In the end the stud duck refused to let Jack’s ashes go. “Tell you what, we got a family plot and he’s goin in it.” Jack’s mother stood at the table coring apples with a sharp, serrated instrument. “You come again,” she said.
Bumping down the washboard road Ennis passed the country cemetery fenced with sagging sheep wire, a tiny fenced square on the welling prairie, a few graves bright with plastic flowers, and didn’t want to know Jack was going in there, to be buried on the grieving plain.
A few weeks later on the Saturday he threw all Stoutamire’s dirty horse blankets into the back of his pickup and took them down to the Quik Stop Car Wash to turn the high-pressure spray on them. When the wet clean blankets were stowed in the truck bed he stepped into Higgins’s gift shop and busied himself with the postcard rack.
“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, brassheaded 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.
There was some open space between what he knew and what he tried to believe, but nothing could be done about it, and if you can’t fix it you’ve got to stand it.
BROKEBACK MOUNTAIN
A Screenplay
By Larry McMurtry and Diana Ossana Based on a Short Story
By Annie Proulx
For Publication
October 2005
EXT: WYOMING HIGHWAY: NIGHT (NEAR DAWN): 1963:
A cattle truck, running empty, tops a ridge on a lonely western highway.
To the east, the first faint flush of light.
Across the plain, perhaps yet some twenty miles away, a sprinkle of lights like fallen stars on the vast dark plain.
The truck roars on.
INT: WYOMING HIGHWAY: TRUCK CAB: NIGHT: CONTINUOUS: 1963:
It is lighter now, but the light is high, and the plain still mainly dark, the lights of Signal, Wyoming, vivid, closer now, perhaps five miles ahead.
The TRUCKER, inscrutable, barrels on.
WE SEE the passenger: This is ENNIS DEL MAR: about twenty, but nonetheless compelling, not light or frivolous in disposition, appearance or manner, uncommonly quick reflexes—a high-school drop-out country boy with no prospects, brought up to hard work and privation, rough-mannered, rough-spoken, inured to the stoic life. Has outgrown his faded cowboy shirt, his wrists stick well out of the sleeves, the buttons gap.
ENNIS looks straight ahead at the lights.
EXT: SIGNAL, WYOMING: MAIN STREET: DAY (LATER): 1963:
Lighter still.
The truck stops with a screech of air brakes in front of a service station.
ENNIS steps out of the truck, no suitcase, just a grocery sack stuffed with his only other shirt and pair of Levi’s.
The truck moves again, almost before he hits the ground, spraying him with dust.
Tall, raw-boned, lanky, possessed of a muscular, supple body made for the horse and for fighting. He stretches.
No one in sight on the streets of Signal. After a moment, carrying his sack, ENNIS walks off.
EXT: SIGNAL, WYOMING: TRAILER: DAY: 1963:
The sun is full up, though it is still early. A gentle breeze whistles.
ENNIS leans against a dingy trailer house, a crooked sign above the door says FARM AND RANCH EMPLOYMENT AGENCY. Smokes, waits. Sees an old pickup with a bad muffler approaching, and ENNIS becomes aware that the muffler is not the pickup’s only problem. It coughs, sputters, rattles from several junctures as it pulls into the gravel parking lot of the AGENCY and dies.
The driver sits a moment in the driver’s seat, then gets out and slams the door of the pickup in disgust.
This is JACK TWIST: like ENNIS, a rough country boy with little education, but somewhat different in appearance and attitude, a little less stoic, a little more of a dreamer. More welcoming, appealing, with a quick laugh. Twenty, but not as tall as ENNIS, more compact and muscular, thick, dark hair, worn jeans, bullrider’s belt buckle, faded shirt, stubbly beard, cowboy hat, boots worn to the quick.
Doesn’t notice ENNIS. But when he does, he stiffens a little. Looks at him—looks away.
Then the two ignore one another completely.
EXT: SIGNAL, WYOMING: TRAILER: DAY (LATER): 1963:
Eight a.m. The wind has picked up considerably.
