chest rises and falls under my arm. Her head is under my chin, her hair fragrant, her body
warm from exertion. And then she's gone again, unwinding herself like a ribbon.
When the music stops, the dancers whistle and clap with their hands
above their heads, and none more enthusiastically than Marlena. I glance over at our
booth. August is staring with his arms crossed, seething. Startled, I step away from
Marlena.
"Raid!"
There is one frozen moment, and then the second cry goes up. "RAID! Everybody get
out!"
I'm swept forward in a crush of bodies. People scream, shoving past each other in a
frenzied attempt to reach the exit. Marlena is a few people in front of me, looking back
through bobbing heads and desperate
faces.
"Jacob!" she cries. "Jacob!"
I struggle toward her, launching myself through bodies.
I clasp a hand in a sea of flesh and know it's Marlena's from the look
on her face. I grip her tightly, scanning the crowd for August. All I see are strangers.
Marlena and I are ripped apart at the doorway. Seconds later I'm
expelled into an alley. People are screaming, piling into cars. Engines start, horns bleat,
and tires squeal.
"Come on! Come on! Get the hell out ofhere!" "Move it!"
Marlena appears from nowhere and grabs my hand. We flee as sirens blare and whistles
blow. When the crackle of gunfire rings out, I grab Marlena and duck into a smaller alley.
"Hang on," she gasps, pausing and hopping on one foot as she removes
a shoe. She grasps my arm as she pulls off the other. "Okay," she says, holding both
shoes in one hand.
Water for E l e p h a n ts
We run until the sirens and crowds and screeching tires are out of earshot,
winding our way through back streets and alleys. Finally, we stop under an iron fire
escape, gasping for air.
"Oh my Lord," says Marlena. "Oh my Lord, that was close. I wonder if August got out."
"I sure hope so," I say, also struggling for air. I lean over, resting my hands on my thighs.
After a moment, I look up at Marlena. She's staring straight at me, breathing through her
mouth. She starts laughing hysterically. "What?" I say.
"Oh, nothing," she says. "Nothing." She continues to laugh, but looks perilously close to
tears.
"What is it?" I say.
"Oh," she says, sniffing and bringing a finger to the corner of her eye. "It's just a crazy
damned life, that's all. Do you have a handkerchief?" I pat my pockets, and retrieve one.
She takes it and wipes her forehead, then dabs the rest of her face. "Oh, but I'm a mess.
And just look
at my stockings!" she shrieks, pointing at her shoeless feet. Her toes poke through their
ruined ends. "Oh, and they're silk, too!" Her voice is high and unnatural.
"Marlena?" I say gently. "Are you all right?"
She presses her fist to her mouth and moans. I reach for her arm but she turns away. I
expect her to stay facing the wall, but instead she continues turning, spinning in some
kind of dervish. On the third rotation, I take
her by the shoulders and press my mouth to hers. She stiffens and gasps, sucking air from
between my lips. A moment later she softens. Her fingertips rise to my face. Then she
yanks away, taking several steps backward
and staring at me with stricken eyes.
"Jacob," she says, her voice cracking. "Oh God—Jacob."
"Marlena." I step forward and then stop. "I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have done that."
She stares at me with a hand pressed to her mouth. Her eyes are dark Sara Gruen
hollows. Then she leans against the wall, pulling on her shoes and looking at the asphalt.
"Marlena, please." I hold my hands out helplessly.
She adjusts her second shoe and rushes off. She stumbles and wobbles forward.
"Marlena!" I say, running a few steps.
Her speed increases and she brings a hand up alongside her face, shielding it from my
view.
I stop.
She keeps walking, tap-tapping down the alley. "Marlena! Please!"
I watch until she turns the corner. Her hand remains beside her face, presumably in case
I'm still there.
IT TAKES ME SEVERAL hours to find my way back to the lot.
I pass legs sticking out of doorways, and signs advertising breadlines. I
pass signs in windows that say CLOSED, and it's clear they don't mean for
the night. I pass signs that say NO MEN WANTED and signs in second-story windows
that say TRAINING FOR THE CLASS STRUGGLE. I pass a sign in a grocery store that
says
DON'T HAVE MONEY? WHAT HAVE YOU GOT? WE'LL TAKE ANYTHING!
