm.”
Ennis colored. “I don’t know where you get your ideas, woman.”
“Keen observation.”
Ennis put on his coat and scarf, pausing to surreptitiously check his reflection, which did not escape Marianne’s notice. “Not a word,” he said, pointing a finger at her. She shrugged, saying nothing, as he went back to the front door.
Jack looked a little colder and a good deal more annoyed when Ennis joined him on the porch. “Here’s your flowers, asshole,” he said, thrusting the bunch into Ennis’s chest.
Ennis tossed them over his shoulder, grabbed Jack by the front of his coat, hauled him close and kissed him hard. Jack barely had time to react before Ennis pulled back. “I don’t need no flowers,” he growled. He slung his arm around Jack’s shoulders and walked him down the stairs towards the garage. “That shit’s for girls. Your company’ll do me jus’ fine.” He saw that Jack already had his truck running so it’d be warm. Jack started to go around to the driver’s side. Ennis stopped, throwing his arms wide. “Hey!”
“What?”
“Ain’tcha even gonna open the door for me?”
Jack rolled his eyes, but dutifully walked back around and opened the truck door. “Want me t’take your hand so’s you don’t get your skirts all muddy, princess?”
“Some gentleman you are.”
Jack clambered into the truck. “So, any chance you’re gonna put out on the first date?”
Ennis sniffed, crossing his arms. “Depends.”
“On what?”
“How much you spend on dinner.”
They didn’t get back until almost midnight, laughing and teasing each other about missing curfew and how much trouble they were going to be in.
Ennis had enjoyed needling Jack about his hokey pseudo-date idea, but secretly, he was touched. Jack had heard him talk about something he missed, and had tried to make it happen. It turned out that in order to preserve the pick-you-up-at-six realism, Jack had gone so far as to shower and shave down at the bungalow so Ennis wouldn’t know what was up.
They’d had dinner at the Horseshoe up in Burlington, one of their favorite restaurants, and Jack had called far enough ahead to get them one of the popular stall tables. The restaurant was in an old converted stable, and some of the stalls had been turned into semi-private booths with one table in each of them. The restaurant wasn’t fancy, but it had damned good steak and a live band on Friday nights.
It was still hard for Ennis to let go and allow himself to have a good time. He always found himself thinking about things he ought to be doing, or wondering if it was unseemly, or guilting himself about…well, God knows what he still had to feel guilty about. But this night, for some reason, he felt light and carefree. Most folks would never know it to look at him, of course. He wore the same tight-lipped, inscrutable expression he always had, but he knew that Jack could tell the difference. They talked easily about nothing in particular, joked and laughed, did a little reminiscing, and debated what to get various members of their household for Christmas. Ennis had never known anyone he could converse with as easily as Jack, even when he’d first met him. Their increased intimacy of the last seven years had only made it easier to find things to talk about, and by now Ennis could be damn near talkative, if only when they were alone together.
The lights were dimmed as the time grew late and the band started to set up. A companionable silence had fallen between them. Ennis was nursing a beer, but Jack was sticking to Coke since he was driving. Ennis watched Jack out of the corner of his eye, marveling again at the strange path of his life that either of them was even here. He reached over and laid his hand on Jack’s leg. Jack didn’t look over, just slipped his own hand underneath the table to cover Ennis’s. Ennis glanced around. They were boxed in by the stall on three sides, and the open front of the booth looked out towards the rest of the dining room. No one was paying them any attention, and it was now dim enough that it wasn’t likely anybody could see them clearly anyway. As if reading his mind, Jack turned toward him, leaned over and kissed him. Ennis gripped his hand under the table and forced himself not to pull away too quickly. It’s okay, he told himself. No one cares. You owe him.
When they separated, their waitress was lurking near the stall opening, smiling. Ennis harrumphed and straightened up. “You fellas celebrating anything?” she asked, coming forward to refill their water glasses.
“Yes,” Jack said, to Ennis’s surprise. “We’re celebratin’…uh…the anniversary of our first date.”
“Oh, that’s nice,” the waitress said, neutrally. “Would you like some cake or anything?”
