back into place and then smoothes it with his palm. Then he freezes, his hand still at his
forehead. "Peek-a-boo," he says, looking at our reflections. "I see you."
Marlena's horrified face looks back at me from the mirror.
August turns and picks up Rosie's pink sequined headpiece. "And that's the trouble, isn't
it? I see you. You think I don't, but I do. This was a nice touch, I must admit," he says,
turning the shimmering headpiece over in his hands. "The devoted wife, hiding away in a
closet, sewing up a storm.
Or was it a closet? Maybe it was right here. Or maybe you went to that whore's tent.
Whores look after each other, don't they?" He looks at me. "So, where did you do it, eh,
Jacob? Where, exactly, have you fucked my wife?"
Sara Gruen
I take Marlena's elbow. "Come on. Let's go," I say.
"Aha! So you don't even deny it!" he screams. He clutches the headpiece in white-
knuckled fists and pulls, screaming through gritted teeth, until a split zigzags across it.
Marlena shrieks. She drops the flutes and claps a hand to her mouth. "You whore!"
August screams. "You slut. You mangy bitch!" With each epithet, he rips the headpiece
further.
"August!" Marlena screams, stepping forward. "Stop it! Stop it!"
The noise seems to shock him, because he stops. He looks at her and blinks. He looks at
the headpiece. Then he looks back at her, confused. After a pause of several seconds,
Marlena steps forward. "Auggie?" she says tentatively. She looks up at him, her eyes
beseeching. "Are you all right now?"
August stares at her, baffled, as though he's simply awakened and found himself here.
Marlena approaches slowly. "Darling?" she says.
His lower jaw moves. His forehead crumples, and the headpiece falls to the ground.
I think I've stopped breathing.
Marlena steps right up to him. "Auggie?"
He looks down at her. His nose twitches. Then he shoves her so violently she crashes
back onto the overturned platters and food. He takes one long step forward, leans down,
and tries to rip the necklace from her throat. The clasp holds, so he ends up dragging her
by the neck as she screams.
I launch across the open space and tackle him. Rosie roars behind me
as August and I fall backward onto broken plates and spilled gravy. First I'm on top of
him, pounding his face. Then he's on top of me, cuffing me in the eye. I buck him off and
yank him to his feet.
"Auggie! Jacob!" shrieks Marlena. "Stop!"
I shove him backward, but he grabs my lapels and so we crash into the vanity together. I
am vaguely aware of tinkling as the mirror disintegrates around us. August thrusts me
away, and we grapple in the center of the tent.
We roll around, grunting, so close I can feel his breath on my face1. Now W a t e r for E l
e p h a n ts
I'm on top of him, landing punches. Now he's on top of me, banging my headagainst the
ground. Marlena is hovering, screaming at us to stop, but we can't. Or at least I can't—all
the rage and pain and frustration of the past few months is channeled into my fists.
Now I'm facing the overturned table. Now I'm facing Rosie, who is
pulling her leg chain and bellowing. Now we're standing up again, grasping at each
other's collars and lapels, both blocking and landing blows.
Eventually we fall against the entrance flap and land in the middle of the crowd that has
gathered outside.
Within seconds, I'm hauled off, pinioned by Grady and Bill. For a moment, August looks
as though he's going to come after me, but then the expression on his mashed face shifts.
He climbs to his feet and calmly dusts himself off.
"You're crazy. Crazy!" I scream.
He observes me coolly, straightens his sleeves, and goes back into the tent.
"Let me go," I plead, jerking my head around first to Grady and then
to Bill. "For Christ's sake, let me go! He's nuts! He'll kill her!" I struggle hard enough that
I manage to pull them forward a few feet. From inside the tent I hear the crash of broken
dishes and then Marlena screams. Grady and Bill are both grunting, bracing their legs to
keep me from getting loose. "No he won't," says Grady. "Don't you worry about that."
Earl blasts from the crowd and ducks into the tent. The crashing
stops. There are two soft thuds, then a louder one, and then conspicuous silence.
I freeze, staring at the blank expanse of canvas.
