Water for Elephants (35 page)

She is hunched over, her dowager’s hump forcing her to face her lap. Her hair is wispy and white, and someone—obviously not Ipphy—has combed it carefully to obscure the bald spots. She turns suddenly toward me. Her face lights up.

“Morty!” she cries, reaching out a skeletal hand and clapping it around my wrist. “Oh, Morty, you came back!”

I yank my arm away, but the hand comes with it. She pulls me toward her as I recoil.

“Nurse!” I yell, trying to wrench free. “Nurse!”

A few seconds later, someone pries me loose from Ipphy, who is convinced I am her dead husband. Furthermore, she is convinced I don’t love her anymore. She leans over the arm of her chair, weeping, waving her arms in a desperate attempt to reach me. The horse-faced nurse backs me up, moves me some distance away, and then places my walker between us.

“Oh, Morty, Morty! Don’t be like that!” Ipphy wails. “You know it
didn’t mean anything. It was nothing—a terrible mistake. Oh, Morty! Don’t you love me anymore?”

I sit rubbing my wrist, incensed. Why can’t they have a separate wing for people like that? That old bird is clearly out of her head. She could have hurt me. Of course, if they did have a separate wing, I’d probably end up in it after what happened this morning. I sit up straight as an idea occurs to me. Maybe it was the new drug that caused the brain belch—oh, I must ask Rosemary about that. Or maybe not. The thought has cheered me, and I’d like to hang on to that. Must protect my little pockets of happiness.

Minutes pass and old people disappear until the row of wheelchairs resembles a jack-o-lantern’s gap-toothed smile. Family after family arrives, each claiming a decrepit ancestor amid high-decibel greetings. Strong bodies lean over weak; kisses are planted on cheeks. Brakes are kicked free, and one by one old people exit the sliding doors surrounded by relatives.

When Ipphy’s family arrives, they make a great show of being happy to see her. She gazes into their faces, eyes and mouth wide open, baffled but delighted.

There are only six of us left now, and we eye each other suspiciously. Each time the glass doors slide open our faces turn in unison and one of them brightens. And so it goes until I’m the only one left.

I glance at the wall clock. Two forty-five. Dammit! If they don’t show up soon I’ll miss the Spec. I shift in my seat, feeling querulous and old. Hell, I
am
querulous and old, but I must try not to lose my temper when they arrive. I’ll just rush them out the door, make clear that there’s no time for pleasantries. They can tell me about whoever’s promotion or whatever vacation after the show.

Rosemary’s head appears in the doorway. She looks both directions, taking in the fact that I’m alone in the lobby. She goes behind the nurses’ station and sets her chart down on the counter. Then she comes and sits next to me.

“Still no sign of your family, Mr. Jankowski?”

“No!” I shout. “And if they don’t show up soon there won’t be much point. I’m sure the good seats are already taken and I’m already going to
miss the Spec.” I turn back to the clock, miserable, whiney. “Whatever is keeping them? They’re always here by now.”

Rosemary looks at her watch. It’s gold with stretchy links that look like they’re pinching her flesh. I always wore my watch loose, back when I had one.

“Do you know who’s coming today?” she asks.

“No. I never do. And it doesn’t really matter, just so long as they get here in time.”

“Well, let me see what I can find out.”

She rises and goes behind the desk at the nurses’ station.

I scan each person who passes on the sidewalk behind the sliding glass doors, seeking a familiar face. But they pass as a blur, one unto another. I look at Rosemary, who is standing behind the desk and speaking into the phone. She glances at me, hangs up, and makes another call.

The clock now says two fifty-three—just seven minutes to showtime. My blood pressure is so high my entire body buzzes like the fluorescent lights above me.

I’ve entirely given up on the idea of not losing my temper. Whoever shows up is going to get a piece of my mind, and that’s for sure. Every other old bird or coot in the place will have seen the whole show, including the Spec, and where’s the fairness in that? If there’s anyone in this place who should be there, it’s me. Oh, just wait until I lay eyes on whoever comes. If it’s one of my children, I’ll lay right into them. If it’s one of the others, well, then I’ll wait until—

“I’m so sorry, Mr. Jankowski.”