I pass a newspaper box, and the headline reads PRETTY BOY FLOYD STRIKES
AGAIN: MAKES OFF WITH $4,000 AS CROWDS CHEER. Less than a mile from the
lot, I pass a hobo jungle. There's a fire in
the center and people stretched out around it. Some are awake, sitting forward and staring
into the fire. Some are lying back on folded clothes.
I'm close enough to see their faces and to register that most of them
are young—younger than me. There are some girls there, too, and one couple is
copulating. They're not even in the bushes, just a little farther from the fire than the
others. One or two of the boys watch in a disinterested manner. The ones who are asleep
have taken off their shoes but tied
them to their ankles. 154 < =
Water for E l e p h a n ts
An older man sits by the fire, his jaw covered with stubble, scabs, or
both. He has the sunken face of a person with no teeth. We make eye contact and hold it
for a long time. I wonder why he's looking at me with such hostility until I remember I'm
wearing an evening suit. He has no way of knowing that it's about the only thing
separating us. I fight an illogical
urge to explain this and continue on my way.
When I finally reach the lot, I stop and gaze at the menagerie tent. It's huge, outlined
against the night sky. A few minutes later I find myself standing in front of the elephant. I
can only see her in silhouette and even then only after my eyes have adjusted to the light.
She's sleeping, her great body still but for her slow, slumbered breathing. I want to touch
her, to lay my hands on that rough, warm skin, but I can't bring myself to wake her up.
Bobo is lying in the corner of his den, with one arm stretched out over his head and the
other resting on his chest. He sighs deeply, smacks his lips, and then rolls onto his side.
So human.
Eventually I make my way back to the ring stock car and settle on the bedroll. Queenie
and Walter both sleep through my arrival.
I LIE AWAKE UNTIL DAWN, listening to Queenie snore and feeling utterly miserable.
Less than a month ago, I was within days of an Ivy League degree and a career at my
father's side. Now I'm one step away from being a bum—a circus worker who has
disgraced himself not once, but twice, in as many days.
Yesterday, I wouldn't have thought it possible to top throwing up on Nell, but I believe
that last night I managed to do just that. What the hell
was I thinking?
I wonder if she will tell August. I have brief visions of the bull hook flying at my head
and then even briefer visions of getting up right now, this minute, and walking back to
the hobo camp. But I don't, because I can't bear the thought of abandoning Rosie, Bobo,
and the others.
I'll pull myself together. I'll stop drinking. I'll make sure I'm never alone with Marlena
again. I'll go to confession.
I use the corner of my pillow to wipe tears from my eyes. Then I Sara Gruen
squeeze them shut and conjure up an image of my mother. I try to hang on to it, but
before long Marlena has replaced her. Coolly distant, when she was watching the band
and jiggling that foot. Glowing, while we were spinning around the dance floor.
Hysterical—and then horrified—in
the alley.
But my final thoughts are tactile: the underside of my forearm lying above the swell of
her breasts. Her lips under mine, soft and full. And the one detail I can neither fathom nor
shake, the one that haunts me into sleep: the feel of her fingertips tracing the outline of
my face. KINKO—WALTER—WAKES me a few hours later.
"Hey, Sleeping Beauty," he says, shaking me. "Flag's up." "Okay. Thanks," I say without
moving.
"You're not getting up."
"You're a genius, you know that?"
Walter's voice rises by about an octave. "Hey, Queenie—here girl! Here girl! Come on,
Queenie. Give him a lick. Come on!"
Queenie launches herself onto my head.
"Hey, stop it!" I say, raising an arm protectively because Queenie's tongue is rooting in
my ear and she's dancing on my face. "Stop it! Come on now!"
But she is unstoppable, so I jerk upright. This sends Queenie flying to the floor. Walter
looks at me and laughs. Queenie wriggles onto my lap and stands on her hind legs,
licking my chin and neck.
