HERITAGE OF THE PAST - Chapter 3: Part 1
Title: HERITAGE OF THE PAST
Chapter 3 - Part 1
Disclaimer: The characters of Brokeback are not mine and belong to Annie Proulx (God bless her!).
Summary: Life hasn't been easy for Alma Jr. since she divorced in November '86 and only her baby son, Ennis Jr., gives her hope for a brighter future...
Casper, July 1988
Ennis Del Mar rubbed his sweated forehead and shielded his eyes with a hand (his hat hanging on the fence) while looking at the bright, blue sky. It was a damn hot summer, especially for Wyoming standards.
He was used to hard ranch work and, to him, the job at the Country Club wasn’t hard at all. Even some of the younger collegues were somewhat embarassed of being of much shorter breath than the “old man”.
More than that, working hard all day long - until his arms seemed two pieces of wood and his back creaked like a rusty door hinge - was the only way for Ennis to keep his mind busy, his mouth shut and his eyes dry. Sometimes he got so tired he could barely undress and get into bed, going asleep at once. Some other times, he dozed off on the sofa in the living room, a bottle of beer still in his hand and the TV on, until he felt the gentle hands of his daughter putting a blanket on his shoulders: he pretended not to have woken up to have her let him alone. To leave speeches unspoken. To leave words unsaid.
He was kind of proud because Alma Jr. had just earned her Degree in Communications and, hopefully, her days as waitress at the Country Club would soon end. She deserved more. More than he ever dreamt of. Not that he was the day-dreaming kind: even at night, apart from the occasional nightmares, his only rare dreams involved Jack Twist (as much as he could remember, though). He didn’t consciously think his life was doomed to frugality (maybe because of what he did - or was) but he somehow felt it couldn’t be any other way.
Surrounded by an indefinite, yet persistent sense of void, of loss, his only relief were the times he could be home alone, his daughter at work and her child taken care of by a neighbour.
Locked up in the bathroom, sitting on the WC, he caressed his meat gently, slowly. Go easy, cowboy. Make it last. Make it last. I’m going nowhere. I’m here with you. I’m here for you. All yours. Ever. When the moment came, he found himself gasping, his eyes wet. The physical pleasure only lasted a few seconds but the chance of figuring again Jack’s face in those very moments... that was the pleasure he longed for.
As time passed, however, Jack’s features seemed to be fading, sliding away, getting confused and darker. That was the only thing he was really afraid of. To forget. To loose contact with the only fucking sweet thing he had in his life. Gone, now, before he could have enough of it. As if there could be an “enough”.
The guilt was the real pain and the thought of loosing Jack’s memory made the sense of guilt even stronger, almost unbearable. It seemed the more he thought of his lover, harder it got recalling his face. Fortunately, he had at least one old, worn picture of him at the Rodeo Jack won in Texas, many years ago. When he was young. When they both were young. When Ennis thought he had all the time of the world.
Now the time was gone as well as his mate. Gone forever and he couldn’t fix it. Only stand it. Stand it. Ennis was fed up with standing. There were moments he only wished to cuddle up under the blankets, in his bed, and sleep until there was nothing more to stand.
“Mr. Del Mar!”
“Hey, Mr. Del Mar!”
Shaken out of the torpor he seemed to have fallen in, Ennis nodded back to Mark Guybrush. Mister Del Mar. Strange how one never gets used to some things. Well, he was fifteen to twenty years older than most of his fellow workers so he shouldn’t be surprised to be called with respect. “Are you done with feeding the horses?” Ennis asked.
“Yeah. George, Jack and I were going for lunch, if you don’t mind. Are you coming along?”
“Well, thanks but... no. I wanna finish here first. I’m due home earlier today. I’ll leave the rest to you. I’m sure you’ll do a fine job. Can I count on it?” Ennis said, his gaze on the younger man.
“S-Sure, Mr Del Mar!” Mark replied, agog and embarassed at the same time as the old man wasn’t easy at paying anyone compliments.
“Good.” he said and went back to his work, with no further cerimonies.
Mark hesitated for a moment and then went his way, his lips outlining a smile.
That evening Ennis was home by five because their neighbour, Mrs Kravitz, had a date and couldn’t baby-sit Ennis Jr. any longer.
He had a shower and went to his room to find his jeans and a couple of shirts - ironed and folded - laying on his bed. Shaking his head, half a smile, he took a shirt to his face. The smell of softener, the smell of cleanliness in general, had the power to make him think something was right, after all. Not that he was ready to admit it with Alma Jr. She was doing more than she should in taking care of the house, of her child, of him. Little darling.
He dropped the towel and stood for a while in the bedroom, naked, looking at his figure in the long mirror hanging on the wall. Besides the scratches, a few small skinspots and a bit of dead weight on his sides, his shape didn’t change much in twenty years. His hair made the difference, longer and of a darker blond, and his sideburns, neglected and greyer day by day.