“Eh?” I look up quickly. Rosemary’s back, sitting in the chair next to me. In my panic, I hadn’t noticed.

“They plum lost track of whose turn it was.”

“Well, who did they decide? How long is it going to take them to get here?”

Rosemary pauses. She presses her lips together and takes my hand between hers. It’s the expression people wear when they’re about to deliver bad news, and my adrenaline rises in anticipation. “They can’t make it,” she
says. “It was supposed to be your son, Simon. When I called, he remembered, but he’d already made other plans. There was no answer at the other numbers.”

“Other plans?” I croak.

“Yes, sir.”

“Did you tell him about the circus?”

“Yes, sir. And he was really very sorry. But it was something he just couldn’t get out of.”

My face twists, and before I know it I’m sniveling like a child.

“I’m so sorry, Mr. Jankowski. I know how important this was to you. I’d take you myself, but I’m working a twelve-hour shift.”

I bring my hands to my face, trying to hide my old man tears. A few seconds later, a tissue dangles in front of me.

“You’re a good girl, Rosemary,” I say, taking the tissue and staunching my leaky nose. “You know that, don’t you? I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

She looks at me for a long time. Too long. Finally she says, “Mr. Jankowski, you do know I’m leaving tomorrow, don’t you?”

My head snaps up. “Eh? For how long?” Oh, damn. That’s just what I need. If she goes on vacation, I’ll probably forget her name by the time she comes back.

“We’re moving to Richmond. To be closer to my mother-in-law. She’s not been well.”

I am stunned. My jaw flaps uselessly for a moment before I find words. “You’re married?”

“For twenty-six happy years, Mr. Jankowski.”

“Twenty-six years? No. I don’t believe it. You’re just a girl.”

She laughs. “I’m a grandmother, Mr. Jankowski. Forty-seven years old.”

We sit in silence for a moment. She digs into her pale pink pocket and replaces my saturated tissue with a new one. I dab the deep sockets that house my eyes.

“He’s a lucky man, your husband,” I sniff.

“We’re both lucky. Very blessed indeed.”

“And so’s your mother-in-law. Did you know there’s not a single one of my children who could take me in?”

“Well . . . It’s not always easy, you know.”

“I never said it was.”

She takes my hand. “I know that, Mr. Jankowski. I know that.”

I am overcome by the unfairness of it all. I close my eyes and picture drooling old Ipphy Bailey in the big top. She won’t even notice she’s there, never mind remember any of it.

After a couple of minutes, Rosemary says, “Is there anything I can do for you?”

“No,” I say, and there isn’t—not unless she can deliver me to the circus or the circus to me. Or take me with her to Richmond. “I think I’d like to be alone now,” I add.

“I understand,” she says gently. “Shall I take you back to your room?”

“No. I think I’ll sit right here.”

She stands up, leans over long enough to plant a kiss on my forehead, and disappears into the hallway, her rubber soles squeaking on the tiled floor.

COLLECTION OF THE RINGLING CIRCUS MUSEUM, SARASOTA, FLORIDA

Twenty

When I wake up, Marlena has disappeared. I immediately go in search of her and find her exiting Uncle Al’s car with Earl. He accompanies her to car 48 and makes August vacate while she goes inside.

I am pleased to see that August looks much as I do, which is to say like a battered rotten tomato. When Marlena climbs into the car he calls her name and tries to follow, but Earl blocks his way. August is agitated and desperate, moving from window to window, hauling himself up by his fingertips, weeping, oozing contrition.

It will never happen again. He loves her more than life itself—surely she knows that. He doesn’t know what came over him. He’ll do anything—anything!—to make it up to her. She is a goddess, a queen, and he is a just a miserable puddle of remorse. Can’t she see how sorry he is? Is she trying to torture him? Has she no heart?

When Marlena emerges with a suitcase, she passes him without so much as a glance. She wears a straw hat with a floppy brim pulled down over her black eye.

