[Interior of Ennis’s ratty trailer on the current ranch where he works. He comes in wearily. Drapes the shirts over a chair back. Pours a glass of whiskey and tosses it back, deliberately pours another, picks up the shirts. What follows is the inarticulate man trying to express unspeakable grief. The shadow of pain spreads out like black oil.]
[holding the shirts]
This is what’s left, Jack. I got nothin else.
Two shirts, the same age now we was when we started.
Couple a postcards.
What I can remember.
No pictures. No letters.
Can’t even carry your ashes up to Brokeback.
Hard to take.
[sits at the table]
Jack, I’m choked up with love.
Love too late—my fault. My fault.
I can’t sleep. Bone tired, I can’t sleep.
Over and over them pictures go through my head.
Is it you or old Earl in the ditch?
Can’t talk to nobody about you. [pause] My secret.
Nobody knows even now.
There is a price for that secret. [pause]
When somethin bad happens a man with a secret can’t show pain.
Feels like my heart’s cut out, nothin there but a little stain a blood.
And if you can’t fix it you got to stand it. I know that.
[He rises, gets a wire hanger and puts the shirts on the hanger so that his shirt embraces Jack’s, a forlorn gesture. Gets hammer and nail and pounds nail three times into the wall.]
All them years I told you ‘No, No, No.’
I never give you nothin but ‘No.’
[he puts the hanger on the nail.]
I never give you nothin and I never said what you wanted me to say.
I only got one thing I can give you now.
[Long pause and this tumbles out.]
Jack, I swear.
I swear there will never be anybody but you.
It was only you in my life and it will always be only you.
Jack, I swear.