the crowd to adore her. Then she hops
down from her ball and skips over to Rosie, who climbs rather more carefully down from
hers. She drops her trunk and Marlena sits in its curve,
hooks an arm around it, and points her toes daintily. Rosie raises her trunk, holding
Marlena aloft. Then she deposits Marlena on her head and departs the big top to the
cheers of an adoring crowd.
W a t e r for E l e p h a n ts
And then the shower of money starts—the sweet, sweet shower of money. Uncle Al is
delirious, standing in the center of the hippodrome track with his arms and face raised,
basking in the coins that rain down
on him. He keeps his face raised even as coins bounce offhis cheeks, nose, and forehead.
I think he may actually be crying.
Eighte en
Icatch up with them as Marlena slides down from Rosie's head.
"You were brilliant! Brilliant!" says August, kissing her
on the cheek. "Did you see that, Jacob? Did you see how brilliant they were?"
"Sure did."
"Do me a favor and take Rosie around, would you? I've got to go back inside." He hands
me the silver-tipped cane. He looks at Marlena, sighs deeply, and claps a hand to his
breast. "Brilliant. Simply brilliant. Don't forget," he says, turning and walking a few
strides backward, "you're on with the horses right after Lottie."
"I'll get them right now," she says. August heads back to the big top. "You were
spectacular," I say.
"Yes, she was good, wasn't she?" Marlena leans over and plants a loud kiss on Rosie's
shoulder, leaving a perfect lip print on the gray hide. She reaches out and rubs it with her
thumb.
"I meant you," I say.
She blushes, her thumb still on Rosie's shoulder.
I regret saying it instantly. Not that she wasn't spectacular—she was,
but that wasn't all I meant and she knew it and now I've made her uncomfortable. I decide
to beat a hasty retreat.
"Chodz, Rosie," I say, motioning her forward. "Chodi, moj malutki pqczuszek. "
Sara Gruen
"Jacob, wait." Marlena lays her fingers on the inside of my elbow.
In the distance, right at the entrance to the big top, August stops and stiffens. It's as
though he sensed the physical contact. He turns around slowly, his face somber. Our eyes
lock.
"Can you do me a favor?" Marlena asks.
"Sure. Of course," I say, glancing nervously at August. Marlena hasn't noticed that he's
watching us. I place my hand on my hip, causing her fingers to fall from my elbow.
"Can you bring Rosie to my dressing tent? I have a surprise planned." "Uh, sure. I guess
so," I say. "When do you want her there?"
"Take her there now. I'll be along in a bit. Oh, and wear something nice. I want it to be a
proper party."
"Me?"
"Of course you. I've got to do my act now, but I won't be long. And if you see August
ahead of time, not a word, okay?"
I nod. When I look back at the big top, August has disappeared inside.
ROSIE is PERFECTLY AGREEABLE to the unusual arrangement.
She plods along by my side to the edge of Marlena's dressing tent and then waits
patiently as Grady and Bill untie the bottom of the sidewall from
the stakes.
"So, how's Camel doing, anyway?" asks Grady, crouching down and working on a rope.
Rosie reaches out to investigate.
"About the same," I say. "He thinks he's getting better, but I don't see it. I think he doesn't
notice as much because he doesn't have to do anything. Well, that and he's usually
drunk."
"That sure sounds like Camel," says Bill. "Where's he getting liquor? It is liquor, ain't it?
He ain't drinking that jake shit no more, is he?"
"No, it's liquor. My bunkmate's taken a shine to him." "Who? That Kinko guy?" says
Grady.
"Yup."
"I thought he hated working men."
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W a t e r for E l e p h a n ts
Rosie reaches out and takes Grady's hat. He turns around and swipes at
it, but she holds it high. "Hey, would you keep your bull under control?" I look into her
eye, which twinkles back at me. "Poioz!" I say sternly, although I'm finding it hard not to
laugh. Her great ear waves forward and she drops the hat. I stoop to retrieve it.