"Good girl, Queenie. Good baby," says Walter. "So, Jacob—you look like you had
another... e r ... interesting evening."
"Not exactly," I reply. Since Queenie is on my lap anyway, I stroke her. It's the first time
she's let me touch her. Her body is warm, her hair wiry.
"You'll find your sea legs soon. Come get some breakfast. Food'll help settle your
stomach."
"I wasn't drinking."
W a t e r for E l e p h a n ts
He looks at me for a moment. "Ah," he says, nodding sagely. "What's that supposed to
mean?" I say.
"Woman trouble," he says. "No."
"Yes."
"No, it isn't!"
"I'm surprised Barbara forgave you already. Or did she?" He watches my face for a few
seconds and then resumes nodding. "Uh-huh. I do believe I'm starting to get the picture.
You didn't get her flowers, did you? You need to start taking my advice."
"Why don't you mind your own business?" I snap. I set Queenie on the floor and stand
up.
"Sheesh, you're a first-class grump. You know that? Come on. Let's get some grub."
AFTER WE FILL OUR PLATES, I try to follow Walter to his table.
"What the hell do you think you're doing?" he says, coming to a stop. "I thought I'd sit
with you."
"You can't. Everyone has assigned spots. Besides, you'd be coming down in the world."
I hesitate.
"What's wrong with you, anyway?" he says. He looks over at my usual table. August and
Marlena eat in silence, staring at their plates. Walter's eyelids flicker.
"Oh man—don't tell me."
"I didn't tell you a damned thing," I say.
"You didn't need to. Listen, kid, that's somewhere you just don't want
to go, you hear me? I mean in the figurative sense. In the literal sense, you get your ass
over to that table and act normal."
I glance again at August and Marlena. They're clearly ignoring each other.
Sara Gruen
"Jacob, you listen to me," says Walter. "He's the meanest son of a bitch I've ever met, so
whatever the hell is going on—"
"There's nothing going on. Absolutely nothing—"
"—it better stop now or you're going to find yourself dead. Redlighted, if you're lucky,
and probably off a trestle. I mean it. Now get on
over there."
I glare down at him.
"Shoo!" he says, flicking his hand toward the table. August looks up as I approach.
"Jacob!" he cries. "Good to see you. Wasn't sure if you'd found your way back last night.
Wouldn't have looked very good if I'd had to bail you out ofjail, you know. Might have
caught some heat."
"I was worried about you two as well," I say, taking a seat. "Were you?" he says with
exaggerated surprise.
I look up at him. His eyes are glowing. His smile has a peculiar tilt.
"Oh, but we found our way back all right, didn't we, darling?" he says, shooting Marlena
a look. "But do tell me, Jacob—how on earth did you two manage to get separated
anyway? You were so ... close on the dance floor."
Marlena looks up quickly, red spots burning on her cheeks. "I told you last night," she
says. "We got pushed apart by the crowd."
"I was asking Jacob, darling. But thank you." August lifts a piece of toast with flourish,
smiling broadly with closed lips.
"There was quite a crush," I say, picking up my fork and sliding it under my eggs. "I tried
to keep track of her but couldn't. I looked for both of you out back, but after a while I
figured I'd better just get out of there."
"Wise choice, my boy."
"So, did you two manage to hook up?" I ask, lifting my fork to my mouth and trying to
sound casual.
"No, we arrived in separate taxis. Twice the expense, but I'd pay it a hundred times over
to make sure my darling wife was safe—wouldn't I, darling?"
Marlena stares at her plate. W a t e r for E l e p h a n ts "I said wouldn't I, darling?"
"Yes, of course you would," she says flatly.
"Because if I thought she was in any danger at all, there's no knowing what I might do."
I look up quickly. August is staring right at me. 159
Twel ve
As soon as I can do it without attracting attention, I flee to the menagerie.
I replace the giraffe's neck poultice, cold-soak a camel
for a suspected hoof abscess, and survive my first cat procedure—treating Rex for an
ingrown claw while Clive strokes his head. Then I swing by to pick up Bobo while I
check the rest. The only animals I don't run my eyes