"There. See?" says Grady, still gripping my arm tightly. "You okay? Can we let you go
now?"
I nod, continuing to stare.
Grady and Bill release me, but in stages. First they loosen their grips. Then they let go,
but stay close, keeping an eye on me.
A hand appears on my waist. Walter is standing beside me. "Come on, Jacob," he says.
"Walk away."
2-47
S a r a G r u en "Ican't," Isay.
"Yes. You can. Come on. Walk away."
I stare at the silent tent. After another few seconds, I tear my eyes from the billowing flap
and walk away.
WALTER AND I CLIMB into the stock car. Queenie emerges from behind the trunks,
where Camel is snoring. She wags her stump and then stops, sniffing the air.
"Sit," Walter orders, pointing at the cot.
Queenie sits in the center of the floor. I sit on the edge of the cot. Now that my adrenaline
is fading, I'm beginning to realize how badly I'm hurt. My hands are lacerated, I sound
like I'm breathing through a gas mask, and I'm looking through a slit formed by the
puffed lids of my right eye. When I touch my face, my hand comes away bloody.
Walter leans over an open trunk. When he turns around, he's got a
jug of moonshine and a handkerchief. He stands in front of me and pulls the cork.
"Eh? Is that you? Walter?" Camel calls from behind the trunks. Trust him to wake up at
the sound of a cork being pulled.
"You're a bloody mess," Walter says, completely ignoring Camel. He holds the hankie
against the neck of the jug and tips the whole thing upside down. He brings the wet cloth
toward my face. "Hold still. This is going to sting."
That was the understatement of the century—when the alcohol encounters my face, I jerk
back with a yelp.
Walter waits, hankie poised. "You need something to bite on?" He bends down to retrieve
the cork. "Here."
"No," I say, clenching my teeth. "Just give me a second." I hug my chest, rocking back
and forth.
"I've got a better idea," says Walter. He hands me the jug. "Go on. It burns like hell going
down, but after a few swallows you don't notice so much. What the hell happened,
anyway?"
I take the jug and use both my battered hands to raise it to my face. I W a t e r for E l e p
h a n ts
feel clumsy, like I'm wearing boxing gloves. Walter steadies it. The alcohol burns my
bruised lips, rips a path down my throat, and explodes in
my stomach. I gasp and push the jug away so quickly liquid sloshes from its neck.
"Yeah. It's not the smoothest," says Walter.
"You guys gonna get me outta here and share, or what?" cries Camel. "Shut it, Camel,"
says Walter.
"Hey now! That ain't no way to talk to a sick old—"
"I said shut it, Camel! I'm dealing with a situation here. Go on," he says, pushing the jug
back at me. "Have some more."
"What kind of a situation?" says Camel. "Jacob's messed up."
"What? How? Was there a Hey Rube?" "No," Walter says grimly. "Worse."
"What's a Hey Rube?" I mumble through fat lips.
"Drink," he says, pushing the jug at me again. "A fight between us and them. Show folk
and rubes. You ready?"
I take another sip of the moonshine, which, despite Walter's assurances, still goes down
like mustard gas. I set the jug on the floor and close my eyes. "Yeah. I think so."
Walter holds my chin in one hand and turns my head left and right, assessing the damage.
"Holy hell, Jacob. What on earth happened?" he says, picking through the hair at the back
of my head. Apparently he has found some new atrocity.
"He pushed Marlena." "You mean physically?" "Yeah."
"Why?"
"He just went nuts. I don't know how else to describe it."
"There's glass all through your hair. Hold still." His fingers investigate
my scalp, lifting and separating the hair. "So, why did he go nuts?" he says,
depositing glass shards on top of the nearest book. "Damned if I know."
S a r a G r u en
"Like hell you don't. Did you mess with her?"
"No. Absolutely not," I say, although I'm pretty sure I'd be blushing if my face weren't
already ground beef.
"I hope not," says Walter. "For your sake, I sure hope not."
There's shuffling and banging to my right. I try to look, but Walter holds my chin tight.