JACK attempts to shave using his rearview mirror, an old dull metal razor and water in a tin cup. Painful work, but keeps at it, scraping away at his stubble.
EXT: SIGNAL, WYOMING: TRAILER: DAY (LATER STILL): 1963:
An old stationwagon races along, whips into the parking lot, throwing dust. The stationwagon stops about two feet from the steps of the trailer office, as ENNIS jumps up to get out of the way.
The driver, JOE AGUIRRE, middle-aged, tall, stocky, no fool, hair the color of cigarette ash and parted down the middle, foam dice hanging from the rearview, gets out. Then reaches back in for an oversize container of coffee.
JOE glares at ENNIS, then JACK, as he heads for the trailer office door.
Neither boy moves.
JOE goes inside. Door slams. ENNIS sticks his big raw hands in his pockets. JACK considers checking under his hood.
JOE AGUIRRE
(sticks his head out the door)
If you pair of deuces are lookin’ for work, I suggest you get your scrawny asses in here, pronto.
ENNIS picks up his grocery sack of clothes. Looks over at JACK. Heads inside.
JACK follows. The door forcefully slams behind them.
INT: SIGNAL, WYOMING: TRAILER OFFICE: DAY: CONTINUOUS: 1963:
Dusty, choky little trailer office. Venetian blinds hang askew, the one desk littered with papers, the Bakelite ashtray filled with butts, only one chair for guests. A pair of binoculars hangs from a nail in the wall behind AGUIRRE’S desk.
Neither ENNIS nor JACK sits.
JOE AGUIRRE, in his swivel chair, gives them his point of view.
JOE AGUIRRE
Forest Service got designated campsites on the allotments. Them camps can be 3, 4 miles from where we pasture the woollies. Bad predator loss if there’s nobody lookin’ after ’em at night.
(pause)
Now what I want
(looks at Ennis) is a camp tender in the main camp where the Forest Service says, but the herder…
(points at Jack)
…pitch a pup tent on the Q.T. with the sheep, and he’s goin’ to sleep there. Eat your supper, breakfast in camp, but you sleep with the sheep, hundred percent, no fire, don’t leave no sign. You roll up that tent every mornin’ case Forest Service snoops around.
Phone rings. JOE picks it up. Listens. Frowns.
JOE AGUIRRE (CONT’D)
Yeah? No. No. Not on your fuckin’ life.
(hangs up, resumes)
You got your dogs, your 30
/30, sleep there.
(MORE)
JOE AGUIRRE (CONT’D)
Last summer I had goddamn near 25 % loss. I don’t want that again. You…(points at Ennis—takes him in)
…Fridays at noon be down at the bridge with your grocery list and mules. Somebody with supplies will be there at the pickup.
JOE grabs a cheap watch. Tosses it to ENNIS as if he’s not worth the reach.
JOE AGUIRRE (CONT’D)
Tomorrow mornin’ we’ll truck you up to the jump-off.
JOE lights a cigarette. Picks up the phone. Pauses. Looks at them hard.
Awkward: they realize they are dismissed.
Leave.
EXT: SIGNAL, WYOMING: TRAILER: DAY: CONTINUOUS: 1963:
The door to the trailer slams shut behind them. JACK walks down the three steps outside the trailer. ENNIS stops, stands on the lowest step of the trailer, looks around at the bleak surroundings. JACK smiles, sticks out his hand.
JACK
Jack Twist.
ENNIS (shakes hands) Ennis.
A beat.
JACK
Your folks just stop at Ennis?
ENNIS (after a moment)
Del Mar.
JACK
Nice to know you, Ennis del Mar.
ENNIS looks at the watch AGUIRRE gave him.
EXT: SIGNAL, WYOMING: STREET: DAY: 1963:
JACK and ENNIS walk down Signal’s main street, headed for the bar. JACK leads the way.
INT: SIGNAL, WYOMING: BAR: MORNING: 1963:
The barroom is large and cavernous. All the chairs are stacked upside-down on the tables. It’s empty except for a BARTENDER and WAITRESS.
