pressed to my shirt.
"Aw jeez," Walter says again. "This probably makes me an accomplice." "Let's go talk," I
say to Marlena.
She sniffs and pulls away. She walks out to the horses and I follow, pulling the door shut
behind us.
There's a soft nicker of recognition. Marlena wanders over and strokes Midnight's flank. I
sink down against the wall, waiting for her. After a while she joins me. As we round a
curve, the floorboards jerk beneath us, throwing us together so our shoulders touch.
I speak first. "Has he ever hit you before?" "No."
"If he does it again, I swear to God I'll kill him."
"If he does it again, you won't have to," she says quietly.
I look over at her. The moonlight comes through the slats behind her, and her profile is
black, featureless.
"I'm leaving him," she says, dropping her chin. 2-51
Water for E l e p h a n ts
Instinctively, I reach for her hand. Her ring is gone. "Have you told him?" I ask.
"In no uncertain terms." "How did he take it?"
"You saw his answer," she says.
We sit listening to the clacking of the ties beneath us. I stare over the backs of the
sleeping horses and at the snatches of night visible through the slats.
"What are you going to do?" I ask.
"I guess I'll talk to Uncle Al when we get to Erie and see if he can set me up with a bunk
in the girls' sleeper."
"And in the meantime?"
"In the meantime, I'll stay at a hotel."
"You don't want to go back to your family?"
A pause. "No. I don't think they'd have me, anyway."
We lean against the wall in silence, still holding hands. After about an hour she falls
asleep, sliding down until her head rests on my shoulder. I remain awake, every fiber of
my body aware of her proximity.
Nineteen
r. Jankowski? It's time to get ready."
My eyes snap open at the voice's proximity. Rosemary hovers over me, framed by ceiling
tiles.
"Eh? Oh, right," I say, struggling up onto my elbows. Joy surges through me when I
realize that not only do I remember where I am and who she is but also that it's circus
day. Perhaps what happened earlier was just a brain belch?
"Stay put. I'll raise the head of your bed," she says. "Do you need to use the washroom?"
"No, but I want my good shirt. And my bow tie."
"Your bow tie!" she hoots, throwing her head back and laughing. "Yes, my bow tie."
"Oh dear, oh dear. You are a funny one," she says, going to my closet. By the time she
returns, I have managed to undo three buttons on my other shirt. Not bad for gnarled
fingers. I'm rather pleased with myself. Brain and body, both in working order.
As Rosemary helps me out of my shirt, I look down at my skinny frame. My ribs show,
and the few hairs left on my chest are white. I remind myself of a greyhound, all sinews
and skinny rib cage. Rosemary guides my arms into my good shirt, and few minutes later
leans over me, tugging the
edges of my bow tie. She stands back, cocks her head, and makes a final adjustment.
"Well, I do declare the bow tie was a fine decision," she says, nodding
in approval. Her voice is deep and honeyed, lyrical. I could listen to her all day long.
"Would you like to have a look?"
M
Water for E l e p h a n ts
"Did you get it straight?" I say. "Of course I did!"
"Then no. I don't like the mirror much these days," I grumble.
"Well, I think you look very handsome," she says, placing her hands on her hips and
surveying me.
"Oh, psshhh. " I wave a bony hand at her.
She laughs again, and the noise is like wine, warm in my veins. "So, do you want to wait
for your family here, or shall I take you out to the lobby?"
"What time does the show start?"
"It starts at three," she says. "It's two now."
"I'll wait in the lobby. I want to leave straightaway when they get here."
Rosemary waits patiently while I lower my creaking body into the wheelchair. As she
wheels me out to the lobby, I clasp my hands in my lap, fiddling nervously.
The lobby is full of other old folks in wheelchairs, lined up in front of the bucket seats
meant for visitors. Rosemary parks me at the end, beside Ipphy Bailey.
She is hunched over, her dowager's hump forcing her to face her lap. Her hair is wispy
and white, and someone—obviously not Ipphyhas combed it carefully to obscure the bald
spots. She turns suddenly toward me. Her face lights up.
