Water for Elephants (18 page)

There is scattered clapping from behind him. Marlena balances her glass on her knee. August holds his stiffly in front of him. Except for grasping the glass, he hasn’t moved a muscle.

Uncle Al thrusts his champagne into the air. “To the Benzini Brothers Most Spectacular Show on Earth!” he shouts.

“Benzini Brothers! Benzini Brothers!” cry voices from behind him. Marlena and August are silent.

Al drains his glass and tosses it to the nearest member of his entourage, who drops it into a jacket pocket and follows Al from the tent. The flap closes, and once again it’s just the three of us.

There is a moment of utter stillness. Then August’s head jerks, as though he’s coming to.

“I guess we’d better go see this rubber mule,” he says, draining his glass in a single gulp. “Jacob, you can see to those damned animals now. You happy?”

I look at him, wide-eyed. Then I also drain my glass. From the corner of my eye, I see Marlena do the same.

T
HE
F
OX
B
ROTHERS
menagerie is now swarming with Benzini Brothers men. They run back and forth, filling troughs, tossing hay, and hauling away dung. Some sections of sidewall have been raised, creating a cross-breeze. I scan the tent as we enter, looking for animals in distress. Fortunately, they all look very much alive.

The elephant looms against the far sidewall, an enormous beast the color of storm clouds.

We push through the workmen and stop in front of her. She is gargantuan—at least ten feet tall at the shoulder. Her skin is mottled and cracked like a scorched riverbed from the tip of her trunk all the way down to her wide feet. Only her ears are smooth. She peers out at us with
eerily human eyes. They’re amber, set deep in her head, and fringed with outrageously long lashes.

“Good God,” says August.

Her trunk reaches out to us, moving like an independent creature. It waves in front of August, then Marlena, and finally, me. At the end of it, a fingerlike protrusion wiggles and grasps. The nostrils open and close, snuffing and blowing, and then the trunk retreats. It swings in front of her like a pendulum, an enormous and muscled worm. Its finger grasps stray pieces of hay from the ground and then drops them again. I watch the swaying trunk and wish it would come back. I hold my hand out in offering, but it doesn’t return.

August stares in consternation, and Marlena simply stares. I don’t know what to think. I’ve never encountered an animal this large. She rises almost four feet above my head.

“You the bull man?” says a man approaching from the right. His shirt is filthy and untucked, puffing out from behind his suspenders.

“I am the equestrian director and superintendent of animals,” replies August, drawing himself up to full height.

“Where’s your bull man?” says the man, squirting a wad of tobacco juice from the corner of his mouth.

The elephant reaches out with her trunk and taps him on the shoulder. He whacks her and steps out of reach. The elephant opens her shovel-shaped mouth in what can only be described as a smile and starts to sway, keeping time with the movement of her trunk.

“Why do you want to know?” asks August.

“Just want a word with him, is all.”

“Why?”

“To let him know what he’s in for,” says the man.

“How do you mean?”

“Show me your bull man, and I’ll tell you.”

August grabs my arm and swings me forward. “Him. This is my bull man. So what are we in for?”

The man looks at me, pushes his wad of tobacco deep in his cheek, and continues to address August.

“This here’s the stupidest goddamned animal on the face of the earth.”

August looks stunned. “I thought she was supposed to be the best bull. Al said she was the best bull.”

The man snorts and squirts a stream of brown saliva toward the great beast. “If she was the best bull, why was she the only one left? You think you’re the first show to turn up picking the bones? You didn’t even get here for three days. Well, good luck on ya.” He turns to leave.

“Wait,” August says quickly. “Tell me more. Is she a rogue?”

“Naw, just dumb as a bag of hammers.”

“Where did she come from?”

“An elephant tramp—some dirty Polack who dropped dead in Libertyville. City gave her up for a song. Wasn’t no bargain though, ’cuz she ain’t done a damned thing since but eat.”

August stares at him, pale. “You mean she wasn’t even with a circus?”

