He walks a dozen yards away, sets his bag on the ground, and pulls a handkerchief from
his pocket. He wipes his hands carefully, getting in between each finger. Then he picks
up his bag, puffs out his chest, and walks off, taking Camel's last scrap of hope and my
father's pocket watch with him.
When I turn back, Earl, Grady, and Bill are kneeling around Camel. Tears stream down
the old man's face.
"WALTER, I NEED to talk to you," I say, bursting into the goat room. Queenie raises her
head, sees that it's me, and sets it back on her paws.
Walter sets his book down. "Why? What's up?" "I need to ask a favor."
"Well, go on then, what is it?"
"A friend of mine is in a bad way." "That guy with jake leg?"
I pause. "Yes."
I walk over to my bedroll but am too anxious to sit down. Sara Gruen
"Well, spit it out then," Walter says impatiently. "I want to bring him here."
"What?"
"He's going to get redlighted otherwise. His friends had to hide him behind a roll of
canvas last night."
Walter looks at me in horror. "You have got to be kidding." "Look, I know you were less
than thrilled when I showed up, and I
know he's a working man and all, but he's an old man and he's in bad shape and he needs
help."
"And what exactly are we supposed to do with him?" "Just keep him away from Blackie."
"For how long? Forever?"
I drop to the edge of my bedroll. He's right, of course. We can't keep Camel hidden
forever. "Shit," I say. I bang my forehead with the heel of my palm. And then again. And
then again.
"Hey, stop that," says Walter. He sits forward, closing his book. "Those were serious
questions. What would we do with him?"
"I don't know."
"Does he have any family?"
I look up at him suddenly. "He mentioned a son once."
"Okay, well now we're getting somewhere. Do you know where this son is?"
"No. I gather they aren't in touch."
Walter stares at me, tapping his fingers against his leg. After half a minute of silence he
says, "All right. Bring him on over. Don't let anyone see
you or we'll all catch hell." I look up in surprise.
"What?" he says, brushing a fly from his forehead. "Nothing. No. Actually, I mean thank
you. Very much."
"Hey, I got a heart," he says, lying back and picking up his book. "Not like some people
we all know and love."
WALTER AND I ARE relaxing between the matinee and evening show when there's a
soft rapping on our door.
Water for E l e p h a n ts
He leaps to his feet, knocking over the wooden crate and cursing as he keeps the kerosene
lamp from hitting the floor. I approach the door and glance nervously at the trunks laid
end-to-end across the back wall. Walter rights the lamp and gives me the briefest of nods.
I open the door.
"Marlena!" I say, swinging the door farther open than I intend
to. "What are you doing up? I mean, are you okay? Do you want to sit down?"
"No," she says. Her face is inches from mine. "I'm all right. But I'd like to speak to you
for a moment. Are you alone?"
"Uh, no. Not exactly." I say, glancing back at Walter, who's shaking his head and waving
his hands furiously.
"Can you come to the stateroom?" Marlena says. "It won't take but a moment."
"Yes. Of course."
She turns and walks gingerly to the doorway. She's wearing slippers,
not shoes. She sits on the edge and eases herself down. I watch for a moment, relieved to
see that while she moves carefully, she's not limping obviously.
I close the door.
"Man, oh man," says Walter, shaking his head. "I nearly had a heart attack. Shit, man.
What the hell are we doing?"
"Hey, Camel," I say. "You okay back there?"
"Yup," says a thin voice from behind the trunks. "Reckon she saw anything?"
"No. You're in the clear. For now. But we're going to have to be very careful."
MARLENA IS IN the plush chair with her legs crossed. When I
first come in, she's sitting forward, rubbing the arch of one foot. When she sees me, she
stops and leans back.
"Jacob. Thank you for coming."
"Certainly," I say. I remove my hat, and hold it awkwardly to my chest.
Sara Gruen "Please sit down."
"Thank you," I say, sitting on the edge of the nearest chair. I look around. "Where's
August?"
