Water For Elephants (17 page)

Ten

August huffs and puffs and turns so red he's actually closer to purple. Then he marches off, presumably to have it out with Uncle Al.

Marlena and I glance at each other. By unspoken agreement, neither of us follows.

One by one the menagerie men leave. The animals, finally fed and watered, settle in for the night. At the end of a desperate day is peace. Marlena and I are alone, holding various bits of foodstuff toward

Rosie s inquisitive trunk. When its strange rubbery finger grabs a wisp of hay from my fingers, Marlena squeals with laughter. Rosie tosses her head and opens her mouth in a smile.

I turn to find Marlena staring at me. The only sounds from within the menagerie are shuffling, snorting, and quiet munching. Outside, in the distance, someone plays a harmonica—a haunting tune in triple time, although I can't place it.

I'm not sure how it happens—do I reach for her? does she reach for me?—but next thing I know she's in my arms and we're waltzing, dipping, and skipping in front of the low-slung rope. As we twirl, I catch sight of Rosie's raised trunk and smiling face.

Marlena pulls suddenly away.

I stand motionless, my arms still slightly raised, unsure what to do. "Uh," says Marlena, blushing furiously and looking at everything but me. "Well. Yes. Let's go wait for August, shall we?"

Sara Gruen

I stare at her for a long moment. I want to kiss her. I want to kiss her more than I've ever wanted anything in my life.

"Yes," I finally say. "Yes. Let's."

AN HOUR LATER August returns to the stateroom. He storms in

and slams the door. Marlena goes immediately to a cupboard.

"That useless son-of-a-bitch paid two thousand for that useless son-of-a-bitch bull," he says, throwing his hat in the corner and ripping off his jacket. "Two thousandfucking clams!" He flops into the nearest chair and drops his head into his hands.

Marlena removes a bottle of blended whiskey, pauses, looks at August, and then puts it back. She reaches for the single malt instead.

"And that's not the worst of it—oh no," says August, ripping his tie loose and clawing at his shirt collar. "You wanna know what else he did? Hmmmm? Go on, guess."

He's looking at Marlena, who is utterly unperturbed. She pours a good four fingers' worth of whiskey into three tumblers.

"I said guess!" barks August.

"I don't know, I'm sure," Marlena says calmly. She puts the cap back on the whiskey.

"He spent the rest of the money on a goddamned elephant car." Marlena turns, suddenly paying attention. "He didn't pick up any performers?"

"Sure he did." "But—"

"Yes. Exactly," says August, cutting her off.

Marlena hands him a glass, motions me over for mine, and then takes a seat.

I take a slug and wait as long as I can. "Yes, well, both of you may know what the hell you're talking about, but I don't. Do you mind filling me in?"

August exhales through puffed cheeks and brushes away the shock of hair that has fallen across his forehead. He leans forward, his elbows on 130

Water for E l e p h a n ts

his knees. Then he lifts his face so his eyes are locked on mine. "It means, Jacob, that we hired more people without having anywhere to put them.

It means, Jacob, that Uncle Al has seized one of the working men's bunk cars and declared it a performers' sleeping car. And because he hired two women, he has to partition it. It means, Jacob, that in order to accommodate less than a dozen performers, we will now have sixty-four working

men sleeping under wagons on the flats."

"That's stupid," I say. "He should just fill the bunk car with whoever needs a bunk."

"He can't do that," says Marlena. "Why not?"

"Because you can't mix working men and performers." "Isn't that exactly what Kinko and I are doing?"

"Ha!" August snorts and sits forward, a lopsided smirk etched on his face. "Do tell us—please, I'm dying to know. How's that going?" He cocks his head and smiles.

Marlena takes a deep breath and crosses her legs. A moment later, that red leather shoe starts pumping up and down.

I throw my whiskey down my throat and leave.

IT WAS A BIG WHISKEY, and it starts to take effect somewhere between the staterooms and the coaches. I'm clearly not the only one under the influence either—now that "business" has been concluded, everyone connected with the Benzini Brothers Most Spectacular Show on Earth is letting off steam. The gatherings run the entire gamut, from celebratory soirees characterized by radio jazz and outbursts of laughter to the desultory gatherings of dirty men who huddle some distance from the train and

pass around various types of intoxicant. I catch sight of Camel, who lifts a hand in greeting before passing along the Sterno fluid.

I hear thrashing in the long grass and pause to investigate. I see a woman's bare legs spread wide with a man between them. He grunts and ruts

like a billy goat. His trousers are down around his knees, his hairy buttocks pumping up and down. She grasps his shirt in her fists, moaning with each Sara Gruen thrust. It takes me a moment to realize what I'm looking at—when I do, I wrench my eyes away and wobble forward.

As I approach the ring stock car, I see people sitting on the open doorway and milling around outside.

There are even more inside. Kinko is lording over a party with a bottle in his hand and drunken hospitality on his face. When he catches sight of me, he trips and lurches forward. Hands reach out to catch him.