The man steps over the rope and disappears behind the elephant. He returns with a wooden rod about three feet long with a four-inch metal pick coming off the end.

“Here’s your bull hook. You’re gonna need it. Good luck on ya. As for me, if I never see another bull as long as I live it’ll be too soon.” He spits again and walks away.

August and Marlena stare after him. I look back just in time to see the elephant pull her trunk from the trough. She lifts it, aims, and blasts the man with such force his hat sails off his head on a stream of water.

He stops, his hair and clothes dripping. He is still for a moment. Then he wipes his face, leans over to retrieve his hat, bows to the astonished audience of menagerie workers, and continues on his way.

COURTESY OF TIMOTHY TEGGE, TEGGE CIRCUS ARCHIVES, BARABOO, WISCONSIN

Ten

August huffs and puffs and turns so red he’s actually closer to purple. Then he marches off, presumably to have it out with Uncle Al.

Marlena and I glance at each other. By unspoken agreement, neither of us follows.

One by one the menagerie men leave. The animals, finally fed and watered, settle in for the night. At the end of a desperate day is peace.

Marlena and I are alone, holding various bits of foodstuff toward Rosie’s inquisitive trunk. When its strange rubbery finger grabs a wisp of hay from my fingers, Marlena squeals with laughter. Rosie tosses her head and opens her mouth in a smile.

I turn to find Marlena staring at me. The only sounds from within the menagerie are shuffling, snorting, and quiet munching. Outside, in the distance, someone plays a harmonica—a haunting tune in triple time, although I can’t place it.

I’m not sure how it happens—do I reach for her? does she reach for me?—but next thing I know she’s in my arms and we’re waltzing, dipping, and skipping in front of the low-slung rope. As we twirl, I catch sight of Rosie’s raised trunk and smiling face.

Marlena pulls suddenly away.

I stand motionless, my arms still slightly raised, unsure what to do.

“Uh,” says Marlena, blushing furiously and looking at everything but me. “Well. Yes. Let’s go wait for August, shall we?”

I stare at her for a long moment. I want to kiss her. I want to kiss her more than I’ve ever wanted anything in my life.

“Yes,” I finally say. “Yes. Let’s.”

A
N HOUR LATER
August returns to the stateroom. He storms in and slams the door. Marlena goes immediately to a cupboard.

“That useless son-of-a-bitch paid two thousand for that useless son-of-a-bitch bull,” he says, throwing his hat in the corner and ripping off his jacket.
“Two thousand fucking clams!”
He flops into the nearest chair and drops his head into his hands.

Marlena removes a bottle of blended whiskey, pauses, looks at August, and then puts it back. She reaches for the single malt instead.

“And that’s not the worst of it—oh no,” says August, ripping his tie loose and clawing at his shirt collar. “You wanna know what else he did?
Hmmmm?
Go on, guess.”

He’s looking at Marlena, who is utterly unperturbed. She pours a good four fingers’ worth of whiskey into three tumblers.

“I said guess!” barks August.

“I don’t know, I’m sure,” Marlena says calmly. She puts the cap back on the whiskey.

“He spent the rest of the money on a goddamned elephant car.”

Marlena turns, suddenly paying attention. “He didn’t pick up any performers?”

“Sure he did.”

“But—”

“Yes. Exactly,” says August, cutting her off.

Marlena hands him a glass, motions me over for mine, and then takes a seat.

I take a slug and wait as long as I can. “Yes, well, both of you may know what the hell you’re talking about, but I don’t. Do you mind filling me in?”

August exhales through puffed cheeks and brushes away the shock of hair that has fallen across his forehead. He leans forward, his elbows on
his knees. Then he lifts his face so his eyes are locked on mine. “It means,
Jacob
, that we hired more people without having anywhere to put them. It means,
Jacob
, that Uncle Al has seized one of the working men’s bunk cars and declared it a performers’ sleeping car. And because he hired two women, he has to partition it. It means,
Jacob
, that in order to accommodate less than a dozen performers, we will now have sixty-four working men sleeping under wagons on the flats.”

