moving around. I don't."
He is quiet. I stare at his short, compact limbs.
He nods curtly, bitterly. "Yeah. That's right. And like I said before, I'm not exactly cut
out for farmwork, either."
My MIND CHURNS as I go through the line in the cookhouse.
Walter is absolutely right—I got us into this mess, and I've got to get us out. Damned if I
know how, though. Not one of us has a home to go to. Never mind that Walter can't hop
trains—hell will freeze over before I let Marlena spend a single night in a hobo jungle.
I'm so preoccupied that I'm almost at the table before I look up. Marlena is already there.
"Hi," Isay, takingmyseat. S a r a G r u en
"Hi," she says after a slight pause, and I know immediately that something is wrong.
"What is it? What happened?" "Nothing."
"Are you okay? Did he hurt you?"
"No. I'm fine," she whispers, staring at her plate.
"No you're not. What is it? What did he do?" I say. Other diners start to look.
"Nothing," she hisses. "Keep your voice down."
I straighten up and, with a great show of restraint, spread my napkin
across my lap. I pick up my cutlery and carefully slice my pork chop. "Marlena, please
talk to me," I say quietly. I concentrate on making my face
look as though we're discussing the weather. Slowly, the people around us return to their
meals.
"I'm late," she says. "I beg your pardon?" "I'm late."
"For what?"
She raises her head and turns beet red. "I think I'm going to have a baby."
WHEN EARL COMES to fetch me, I'm not even surprised. It's just the way the day is
going.
Uncle Al is sitting in his chair, his face pinched and sour. There is no brandy today. He
gnaws on the end of a cigar and stabs his cane repeatedly into the carpet.
"It's been almost three weeks, Jacob."
"I know," I say. My voice is shaky. I'm still absorbing Marlena's news. "I'm disappointed
in you. I thought we had an understanding."
"We did. We do." I shift restlessly. "Look, I'm doing my best, but August isn't helping.
She'd have gone back to him a long time ago if he'd just leave her the hell alone for a
while."
Water for E l e p h a n ts
"I've done what I could," says Uncle Al. He takes the cigar from his lips, looks at it, and
then picks a piece of tobacco from his tongue. He flicks it against the wall, where it
sticks.
"Well, it's not enough," I say. "He follows her around. He yells at her.
He cries outside her window. She's scared of him. Having Earl follow him around and
haul him off whenever he gets out of hand is not enough. Would you go back to him if
you were her?"
Uncle Al stares at me. I suddenly realize I've been yelling.
"I'm sorry," I say. "I'll work on her. I swear, if you can just get him to leave her alone for
a few more days—"
"No," he says quietly. "We're going to do it my way now." "What?"
"I said we're going to do it my way. You can leave now." He flicks the ends of his fingers
toward the door. "Go."
I stare at him, blinking stupidly. "What do you mean, your way?"
Next thing I know, Earl's arms encircle me like a steel band. He lifts me from the chair
and carries me to the door. "What do you mean, Al?" I shout over Earl's shoulder. "I want
to know what you mean! What are you going to do?"
Earl handles me significantly more gently once he's closed the door. When he finally sets
me on the gravel, he brushes off my jacket. "Sorry, pal," he says. "I really did try."
"Earl!"
He stops and turns back to me, his face grim. "What's he got in mind?"
He looks at me but says nothing.
"Earl, please. I'm begging you. What's he going to do?"
"I'm sorry, Jacob," he says. He climbs back inside the train. QUARTER TO SEVEN,
fifteen minutes to showtime. The crowd
mills around the menagerie, viewing the animals on their way to the big top. I'm standing
by Rosie, supervising as she accepts donations of candy, Sara Gruen
gum, and even lemonade from the crowd. From the corner of my eye I see a tall man
stride toward me. It's Diamond Joe.
"You gotta get out of here," he says, stepping over the rope. "Why? What's going on?"
"August's on his way. The bull's performing tonight." "What? You mean with Marlena?"