“Marlena,” he cries, reaching forward and grabbing her arm.

“Let her go,” says Earl.

“Please. I’m begging you,” says August. He drops to his knees in the dirt. His hands slide down her arm until he’s holding her left hand. He brings it to his face, showering it with tears and kisses as she stares stonily ahead.

“Marlena. Darling. Look at me. I’m on my knees. I’m begging you. What more can I do? My darling—my sweet—please come inside with me. We’ll talk about it. We’ll work it out.” He digs through his pocket, and comes up with a ring, which he tries to slip onto her third finger. She jerks her hand free and starts walking.

“Marlena! Marlena!” He is screaming now, and even the unbruised parts of his face are discolored. His hair flops over his forehead. “You can’t do this! This is not the end! Do you hear me? You’re my wife, Marlena! Till death do us part, remember?” He climbs to his feet and stands with fists clenched. “Till death do us part!” he screams.

Marlena thrusts her suitcase at me without stopping. I turn and follow, staring at her narrow waist as she marches across the brown grass. Only at the edge of the lot does she slow down enough that I can walk beside her.

“M
AY
I
HELP YOU?
” says the hotel clerk, looking up as the bell above the door announces our arrival. His initial expression of solicitous pleasantry is replaced first by alarm and then by disdain. It’s the same combination we’ve seen on the faces of everyone we passed on the way here. A middle-aged couple sitting on a bench by the front door gawks unabashedly.

And we do make quite a pair. The skin around Marlena’s eye has turned an impressive blue, but at least her face has kept its shape—mine is pulpy and mashed, the bruises overlaid with oozing wounds.

“I need a room,” says Marlena.

The clerk peers at her with disgust. “We haven’t got any,” he replies, pushing his spectacles up with one finger. He returns to his ledger.

I set her suitcase down and stand beside her. “Your sign says you’ve got vacancies.”

He presses his lips into an imperious line. “Then it’s wrong.”

Marlena touches my elbow. “Come on, Jacob.”

“No, I won’t ‘come on,’” I say, turning back to the clerk. “The lady needs a room, and you’ve got vacancies.”

He glances conspicuously at her left hand and raises an eyebrow. “We don’t rent to unmarried couples.”

“It’s not for us. Just her.”

“Uh-huh,” he says.

“You better watch it, pal,” I say. “I don’t like what you’re implying.”

“Come on, Jacob,” Marlena says again. She is even paler than before, looking at the floor.

“I’m not
implying
anything,” the clerk says.

“Jacob, please,” says Marlena. “Let’s just go somewhere else.”

I give the clerk a final, searing stare that lets him know exactly what I’d do to him if Marlena weren’t here and then pick up her suitcase. She marches to the door.

“Oh, say, I know who you are!” says the woman half of the couple on the bench. “You’re the girl from the poster! Yes! I’m sure of it.” She turns to the man sitting next to her. “Norbert, that’s the girl from the poster! Isn’t it? Miss, you’re the circus star, aren’t you?”

Marlena swings the door open, adjusts the brim of her hat, and steps outside. I follow.

“Wait,” calls the clerk. “I think we may have a—”

I slam the door behind me.

T
HE HOTEL THREE DOORS
down has no such qualms, although I dislike this clerk almost as much as the other. He’s just dying to know what happened. His eyes sweep over us, shining, curious, lewd. I know what he’d assume if Marlena’s black eye were the only injury between us, but because I am far worse off, the story is not so clear.

“Room 2B,” he says, dangling a key in front of him and still drinking in the sight of us. “Up the stairs and to the right. End of the hall.”

I follow Marlena, watching her sculpted calves as she climbs the stairs.

She fusses with the key for a minute and then stands aside, leaving it in the lock. “I can’t get it. Can you try?”

I jiggle it in the cavity. After a few seconds, the deadbolt slides. I push
the door open and stand aside to let Marlena enter. She tosses her hat on the bed and walks to the window, which is open. A gust of wind inflates the curtain, first blowing it into the room and then sucking it back against the screen.