"He and Uncle Al are meeting with the railroad authority." "Oh," I say. "Anything
serious?"
"Just rumors. Someone reported that we were redlighting men. They'll sort it out, I'm
sure."
"Rumors. Yes," I say. I hold my hat in my lap, fingering its edge and waiting.
"So ... u m ... I was worried about you," she says. "You were?"
"Are you all right?" she asks quietly.
"Yes. Of course," I say. Then it dawns on me what she's asking. "Oh God—no, it's not
what you think. The doctor wasn't for me. I needed him to see a friend, and it wasn't... it
wasn't for that. "
"Oh," she says, with a nervous laugh. "I'm so glad. I'm sorry, Jacob. I didn't mean to
embarrass you. I was just worried."
"I'm fine. Really." "And your friend?"
I hold my breath for a moment. "Not so fine." "Will she be okay?"
"She?" I look up, caught off-guard.
Marlena looks down, twisting her fingers in her lap. "I just assumed it was Barbara."
I cough, and then I choke.
"Oh, Jacob—oh, goodness. I'm making an awful mess of this. It's none of my business.
Really. Please forgive me."
"No. I hardly know Barbara." I blush so hard my scalp prickles.
"It's all right. I know she's a ... " Marlena twists her fingers awkwardly and lets the
sentence go unfinished. "Well, despite that, she's not a bad sort. Quite decent, really,
although you want to—"
"Marlena," I say with enough force to stop her from talking. I clear my throat and
continue. "I'm not involved with Barbara. I hardly know her. I don't think we've
exchanged more than a dozen words in our lives."
194
Water for E l e p h a n ts
"Oh," she says. "It's just Auggie s a i d ..."
We sit in excruciating silence for nearly half a minute. "So, your feet are better then?" I
ask.
"Yes, thank you." Her hands are clasped so tightly her knuckles are white. She swallows
and looks at her lap. "There was something else I wanted to talk to you about. What
happened in the alley. In Chicago." "That was entirely my fault," I say quickly. "I can't
imagine what came
over me. Temporary insanity or something. I'm so very sorry. I can assure you it will
never happen again."
"Oh," she says quietly.
I look up, startled. Unless I'm very much mistaken, I think I've just managed to offend
her. "I'm not saying... It's not that you're n o t ... I j u s t ...
"Are you saying you didn't want to kiss me?"
I drop my hat and raise my hands. "Marlena, please help me. I don't know what you want
me to say."
"Because it would be easier if you didn't." "If I didn't what?"
"If you didn't want to kiss me," she says quietly.
My jaw moves, but it's several seconds before anything comes out. "Marlena, what are
you saying?"
" I ... I'm not really sure," she says. "I hardly know what to think anymore. I haven't been
able to stop thinking about you. I know what I'm
feeling is wrong, but I j u s t ... Well, I guess I just wondered..." When I look up, her face
is cherry red. She's clasping and unclasping her hands, staring hard at her lap.
"Marlena," I say, rising and taking a step forward. "I think you should go now," she says.
I stare at her for a few seconds. "Please," she says, without looking up.
And so I leave, although every bone in my body screams against it.
Fi ft e e n
Camel spends his days hidden behind the trunks, lying on blankets that Walter and I
arrange to cushion his ruined body from the floor. His paralysis is so bad I'm not sure he
could crawl out even if he wanted to, but he's so terrified of being caught that he doesn't
try. Each night, after the train is in motion, we pull the trunks out and lean him up in the
corner or lay him on the cot, depending on whether he wants to sit up or continue lying
down. It's Walter who insists he take the cot, and in turn I insist that Walter take the
bedroll. And so I am back to sleeping on the horse blanket in the corner.
Barely two days into our cohabitation, Camel's tremors are so bad he can't even speak.
Walter notices at noon when he returns to the train to bring Camel some food. Camel is in
such bad shape Walter seeks me out in the menagerie to tell me about it, but August is
watching, so I can't return to the train.