"Morty!" she cries, reaching out a skeletal hand and clapping it around my wrist. "Oh,
Morty, you came back!"
I yank my arm away, but the hand comes with it. She pulls me toward her as I recoil.
"Nurse!" I yell, trying to wrench free. "Nurse!"
A few seconds later, someone pries me loose from Ipphy, who is convinced I am her dead
husband. Furthermore, she is convinced I don't love
her anymore. She leans over the arm of her chair, weeping, waving her arms
in a desperate attempt to reach me. The horse-faced nurse backs me up, moves me some
distance away, and then places my walker between us. "Oh, Morty, Morty! Don't be like
that!" Ipphy wails. "You know it Sara Gruen
didn't mean anything. It was nothing—a terrible mistake. Oh, Morty! Don't you love me
anymore?"
I sit rubbing my wrist, incensed. Why can't they have a separate wing
for people like that? That old bird is clearly out of her head. She could have hurt me. Of
course, if they did have a separate wing, I'd probably end up
in it after what happened this morning. I sit up straight as an idea occurs
to me. Maybe it was the new drug that caused the brain belch—oh, I must ask Rosemary
about that. Or maybe not. The thought has cheered me, and I'd like to hang on to that.
Must protect my little pockets of happiness. Minutes pass and old people disappear until
the row of wheelchairs resembles a jack-o-lantern's gap-toothed smile. Family after
family arrives, each claiming a decrepit ancestor amid high-decibel greetings. Strong
bodies lean over weak; kisses are planted on cheeks. Brakes are kicked free, and one by
one old people exit the sliding doors surrounded by relatives.
When Ipphy's family arrives, they make a great show of being happy
to see her. She gazes into their faces, eyes and mouth wide open, baffled but delighted.
There are only six of us left now, and we eye each other suspiciously. Each time the glass
doors slide open our faces turn in unison and one of them brightens. And so it goes until
I'm the only one left.
I glance at the wall clock. Two forty-five. Dammit! If they don't show
up soon I'll miss the Spec. I shift in my seat, feeling querulous and old. Hell, I am
querulous and old, but I must try not to lose my temper when they arrive. I'll just rush
them out the door, make clear that there's no time for pleasantries. They can tell me about
whoever's promotion or whatever vacation after the show.
Rosemary's head appears in the doorway. She looks both directions, taking in the fact that
I'm alone in the lobby. She goes behind the nurses' station and sets her chart down on the
counter. Then she comes and sits next to me.
"Still no sign of your family, Mr. Jankowski?"
"No!" I shout. "And if they don't show up soon there won't be much point. I'm sure the
good seats are already taken and I'm already going to Water for E l e p h a n ts
miss the Spec." I turn back to the clock, miserable, whiney. "Whatever is keeping them?
They're always here by now."
Rosemary looks at her watch. It's gold with stretchy links that look
like they're pinching her flesh. I always wore my watch loose, back when I had one.
"Do you know who's coming today?" she asks.
"No. I never do. And it doesn't really matter, just so long as they get here in time."
"Well, let me see what I can find out."
She rises and goes behind the desk at the nurses' station.
I scan each person who passes on the sidewalk behind the sliding glass doors, seeking a
familiar face. But they pass as a blur, one unto another. I look at Rosemary, who is
standing behind the desk and speaking into the phone. She glances at me, hangs up, and
makes another call.
The clock now says two fifty-three—just seven minutes to showtime. My blood pressure
is so high my entire body buzzes like the fluorescent lights above me.
I've entirely given up on the idea of not losing my temper. Whoever
shows up is going to get a piece of my mind, and that's for sure. Every other old bird or
coot in the place will have seen the whole show, including the Spec, and where's the
fairness in that? If there's anyone in this place who should be there, it's me. Oh, just wait
until I lay eyes on whoever comes.
If it's one of my children, I'll lay right into them. If it's one of the others, well, then I'll
wait until
"I'm so sorry, Mr. Jankowski."