ENNIS and JACK sit at the bar, each nurses a longneck. ENNIS peels the label from his bottle. A few empties sit in front of JACK.
JACK
My second year up here. Last year one
storm the lightnin’ kilt 42 sheep.
(shakes his head) Thought I’d asphyxiate from the smell.
Aguirre got all over my ass like I’m
supposed to control the weather.
(drinks)
But beats workin’ for my old man. Can’t
please my old man, no way. That’s why I
took to rodeoin’.
(proudly knocks his rodeo belt buckle)
Ever rodeo?
ENNIS
(reserved)
You know…I mean, once in a while, when I got the entry fee in my pocket.
JACK
Yeah. You from ranch people?
ENNIS
I was.
JACK
Your folks run you off?
ENNIS
(stiff)
No. They run themselves off. One curve in the road in 43 miles, and they miss it. Killed ’em both.
(drinks)
Bank took the ranch. Brother and sister raised me, mostly.
JACK
Shit. That’s hard.
EXT: BROKEBACK MOUNTAIN, WYOMING: TRAILHEAD: DAY: 1963:
Two sheeptrucks and a couple of horsetrailers have unloaded at the trailhead to Brokeback Mountain. They are high, but still in the trees. The bleating of a thousand sheep fills the air.
The BASQUE is showing ENNIS how to properly pack a mule. Deftly hitches on two packs, as ENNIS watches.
JACK is already horseback. Several blue heelers circle the sheep.
BASQUE
Don’t let ’em stray. Joe’11 have your ass, if you do. Only thing, don’t never order soup,
(spits)
Them soup boxes are hard to pack.
ENNIS Don’t eat soup.
JACK’S on a horse—it crowhops.
ENNIS (CONT’D)
That horse looks like it’s got a low startle point.
JACK
(cocky)
I doubt there’s a filly that can throw me. Let’s get, ’less you wanna stand around and tie knots all day.
EXT: BROKEBACK MOUNTAIN, WYOMING: DAY: 1963:
The thousand sheep, the dogs, the horses, JACK and ENNIS and the pack mules slowly flow out above the tree line, into the vast flowering meadows of the mountainside.
EXT: BROKEBACK MOUNTAIN, WYOMING: DAY: 1963:
MONTAGE OF THE MOVING SHEEP:
Breathtaking views. Sheep grazing, dogs sleeping, Ennis and Jack tending the sheep. The sheep spread out onto the expansive treeless plain, nothing in sight but sky and land, high clouds.
The boys whistle, talk to the dogs as they move the sheep.
Jack carries a sheep over the water as the sheep are moved uphill.
They continue to move the sheep on up into the mountains, dogs keeping them in line.
We see each of them alone in their own camp, smoking, lost in their own thoughts.
EXT. BROKEBACK MOUNTAIN: CAMP: LATE AFTERNOON: 1963:
WE SEE ENNIS and JACK setting up camp: sawing wood, building a fire, putting up the tent. JACK carries buckets of water from a stream.
Saddles are put up, horses are at rest, hobbled.
JACK hoists food to keep it from bears.
EXT: BROKEBACK MOUNTAIN, WYOMING: MORNING: 1963:
From a distance, the sound of sheep.
JACK finishes his breakfast.
JACK
(bitching)
Shit. Can’t wait ’til I got my own spread, won’t have to put up with Joe Aguirre’s crap no more.
ENNIS
I’m savin’ for a place myself. Me and Alma, we’ll be gettin’ married when I come down off this mountain.
Jack stands, stretches.
JACK
Shit, that stay with the sheep, no fire bullshit. Aguirre’s got no right makin’ us do somethin’ against the rules.
EXT: BROKEBACK MOUNTAIN, WYOMING: ENNIS’S CAMP: DAY: 1963:
ENNIS sits smoking, watches as JACK mounts his horse. Leaves.
EXT: BROKEBACK MOUNTAIN, WYOMING: DAY: LATE AFTERNOON: 1963:
Dusk on the mountain.
