Water for Elephants (33 page)

“Me?”

“Of course you. I’ve got to do my act now, but I won’t be long. And if you see August ahead of time, not a word, okay?”

I nod. When I look back at the big top, August has disappeared inside.

R
OSIE IS PERFECTLY AGREEABLE
to the unusual arrangement. She plods along by my side to the edge of Marlena’s dressing tent and then waits patiently as Grady and Bill untie the bottom of the sidewall from the stakes.

“So, how’s Camel doing, anyway?” asks Grady, crouching down and working on a rope. Rosie reaches out to investigate.

“About the same,” I say. “He thinks he’s getting better, but I don’t see it. I think he doesn’t notice as much because he doesn’t have to do anything. Well, that and he’s usually drunk.”

“That sure sounds like Camel,” says Bill. “Where’s he getting liquor? It is liquor, ain’t it? He ain’t drinking that jake shit no more, is he?”

“No, it’s liquor. My bunkmate’s taken a shine to him.”

“Who? That Kinko guy?” says Grady.

“Yup.”

“I thought he hated working men.”

Rosie reaches out and takes Grady’s hat. He turns around and swipes at it, but she holds it high. “Hey, would you keep your bull under control?”

I look into her eye, which twinkles back at me.
“
!
” I say sternly, although I’m finding it hard not to laugh. Her great ear waves forward and she drops the hat. I stoop to retrieve it.

“Walter—Kinko—could use some softening around the edges,” I say, handing the hat back to Grady, “but he’s been real decent to Camel. Gave up his bed for him. Found his son, even. Talked him into meeting us in Providence to take Camel off our hands.”

“No kidding,” says Grady, stopping and looking at me in surprise. “Does Camel know this?”

“Uh . . . Yeah.”

“And how did he take it?”

I grimace and suck the air in through my teeth.

“That well, huh?”

“It’s not like we had a lot of alternatives.”

“No, that you didn’t.” Grady pauses. “What happened wasn’t really his fault. His family probably even knows that by now. The war made a lot of men go funny. You knew he was a gunner, didn’t you?”

“No. He doesn’t talk about it.”

“Say, you don’t think Camel could manage standing in line, do you?”

“I doubt it,” I say. “Why?”

“We been hearing rumors that maybe there’s money finally, maybe even for the working men. Hadn’t given the story much credence up till now, but after what just happened in the big top, I’m beginning to think there might be half a chance.”

The bottom of the sidewall is now flapping free. Bill and Grady lift it, exposing the rearranged interior of Marlena’s dressing tent. There’s a table at one end, with a heavy linen tablecloth and three place settings. The other end of the tent has been completely cleared.

“Where do you want the stake? Over there?” says Grady, gesturing toward the open space.

“Guess so,” I say.

“Back in a sec,” he says, disappearing. A few minutes later he’s back, carrying two sixteen-pound sledges, one in each hand. He slings one through the air to Bill, who looks not even remotely alarmed. He catches its handle and follows Grady into the tent. They pound the iron stake into the ground in a battery of perfectly timed strokes.

I lead Rosie in and crouch on my hams while I secure her leg chain. She leaves that leg planted firmly on the ground, but is leaning hard on the others. When I rise again, I see she is inclining toward a large pile of watermelons in the corner.

“You want us to tie it back down?” says Grady, pointing at the flapping sidewall.

“Yes, if you don’t mind. I don’t think Marlena wants August to know Rosie’s in here till he steps inside.”

Grady shrugs. “No skin off my nose.”

“Say, Grady? Do you think you could keep an eye on Rosie for just a minute? I need to change my clothes.”

“I don’t know,” he says, looking at Rosie with narrowed eyes. “She’s not going to pull her stake out or anything, is she?”

“I doubt it. But here,” I say, walking to the pile of watermelons. Rosie curls her trunk and opens her mouth in a wide smile. I carry one over and smash it to the ground in front of her. It explodes, and her trunk dives instantly into its red flesh. She scoops chunks into her mouth, rind and all. “There’s some insurance,” I say.

