I sit for close to an hour, staring at the grass between my feet. I pluck a few blades and roll them in my fingers, wondering why the hell it’s taking them so long to pull out.
After a while August approaches. He stares at me, and then leans over to pick up the rifle. I hadn’t been aware of bringing it with me.
“Come on, pal,” he says. “Don’t want to get left behind.”
“I think I do.”
“Don’t worry about what I said earlier—I talked to Al, and no one’s getting redlighted. You’re fine.”
I stare sullenly at the ground. After a while, August sits beside me.
“Or are you?” he says.
“How’s Marlena?” I respond.
August watches me for a moment and then digs a package of Camels from his shirt pocket. He shakes one loose and offers it to me.
“No thanks,” I say.
“Is that the first time you’ve shot a horse?” he says, plucking the cigarette from the package with his teeth.
“No. But it doesn’t mean I like it.”
“Part of being a vet, my boy.”
“Which, technically, I’m not.”
“So you missed the exams. Big deal.”
“It is a big deal.”
“No it isn’t. It’s just a piece of paper, and nobody here gives a damn about that. You’re on a show now. The rules are different.”
“How so?”
He waves toward the train. “Tell me, do you honestly think this is the most spectacular show on earth?”
I don’t answer.
“Eh?” he says, leaning into me with his shoulder.
“I don’t know.”
“No. It’s nowhere near. It’s probably not even the fiftieth most spectacular show on earth. We hold maybe a third of the capacity Ringling does. You already know that Marlena’s not Romanian royalty. And Lucinda? Nowhere near eight hundred and eighty-five pounds. Four hundred, tops. And do you really think Frank Otto got tattooed by angry headhunters in Borneo? Hell no. He used to be a stake driver on the Flying Squadron. He worked on that ink for nine years. And you want to know what Uncle Al did when the hippo died? He swapped out her water for formaldehyde and kept on showing her. For two weeks we traveled with a pickled hippo. The whole thing’s illusion, Jacob, and there’s nothing wrong with that. It’s what people want from us. It’s what they expect.”
He stands up and holds out a hand. After a moment, I take it and let him pull me to my feet.
We walk toward the train.
“Damn, August,” I say. “I almost forgot. The cats haven’t eaten. We had to dump their meat.”
“It’s all right, my boy,” he says. “It’s already been taken care of.”
“What do you mean, taken care of?”
I stop in my tracks.
“August? What do you mean it’s been taken care of?”
August continues walking, the gun slung casually over his shoulder.
Wake up, Mr. Jankowski. You’re having a bad dream.” My eyes snap open. Where am I? Oh, hell and damnation.
“I wasn’t dreaming,” I protest.
“Well, you were talking in your sleep, sure enough,” says the nurse. It’s the nice black girl again. Why do I have such trouble remembering her name? “Something about feeding stars to cats. Now don’t you go fretting about those cats—I’m sure they got fed, even if it was after you woke up. Now why did they go and put these on you?” she muses, ripping open my Velcro wrist restraints. “You didn’t try to run off now, did you?”
“No. I had the audacity to complain about that pablum they feed us.” I glance sideways at her. “And then my plate sort of slid off the table.”
She stops and looks at me. Then she bursts out laughing. “Oh, you’re a live one, all right,” she says, rubbing my wrists between her warm hands. “Oh my.”
It comes to me in a flash: Rosemary! Ha. So I’m not senile after all.
I must think of a way to commit it to memory, a rhyme or something. I may have remembered this morning, but that’s no guarantee I’ll remember it tomorrow or even later today.
She goes to the window and opens the blinds.
“Do you mind?” I say.
“Do I mind what?” she replies.
“Correct me if I’m wrong, but isn’t this my room? What if I don’t want the blinds open? I tell you, I’m getting mighty sick of everyone thinking they know better than I do about what I want.”
Rosemary gazes at me. Then she drops the blinds and marches from the room, letting the door shut behind her. My mouth opens in surprise.
A moment later there are three taps on the door. It opens a crack.
“Good morning, Mr. Jankowski, may I come in?”
What the hell game is she playing?
“I said, may I come in?” she repeats.
“Of course,” I sputter.
“Thank you kindly,” she says coming in and standing at the foot of my bed. “Now, would you like me to open the blinds and let the good Lord’s sun shine in on you, or would you rather sit here in pitch darkness all day long?”
“Oh, go ahead and open them. And stop it with that nonsense.”
“It’s not nonsense, Mr. Jankowski,” she says, going to the window and opening the blinds. “Not a bit of it. I’d never thought of it that way before, and I thank you for opening my eyes.”
Is she making fun of me? I narrow my eyes, examining her face for clues.
“Now, am I correct in thinking you’d like breakfast in your room?”
I don’t answer, as I’m still undecided as to whether I smell a rat. You’d think they’d have that preference written on my chart by now, but they ask me the same damned question every morning. Of course I would rather take my breakfast in the dining room. Taking it in my bed makes me feel like an invalid. But breakfast follows the early-morning diaper change, and the smell of feces fills the hallway and makes me retch. It’s not until an hour or two after each and every one of the incapacitated folks has been cleaned, fed, and parked outside their doors that it’s safe to poke your head out.
“Now, Mr. Jankowski—if you expect people to try to do things your way, you’re going to have to give some hints as to what that way is.”
“Yes. Please. I’ll have it in here,” I say.
“All right, then. Would you like your shower before or after breakfast?”
“What makes you think I need a shower?” I say, thoroughly offended, even though I’m not at all sure I don’t need a shower.
“Because this is the day your people visit,” she says, flashing that big smile again. “And because I thought you’d like to be nice and fresh for your outing this afternoon.”
My outing? Ah, yes! The circus. I must say, waking up two days in a row and having the prospect of a visit to the circus ahead of me has been nice.
“I think I’ll take it before breakfast if you don’t mind,” I say pleasantly.
ONE OF THE greatest indignities about being old is that people insist on helping you with things like bathing and going to the washroom.
