Water for Elephants

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.”

AN 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.

IT 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 soirees 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.

FROM 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?”

“Mmm,” I say, trying to nod.

Her fingertips linger under my chin as she turns to the blonde crouching beside her. “So young. Oh, he’s cute as a button, isn’t he, Nell?”

Nell takes a drag from a cigarette and blows the smoke from the side of her mouth. “Sure is. Don’t think I’ve seen him before.”

“He was helping out at the cooch tent a few nights ago,” says Barbara. She turns back to me. “What’s your name, honey?” she says softly, running the backs of her fingers up and down my cheek.

“Jacob,” I say, around the edges of a belch.

“Jacob,” she says. “Oh, say, I know who you are. He’s the one Walter was talking about,” she says to Nell.