"Eh?" I look up quickly. Rosemary's back, sitting in the chair next to me. In my panic, I
hadn't noticed.
"They plum lost track of whose turn it was."
"Well, who did they decide? How long is it going to take them to get here?"
Rosemary pauses. She presses her lips together and takes my hand between hers. It's the
expression people wear when they're about to deliver bad news, and my adrenaline rises
in anticipation. "They can't make it," she S a r a G r u en
says. "It was supposed to be your son, Simon. When I called, he remembered, but he'd
already made other plans. There was no answer at the other numbers."
"Other plans?" I croak. "Yes, sir."
"Did you tell him about the circus?"
"Yes, sir. And he was really very sorry. But it was something he just couldn't get out of."
My face twists, and before I know it I'm sniveling like a child.
"I'm so sorry, Mr. Jankowski. I know how important this was to you. I'd take you myself,
but I'm working a twelve-hour shift."
I bring my hands to my face, trying to hide my old man tears. A few seconds later, a
tissue dangles in front of me.
"You're a good girl, Rosemary," I say, taking the tissue and staunching my leaky nose.
"You know that, don't you? I don't know what I'd do without you."
She looks at me for a long time. Too long. Finally she says, "Mr. Jankowski, you do
know I'm leaving tomorrow, don't you?"
My head snaps up. "Eh? For how long?" Oh, damn. That's just what
I need. If she goes on vacation, I'll probably forget her name by the time
she comes back.
"We're moving to Richmond. To be closer to my mother-in-law. She's not been well."
I am stunned. My jaw flaps uselessly for a moment before I find words. "You're
married?"
"For twenty-six happy years, Mr. Jankowski."
"Twenty-six years? No. I don't believe it. You're just a girl."
She laughs. "I'm a grandmother, Mr. Jankowski. Forty-seven years old."
We sit in silence for a moment. She digs into her pale pink pocket and replaces my
saturated tissue with a new one. I dab the deep sockets that house my eyes.
"He's a luckyman, your husband," Isniff. W a t e r for E l e p h a n ts
"We're both lucky. Very blessed indeed."
"And so's your mother-in-law. Did you know there's not a single one of my children who
could take me in?"
"Well... It's not always easy, you know." "I never said it was."
She takes my hand. "I know that, Mr. Jankowski. I know that."
I am overcome by the unfairness of it all. I close my eyes and picture drooling old Ipphy
Bailey in the big top. She won't even notice she's there, never mind remember any of it.
After a couple of minutes, Rosemary says, "Is there anything I can do for you?"
"No," I say, and there isn't—not unless she can deliver me to the circus or the circus to
me. Or take me with her to Richmond. "I think I'd like to be alone now," I add.
"I understand," she says gently. "Shall I take you back to your room?" "No. I think I'll sit
right here."
She stands up, leans over long enough to plant a kiss on my forehead, and disappears into
the hallway, her rubber soles squeaking on the tiled floor.
Twe nty
When I wake up, Marlena has disappeared. I immediately go in search of her and find her
exiting Uncle
Al's car with Earl. He accompanies her to car 48 and makes August vacate while she goes
inside.
I am pleased to see that August looks much as I do, which is to say like a battered rotten
tomato. When Marlena climbs into the car he calls her name and tries to follow, but Earl
blocks his way. August is agitated and desperate, moving from window to window,
hauling himself up by his fingertips, weeping, oozing contrition.
It will never happen again. He loves her more than life itself—surely
she knows that. He doesn't know what came over him. He'll do anything
anything!—to make it up to her. She is a goddess, a queen, and
he is a just a miserable puddle of remorse. Can't she see how sorry he is? Is she trying to
torture him? Has she no heart?
When Marlena emerges with a suitcase, she passes him without so much as a glance. She
wears a straw hat with a floppy brim pulled down over her black eye.
"Marlena," he cries, reaching forward and grabbing her arm. "Let her go," says Earl.
