a photograph of you and Rosie? Something to show your family and friends?"
" I ... I ... What?" she stammers.
"If I may be so bold, ma'am," the patch says with the slightest hint of a bow. "Perhaps it
would be easier if we discussed this inside."
After a reluctant pause the door swings open. He disappears inside the house and I turn
back to Rosie.
The other man stands directly in front of her, holding the bucket.
She is rapt. Her trunk hovers over its top, sniffing and trying to squirm its way around his
arms into the clear liquid.
"Przestari!" he says, brushing her away. "Nie!" My eyes widen.
"You got a fucking problem?" he says. "No," I say quickly. "No. I'm Polish, too."
"Oh. Sorry." He waves the ever-present trunk away, wipes his right hand on his thigh,
and offers it to me. "Grzegorz Grabowski," he says. "Call me Greg."
"Jacob Jankowski," I say, shaking his hand. He pulls his away to protect the contents of
the bucket.
"Nie! Teraz nie!" he says crossly, pushing at the insistent trunk. "Jacob Jankowski, huh?
Yeah, Camel told me about you."
"What is that anyway?" I ask. "Gin and ginger ale," he says. "You're kidding."
"Elephants love alcohol. See? One whiff of this and she doesn't care about cabbages
anymore. Ah!" he says, batting the trunk away. "Powiedzialem przestan! Pozniej!"
Water for E l e p h a n ts
"How the hell did you know that?"
"The last show I was on had a dozen bulls. One of them used to fake a bellyache every
night trying to get a dose of whiskey. Say, go get the bull hook, will you? She'll probably
follow us back to the lot just to get at this gin—isn't that right, moj mqlutki paczuszek?—
but better get it just in case."
"Sure," I say. I remove my hat and scratch my head. "Does August know this?"
"Know what?"
"That you know so much about elephants? I bet he'd hire you on as
.
a
Greg's hand shoots up. "Nuh-uh. No way. Jacob, no offense to you personally, but there's
no way in hell I'll work for that man. None. Besides,
I'm no bull man. I just like the big beasts. Now, you want to run and get that hook,
please?"
When I return with the hook, Greg and Rosie are gone. I turn, scanning the lot.
In the distance, Greg walks toward the menagerie. Rosie plods along a
few feet behind. Every once in a while he stops and lets her slip her trunk into the bucket.
Then he yanks it away and keeps walking. She follows like an obedient puppy.
W I T H ROSIE SAFELY restored to the menagerie, I return to Barbara's tent, still
clutching the bull hook.
I pause outside the closed flap. "Uh, Barbara?" I say. "Can I come in?" "Yup," she says.
She's alone, sitting in her chair with her bare legs crossed.
"They've gone back to the train to wait for the doctor," she says, taking a drag from her
cigarette. "If that's what you came for."
I feel my face turn red. I look at the sidewalk I look at the ceiling. I look at my feet.
"Ah heck, ain't you cute," she says, tapping the cigarette over the grass. She brings it to
her mouth and takes a deep drag. "You're blushing." Sara Gruen
She stares at me for a long time, clearly amused.
"Ah, go on," she says finally, blowing smoke from the side of her mouth. "Go on. Get out
of here before I decide to give you another go."
I SCRAMBLE OUT OF Barbara's tent and run smack into August. His face is dark as
thunder.
"How is she?" I ask.
"We're waiting for the doctor," he says. "Did you catch the bull?" "She's back in the
menagerie," I say.
"Good," he says. He rips the bull hook from my hand. "August, wait! Where are you
going?"
"I'm going to teach her a lesson," he says without stopping.
"But August!" I shout after him. "Wait! She was good! She came back of her own accord.
Besides, you can't do anything now. The show is still going!"
He stops so abruptly a cloud of dust temporarily obscures his feet. He stands absolutely
still, staring at the ground.
After a long while he speaks. "Good. The band will drown out the noise."
I stare after him, my mouth open in horror.