At nearly midnight, Walter and I are sitting side by side on the cot, waiting for the train to
pull out. The second it moves, we get up and drag the trunks from the wall.
Walter kneels, puts his hands under Camel's armpits, and lifts him into a sitting position.
Then he pulls a flask from his pocket.
When Camel's eyes light on it, they jerk up to Walter's face. Then they
fill with tears.
"What's that?" I ask quickly.
"What the hell do you think it is?" Walter says. "It's liquor. Real liquor. The good stuff."
Sara Gruen
Camel reaches for the bottle with shaking hands. Walter, still holding
him upright, removes the cap and holds it to the old man's lips. ANOTHER WEEK
PASSES, and Marlena remains cloistered in her stateroom. I'm now so desperate to lay
eyes on her that I find myself trying to figure out ways of peeking into the window
without getting caught. Fortunately, good sense prevails.
Every night, I lie on my smelly horse blanket in the corner and replay
our last conversation, word for precious word. I follow the same tortured trajectory over
and over—from my rush of disbelieving joy to my crashing deflation. I know that
dismissing me was the only thing she could do,
but even so, I can barely stand it. Just thinking about it leaves me so agitated I toss and
writhe until Walter tells me to knock it off because I'm
keeping him up.
ONWARD AND UPWARD. Mostly we stay one day in each town, although we usually
make a two-day stopover Sunday. During the jump between Burlington and Keokuk,
Walter—with the help of generous amounts of whiskey—manages to extract the name
and last known location of Camel's son. For the next few stops, Walter marches off to
town immediately after breakfast and doesn't return until it's nearly show time. By
Springfield, he has made contact.
At first, Camel's son denies the association. But Walter is persistent.
Day after day he marches into town, negotiating by telegram, and by the following Friday
the son has agreed to meet us in Providence and take custody of the old man. It means we
will have to continue the current housing arrangements for several more weeks, but at
least it's a solution. And that's
a good deal more than we've had up to this point.
IN TERRE HAUTE, the Lovely Lucinda drops dead. After Uncle
Al recovers from his violent but short-lived bereavement, he organizes a farewell
befitting "our beloved Lucinda."
An hour after the death certificate is signed, Lucinda is laid out in the Water for E l e p h
a n ts
water well of the hippopotamus car and hitched to a team of twenty-four black
Percherons with feathers on their headbands.
Uncle Al climbs onto the bench with the driver, practically collapsing with grief. After a
moment he wiggles his fingers, signaling the start
of Lucinda's procession. She is hauled slowly through town, followed on foot by every
member of the Benzini Brothers Most Spectacular Show on Earth deemed fit to be seen.
Uncle Al is desolate, weeping and honking into his red handkerchief and allowing
himself only the occasional upward glance to gauge whether the procession's speed
allows for maximum crowd enlargement.
The women follow immediately behind the hippopotamus wagon,
dressed all in black and pressing elegant lace hankies to the corners of their eyes. I am
farther back, surrounded on all sides by wailing men, their faces shiny with tears. Uncle
Al has promised three dollars and a bottle
of Canadian whiskey to the man who puts on the best show. You've never seen such
grief—even the dogs are howling.
Almost a thousand townspeople follow us back to the lot. When Uncle Al stands up on
the carriage, they fall silent.
He removes his hat and presses it to his chest. He digs out a hankie
and dabs his eyes. He delivers a heart-wrenching speech, so distraught he can barely
contain himself. At the end of it, he says that if it were up to him, he'd cancel tonight's
show out of respect for Lucinda. But he cannot. It's out of his control. He is a man of
honor, and on her deathbed she grasped his hand and made him promise—no, vow—that
he
wouldn't let what was clearly her imminent end disrupt the show's routine and disappoint
the thousands of people who were expecting it to
be circus day.
"Because after a l l ... " Uncle Al pauses, clasping his hand to his heart and sniffing
