BrokenBack Mountain
"Ennis, what are you lookin for rootin through them postcards?" said
Linda Higgins, throwing a sopping brown coffee filter into the garbage
can.
"Scene a Brokeback Mountain."
"Over in Fremont County?"
"No, north a here."
"I didn't order none a them. Let me get the order list. They got
it I can get you a hunderd. I got a order some more cards anyway."
"One's enough," said Ennis.
When it came -- thirty cents -- he pinned it up in his trailer, brass-headed
tack in each corner. Below it he drove a nail and on the nail he hung
the wire hanger and the two old shirts suspended from it. He stepped
back and looked at the ensemble through a few stinging tears.
"Jack, I swear -- " he said, though Jack had never asked him to swear
anything and was himself not the swearing kind.
Around that time Jack began to appear in his dreams, Jack as he had
first seen him, curly-headed and smiling and bucktoothed, talking about
getting up off his pockets and into the control zone, but the can of
beans with the spoon handle jutting out and balanced on the log was
there as well, in a cartoon shape and lurid colors that gave the dreams
a flavor of comic obscenity. The spoon handle was the kind that could
be used as a tire iron. And he would wake sometimes in grief, sometimes
with the old sense of joy and release; the pillow sometimes wet, sometimes
the sheets.
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18 嶄猟井