I RETURN TO THE ring stock car and lie on my bedroll, sickened beyond belief by the
thought of what's going on in the menagerie and even more sickened that I'm doing
nothing to prevent it.
A few minutes later, Walter and Queenie come back. He's still in costumea billowing
white affair with multicolored polka dots, a triangular
hat, and Elizabethan ruff. He's wiping his face with a rag.
"What the hell was that?" he says, standing so that I'm looking at his oversized red shoes.
"What?" I say.
"In the Spec. Was that part of the act?" "No," I say.
"Holy cow," he says. "Holy cow. In that case, what a save. Marlena's 1 7 0 .=-.
Water for E l e p h a n ts
really something. But you already knew that, didn't you?" He clicks his tongue and leans
over to poke my shoulder.
"Would you knock if off?"
"What?" he says, spreading his hands in feigned innocence. "It's not funny. She's hurt,
okay?"
He drops the goofy grin. "Oh. Hey, man, I'm sorry. I didn't know. She gonna be okay?"
"I don't know yet. They're waiting for the doctor."
"Shit. I'm sorry, Jacob. I really am." He turns toward the door and takes a deep breath.
"But not half as sorry as that poor bull's gonna be."
I pause. "She's already sorry, Walter. Trust me."
He stares out the door. "Ah jeez," he says. He puts his hands on his hips and looks across
the lot. "Ah jeez. I'll just bet."
I STAY IN THE stock car through dinner, and then through the evening show as well.
I'm afraid that if I see August I'll kill him.
I hate him. I hate him for being so brutal. I hate that I'm beholden to
him. I hate that I'm in love with his wife and something damned close to that with the
elephant. And most of all, I hate that I've let them both down.
I don't know if the elephant is smart enough to connect me to her punishment and wonder
why I didn't do anything to stop it, but I am and I do.
"Bruised heels," says Walter when he returns. "Come on, Queenie, up! Up!"
"What?" I mumble. I haven't moved since he left.
"Marlena bruised her heels. She'll be out a couple of weeks. Thought you might want to
know."
"Oh. Thanks," I say.
He sits on his cot and looks at me for a long time. "So, what's the story with you and
August, anyway?" "What do you mean?"
"Are you guys tight, or what?"
I haul my body into a sitting position and lean against the wall. "I hate the bastard," I say
finally.
Sara Gruen
"Ha!" Walter snorts. "Okay, so you do have some sense. So why do you spend all your
time with them?"
I don't answer.
"Oh, sorry. I forgot."
"You've got it all wrong," I say, hauling myself upright. "Yeah?"
"He's my boss and I have no choice."
"That's true. But it's also about the woman, and you know it." I raise my head and glare at
him.
"Okay, okay," he says, raising his hands in surrender. "I'll shut up. You know the score."
He turns and rummages in his crate. "Here," he says, tossing me an eight-pager. It skids
across the floor and stops beside me. "It's
not Marlena, but it's better than nothing."
After he turns away, I pick it up and thumb through it. But despite the explicit and
exaggerated drawings, I can't muster any interest whatever in Mr. Big Studio Director
boning the skinny would-be starlet with the horse face.
Thirteen
Iblink rapidly, trying to get my bearings—that skinny nurse with the horse face has
dropped a tray of food at the end of the hall, and it's woken me up. I wasn't aware of
dozing, but
that's how it goes these days. I seem to slip in and out of time and space. Either I'm
finally going senile, or else it's my mind's way of coping with being entirely unchallenged
in the present.
The nurse crouches down, collecting the spilled food. I don't like her—she's the one
who's always trying to keep me from walking. I think I'm just too wobbly for her nerves,
because even Dr. Rashid admits that walking is good for me as long as I don't overdo it or
get stranded.
I'm parked in the hallway just outside my door, but it's still several hours before my
family comes and I think I'd like to look out the window.
I could just call the nurse. But what fun would that be?
I shift my bottom to the edge of my wheelchair, and reach for my walker. One, two, three
Her pale face thrusts itself in front of mine. "Can I help you, Mr. Jankowski?"
