Water for Elephants

“He’s brand new, a First of May. Handled himself real well at the cooch tent.”

She grabs my chin and raises it, gazing deep into my eyes. I try to return the favor but am having some trouble focusing. “Oh, you are a sweet thing. So, tell me, Jacob—you ever been with a woman?”

“I . . . uh . . .,” I say. “Uh . . .”

Nell giggles. Barbara leans back and puts her hands on her waist. “Whadya think? Wanna give him a proper welcome?”

“We practically have to,” says Nell. “A First of May and a virgin?” Her hand slips between my legs and slides over my crotch. My head, which had been wobbling on its stem, snaps upright. “You think his hair is red down there, too?” she says, cupping me in her palm.

Barbara leans forward, unclasps my hands, and lifts one to her mouth. She turns it over, runs a long nail across the palm and then stares me in the eye while running her tongue along the same path. Then she takes my hand and places it on her left breast, right where the nipple must be.

Oh God. Oh God. I’m touching a breast. Through a dress, but still—

Barbara stands up for a moment, smoothes her skirt, looks furtively around, and then crouches. I’m pondering this change of position when she takes hold of my hand again. This time she pulls it under her skirt and presses my fingers against hot, moist silk.

I catch my breath. The whiskey, the moonshine, the gin, the God-knows-what—all of it dissipates instantly. She moves my hand up and down, over her strange and wonderful valleys.

Oh shit. I may come right now.

“Hmmmm?” she purrs, rearranging my hand so that my middle finger presses further into her. Warm silk bulges around both sides of my finger, pulsing under my touch. She removes my hand, places it back on my knee, and then gives my crotch an experimental squeeze.

“Mmmmm,” she says, her eyes half-closed. “He’s ready, Nell. Damn, I love them at this age.”

The rest of the night passes in epileptic flashes. I am aware of being propped up between two women, but I think I fall out the door of the stock car. At least, I am aware of finding myself cheek down in the dirt. Then I’m swept upward again and jostled along in the dark until I’m sitting on the edge of a bed.

There are definitely two Barbaras now. And two of the other one, as well. Nell, was it?

Barbara steps backward and raises her arms in the air. She throws her head back and runs her hands over her body, dancing and moving by candlelight. I’m interested—there is no question about that. But I simply can’t sit upright anymore. So I fall back.

Someone’s yanking on my pants. I mumble something, not sure what, but I don’t think it’s encouragement. I’m suddenly not feeling well.

Oh God. She’s touching me—it—stroking experimentally. I prop myself up on my elbows and look down. It’s limp, a tiny pink turtle hiding in its shell. It also seems to be stuck to my leg. She peels it free, delves both her hands between my thighs to spread them, and reaches down for my balls. She rests them on one hand, juggling them like eggs while she examines my penis. It flops hopelessly under her manipulations while I watch, mortified.

The other woman—now there’s only one again, how the hell am I ever going to keep this straight?—lies next to me on the bed. She fishes a skinny breast from her dress and lifts it to my mouth. She rubs it all over my face. Now her lipsticked mouth is coming at me, a gaping maw with tongue extended. I turn my head to the right, where there is no woman. Then I feel a mouth close around the head of my penis.

I gasp. The women giggle, but it’s a purring sound, an encouraging sound, as they continue trying to get a response.

Oh God, oh God, she’s sucking it. Sucking it, for God’s sake.

I’m not going to be able to—

Oh my God, I need to—

I turn my head and hurl the unfortunately varied contents of my stomach onto Nell.

THERE’S A HIDEOUS scraping noise. Then the blackness above me is broken by a sliver of light.

Kinko peers in at me. “Wake up, sunshine. Your boss is looking for you.”

He’s holding a lid open. All of which starts to make sense, because as my cramped body realizes my brain is open for business, it soon becomes clear I am stuffed into a trunk.

Kinko props the lid open and walks away. I work my bent neck free and struggle into a sitting position. The trunk is in a tent, surrounded by rack after rack of vibrant costumes, props, and vanities with mirrors.

“Where am I?” I croak. I cough and try to clear my parched throat.

“Clown Alley,” says Kinko, fingering some paint jars on a dresser.

I lift an arm to cover my eyes and notice it is clad in silk. A red silk dressing gown, to be exact. A red silk dressing gown that is wide open. I look down and discover that someone has shaved my genitals.

I snatch the edges of the gown together, wondering if Kinko saw.

Dear God, what did I do last night? I have no idea. Nothing but scraps of memory, and—

Oh God. I threw up on a woman.

I struggle to my feet, tying the dressing gown. I wipe my forehead, which feels unusually slick. My hand comes away white.

“What the—?” I say, staring at my hand.

Kinko turns and hands me a mirror. I take it with great trepidation. When I raise it to my face, a clown looks back at me.

I POKE MY HEAD out of the tent, look left and right, and then streak across to the stock car. I am followed by guffaws and catcalls.

“Whooeeee, look at that hot mama!”

“Hey, Fred—check out the new cooch girl!”

“Say, honey—got plans tonight?”

I dive into the goat room and slam the door, leaning against it. I breathe heavily, listening until the laughter outside dies down. I grab a rag and wipe my face again. I rubbed it raw before I left Clown Alley, but somehow I still don’t believe it’s clean. I don’t think any part of me will ever be clean again. And the worst part is that I don’t even know what I did. I have only snippets, and as horrifying as those are it’s even more horrifying not knowing what happened in between.

It suddenly occurs to me that I have no idea whether I’m still a virgin.

I reach inside the dressing gown and scratch my stubbly balls.

KINKO COMES IN a few minutes later. I’m lying on my bedroll, my arms over my head.

“You’d better get your ass out there,” he says. “He’s still looking for you.”

Something snuffles in my ear. I lift my head and bang into a wet nose. Queenie leaps backward as though launched from a catapult. She surveys me from a distance of three feet, sniffing cautiously. Oh, I bet I’m just a medley of smells this morning. I drop my head again.

“You want to get fired, or what?” Kinko says.

“At this point, I really don’t care,” I mumble.

“What?”

“I’m leaving anyway.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

I can’t answer. I can’t tell him that not only have I disgraced myself beyond belief or redemption, but I have also failed at my first opportunity to have sex—something I’ve thought about pretty much constantly for the last eight years. Not to mention throwing up on one of the women who was offering and then passing out and having somebody shave my balls and paint my face and stuff me into a trunk. Although he must know at least parts of it, since he knew where to find me this morning. Perhaps he was even involved in the festivities.

“Don’t be a pussy,” he says. “You want to end up walking the tracks like those poor bums out there? Now get on out there before you get yourself fired.”

I remain inert.

“I said get up!”

“What do you care?” I grumble. “And stop shouting. My head hurts.”

“Just get the hell up or I’ll hurt the rest of you, too!”