And, yes... the wrinkles. His face showed most of the efforts his life claimed during the years. Sun. Winters. Wind. Snow. Tears.
Dressing up, his bare feet on the wooded floor, Ennis silently thanked God he had the courage of asking his daughter to come live with her after having to leave that rusty, smelling trailer in the middle of nowhere. Even if he maybe ruined her life too. Just as he did with Alma. As he did with Jack. He seemed to be the greatest disgrace for anyone close enough to him.
He got closer to the mirror and looked again at his face.
His daughter, Alma Jr., once asked to come stay with him - she was nineteen - because her mother and her step-father were awful strict on her. What did he answer?
You know I ain't set up for that.
Simple. Easy. Quick.
Without her, five years ago, what would he have done?
Fuck!
His teeth grinded.
Ennis Jr was waiting for his grandpa in Mrs Kravitz’s porch, sitting on her swing while she was gathering his toys into a platic bag.
Approaching, Ennis nodded at her.
“Good evening Mr. Del Mar!” she smiled, polite.
“Thank you again, Mrs Kravitz. Was my little darling a good boy, today?” he said, staring at him with a smirk.
“Yes, papa!” Ennis Junior grinned while throwing himself from the swing, his arms wide open to grab his grandfather.
Ennis crouched and lifted his nephew up. “I’m your grandpa, Junior, not your papa!” he said quickly but, secretly, his heart bounced everytime the kid called him that.
He never had enough of fatherhood and, wasn’t it for his better half’s discomfort with bringing them up in a hovel, he’d love a bunch of kids. Maybe she wasn’t the love-in-a-cottage kind.
No. That was unfair.
He knew exactly why Alma gave up and money wasn’t the main issue.
After the divorce, anyway, he was more than busy with taking care of himself and paying alimony to his ex-wife and their two daughters: more kids weren’t a priority.
Ennis noticed Mrs Kravitz was looking at him with a waiting glance: “Mr Del Mar... ehm... if I may... I know you two are doing your best in taking care of your jobs, of the kid and so on... but... ehm...”.
She looked evidently discomfortable with what she was trying to say.
Now what! He thought.
“I beg you to let me help you at least with the cooking, when Mrs Del Mar is not at home. Or you can come have dinner here, if you prefer. It would be easier for me and I could look after Ennis in the meanwhile...”
“Whoa, whoa! Mrs Kravits, it’s... it’s very kind of yours but I don’t think...”
“Oh, please! Think about the child! I personally have nothing against men helping in the kitchen but you can guess the kid needs healthy and differed food and we both know cooking is not your strong point and...”
Ennis cocked an eyebrow: “Do we?”
“Well, ehm, you know, I talked to Mrs Del Mar the other day and...”
He stared at her with a funny look, half serious and half amused: “It’s a deal, Mrs. Kravitz. It’s for the child’s sake, isn’t it?”
“Oh, yes. Yes! Certainly! Thank you!” she replied, visibly relieved, her hands joined.
He nodded good-bye and left, leaving Clara Kravitz to her business.
Walking home, the sweet weight of Ennis Jr in his arms, Ennis Del Mar thought he had to pay attention: smiling too much could lead to more wrinkles on his face. He stifled a laugh.
At nine p.m. Alma Jr was back home, carrying a couple of big pizzas. Ennis Jr. was already asleep in his room.
“Hi, daddy!”, she greeted graciously. Ennis thought there was a special quality in her voice, in her smiles: she never seemed to pretend, even when she came home tired, no dinner set up and Ennis Jr crying. There was a force in her, something made of his spirit of endurance and her mother’s determination and will. There was a honesty he admired and loved.
“Hi, sweetheart. How’s your day?” he drew near her and kissed her cheek.
“Fine. I took tomorrow off. I’m having a few interviews in the afternoon and I wanted to keep the morning free.” She set up plates and silverware on the kitchen table.
“Going to stay up late, tonight?” he asked, while two beer from the fridge.
“Well, we are having our famous talk tonight, aren’t we?” she said, innocently.
He froze. Shit!
“Uh... yeah, sure.”
She noticed his hesitation.
“Dad, is everything allright? You said you had something important to talk about but if you don’t feel like...”
“No, no. It’s fine. This talk was long due and...” - he paused, trying to gather the words - “I need to talk about it and God knows if you deserve it, if he deserves it.”
“He who? Ennis Jr?” she asked.
“No. Jack. Jack Twist.”
He sighed and she stared at him with a questioning look.
The time has come, eventually. Time for explanations and maybe for a bit of relief.
Ennis Del Mar knew his daughter had a nerve but if anger was coming, it could be time for that as well. Better than silence. Better than fake tolerance.
Better than compassion.