"Walter—Kinko—could use some softening around the edges," I say, handing the hat
back to Grady, "but he's been real decent to Camel. Gave up his bed for him. Found his
son, even. Talked him into meeting us in Providence to take Camel off our hands."
"No kidding," says Grady, stopping and looking at me in surprise. "Does Camel know
this?"
"Uh...Yeah."
"And how did he take it?"
I grimace and suck the air in through my teeth. "That well, huh?"
"It's not like we had a lot of alternatives."
"No, that you didn't." Grady pauses. "What happened wasn't really his fault. His family
probably even knows that by now. The war made a lot of men go funny. You knew he
was a gunner, didn't you?"
"No. He doesn't talk about it."
"Say, you don't think Camel could manage standing in line, do you?" "I doubt it," I say.
"Why?"
"We been hearing rumors that maybe there's money finally, maybe even for the working
men. Hadn't given the story much credence up till now, but after what just happened in
the big top, I'm beginning to think there might be half a chance."
The bottom of the sidewall is now flapping free. Bill and Grady lift it, exposing the
rearranged interior of Marlena's dressing tent. There's a table at one end, with a heavy
linen tablecloth and three place settings. The
other end of the tent has been completely cleared.
"Where do you want the stake? Over there?" says Grady, gesturing toward the open
space.
"Guess so," I say. Sara Gruen
"Back in a sec," he says, disappearing. A few minutes later he's back, carrying two
sixteen-pound sledges, one in each hand. He slings one through
the air to Bill, who looks not even remotely alarmed. He catches its handle and follows
Grady into the tent. They pound the iron stake into the ground in a battery of perfectly
timed strokes.
I lead Rosie in and crouch on my hams while I secure her leg chain.
She leaves that leg planted firmly on the ground, but is leaning hard on the others. When
I rise again, I see she is inclining toward a large pile of watermelons in the corner.
"You want us to tie it back down?" says Grady, pointing at the flapping sidewall.
"Yes, if you don't mind. I don't think Marlena wants August to know Rosie's in here till
he steps inside."
Grady shrugs. "No skin off my nose."
"Say, Grady? Do you think you could keep an eye on Rosie for just a minute? I need to
change my clothes."
"I don't know," he says, looking at Rosie with narrowed eyes. "She's not going to pull her
stake out or anything, is she?"
"I doubt it. But here," I say, walking to the pile of watermelons. Rosie curls her trunk and
opens her mouth in a wide smile. I carry one over and smash it to the ground in front of
her. It explodes, and her trunk dives instantly into its red flesh. She scoops chunks into
her mouth, rind and all. "There's some insurance," I say.
I duck under the sidewall and go get changed.
WHEN I RETURN, Marlena is there, wearing the beaded silk dress August gave her that
night we had dinner in their stateroom. The diamond necklace sparkles on her throat.
Rosie is munching happily on another watermelon—it's at least her second, but there are
still half a dozen in the corner. Marlena has removed Rosie's headpiece, which hangs
over the chair in front of her vanity. There is now a serving table laden with silver-domed
platters and wine bottles. I smell seared beef, and my stomach twists from hunger.
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W a t e r for E l e p h a n ts
Marlena is flushed, digging through one of the drawers of her vanity.
"Oh, Jacob!" she says, looking over her shoulder. "Good. I was getting worried. He'll be
here any second. Oh heavens. Now I can't find it." She straightens up suddenly, leaving
the drawer open. Silk scarves spill over its edge. "Can you do me a favor?"
"Of course," I say.
She extracts a bottle of champagne from a three-legged silver cooler.
The ice inside shifts and jingles. Water drips from the bottle's bottom as she hands it to
me. "Can you pop it just as he comes in? Also, yell 'surprise!'" "Sure," I say, taking the
bottle. I remove the wire contraption and wait
with my thumb on the cork. Rosie reaches over with her trunk, trying to pry her way
between my fingers and the bottle. Marlena continues to dig through the drawer.
"What is this?"
I look up. August stands in front of us.