“Oh, no ma’am,” Ennis said, quickly. “We’re jus’ fine, thanks.” She left, and Ennis rounded on Jack. “What the hell?”
“Well, okay, it’s only the three hour anniversary of our first date, but she asked.”
Before they knew it, it was well past time to head home. “You better not be too goddamned drunk to get it up,” Jack grumbled as they stumbled up the porch stairs, arms around each other’s shoulders.
“I ain’t drunk. But hey! I ain’t yet said if you spent enough t’get any, rodeo! Don’t get ahead ‘o yourself, there.”
Jack chuckled. “I’d like to kiss you on the porch but I’m afraid your daddy’s waitin’ with a shotgun in the living room.”
“My daddy’s dead,” Ennis said. “And I’ll kiss you if’n I damned well want to.” He grabbed Jack and made good on that statement.
a "Brokeback Mountain" fanfiction by Mad Lori
Prologue -- Chapter 1 -- Chapter 2
December 10th, 1983
CITY GAL
Adventures of an Urban Expatriate
by Liz Baskerville
When I tell people (and by “people” I mean “city people”) about my new life, I tend to hear the same reactions over and over again. They ask if I miss my favorite deli (yes, I do). They ask how I can stand to be so far away from everything (I’m not that far, really). They marvel that I just abandoned my life and left (to which I must respond with a question: what life?). Of all these reactions, the one that irritates me the most is when people muse about how much simpler things must be where I am.
Simple. I hear that word applied to my friends and neighbors, my town, and my whole life. If you believe popular opinion, I must live in a simple house on a simple farm surrounded by simple people.
The problem with this assessment is that to 99% of the people offering it, simple equals dumb. Unsophisticated. Uncomplicated. I’ve lived here for five months now, and I can tell you without hesitation that nothing here is simple. It’s just complicated in a different way. We might not be troubled by gridlock, but just try navigating most of the roads around here after a six-inch snowfall. The people here might not have to worry about being mugged, but teen drunkenness and drug use is a terrible problem when there isn’t much to do around town. A person’s odds of being knifed in the street may be smaller, but you would not believe the number of people who are hurt or killed in farm-related accidents. After hearing Peter talk about some of the things he’s seen at the hospital, I think I might prefer being knifed in the street.
I don’t have to look any further than my own adopted family to see the dangers of rural life. Jack was nearly shot a few years ago in a hunting mishap, and bears a scar on his arm as a souvenir. I personally saw Ennis thrown from his horse last summer. He walked away with a few bruises, but he could very easily have been killed. He flew through the air and landed on his back across the top rail of a fence, then fell to the ground. At the time, I thought he’d surely broken his back or his neck. I might add that this was not the first time he’d been thrown, nor was it the fifth, or even the tenth.
My friend Fred has three circular scars on his thigh. They are the result of a childhood fall into an empty grain silo. Empty, that is, except for the pitchfork concealed in the straw at the bottom, and which went clear through his leg. If the tines had struck his femoral artery, which they came perilously close to doing, he would not have lived. This past summer, the son of one of our neighbors lost three fingers while repairing the fan belts on a piece of machinery. Just a few months ago, a young man we didn’t know very well died from acute peritonitis after a horse he was trying to tame kicked him in the stomach.
These injuries and deaths, it must be said, are less numerous than the murders and assaults on the streets of New York. But as a percentage, and measured by their effect on everybody here, there is no comparison. I never gave a second thought to most of those crimes I read about in the paper, or saw on the evening news. But when we heard of that boy’s death, even though we didn’t know him, we read the newspaper’s account aloud, we sent flowers, and we went to his funeral.
Life is different here, it’s true. But it is anything but simple.
Ennis sat down on the edge of the bed with a weary sigh, turning his head from side to side, his neck cracking and popping.
“Long day, cowboy?” Jack said, turning the page in his book.
“They jus’ seem t’get longer ‘n longer the older I get.”
“Oh, ‘afore I forget, did you call…”
“Yeah, he’s comin’ out tomorrow. When’s the…”
“Next week. He ain’t gonna be back in time.”
“Then you better remember to…”
“I will.”