They slowly began chewing their pizzas before the man spoke his first words.
.
.
.
Chapter 3 - Part 1
Disclaimer: The characters of Brokeback are not mine and belong to Annie Proulx (God bless her!).
Summary: Life hasn't been easy for Alma Jr. since she divorced in November '86 and only her baby son, Ennis Jr., gives her hope for a brighter future...
Casper, July 1988
Ennis Del Mar rubbed his sweated forehead and shielded his eyes with a hand (his hat hanging on the fence) while looking at the bright, blue sky. It was a damn hot summer, especially for Wyoming standards.
He was used to hard ranch work and, to him, the job at the Country Club wasn’t hard at all. Even some of the younger collegues were somewhat embarassed of being of much shorter breath than the “old man”.
More than that, working hard all day long - until his arms seemed two pieces of wood and his back creaked like a rusty door hinge - was the only way for Ennis to keep his mind busy, his mouth shut and his eyes dry. Sometimes he got so tired he could barely undress and get into bed, going asleep at once. Some other times, he dozed off on the sofa in the living room, a bottle of beer still in his hand and the TV on, until he felt the gentle hands of his daughter putting a blanket on his shoulders: he pretended not to have woken up to have her let him alone. To leave speeches unspoken. To leave words unsaid.
He was kind of proud because Alma Jr. had just earned her Degree in Communications and, hopefully, her days as waitress at the Country Club would soon end. She deserved more. More than he ever dreamt of. Not that he was the day-dreaming kind: even at night, apart from the occasional nightmares, his only rare dreams involved Jack Twist (as much as he could remember, though). He didn’t consciously think his life was doomed to frugality (maybe because of what he did - or was) but he somehow felt it couldn’t be any other way.
Surrounded by an indefinite, yet persistent sense of void, of loss, his only relief were the times he could be home alone, his daughter at work and her child taken care of by a neighbour.
Locked up in the bathroom, sitting on the WC, he caressed his meat gently, slowly. Go easy, cowboy. Make it last. Make it last. I’m going nowhere. I’m here with you. I’m here for you. All yours. Ever. When the moment came, he found himself gasping, his eyes wet. The physical pleasure only lasted a few seconds but the chance of figuring again Jack’s face in those very moments... that was the pleasure he longed for.
As time passed, however, Jack’s features seemed to be fading, sliding away, getting confused and darker. That was the only thing he was really afraid of. To forget. To loose contact with the only fucking sweet thing he had in his life. Gone, now, before he could have enough of it. As if there could be an “enough”.
The guilt was the real pain and the thought of loosing Jack’s memory made the sense of guilt even stronger, almost unbearable. It seemed the more he thought of his lover, harder it got recalling his face. Fortunately, he had at least one old, worn picture of him at the Rodeo Jack won in Texas, many years ago. When he was young. When they both were young. When Ennis thought he had all the time of the world.
Now the time was gone as well as his mate. Gone forever and he couldn’t fix it. Only stand it. Stand it. Ennis was fed up with standing. There were moments he only wished to cuddle up under the blankets, in his bed, and sleep until there was nothing more to stand.
“Mr. Del Mar!”
“Hey, Mr. Del Mar!”
Shaken out of the torpor he seemed to have fallen in, Ennis nodded back to Mark Guybrush. Mister Del Mar. Strange how one never gets used to some things. Well, he was fifteen to twenty years older than most of his fellow workers so he shouldn’t be surprised to be called with respect. “Are you done with feeding the horses?” Ennis asked.
“Yeah. George, Jack and I were going for lunch, if you don’t mind. Are you coming along?”
“Well, thanks but... no. I wanna finish here first. I’m due home earlier today. I’ll leave the rest to you. I’m sure you’ll do a fine job. Can I count on it?” Ennis said, his gaze on the younger man.
“S-Sure, Mr Del Mar!” Mark replied, agog and embarassed at the same time as the old man wasn’t easy at paying anyone compliments.
“Good.” he said and went back to his work, with no further cerimonies.
Mark hesitated for a moment and then went his way, his lips outlining a smile.
That evening Ennis was home by five because their neighbour, Mrs Kravitz, had a date and couldn’t baby-sit Ennis Jr. any longer.
He had a shower and went to his room to find his jeans and a couple of shirts - ironed and folded - laying on his bed. Shaking his head, half a smile, he took a shirt to his face. The smell of softener, the smell of cleanliness in general, had the power to make him think something was right, after all. Not that he was ready to admit it with Alma Jr. She was doing more than she should in taking care of the house, of her child, of him. Little darling.
He dropped the towel and stood for a while in the bedroom, naked, looking at his figure in the long mirror hanging on the wall. Besides the scratches, a few small skinspots and a bit of dead weight on his sides, his shape didn’t change much in twenty years. His hair made the difference, longer and of a darker blond, and his sideburns, neglected and greyer day by day.