"Yeah. And he don't want to see you. He's in one of those moods. Go on, get out."
I scan the tent for Marlena. She's standing in front of her horses, chatting with a family of
five. Her eyes flit over to me and then, when she sees my expression, dart back at regular
intervals.
I hand Diamond Joe the silver-tipped cane that passes for a bull hook these days and step
over the rope. I see August's top hat approaching on my left and move instead to my
right, past the line of zebras. I stop beside Marlena.
"Did you know you're supposed to perform with Rosie tonight?" I say. "Excuse me," she
says, smiling at the family in front of her. She turns around and leans in close. "Yes.
Uncle Al called me in. He says the show is on the verge of collapse."
"But can you? I mean, in y o u r ... u m ..." "I'm fine. I don't have to do anything
strenuous." "What if you fall off?"
"I won't. Besides, I don't have a choice. Uncle Al also said—oh hell, here's August. You'd
better get out of here."
"I don't want to."
"I'll be fine. He won't do anything with rubes around. You've got to go. Please?
I look over my shoulder. August is approaching, looking up from a downturned face like
a charging bull.
"Please, " Marlena says desperately.
I head through the big top, following the hippodrome track to the back entrance. I pause,
and then slip beneath the seats.
Water for E l e p h a n ts
I watch the Spec from between a man's work boots. About halfway
through, I realize I'm not alone. An ancient roustabout is also looking through the stands
but facing the other direction. He's looking up a woman's
skirt.
"Hey!" I shout. "Hey, knock it off!"
The crowd roars in delight as a great gray mass passes the edge of the risers. It's Rosie. I
turn back to the roustabout. He stands on tiptoe, holding the edge of a floorboard with his
fingertips and peering upward. He
licks his lips.
I can't stand it. I'm guilty of terrible, terrible things—things that will
damn my soul to hell—but the idea of some random woman being violated in this manner
is more than I can bear, and so even as Marlena and
Rosie are stepping into the center ring, I grab the roustabout by the jacket and drag him
from beneath the seats.
"Lemme go!" he squeals. "What's the matter with you?"
I keep him in my grasp, but my attention is on the center ring. Marlena balances gamely
on her ball, but Rosie stands utterly still,
all four feet planted squarely on the ground. August's arms wave up and down. He swings
the cane. He shakes his fist. His mouth opens and closes. Rosie's ears flatten against her
head, and I lean forward, looking more closely. Her expression is unmistakably
belligerent.
Oh God, Rosie. Not now. Don't do this now.
"Aw, come on!" screeches the filthy gnome in my hands. "This ain't no Sunday School
show. It's just a harmless bit of fun. Come on! Lemme go!" I look down at him. He is
panting, his breath rank, his lower jaw punctuated by long brown teeth. Disgusted, I
shove him away from me.
He looks quickly from side to side, and when he realizes that no one
in the crowd has noticed anything, he straightens his lapels in righteous indignation and
swaggers toward the back entrance. Just before he steps outside, he throws me a dirty
look. But his narrowed eyes bounce off me, glomming on to something beyond. He dives
through the air, his face frozen in a mask of terror.
Sara Gruen
I spin and find Rosie hurtling toward me, her trunk raised and mouth open. I throw
myself against the risers and she passes, trumpeting and pounding the sawdust with such
force that a three-foot cloud of particles trails her. August follows, waving his cane.
The crowd explodes, laughing and cheering—they think it's part of
the act. Uncle Al stands in the center of the hippodrome, stupefied. He watches the back
entrance of the tent for a moment with his mouth open. Then he snaps into action and
cues Lottie.
I climb to my feet and look for Marlena. She passes me, a pink blur. "Marlena!"
In the distance, August is already hammering Rosie. She bellows and screams, throwing
her head and backing away, but he's like a machine. He raises that damned cane and
brings it down hook first, again and again and again. When Marlena reaches them, he
turns to face her. The cane falls to the ground. He stares at her with burning intensity,
completely oblivious to Rosie.
I know that look.