"Oh!" cries Marlena, spinning around. "Surprise!"
"Surprise!" I shout, twisting away from Rosie and popping the cork. It bounces off the
canvas and lands in the grass. Champagne bubbles over my fingers, and I laugh. Marlena
is there instantly with two champagne flutes, trying to catch the overflow. By the time we
get coordinated, we've spilled a third of the bottle, which Rosie is still trying to take from
me.
I look down. Marlena's rose silk shoes are dark with champagne. "Oh, I'm so sorry!" I
laugh.
"No, no! Don't be silly," she says. "We have another bottle." "I said what is this?"
Marlena and I freeze, our hands still tangled. She looks up, her eyes suddenly worried.
She holds a mostly empty champagne flute in each hand. "It's a surprise. A celebration."
August stares. His tie is loose, his jacket open. His face is an utter blank.
"A surprise, yes," he says. He removes his hat and turns it over in his hands, examining it.
His hair rises in a wave from his forehead. He looks up suddenly, with one eyebrow
cocked. "Or so you think."
143
Sara Gruen
"I beg your pardon?" Marlena asks in a hollow voice.
He flicks his wrist and sends his hat sailing into a corner. Then he
removes his jacket, slowly, methodically. He walks to the vanity and swings his jacket as
though he's going to place it over the back of the chair. When he sees Rosie's headpiece,
he stops. Instead, he folds the jacket and places
it neatly on the chair's seat. His eyes move down to the open drawer and silk scarves
spilling over its sides.
"Did I catch you at a bad moment?" he says, looking up at us. He sounds as though he's
just asked someone to pass the salt. "Darling, I don't know what you're talking about,"
Marlena says softly.
August reaches down and pulls a long, nearly transparent orange scarf free from the
drawer. Then he weaves it through and around his fingers. "Having a little fun with
scarves, were you?" He pulls the end of the scarf, and it slips through his fingers again.
"Oh, you're a naughty one. But I guess I knew that."
Marlena stares, speechless.
"So," he says. "Is this a postcoital celebration? Did I give you long
enough? Or perhaps I should go away for a while and come back? I must say, the
elephant is a new twist. I dread to think."
"What in God's name are you talking about?" Marlena says. "Two flutes," he observes,
nodding at her hands.
"What?" She lifts the flutes so quickly their contents slosh onto the grass. "Are you
talking about these? The third one is right—"
"Do you think I'm an idiot?" "August—" I say.
"Shut up! Just shut the fuck up!"
His face is purple. His eyes bulge. He trembles with rage.
Marlena and I stand perfectly still, stunned into silence. Then August's face undergoes
another transformation, melding into something close to complacency. He continues to
play with the scarf, even smiles at it. Then he folds it carefully and places it back in the
drawer. When he straightens up, he shakes his head slowly.
144 .==
W a t e r for E l e p h a n ts
"You... You... You..." He raises a hand, stirring the air with his fingers. But then he trails
off, his attention caught by the silver-tipped cane.
It's leaning against the sidewall near the table, where I left it. He saunters over and picks
it up.
I hear liquid hitting the ground behind me and turn quickly. Rosie
is peeing into the grass, her ears flat against her head, her trunk curled under her face.
August holds the cane and slaps its silver handle repeatedly against his palm. "How long
did you think you could keep it from me?" He pauses for a second, and then looks me
straight in the eye. "Eh?"
"August," I say. "I have no idea what—"
"I said shut up!" He spins and swipes the cane across the serving table, knocking platters,
cutlery, and bottles to the ground. Then he raises a foot and kicks the whole thing over. It
crashes onto its side, sending china, glass, and food flying.
August stares down at the mess for a moment, and then looks up. "You think I don't see
what's going on?" His eyes drill into Marlena, his temple pulses. "Oh, you're good, my
dear," he wiggles his finger at her and smiles, "I'll give you that. You're very good."
He walks back to the vanity and rests the cane against it. Then he
leans over and peers into the mirror. He pushes the hair that's fallen over his forehead
