August stares at him, pale. "You mean she wasn't even with a circus?" The man steps
over the rope and disappears behind the elephant. He returns with a wooden rod about
three feet long with a four-inch metal pick coming off the end.
"Here's your bull hook. You're gonna need it. Good luck on ya. As for me, if I never see
another bull as long as I live it'll be too soon." He spits again and walks away.
August and Marlena stare after him. I look back just in time to see the elephant pull her
trunk from the trough. She lifts it, aims, and blasts the man with such force his hat sails
offhis head on a stream of water.
He stops, his hair and clothes dripping. He is still for a moment. Then he wipes his face,
leans over to retrieve his hat, bows to the astonished audience of menagerie workers, and
continues on his way.
Ten
August huffs and puffs and turns so red he's actually closer to purple. Then he marches
off, presumably to have it out with Uncle Al.
Marlena and I glance at each other. By unspoken agreement, neither of us follows.
One by one the menagerie men leave. The animals, finally fed and watered, settle in for
the night. At the end of a desperate day is peace. Marlena and I are alone, holding various
bits of foodstuff toward
Rosie s inquisitive trunk. When its strange rubbery finger grabs a wisp of hay from my
fingers, Marlena squeals with laughter. Rosie tosses her head and opens her mouth in a
smile.
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?"
Sara Gruen
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 thousandfucking
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 130
Water for E l e p h a n ts
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 Sara Gruen
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.
W a t e r for E l e p h a n ts
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. "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... u h ... , " Isay. " U h ... "
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.
S a r a G r u en
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 stillBarbara 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 Godknowswhat—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.
"Hmmmrn?" 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
— = 134
W a t e r for E l e p h a n ts
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.