I duck under the sidewall and go get changed.

W
HEN
I
RETURN
, Marlena is there, wearing the beaded silk dress August gave her that night we had dinner in their stateroom. The diamond necklace sparkles on her throat.

Rosie is munching happily on another watermelon—it’s at least her second, but there are still half a dozen in the corner. Marlena has removed Rosie’s headpiece, which hangs over the chair in front of her vanity. There is now a serving table laden with silver-domed platters and wine bottles. I smell seared beef, and my stomach twists from hunger.

Marlena is flushed, digging through one of the drawers of her vanity. “Oh, Jacob!” she says, looking over her shoulder. “Good. I was getting worried. He’ll be here any second. Oh heavens. Now I can’t find it.” She straightens up suddenly, leaving the drawer open. Silk scarves spill over its edge. “Can you do me a favor?”

“Of course,” I say.

She extracts a bottle of champagne from a three-legged silver cooler. The ice inside shifts and jingles. Water drips from the bottle’s bottom as she hands it to me. “Can you pop it just as he comes in? Also, yell ‘surprise!’”

“Sure,” I say, taking the bottle. I remove the wire contraption and wait with my thumb on the cork. Rosie reaches over with her trunk, trying to pry her way between my fingers and the bottle. Marlena continues to dig through the drawer.

“What is this?”

I look up. August stands in front of us.

“Oh!” cries Marlena, spinning around. “Surprise!”

“Surprise!” I shout, twisting away from Rosie and popping the cork. It bounces off the canvas and lands in the grass. Champagne bubbles over my fingers, and I laugh. Marlena is there instantly with two champagne flutes, trying to catch the overflow. By the time we get coordinated, we’ve spilled a third of the bottle, which Rosie is still trying to take from me.

I look down. Marlena’s rose silk shoes are dark with champagne. “Oh, I’m so sorry!” I laugh.

“No, no! Don’t be silly,” she says. “We have another bottle.”

“I said
what is this?
”

Marlena and I freeze, our hands still tangled. She looks up, her eyes suddenly worried. She holds a mostly empty champagne flute in each hand. “It’s a surprise. A celebration.”

August stares. His tie is loose, his jacket open. His face is an utter blank.

“A surprise, yes,” he says. He removes his hat and turns it over in his hands, examining it. His hair rises in a wave from his forehead. He looks up suddenly, with one eyebrow cocked. “Or so you think.”

“I beg your pardon?” Marlena asks in a hollow voice.

He flicks his wrist and sends his hat sailing into a corner. Then he removes his jacket, slowly, methodically. He walks to the vanity and swings his jacket as though he’s going to place it over the back of the chair. When he sees Rosie’s headpiece, he stops. Instead, he folds the jacket and places it neatly on the chair’s seat. His eyes move down to the open drawer and silk scarves spilling over its sides.

“Did I catch you at a bad moment?” he says, looking up at us. He sounds as though he’s just asked someone to pass the salt.

“Darling, I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Marlena says softly.

August reaches down and pulls a long, nearly transparent orange scarf free from the drawer. Then he weaves it through and around his fingers. “Having a little fun with scarves, were you?” He pulls the end of the scarf, and it slips through his fingers again. “Oh, you’re a naughty one. But I guess I knew that.”

Marlena stares, speechless.

“So,” he says. “Is this a postcoital celebration? Did I give you long enough? Or perhaps I should go away for a while and come back? I must say, the elephant is a new twist. I dread to think.”

“What in God’s name are you talking about?” Marlena says.

“Two flutes,” he observes, nodding at her hands.

“What?” She lifts the flutes so quickly their contents slosh onto the grass. “Are you talking about these? The third one is right—”

“Do you think I’m an idiot?”

“August—” I say.

“Shut up! Just shut the fuck up!”

His face is purple. His eyes bulge. He trembles with rage.

Marlena and I stand perfectly still, stunned into silence. Then August’s face undergoes another transformation, melding into something close to complacency. He continues to play with the scarf, even smiles at it. Then he folds it carefully and places it back in the drawer. When he straightens up, he shakes his head slowly.