"Camel, what the hell are you up to?" he barks, his breath hot on my face.
"I wanna see if Jacob's all right."
"For Christ's sake," says Walter. "Just stay put, will ya? I wouldn't be surprised if we had
company in a bit. It may be Jacob they're after, but don't think they won't take you, too."
When Walter has finished cleaning my cuts and removing glass from
my hair, I creep over to the bedroll and try to find a comfortable place for my head,
which is battered both front and back. My right eye is swollen completely shut. Queenie
comes over to investigate, sniffing tentatively. She backs up a few feet and lies down,
keeping an eye on me.
Walter puts the jug back in the trunk and then stays bent over, riffling through the
bottom. When he straightens up again, he's holding a large knife.
He closes the interior door, and wedges it shut with a chunk of wood. Then he sits with
his back to the wall and the knife at his side.
Some time later, we hear the clip-clopping of horses' hooves on the
ramp. Pete, Otis, and Diamond Joe speak in hushed voices in the other part of the car, but
no one knocks and no one tries the door. After a while, we hear them dismantle the ramp
and slide the outside door shut.
When the train finally chugs forward, Walter sighs audibly. I look
over at him. He drops his head between his knees and remains there for a moment. Then
he climbs to his feet and slides the big knife behind the trunk.
"You're a lucky bastard," he says, working the chunk of wood free. He swings the door
open and walks to the row of trunks that obscures Camel.
"Me?" I say, through a haze of moonshine. 150 <^
Water for E l e p h a n ts "Yeah, you. So far."
Walter hauls the trunks away from the wall and retrieves Camel. Then he drags the old
man out to the other part of the car to take care of the evening's ablutions.
I DOZE, FLATTENED by a combination of trauma and moonshine. I'm vaguely aware
of Walter helping Camel with his dinner. I remember propping myself up to accept a
drink of water and then collapsing
back on the bedroll. The next time I surface, Camel is lying flat on the cot,
snoring, and Walter sits on the horse blanket in the corner with the lamp beside him and a
book in his lap.
I hear footsteps on the roof, and a moment later there's a soft thud outside our door. My
whole body snaps into awareness.
Walter scrambles across the floor, crablike, and grabs the knife from behind the trunk.
Then he moves to beside the door, gripping the knife's handle tightly. He gestures to me,
waving me toward the lamp. I dive across the room, but with one eye swelled shut I have
no depth perception and come up short.
The door creaks inward. Walter's fingers clench and unclench around the knife's handle.
"Jacob?" "Marlena!" I cry.
"Jesus Christ, woman!" Walter shouts, dropping the knife to his side.
"I nearly killed you." He grabs the edge of the door. His head bobs as he tries to see
around her. "You alone?"
"Yes," she says. "I'm sorry. I need to talk to Jacob."
Walter opens the door a bit more. Then his face falls. "Aw jeez," he says. "You'd better
come in."
When she steps inside I lift the kerosene lamp. Her left eye is purple and swollen.
"Jesus Christ!" I say. "Did he do that to you?"
"Oh God, look at you," she says, reaching out. Her fingertips hover near my face. "You
need to see a doctor."
S a r a G r u en "I'm fine," Isay.
"Who in blazes is that?" says Camel. "Is that a dame? I can't see a thing. Someone turn
me around."
"Oh, I beg your pardon," says Marlena, startled by the sight of the crippled body on the
cot. "I thought there were only the two of y o u ... Oh,
I'm so sorry. I'll go back now." "No you won't," I say.
"I didn't mean... to him."
"I don't want you walking around on the top of moving train cars, never mind leaping
between them."
"I agree with Jacob," says Walter. "We'll move out there with the horses and give you
some privacy."
"No, I couldn't possibly," says Marlena.
"Then let me take the bedroll out there for you," I say.
"No. I didn't mean t o ... " She shakes her head. "Oh God. I shouldn't have come." She
cups her hands over her face. A moment later she starts to cry.
I hand the lamp to Walter and pull her against me. She sinks into me, sobbing, her face