And, yes... the wrinkles. His face showed most of the efforts his life claimed during the years. Sun. Winters. Wind. Snow. Tears.
Dressing up, his bare feet on the wooded floor, Ennis silently thanked God he had the courage of asking his daughter to come live with her after having to leave that rusty, smelling trailer in the middle of nowhere. Even if he maybe ruined her life too. Just as he did with Alma. As he did with Jack. He seemed to be the greatest disgrace for anyone close enough to him.
He got closer to the mirror and looked again at his face.
His daughter, Alma Jr., once asked to come stay with him - she was nineteen - because her mother and her step-father were awful strict on her. What did he answer?
You know I ain't set up for that.
Simple. Easy. Quick.
Without her, five years ago, what would he have done?
Fuck!
His teeth grinded.
Ennis Jr was waiting for his grandpa in Mrs Kravitz’s porch, sitting on her swing while she was gathering his toys into a platic bag.
Approaching, Ennis nodded at her.
“Good evening Mr. Del Mar!” she smiled, polite.
“Thank you again, Mrs Kravitz. Was my little darling a good boy, today?” he said, staring at him with a smirk.
“Yes, papa!” Ennis Junior grinned while throwing himself from the swing, his arms wide open to grab his grandfather.
Ennis crouched and lifted his nephew up. “I’m your grandpa, Junior, not your papa!” he said quickly but, secretly, his heart bounced everytime the kid called him that.
He never had enough of fatherhood and, wasn’t it for his better half’s discomfort with bringing them up in a hovel, he’d love a bunch of kids. Maybe she wasn’t the love-in-a-cottage kind.
No. That was unfair.
He knew exactly why Alma gave up and money wasn’t the main issue.
After the divorce, anyway, he was more than busy with taking care of himself and paying alimony to his ex-wife and their two daughters: more kids weren’t a priority.
Ennis noticed Mrs Kravitz was looking at him with a waiting glance: “Mr Del Mar... ehm... if I may... I know you two are doing your best in taking care of your jobs, of the kid and so on... but... ehm...”.
She looked evidently discomfortable with what she was trying to say.
Now what! He thought.
“I beg you to let me help you at least with the cooking, when Mrs Del Mar is not at home. Or you can come have dinner here, if you prefer. It would be easier for me and I could look after Ennis in the meanwhile...”
“Whoa, whoa! Mrs Kravits, it’s... it’s very kind of yours but I don’t think...”
“Oh, please! Think about the child! I personally have nothing against men helping in the kitchen but you can guess the kid needs healthy and differed food and we both know cooking is not your strong point and...”
Ennis cocked an eyebrow: “Do we?”
“Well, ehm, you know, I talked to Mrs Del Mar the other day and...”
He stared at her with a funny look, half serious and half amused: “It’s a deal, Mrs. Kravitz. It’s for the child’s sake, isn’t it?”
“Oh, yes. Yes! Certainly! Thank you!” she replied, visibly relieved, her hands joined.
He nodded good-bye and left, leaving Clara Kravitz to her business.
Walking home, the sweet weight of Ennis Jr in his arms, Ennis Del Mar thought he had to pay attention: smiling too much could lead to more wrinkles on his face. He stifled a laugh.
At nine p.m. Alma Jr was back home, carrying a couple of big pizzas. Ennis Jr. was already asleep in his room.
“Hi, daddy!”, she greeted graciously. Ennis thought there was a special quality in her voice, in her smiles: she never seemed to pretend, even when she came home tired, no dinner set up and Ennis Jr crying. There was a force in her, something made of his spirit of endurance and her mother’s determination and will. There was a honesty he admired and loved.
“Hi, sweetheart. How’s your day?” he drew near her and kissed her cheek.
“Fine. I took tomorrow off. I’m having a few interviews in the afternoon and I wanted to keep the morning free.” She set up plates and silverware on the kitchen table.
“Going to stay up late, tonight?” he asked, while two beer from the fridge.
“Well, we are having our famous talk tonight, aren’t we?” she said, innocently.
He froze. Shit!
“Uh... yeah, sure.”
She noticed his hesitation.
“Dad, is everything allright? You said you had something important to talk about but if you don’t feel like...”
“No, no. It’s fine. This talk was long due and...” - he paused, trying to gather the words - “I need to talk about it and God knows if you deserve it, if he deserves it.”
“He who? Ennis Jr?” she asked.
“No. Jack. Jack Twist.”
He sighed and she stared at him with a questioning look.
The time has come, eventually. Time for explanations and maybe for a bit of relief.
Ennis Del Mar knew his daughter had a nerve but if anger was coming, it could be time for that as well. Better than silence. Better than fake tolerance.
Better than compassion.
They slowly began chewing their pizzas before the man spoke his first words.
.
.
.