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 S a r a G r u en
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 W a t e r for E l e p h a n ts
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!"
"All right! Just stop yelling!"
I drag myself upright and throw him a dirty look. My head pounds
and it feels as though lead weights are tied to each of my joints. Since he continues
watching me, I turn toward the wall, keeping the red gown on until I pull my pants up in
an effort to hide my hairlessness. Nevertheless, my face burns.
"Oh, and a word to the wise?" says Kinko. "Some flowers for Barbara wouldn't go amiss.
The other one's just a whore, but Barbara's a friend." I am so flooded with shame my
consciousness flickers. After the urge to faint passes, I stare at the ground, sure I'll never
bring myself to look anyone in the eyes again.
S a r a G r u en
THE FOX BROTHERS train has been moved off the siding,
and the hotly disputed elephant car is now hitched directly behind our engine, where the
ride will be smoothest. It has vents instead of slats and is made of metal. The boys from
the Flying Squadron are busy tearing down tents—they've already dropped most of the
larger ones, revealing the buildings of Joliet in the background. A small crowd of towners
has gathered to watch the activity.
I find August in the menagerie tent, standing in front of the elephant.
"Move!" he screams, waving the bull hook around her face. She swings her trunk and
blinks.
"I said mover He steps behind her and thwacks her in the back of the
leg. "Move, goddammit!" Her eyes narrow and her enormous ears flatten against her
head.
August catches sight of me and freezes. He drops the bull hook to his side. "Rough
night?" he sneers.
A blush prickles up the back of my neck and spreads over my entire head.
"Never mind. Get a stick and help me move this stupid beast." Pete comes up behind him,
twisting his hat in his hands. "August?" August turns, furious. "Oh, for Christ's sake.
What is it, Pete? Can't you see I'm busy?"
"The cat meat is here."
"Good. Take care of it. We don't have much time." "What exactly do you want me to do
with it?"
"What the hell do you think I want you to do with it?" "But, boss—" says Pete, clearly
distressed.
"Goddammit!" says August. The vein on his temple bulges dangerously. "Do I have to do
every damned thing myself? Here," he says, thrusting the bull hook at me. "Teach the
brute something. Anything will do. As far as I can tell, all she knows how to do is shit
and eat."
I take the bull hook and watch as he storms from the tent. I'm still staring after him when
the elephant's trunk sweeps past my face, blowing Water for E l e p h a n ts
warm air into my ear. I spin and find myself looking into an amber eye. It blinks at me.
My gaze shifts from that eye to the bull hook in my hand.
I look back up at the eye and again it blinks. I lean over and lay the bull hook on the
ground.
She swings her trunk across the ground in front of her, fanning her ears like enormous
leaves. Her mouth opens in a smile.
"Hi," I say. "Hi, Rosie. I'm Jacob."
After a moment's hesitation, I extend my hand, just a bit. The trunk whooshes past,
blowing. Emboldened, I reach out and lay a hand on her shoulder. Her skin is rough and
stubbly and surprisingly warm.
"Hi," I say again, giving her an experimental pat.
Her windsail of an ear moves forward and then back, and the trunk returns. I touch it
tentatively, and then stroke it. I am entirely enamored, and so engrossed that I don't see
August until he comes to an abrupt stop in front of me.
"What the hell is wrong with you people this morning? I should fire every goddamned
one of you, what with Pete not wanting to take care of business and you pulling a
disappearing act and then playing kissy-face with the bull. Where's the damned bull
hook?"
I lean over and retrieve it. August snatches it from my hand, and the elephant's ears settle
back against her head.
"Here, princess," says August, addressing me. "I have a job you might be able to handle.
Go find Marlena. Make sure she doesn't go behind the menagerie for a bit."
"Why?"
August takes a deep breath and grips the bull hook so hard his knuckles whiten. "Because
I said so. All right?" he says through clenched teeth. Naturally, I head behind the
menagerie to find out what Marlena's
not supposed to see. I round the corner just as Pete slits the throat of a decrepit gray
horse. The horse screams as blood shoots six feet from the gaping hole in its neck.
"Jesus Christ!" I yelp, taking a step backward.
The horse's heart slows, and the spurts weaken. Eventually the horse Sara Gruen
drops to its knees and crashes forward. It scrapes the ground with its front hooves and
then falls still. Its eyes are open wide. A lake of dark blood spreads from its neck.
Pete glances up at me, still leaning over the twitching animal.