I charge forward. Before I've gone a dozen strides, my feet are swept out from under me
and I'm facedown on the ground with a knee on my cheek and one of my arms twisted
behind my back.
"Get the hell off me!" I scream, twisting to get free. "What the hell's the matter with you?
Let me go!"
"Just shut up," says Blackie's voice from above me. "You ain't goin' nowhere."
August leans over and straightens up with Marlena over his shoulder. She pounds his
back with her fists, kicking her legs and screaming. She almost manages to slide off his
shoulder, but he just hitches her back up and marches off.
"Marlena! Marlena!" I bellow, renewing my struggle.
I twist out from under Blackie's knee and am halfway to my feet before something
crashes into the back of my head. My brain and eyes jolt in their cavities. My vision fills
with black and white sparkles and I think I might also be deaf. After a moment my vision
starts to return, from the z88
Watcr for E l e p h a n ts
outside in. Faces appear and mouths move, but all I hear is an earsplitting buzz. I weave
on my knees trying to figure out who and what and where but now the ground comes
screaming toward me. I'm powerless to stop
it so I brace myself, but in the end it isn't necessary because the blackness swallows me
before it hits.
Twenty-1 wo /~~*ihh, don't move."
^ k I'm not, although my head jiggles and jerks with the
/^Jr motion of the train. The engine's whistle blows mournfully,
a distant sound that somehow cuts through the insistent buzzing in my ears. My whole
body feels like lead.
Something cold and wet hits my forehead. I open my eyes and see a panoply of shifting
color and forms. Four blurred arms cross my face and then merge into a single
foreshortened limb. I gag, my lips involuntarily forming a tunnel. I turn my head, but
nothing comes out.
"Keep your eyes closed," says Walter. "Just lie still."
"Hrrmph, " I mumble. I let my head fall to the side, and the cloth falls from it. A moment
later it's replaced.
"You took a good hit. Glad to see you back."
"Is he coming around?" says Camel. "Hey, Jacob, you still with us?" I feel like I'm rising
from a deep mine, am having trouble placing myself. I appear to be on the bedroll. The
train is already moving. But how did I get here and why was I asleep?
Marlena!
My eyes snap open. I struggle to rise.
"Didn't I tell you to lie still?" Walter scolds.
"Marlena! Where's Marlena?" I gasp, falling back on the pillow. My
brain rolls in my head. I think it's been shaken loose. It's worse when my eyes are open
and so I close them again. With all visual stimulus removed, S a r a G r u en
the blackness feels larger than my head, as though my cranial cavity has turned inside
out.
Walter is kneeling beside me. He removes the rag from my forehead,
dips it in water, and then squeezes out the excess. The water trickles back into the bowl, a
clean, clear sound, a familiar tinkling. The buzzing starts to subside, replaced by a
pounding ache that sweeps from ear to ear around the back of my skull.
Walter brings the rag back to my face. He wipes my forehead, cheeks, and chin, leaving
my skin damp. The cooling tingle is grounding, helps me concentrate on the outside of
my head.
"Where is she? Did he hurt her?" "I don't know."
I open my eyes again, and the world tilts violently. I struggle up on my elbows and this
time Walter doesn't push me down. Instead, he leans over and peers into my eyes. "Shit.
Your pupils are different sizes. You feel up to drinking something?" he says.
"Uh ... yeah," I gasp. Finding words is hard. I know what I want to express, but the
pathway between my mouth and brain might as well be stuffed with cotton.
Walter crosses the room, and a bottle cap clinks to the floor. He comes back and holds a
bottle to my lips. It's sarsaparilla. "It's the best I've got, I'm afraid," he says ruefully.
"Damned cops," Camel grumbles. "You okay, Jacob?"
I'd like to answer, but staying upright is taking all my concentration. "Walter, is he
okay?" Camel sounds significantly more worried this time.
"I think so," says Walter. He puts the bottle on the floor. "You want to try sitting up? Or
you want to wait a few minutes?"
"I've got to get Marlena."
