【断背山】09

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 They could hear the river mutteringand making a distant train sound a long way off. Twenty minutes on theysurprised a black bear on the bank above them rolling a log over for grubs andJack’s horse shied and reared, Jack¹ saying “Wo! Wo!” and Ennis’s baydancing and snorting but holding. Jack reached for the .30-.06 but there wasno need; the startled bear galloped² into the trees with the lumpish gait thatmade it seem it was falling apart.The tea-colored river ran fast with snowmelt, a scarf of bubbles at every highrock, pools and setbacks streaming. The ochre-branched willows³ swayedstiffly, pollened catkins like yellow thumbprints. The horses drank and Jackdismounted, scooped⁴ icy water up in his hand, crystalline drops falling fromhis fingers, his mouth and chin glistening⁵ with wet. 

     “Get beaver⁶ fever doin that,” said Ennis, then, “Good enough place,” lookingat the level bench above the river, two or three fire-rings from old huntingcamps. A sloping meadow rose behind the bench, protected by a stand oflodgepole. There was plenty of dry wood. They set up camp without sayingmuch, picketed⁷ the horses in the meadow. Jack broke the seal on a bottle ofwhiskey, took a long, hot swallow, exhaled⁸ forcefully, said, 

     “That’s one a thetwo things I need right now,” capped and tossed it to Ennis.On the third morning there were the clouds Ennis had expected, a grey racerout of the west, a bar of darkness driving wind before it and small flakes⁹. Itfaded after an hour into tender spring snow that heaped wet and heavy. Bynightfall it turned colder. Jack and Ennis passed a joint¹⁰ back and forth¹¹, thefire burning late, Jack restless and bitching about the cold, poking¹² the flameswith a stick, twisting the dial of the transistor¹³ radio until the batteries died. 

     Ennis said he’d been putting the blocks to a woman who worked part-time atthe Wolf Ears bar in Signal where he was working now for Stoutamire’s cowand calf¹⁴ outfit¹⁵, but it wasn’t going anywhere and she had some problems hedidn’t want. Jack said he’d had a thing going with the wife of a rancher downthe road in Childress and for the last few months he’d slank aroundexpecting to get shot by Lureen or the husband, one. Ennis laughed a littleand said he probably deserved it. Jack said he was doing all right but hemissed Ennis bad enough sometimes to make him whip babies.The horses nickered in the darkness beyond the fire’s circle of light. Ennis puthis arm around Jack, pulled him close, said he saw his girls about once amonth, Alma Jr. a shy seventeen-year-old with his beanpole length, Francinea little live wire. Jack slid his cold hand between Ennis’s legs, said he wasworried about his boy who was, no doubt about it, dyslexic or something,couldn’t get anything right, fifteen years old and couldn’t hardly read, hecould see it though goddamn Lureen wouldn’t admit to it and pretended thekid was o.k., refused to get any bitchin kind a help about it. He didn’t knowwhat the fuck the answer was. Lureen had the money and called the shots. 

     “I used a want a boy for a kid,” said Ennis, undoing¹⁶ buttons, 

     “but just gotlittle girls.” 

     “I didn’t want none a either kind,” said Jack. 

     “But fuck-all has worked theway I wanted. Nothin never come to my hand the right way.” Without gettingup he threw deadwood on the fire, the sparks flying up with their truths andlies, a few hot points of fire landing on their hands and faces, not for the firsttime, and they rolled down into the dirt. One thing never changed: thebrilliant charge of their infrequent couplings was darkened by the sense oftime flying, never enough time, never enough. 

     A day or two later in the trailhead parking lot, horses loaded into the trailer,Ennis was ready to head back to Signal, Jack up to Lightning Flat to see theold man. Ennis leaned into Jack’s window, said what he’d been putting offthe whole week, that likely he couldn’t get away again until November afterthey’d shipped stock and before winter feeding started. 

     “November. What in hell happened a August? Tell you what, we saidAugust, nine, ten days. Christ, Ennis! Whyn’t you tell me this before? Youhad a fuckin week to say some little word about it. And why’s it we’re alwaysin the friggin cold weather? We ought a do somethin. We ought a go south.We ought a go to Mexico one day.”                    “Mexico? Jack, you know me. All the travelin I ever done is goin around thecoffeepot lookin for the handle. And I’ll be runnin the baler all August, that’swhat’s the matter with August. Lighten up, Jack. We can hunt in November,kill a nice elk¹⁷. Try if I can get Don Wroe’s cabin again. We had a good timethat year.” 

     “You know, friend, this is a goddamn bitch of a unsatisfactory situation. Youused a come away easy. It’s like seein the pope now.” 

     “Jack, I got a work. Them earlier days I used a quit the jobs. You got a wifewith money, a good job. You forget how it is bein broke all the time. You everhear a child support? I been payin out for years and got more to go. Let me tellyou, I can’t quit this one. And I can’t get the time off. It was tough gettin thistime -- some a them late heifers is still calvin. You don’t leave then. You don’t.Stoutamire is a hell-raiser and he raised hell about me takin the week. I don’tblame him. He probly ain’t got a night’s sleep since I left. The trade-off wasAugust. You got a better idea?” 

     “I did once.” The tone was bitter and accusatory.Ennis said nothing, straightened up slowly, rubbed at his forehead; a horsestamped inside the trailer. He walked to his truck, put his hand on the trailer,said something that only the horses could hear, turned and walked back at adeliberate pace. 

     “You been a Mexico, Jack?” Mexico was the place. He’d heard. He wascutting fence now, trespassing¹⁸ in the shoot-em zone.

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