An emaciated bay horse is tethered to a stake beside him, out of its head
with terror. Its nostrils are flared, showing red, its muzzle straight in the air. The lead
rope is so taut it looks like it's going to snap. Pete steps across the dead horse, grabs the
rope near the bay's head, and slices its throat. More spurting blood, more death throes,
another collapsing body.
Pete stands with his arms slack at his sides, his sleeves rolled up past his elbows, still
holding the bloody knife. He watches the horse until it dies and then raises his face to me.
He wipes his nose, spits, and gets back to the task at hand. "MARLENA? YOU IN
THERE?" I say, rapping on the door of their stateroom.
"Jacob?" calls a small voice from inside. "Yes," I say.
Come in.
She's standing by one of the open windows, looking toward the front of the train. As I
enter, she turns her head. Her eyes are wide, her face drained of blood.
"Oh, J a c o b ... " Her voice is wavering. She's on the verge of tears. "What is it? What's
the matter?" I say, crossing the room.
She presses her hand to her mouth and turns back to the window. August and Rosie are
making their noisy way to the front of the train. Their progress is excruciating, and
everyone on the lot has stopped to watch.
August smacks her from behind, and Rosie hurries a few steps forward. When August
catches up, he whacks her again, this time hard enough that she raises her trunk, bellows,
and scampers sideways. August lets loose a long string of curses and runs up beside her,
swinging the bull hook and driving the pick end into her shoulder. Rosie whimpers and
' 140 '
W a t e r for E l e p h a n ts
this time doesn't move an inch. Even from this distance, we can see that she's trembling.
Marlena chokes back a sob. On impulse I reach for her hand. When I find it, she clutches
my fingers so tightly they hurt.
After a few more thumps and whacks, Rosie catches sight of the elephant car at the front
of the train. She lifts her trunk and trumpets, taking
off at a thunderous run. August disappears in a cloud of dust behind
her, and panicked roustabouts dive out of her way. She climbs aboard with obvious relief.
The dust subsides and August reappears, shouting and waving his arms. Diamond Joe and
Otis trudge up to the elephant car, slowly, matter-of-factly, and set about shutting it.
Eleven
inko spends the first few hours of the jump to Chicago using bits of beefjerky to teach
Queenie, who has apparently recovered from her diarrhea, to walk on her
hind legs.
"Up! Up, Queenie, up! Atta girl. Good girl!"
I'm lying on my bedroll, curled up and facing the wall. My physical
state is every bit as sorry as my mental one, and that's saying something. My head is
crammed with visions, all jumbled up like a ball of string:
My parents alive, depositing me at Cornell. My parents dead, and the green and white
floor tiles beneath them. Marlena, waltzing with me
in the menagerie. Marlena this morning, fighting tears at the window. Rosie and her
snuffing, inquisitive trunk. Rosie, ten feet tall and solid as a mountain, whimpering under
August's blows. August, tap-dancing across the roof of a moving train. August as a bull-
hook-wielding madman. Barbara, swinging those melons onstage. Barbara and Nell, and
their expert ministrations.
The memory of last night hits me like a wrecking ball. I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to
force my mind to go blank, but it won't. The more distressing the memory, the more
persistent its presence.
Eventually Queenie's excited yipping stops. After a few seconds, the springs on Kinko's
cot squeak. Then there's silence. He's watching me. I can feel it. I roll over to face him.
He's on the edge of the cot, his bare feet crossed and his red hair K
S a r a G r u en
mussed. Queenie creeps into his lap, leaving her hind legs sticking straight out, like a
frog.
"So, what's your story, anyway?" says Kinko.
The sunlight flashes like knives through the slats behind him. I cover my eyes and
grimace.
"No, I mean it. Where'd you come from?"
"Nowhere," I say, rolling back to the wall. I pull my pillow over my head.
"What are you so sore about? Last night?"
The mere mention causes bile to rise in my throat. "You embarrassed or something?"
"Oh, for Christ's sake, would you just leave me alone?" I snap.
He is quiet. After a few seconds I roll over again. He's still looking
at me, fingering Queenie's ears. She licks his other hand, wagging her stump.
"Sorry," I say. "I've never done anything like that before." "Well, yeah—I think that was
pretty obvious."
I grasp my pounding head with both hands. What I wouldn't give for about a gallon of
water
"Look, it's no big deal," he continues. "You'll learn to hold your liquor. As for the other