“Okay.” Jack looked up, blinking, then chuckled a little.
Ennis looked over his shoulder at him. “What’s so funny?”
“Listen to us. Anybody listenin’ in might think we were readin’ each other’s minds like an old married couple.”
Ennis snorted. “Well, ain’t we?”
“Ain’t we what?”
“An old married couple.”
Jack smiled. “I guess we are.” He marked his place and put his book aside. “Looks like the Doc’s makin’ house calls tonight.” He’d seen Peter’s car parked at the bungalow as he was locking up, which told Jack that he was spending the night with Lizzie.
Ennis grunted, swinging his legs into bed and stretching out at Jack’s side. “Tell me somethin’,” Ennis said, after a few moments’ silence.
“What?”
“Does that ever bother you?”
“Does it bother me?”
“Yeah. Y’know. Pete spendin’ the night.”
“Why would that bother me?”
“Aw hell, forget I brought it up,” Ennis grumbled, turning on his side.
“Ennis, cut that shit out. I guess it bothers you or you wouldn’ta said nothin’.”
Ennis flopped onto his back. “I jus’ keep thinkin’ ‘o them doin’ their thing in Lizzie’s room with Junior right across the hall…”
“And that bothers you.”
“Well, yeah! A little!”
“Ennis, Lizzie’s a grown woman.”
“I know.”
“And we cain’t tell her what t’do in her own place.”
“It’s our place.”
“Which she is takin’ a pay cut t’live in, so that makes it hers same as if she was payin’ us rent.”
Ennis grunted. “I guess.”
“And Junior ain’t no kid no more. She’s nineteen, she knows the birds ‘n the bees.” Jack hesitated. “Y’know, she’s probably already…”
Ennis held up a hand. “You stop right there, bucko. I ain’t hearin’ that.”
Jack chuckled. “You’re jus’ an old-fashioned boy at heart, ain’t you?”
“Guess I am.”
“Y’know, if Junior ain’t comfortable with Pete spendin’ the night, that ain’t none of our affair. She ‘n Lizzie oughta work that out between themselves.”
“I know,” Ennis sighed. He turned his head and looked at Jack. “Maybe I’m jus’ kinda jealous.’
Jack frowned. “Jealous? Of what?”
“Y’know. Lizzie ‘n Peter. They’re still in that place when courtin’s fun, and excitin’, and you jus’ cain’t wait t’see each other all the time.”
“And we ain’t there no more?”
“Jack, we weren’t never there. I never got t’go on dates with you, y’know? We never got to make out at the drive-in or pick each other up at six with flowers.”
“Damn, you are an old-fashioned boy.”
“I guess I’m jus’ sorry that it weren’t never normal like that. I remember how it was when I was courtin’ Alma. Tryin’ t’make nice with her mamma and daddy while I waited for her t’be ready. Promisin’ t’have her home by ten. Sneakin’ a kiss on the front porch, hopin’ her daddy weren’t watchin’ out the window.”
“Don’t see how any ‘o that was so great, Ennis. I mean, hell. With her, y’got a lousy stolen kiss on the front porch. With me, y’got them nights in our tent on Brokeback. Y’tellin’ me that you’re all nostalgic for the stolen kiss?”
Ennis sighed. “Yeah, kinda. I mighta gone home with blue balls but it was jus’ the way ‘o things. Her daddy mighta played at being harsh on me, but it was okay with him. It was always okay, ‘cause we was a boy and a girl and that was how it was s’posed t’be.”
“And ‘cause we’re both boys, nothin’ we got ain’t never gonna measure up to that kiss on the porch, that what you’re sayin’?”
“Aw hell, Jack. That ain’t what I meant.” He turned on his side to face him. “Them nights in our tent was so much better. But that kiss on the porch had the goddamn Good Housekeeping seal of approval.”
Jack slid closer. “Them disapprovin’ ain’t nothin’ new, cowboy,” he murmured. “Besides, ain’t it more fun bein’ bad?”
That got a little smile out of Ennis. “We ain’t bein’ bad,” he whispered. “We’re jus’ bein’ true. Some folks get scared ‘o the truth.”