“You . . . You . . . You . . .” He raises a hand, stirring the air with his fingers. But then he trails off, his attention caught by the silver-tipped cane. It’s leaning against the sidewall near the table, where I left it. He saunters over and picks it up.

I hear liquid hitting the ground behind me and turn quickly. Rosie is peeing into the grass, her ears flat against her head, her trunk curled under her face.

August holds the cane and slaps its silver handle repeatedly against his palm. “How long did you think you could keep it from me?” He pauses for a second, and then looks me straight in the eye. “Eh?”

“August,” I say. “I have no idea what—”

“I said
shut up!
” He spins and swipes the cane across the serving table, knocking platters, cutlery, and bottles to the ground. Then he raises a foot and kicks the whole thing over. It crashes onto its side, sending china, glass, and food flying.

August stares down at the mess for a moment, and then looks up. “You think I don’t see what’s going on?” His eyes drill into Marlena, his temple pulses. “Oh, you’re good, my dear,” he wiggles his finger at her and smiles, “I’ll give you that. You’re very good.”

He walks back to the vanity and rests the cane against it. Then he leans over and peers into the mirror. He pushes the hair that’s fallen over his forehead back into place and then smoothes it with his palm. Then he freezes, his hand still at his forehead. “Peek-a-boo,” he says, looking at our reflections. “I see you.”

Marlena’s horrified face looks back at me from the mirror.

August turns and picks up Rosie’s pink sequined headpiece. “And that’s the trouble, isn’t it? I see you. You think I don’t, but I do. This was a nice touch, I must admit,” he says, turning the shimmering headpiece over in his hands. “The devoted wife, hiding away in a closet, sewing up a storm. Or was it a closet? Maybe it was right here. Or maybe you went to that whore’s tent. Whores look after each other, don’t they?” He looks at me. “So, where did you do it, eh, Jacob? Where, exactly, have you fucked my wife?”

I take Marlena’s elbow. “Come on. Let’s go,” I say.

“Aha!
So you don’t even deny it!” he screams. He clutches the headpiece in white-knuckled fists and pulls, screaming through gritted teeth, until a split zigzags across it.

Marlena shrieks. She drops the flutes and claps a hand to her mouth.

“You
whore!
” August screams. “You
slut
. You
mangy bitch!
” With each epithet, he rips the headpiece further.

“August!” Marlena screams, stepping forward. “Stop it!
Stop it!
”

The noise seems to shock him, because he stops. He looks at her and blinks. He looks at the headpiece. Then he looks back at her, confused.

After a pause of several seconds, Marlena steps forward. “Auggie?” she says tentatively. She looks up at him, her eyes beseeching. “Are you all right now?”

August stares at her, baffled, as though he’s simply awakened and found himself here. Marlena approaches slowly. “Darling?” she says.

His lower jaw moves. His forehead crumples, and the headpiece falls to the ground.

I think I’ve stopped breathing.

Marlena steps right up to him. “Auggie?”

He looks down at her. His nose twitches. Then he shoves her so violently she crashes back onto the overturned platters and food. He takes one long step forward, leans down, and tries to rip the necklace from her throat. The clasp holds, so he ends up dragging her by the neck as she screams.

I launch across the open space and tackle him. Rosie roars behind me as August and I fall backward onto broken plates and spilled gravy. First I’m on top of him, pounding his face. Then he’s on top of me, cuffing me in the eye. I buck him off and yank him to his feet.

“Auggie! Jacob!” shrieks Marlena. “Stop!”

I shove him backward, but he grabs my lapels and so we crash into the vanity together. I am vaguely aware of tinkling as the mirror disintegrates around us. August thrusts me away, and we grapple in the center of the tent.

We roll around, grunting, so close I can feel his breath on my face. Now
I’m on top of him, landing punches. Now he’s on top of me, banging my head against the ground. Marlena is hovering, screaming at us to stop, but we can’t. Or at least I can’t—all the rage and pain and frustration of the past few months is channeled into my fists.