Heh. That was almost too easy.
"Why, I'm just going to look out the window for a while," I say, feigning surprise.
"Why don't you sit tight and let me take you?" she says, planting both hands firmly on the
arms of my chair.
"Oh, well then. Yes, that's very kind of you," I say. I lean back in my seat, lift my feet
onto the footrests, and fold my hands in my lap.
The nurse looks puzzled. Dear Lord, that's an impressive overbite. She Sara Gruen
straightens up and waits, I guess to see if I'm going to make a run for it. I smile pleasantly
and train my gaze on the window at the end of the hall. Finally, she goes behind me and
takes the handles of my wheelchair. "Well, I must say, Mr. Jankowski, I'm a little
surprised. You're normally ... u h ... rather adamant about walking."
"Oh, I could have made it. I'm only letting you push me because there aren't any chairs by
the window. Why is that, anyway?"
"Because there's nothing to see, Mr. Jankowski." "There's a circus to see."
"Well, this weekend, maybe. But normally there's just a parking lot." "What if I want to
look at a parking lot?"
"Then you shall, Mr. Jankowski," she says, pushing me up to the window. My brow
furrows. She was supposed to argue with me. Why didn't she argue with me? Oh, but I
know why. She thinks I'm just an addled old man. Don't upset the residents, oh no—
especially not that old Jankowski fellow. He'll fling pockmarked Jell-O at you and then
call it an accident. She starts to walk away.
"Hey!" I call after her. "I haven't got my walker!"
"Just call me when you're ready," she says. "I'll come get you."
"No, I want my walker! I always have my walker. Get me my walker." "Mr. Jankowski—
" says the girl. She folds her arms and sighs deeply. Rosemary appears from a side hall
like an angel from heaven.
"Is there a problem?" she says, looking from me to the horse-faced girl and then back
again.
"I want my walker and she won't get it," I say. "I didn't say I wouldn't. All I said was—"
Rosemary holds up a hand. "Mr. Jankowski likes to have his walker beside him. He
always does. If he asked for it, please bring it." "But—"
"But nothing. Get his walker."
Outrage flashes across the horse girl's face, replaced almost instantly by hostile
resignation. She throws a murderous glance my direction and goes back for my walker.
She holds it conspicuously in front of her, storming
down the hall. When she reaches me, she slams it in front of me. Which 174
Water for E l e p h a n ts
would be more impressive if it didn't have rubber leg caps, making it land with a squeak
rather than a bang.
I smirk. I can't help it.
She stands there, arms akimbo, staring at me. Waiting for a thank you, no doubt. I turn
my head slowly, chin raised like an Egyptian pharaoh, training my gaze on the magenta
and white striped big top.
I find the stripes jarring—in my day, only the concession stands were striped. The big top
was plain white, or at least started out that way. By the end of the season it may have
been streaked with mud and grass, but it was never striped. And that's not the only
difference between this show and the shows from my past—this one doesn't even have a
midway, just a big top with a ticket gate at the door and concession and souvenir stand
beside it. It looks like they still sell the same old fare—popcorn, candy,
and balloons—but the children also carry flashing swords, and other moving, blinking
toys I can't make out at this distance. Bet their parents paid
an arm and a leg for them, too. Some things never change. Rubes are still rubes, and you
can still tell the performers from the workers.
"MR. JANKOWSKI?"
Rosemary is leaning over me, seeking my eyes with hers. "Eh?"
"Are you ready for lunch, Mr. Jankowski?" she says. "It can't be lunchtime. I only just
got here."
She looks at her watch—a real one, with arms. Those digital ones came and went, thank
God. When will people learn that just because you can make something doesn't mean you
should?
"It's three minutes to twelve," she says.
"Oh. All right then. What day is it, anyway?"
"Why, it's Sunday, Mr. Jankowski. The Lord's Day. The day your people come."
"I know that. I meant what's for lunch?" "Nothing you'll like, I'm sure," she says. I raise