Jack slid his arms around Ennis and kissed him. Ennis pulled him over on top of him, returning the kiss with interest. “I’d rather be bad,” Jack said.
Ennis chuckled, his hands full of Jack’s ass. “You been a bad boy, rodeo?”
“Oh, don’t get me started.”
“Too late, I think.”
“Brokeback Ranch, this is Liz speaking.”
“Hey, Liz.”
“Greta! How are things in the big city?”
“Awful. I fucking hate winter in New York.”
Liz hesitated. “And, uh…how’s…”
“Charlie? He sucks. And not in a good way.”
She smiled. “Glad to hear it.”
“That secretary who moved in with him?”
“Yeah?”
“Word is that she gave him crabs.”
Liz burst out laughing. “I’ll send him a new set of bedsheets and a Norelco.”
“I’m sure he’ll appreciate it.” A pause. “So, I sent up your first load of reader mail today. You ought to get it in a few days.”
“Did you read any of it?”
“Some.”
“And?”
“Like we thought. Twenty percent love, five percent hate, and seventy-five percent asking if Jack and Ennis are gay.”
Liz sighed. “I guess I’ll be addressing that in next week’s column. I was going to talk about Christmas in a small town…”
“You’ve got a few weeks yet to talk about that.”
Liz could sense Greta’s hesitation. “Are you waffling on this?”
“No! No, I’m not waffling.”
“Boy. I’m so reassured by that resounding denial.”
“Look, I just don’t want your column to become about them.”
“It won’t. But I have to talk about them, they’re huge parts of my life.”
“I know you do. And if you want to acknowledge that they’re homosexual, and they’re okay with that, then I’m okay with that. I just want to be the paper running the column about the city girl living in the country, not the paper running the column about the gay ranchers.”
“You do realize that no matter what I write, no matter how minimal their visibility in the column, it will be the column about the gay ranchers, don’t you?”
Greta sighed. “Yes, I know. I’d think that’d bother you, though.”
“Not really. When I first wanted to write about them, that’s what I wanted. To show the world the real lives of a couple of ordinary gay men. I can’t turn their lives into an expose anymore, but I can make mine into one, and include them alongside me.”
Greta cleared her throat. “So, uh…tell me something. Your cowboys.”
“Yes?” Liz could already hear an idea working its way into Greta’s pragmatic skull.
“Are we talking sexy Gary Cooper cowboys, or sloppy Dan Blocker cowboys?”
“What possible difference does that make?”
“Just curious.”
Liz shook her head, smiling. “What kind of an angle are you working, Greta? Hoping to rope the gay readership into slavish devotion?”
“So they’re sexy, then?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You strongly implied that the gay readership might be roped into slavish devotion.”
“I’m not getting into this with you. I refuse to pimp out my guys for the sake of your circulation numbers.”
“Ah-ha! I knew they were sexy! Send me a picture.”
“Good-bye, Greta.”
“I promise I won’t print it!”
“I’ll talk to you later,” Liz said, chuckling as she hung up the phone.
Junior was going through the mail when Liz came back to the bungalow at four thirty. Her exams were over, and she was on holiday break until after the new year. “What do you want to do for dinner?” she asked Liz.
Liz frowned. “We’re not eating up at the house?”
“Jack didn’t tell you?”
“I guess he didn’t.”
“He’s taking Daddy out, or something. He acted like it was a big secret. It isn’t some kind of special day, is it?”
Liz thought for a moment. “I don’t think so. It isn’t anybody’s birthday or anniversary.”
“Probably just some Jack thing that we wouldn’t understand.”
“Wouldn’t be the first. Let’s order pizza and see what trash is on TV tonight.”
Junior held up a large manila envelope. “Liz! This is from Signal, it must be the pictures!”
Liz took the flat envelope, marked “Photos, Do Not Bend” and stiffened with cardboard. She exchanged an excited glance with Junior and turned on the light above the kitchen peninsula. “Oh, this means we have an important decision to make.”
“It’s getting down to the wire. Is this going to be done in time?”