“That’s stupid,” I say. “He should just fill the bunk car with whoever needs a bunk.”

“He can’t do that,” says Marlena.

“Why not?”

“Because you can’t mix working men and performers.”

“Isn’t that exactly what Kinko and I are doing?”

“Ha!” August snorts and sits forward, a lopsided smirk etched on his face. “Do tell us—please, I’m dying to know. How’s that going?” He cocks his head and smiles.

Marlena takes a deep breath and crosses her legs. A moment later, that red leather shoe starts pumping up and down.

I throw my whiskey down my throat and leave.

I
T WAS A BIG WHISKEY
, and it starts to take effect somewhere between the staterooms and the coaches. I’m clearly not the only one under the influence either—now that “business” has been concluded, everyone connected with the Benzini Brothers Most Spectacular Show on Earth is letting off steam. The gatherings run the entire gamut, from celebratory soirées characterized by radio jazz and outbursts of laughter to the desultory gatherings of dirty men who huddle some distance from the train and pass around various types of intoxicant. I catch sight of Camel, who lifts a hand in greeting before passing along the Sterno fluid.

I hear thrashing in the long grass and pause to investigate. I see a woman’s bare legs spread wide with a man between them. He grunts and ruts like a billy goat. His trousers are down around his knees, his hairy buttocks pumping up and down. She grasps his shirt in her fists, moaning with each
thrust. It takes me a moment to realize what I’m looking at—when I do, I wrench my eyes away and wobble forward.

As I approach the ring stock car, I see people sitting on the open doorway and milling around outside.

There are even more inside. Kinko is lording over a party with a bottle in his hand and drunken hospitality on his face. When he catches sight of me, he trips and lurches forward. Hands reach out to catch him.

“Jacob! My man!” he shouts, his eyes fiercely bright. He shakes free of his friends and straightens up. “Folks—friends!” he calls across the crowd of about thirty people who take up the space usually occupied by Marlena’s horses. He walks over and places his arm around my waist. “This is my dear, dear friend Jacob.” He pauses to take a swig from the bottle. “Please make him welcome,” he says. “As a favor to me.”

His guests whistle and laugh. Kinko laughs until he coughs. He lets go of my waist and waves his hand in front of his purple face until he stops sputtering. Then he throws his arm around the waist of the man next to us. They stagger off.

Since the goat room is jammed tight, I head for the other end of the car, where Silver Star used to reside, and slump down against the slatted wall.

The pile of straw next to me rustles. I reach out and poke it, hoping I won’t find a rat. Queenie’s white tail stump is visible for only a moment before she burrows further into the straw, like a crab in sand.

F
ROM HERE ON IN
, I’m not entirely sure of the order. Bottles are passed to me, and I’m pretty sure I drink from most of them. Before long, things are swimming and I’m filled with the warmth of human kindness toward everyone and everything. People have their arms around my shoulders, and I have mine around theirs. We laugh uproariously—at what, I don’t remember, but everything is a riot.

There is some game where you have to toss something, and if you miss the target you have to take a drink. I miss quite a lot. Eventually I begin to think I’m going to throw up and crawl away, to the great mirth of everyone.

I’m sitting in the corner. I can’t quite remember getting here, but I’m leaning against the wall with my head resting on my knees. I do so wish the world would stop spinning, but it doesn’t, so I try leaning my head back against the wall instead.

“Well now, what have we here?” says a sultry voice from somewhere very nearby.

My eyes pop open. A foot’s length of tightly packed cleavage is directly under my nose. I run my eyes up it until I see a face. It’s Barbara. I blink quickly, trying to see only one of her. Oh God—it’s no use. But no—wait. It’s okay. It’s not multiple Barbaras. It’s multiple women.

“Hi, honey,” says Barbara, reaching out and stroking my face. “You doing okay?”