JACK up with the sheep, leans up against a log, naps, a blue heeler close by.
EXT: BROKEBACK MOUNTAIN, WYOMING: JACK’S CAMP: NIGHT: 1963:
JACK, in his dark camp, lit only by moonlight, sees ENNIS as night fire, a red spark on the huge black mass of mountain.
INT: BROKEBACK MOUNTAIN, WYOMING: ENNIS’S CAMP: DAY: 1963:
Ennis whittles a small wooden figure in the tent. Looks outside at the rain.
EXT: BROKEBACK MOUNTAIN: DAY: EARLY MORNING:
JACK saddles up, in a pale world.
The mountain, misted, is the color of smoke, the high, grassy plain invisible.
ENNIS cleans the breakfast plates by the fire.
JACK mounts his bay mare. She crow-hops a little; he keeps her under control.
JACK
No more beans.
Rides off, ENNIS watching him go.
EXT: BROKEBACK MOUNTAIN, WYOMING: DAY: 1963:
JACK, up with the sheep now, holds his rifle, takes a bead on a big coyote.
Shoots.
Misses.
JACK
Dammit!
EXT: BROKEBACK MOUNTAIN, WYOMING: BRIDGE: NOON: 1963:
ENNIS finishes packing the two mules.
Steps back, looks at the mules, and shakes his head.
The BASQUE watches.
BASQUE
Something wrong?
ENNIS
Where’s the powdered milk ’n the spuds?
BASQUE
That’s all we got,
ENNIS hands the BASQUE his list.
ENNIS
Here’s next week’s.
The BASQUE reads through ENNIS’S current list.
BASQUE
(not looking up from the list)
Thought you didn’t eat soup.
ENNIS
Sick of beans.
BASQUE
It’s too early in the summer to be sick of beans.
ENNIS ignores the BASQUE’S comment.
ENNIS mounts his big rangy buckskin and leads the two mu
les back up the mountain.
EXT: BROKEBACK MOUNTAIN, WYOMING: DAY: 1963:
ENNIS atop his horse, leads the two mules along the trail.
It is clear ENNIS enjoys the ride, the silence of the high country.
Rounds a bend—his horse suddenly balks, spooks, rears up: small black bear in the middle of the trail across a small stream.
ENNIS is thrown, lands hard, rolls on the rocky ground.
The bear hurries off into the brush.
The buckskin races off the trail; the two mules take off, too, through the trees and the undergrowth, tearing the supply packs, scattering food everywhere. A bag of flour breaks, creating a white cloud.
ENNIS sits up. His temple is cut and bleeding profusely, blood runs down his cheek.
ENNIS gets up, stiff and angry.
ENNIS
Come back here, you sons-a-bitches!
Stumbles down the trail after his horse and mules.
EXT: BROKEBACK MOUNTAIN, WYOMING: CAMP: DUSK: 1963:
JACK is back from the flock, hungry, looking for his meal.
ENNIS is nowhere to be found. JACK looks in the tent.
Empty.
JACK
Shit.
EXT: BROKEBACK MOUNTAIN, WYOMING: CAMP: NIGHT: 1963:
The campfire light flickers on JACK’S face. Looks around at the surrounding forest. Knows ENNIS wouldn’t lag…is clearly worried. Takes a swig out of a whiskey bottle.
JACK looks up.
WE SEE ENNIS ride into camp atop Cigar, dismount, somewhat obscured by the darkness.
JACK is more worried than angry, tries to disguise his concern with indignation.
JACK
Where the hell you been? Up with the sheep all day, I get down here, hungry as hell and all I find is beans.…
Silent, ENNIS walks towards the tent, fire illuminating his face. He sits on a log by the fire. WE SEE the cut on his forehead, gaping now, dried blood covering the whole side of his face.
JACK is startled by the sight of blood all over ENNIS’S cheek.
JACK (CONT’D)
What in hell happened, Ennis?
ENNIS
(exhausted)
Come on a bear.
(motions to his horse)
Goddamn horse spooked, the mules took