“The photographer said that once we pick the print we want, he will overnight the negative to a photo lab in Burlington that can do the enlargement, and then they can send it to be framed. We’ve got three weeks, that ought to be plenty of time.” She slit the envelope and withdrew a short stack of eight-by-ten photographs. Each had a white border marked with a number and the name of the Signal-based Western photographer Liz had dug up the week before.
She began paging through the photographs, all of them depicting Brokeback Mountain from different angles, distances and altitudes. “Wow,” she breathed. The images were breathtaking. Brokeback soared into the blue sky, craggy and snow-capped, trimmed with ruffles of green trees and rushing white water streams. Each new angle revealed another of the mountain’s many distinct faces. “It’s so beautiful,” she said. “God, it’s no wonder. I think I could fall in love with a one-eyed dwarf if I was with him here.”
Junior seemed less impressed. Liz surmised that she was accustomed to such scenery, having been born and raised in Wyoming. “I don’t know,” she said. “These are so picture-postcard. Too happy-happy. Doesn’t seem right for Daddy and Jack.” Liz rifled through the photographs. More of the same, more of the same…then they both sucked in a breath at the same moment, and Junior grabbed Liz’s arm. “That one,” Junior said.
“Oh, hell yes,” Liz said. The photograph was from a significant distance; you could see most of the mountain. The sky behind the peaks on the left of the picture was dark and stormy, but the stormclouds twisted away into a tentative blue sky on the right side. The sun was coming out, and the light pierced the cloudbanks in visible beams that illuminated the mountainside so that it glowed against the purple-black background.
“Damn, that’s an amazing picture,” Junior said. “He must’ve waited all day to get just that trick of the light.”
Liz sighed. “Sure we’re not going overboard with the symbolism here?”
“No, I don’t think so. I think it’s just the right amount of symbolism.”
Junior held up the photo. “How big will it be?”
“Well, the finished piece, including frames and mats, will be 32 inches by 40 inches,” Liz said, holding up her hands to approximate the size. “So the picture will be a bit smaller than that.”
“This isn’t going to be cheap, is it?”
Liz sighed. “Professional framing is kind of pricey. But I don’t want you to worry about that. Your dad and Jack pay me, and I barely spend any of it. It’s just been accumulating in my bank account. I can afford it.”
“But it’s supposed to be from both of us!”
“It is! You helped me think of the idea, and pick out the photo…and…” Junior looked dubious about the importance of her contribution. “You can go to Burlington and pick the thing up when it’s done, okay?”
Junior made a face. “And I’m gonna wrap it, too.”
Ennis stamped the snow off his boots outside the back door, shivering. Jack had knocked off fifteen minutes ago, pleading business in town. He expected that dinner would be cooking by now, and he’d come inside to find Marianne ready to hand him a cup of coffee. Marianne was there, all right, but she wasn’t cooking dinner. She was making Christmas candy. She did, however, have a cup of coffee ready for him. “What’s goin’ on with dinner?” he asked her.
“Jack said you weren’t eating in tonight,” she said.
Ennis grunted. “First I’ve heard of it. Maybe we’re goin’ to Fred ‘n Arlene’s. Have the girls been up?”
“No. I haven’t seen them.”
“I guess they ain’t comin’, then.” He hung up his coat and looked over Marianne’s shoulder. “Hmm. Is that what I think it is?”
“It’s fudge, as you know perfectly well.”
Ennis snaked out a hand and snatched a cut square from one of the containers she was filling. He took a bite, then grimaced. “There’s nuts in here.”
“I’m making half without nuts for you, just like I always do, so calm down. You know Jack likes nuts.”
Ennis snorted. “I could say somethin’ but I won’t.”
Marianne laughed. “Any other requests for this year’s Christmas baking?”
“I really liked them brownies you made last year with the mint inside.”
“Oh, I liked those, too. Okay.” She paused to make a note on one of her many lists.
“And peppermint bark. That’s my favorite.”
“I know, which is why I make it every year. No need to ask for that one.”
Ennis watched her for a moment, stirring the sugar and butter with metronomic steadiness while she kept her eye on the candy thermometer, chunks of chocolate waiting to go into the fudge she was making. He went to her side and gave her a rough hug with one arm, stepping away quickly.
Marianne looked up at him, puzzled. “What was that for?”
“Oh, y’know.” He met her eyes. “You look after us awful good, Marianne.”
“You pay me to look after you.”
“You do us a right sight better than what we pay you for.”
She glanced at him before turning back to her fudge. “If you’re trying to make me emotional, Ennis, it won’t work.”
He smiled. “I know it won’t. Jus’ wanted t’make sure y’know that…well, we appreciate it.”
“You better. My mother says I should be charging you double, because most housekeepers only have one slobby man to look after and I have two.”
Ennis sat in the living room, watching the news, wondering where the hell Jack had gotten off to. Assuming that they were going out, he’d showered and changed and had now been cooling his heels for the better part of an hour.
Just before six, there was a knock at the door. Ennis got up, frowning. He wasn’t expecting anybody.
He opened the door to find Jack standing on the porch. He opened his mouth to ask him why the hell he was knocking on the door of his own house, but then he actually looked at him. He’d somehow shaved and showered without Ennis seeing him, and he’d changed into nicer clothes. He was holding a bunch of flowers. When Ennis opened the door, Jack took off his hat and held it in front of him, like…Ennis sighed. Like a man picking up his date. “Evenin’,” he said, grinning like a fool.
Ennis crossed his arms and leaned against the doorjamb, one eyebrow arched. “What the hell you think you’re doin’?”
“Ain’t you gonna invite me in?”
“No, I ain’t, I don’t invite crazy people into my house.”
“But I’m just…”
“I know what you’re doin’. You been thinkin’ about all that stuff I said about not ever gettin’ t’date you, and how I was jealous ‘o Lizzie and Peter, so you got it into your damn fool head t’show up on my doorstep like some lovesick kid on his first real date, bringin’ me flowers like I’m some dame who’s gonna swoon into your waitin’ arms.” Jack’s face fell a little at being called out on his plan. “Ain’t that it?”
Jack sighed. “Yeah. But you gotta go ‘n spoil it like that?”
Ennis shook his head, chuckling. “Rodeo, jus’ ‘cause I get a mite nostalgic for my courtin’ days don’t mean I want ‘em back again, ‘specially not if I’m the girl in this scenario.”
“Hey! I’m the one folks usually joke about bein’ the woman! It’s about damned time you took your turn!” he exclaimed, shaking the flowers at him. “I’m tryin’ t’make a romantic gesture here, asshole! Ain’t you even the slightest bit charmed?”
Ennis sighed. “You are twenty pounds of bullshit in a ten-pound bag, Twist, but yeah, I’m charmed. Hang on a second, lemme get my coat.” He started to shut the door. Jack put out a hand.
“You seriously ain’t gonna ask me in?”
“Hell, no. My daddy’d hide me if I invited a strange boy inside on the first date.” He shut the door.
Marianne, who’d been watching from the kitchen doorway, was struggling to contain her laughter. “Come on, Ennis. Are you going to let him stand out there in the freezing cold?”
“It ain’t that cold on the porch. He’s got a good coat on. Besides, if he’s that cold, he can damn well drop the act and just come in his own damned self.”
“I think it’s an adorable gesture.” She eyed him. “And so do you. You just enjoy making him squirm.”
Ennis colored. “I don’t know where you get your ideas, woman.”
“Keen observation.”
Ennis put on his coat and scarf, pausing to surreptitiously check his reflection, which did not escape Marianne’s notice. “Not a word,” he said, pointing a finger at her. She shrugged, saying nothing, as he went back to the front door.
Jack looked a little colder and a good deal more annoyed when Ennis joined him on the porch. “Here’s your flowers, asshole,” he said, thrusting the bunch into Ennis’s chest.
Ennis tossed them over his shoulder, grabbed Jack by the front of his coat, hauled him close and kissed him hard. Jack barely had time to react before Ennis pulled back. “I don’t need no flowers,” he growled. He slung his arm around Jack’s shoulders and walked him down the stairs towards the garage. “That shit’s for girls. Your company’ll do me jus’ fine.” He saw that Jack already had his truck running so it’d be warm. Jack started to go around to the driver’s side. Ennis stopped, throwing his arms wide. “Hey!”
“What?”
“Ain’tcha even gonna open the door for me?”
Jack rolled his eyes, but dutifully walked back around and opened the truck door. “Want me t’take your hand so’s you don’t get your skirts all muddy, princess?”
“Some gentleman you are.”
Jack clambered into the truck. “So, any chance you’re gonna put out on the first date?”
Ennis sniffed, crossing his arms. “Depends.”
“On what?”
“How much you spend on dinner.”
They didn’t get back until almost midnight, laughing and teasing each other about missing curfew and how much trouble they were going to be in.
Ennis had enjoyed needling Jack about his hokey pseudo-date idea, but secretly, he was touched. Jack had heard him talk about something he missed, and had tried to make it happen. It turned out that in order to preserve the pick-you-up-at-six realism, Jack had gone so far as to shower and shave down at the bungalow so Ennis wouldn’t know what was up.
They’d had dinner at the Horseshoe up in Burlington, one of their favorite restaurants, and Jack had called far enough ahead to get them one of the popular stall tables. The restaurant was in an old converted stable, and some of the stalls had been turned into semi-private booths with one table in each of them. The restaurant wasn’t fancy, but it had damned good steak and a live band on Friday nights.
It was still hard for Ennis to let go and allow himself to have a good time. He always found himself thinking about things he ought to be doing, or wondering if it was unseemly, or guilting himself about…well, God knows what he still had to feel guilty about. But this night, for some reason, he felt light and carefree. Most folks would never know it to look at him, of course. He wore the same tight-lipped, inscrutable expression he always had, but he knew that Jack could tell the difference. They talked easily about nothing in particular, joked and laughed, did a little reminiscing, and debated what to get various members of their household for Christmas. Ennis had never known anyone he could converse with as easily as Jack, even when he’d first met him. Their increased intimacy of the last seven years had only made it easier to find things to talk about, and by now Ennis could be damn near talkative, if only when they were alone together.
The lights were dimmed as the time grew late and the band started to set up. A companionable silence had fallen between them. Ennis was nursing a beer, but Jack was sticking to Coke since he was driving. Ennis watched Jack out of the corner of his eye, marveling again at the strange path of his life that either of them was even here. He reached over and laid his hand on Jack’s leg. Jack didn’t look over, just slipped his own hand underneath the table to cover Ennis’s. Ennis glanced around. They were boxed in by the stall on three sides, and the open front of the booth looked out towards the rest of the dining room. No one was paying them any attention, and it was now dim enough that it wasn’t likely anybody could see them clearly anyway. As if reading his mind, Jack turned toward him, leaned over and kissed him. Ennis gripped his hand under the table and forced himself not to pull away too quickly. It’s okay, he told himself. No one cares. You owe him.
When they separated, their waitress was lurking near the stall opening, smiling. Ennis harrumphed and straightened up. “You fellas celebrating anything?” she asked, coming forward to refill their water glasses.
“Yes,” Jack said, to Ennis’s surprise. “We’re celebratin’…uh…the anniversary of our first date.”
“Oh, that’s nice,” the waitress said, neutrally. “Would you like some cake or anything?”
“Oh, no ma’am,” Ennis said, quickly. “We’re jus’ fine, thanks.” She left, and Ennis rounded on Jack. “What the hell?”
“Well, okay, it’s only the three hour anniversary of our first date, but she asked.”
Before they knew it, it was well past time to head home. “You better not be too goddamned drunk to get it up,” Jack grumbled as they stumbled up the porch stairs, arms around each other’s shoulders.
“I ain’t drunk. But hey! I ain’t yet said if you spent enough t’get any, rodeo! Don’t get ahead ‘o yourself, there.”
Jack chuckled. “I’d like to kiss you on the porch but I’m afraid your daddy’s waitin’ with a shotgun in the living room.”
“My daddy’s dead,” Ennis said. “And I’ll kiss you if’n I damned well want to.” He grabbed Jack and made good on that statement.