"Jacob! My man!" he shouts, his eyes fiercely bright. He shakes free of his friends and straightens up. "Folks—friends!" he calls across the crowd of about thirty people who take up the space usually occupied by Marlena's horses. He walks over and places his arm around my waist. "This is my dear, dear friend Jacob." He pauses to take a swig from the bottle. "Please make him welcome," he says. "As a favor to me."

His guests whistle and laugh. Kinko laughs until he coughs. He lets go of my waist and waves his hand in front of his purple face until he stops sputtering. Then he throws his arm around the waist of the man next to us. They stagger off.

Since the goat room is jammed tight, I head for the other end of the car, where Silver Star used to reside, and slump down against the slatted wall.

The pile of straw next to me rustles. I reach out and poke it, hoping I won't find a rat. Queenie's white tail stump is visible for only a moment before she burrows further into the straw, like a crab in sand.

FROM HERE ON IN, I'm not entirely sure of the order. Bottles are passed to me, and I'm pretty sure I drink from most of them. Before long, things are swimming and I'm filled with the warmth of human kindness toward everyone and everything. People have their arms around my shoulders, and I have mine around theirs.

We laugh uproariously—at what, I

don't remember, but everything is a riot.

There is some game where you have to toss something, and if you miss the target you have to take a drink. I miss quite a lot. Eventually I begin to think I'm going to throw up and crawl away, to the great mirth of everyone.

W a t e r for E l e p h a n ts

I'm sitting in the corner. I can't quite remember getting here, but I'm leaning against the wall with my head resting on my knees. I do so wish the world would stop spinning, but it doesn't, so I try leaning my head back against the wall instead.

"Well now, what have we here?" says a sultry voice from somewhere very nearby.

My eyes pop open. A foot's length of tightly packed cleavage is directly under my nose. I run my eyes up it until I see a face. It's Barbara. I blink quickly, trying to see only one of her. Oh God—it's no use. But no—wait. It's okay. It's not multiple Barbaras. It's multiple women.

"Hi, honey," says Barbara, reaching out and stroking my face. "You doing okay?"

"Mmm, " I say, trying to nod.

Her fingertips linger under my chin as she turns to the blonde crouching beside her. "So young. Oh, he's cute as a button, isn't he, Nell?"

Nell takes a drag from a cigarette and blows the smoke from the side of her mouth. "Sure is. Don't think I've seen him before."

"He was helping out at the cooch tent a few nights ago," says Barbara.

She turns back to me. "What's your name, honey?" she says softly, running the backs of her fingers up and down my cheek.

"Jacob," I say, around the edges of a belch.

"Jacob," she says. "Oh, say, I know who you are. He's the one Walter was talking about,"

she says to Nell. "He's brand new, a First of May. Handled himself real well at the cooch tent."

She grabs my chin and raises it, gazing deep into my eyes. I try to return the favor but am having some trouble focusing. "Oh, you are a sweet thing. So, tell me, Jacob—you ever been with a woman?"

" I ... u h ... , " I say. " U h ... "

Nell giggles. Barbara leans back and puts her hands on her waist. "Whadya think? Wanna give him a proper welcome?"

"We practically have to," says Nell. "A First of May and a virgin?" Her hand slips between my legs and slides over my crotch. My head, which had been wobbling on its stem, snaps upright. "You think his hair is red down there, too?" she says, cupping me in her palm.

S a r a G r u en

Barbara leans forward, unclasps my hands, and lifts one to her mouth. She turns it over, runs a long nail across the palm and then stares me in the eye while running her tongue along the same path. Then she takes my hand and places it on her left breast, right where the nipple must be.

Oh God. Oh God. I'm touching a breast. Through a dress, but stillBarbara stands up for a moment, smoothes her skirt, looks furtively around, and then crouches. I'm pondering this change of position when she takes hold of my hand again. This time she pulls it under her skirt and presses my fingers against hot, moist silk.

I catch my breath. The whiskey, the moonshine, the gin, the Godknowswhat—all of it dissipates instantly. She moves my hand up and

down, over her strange and wonderful valleys. Oh shit. I may come right now.

"Hmmmrn?" she purrs, rearranging my hand so that my middle finger presses further into her. Warm silk bulges around both sides of my finger, pulsing under my touch. She removes my hand, places it back on my knee, and then gives my crotch an experimental squeeze.

"Mmmmm, " she says, her eyes half-closed. "He's ready, Nell. Damn, I love them at this age."

The rest of the night passes in epileptic flashes. I am aware of being propped up between two women, but I think I fall out the door of the stock car. At least, I am aware of finding myself cheek down in the dirt. Then I'm swept upward again and jostled along in the dark until I'm sitting on the edge of a bed.

There are definitely two Barbaras now. And two of the other one, as well. Nell, was it?

Barbara steps backward and raises her arms in the air. She throws her head back and runs her hands over her body, dancing and moving by candlelight. I'm interested—there is no question about that. But I simply can't sit upright anymore. So I fall back.

Someone's yanking on my pants. I mumble something, not sure what, but I don't think it's encouragement. I'm suddenly not feeling well. Oh God. She's touching me—it—stroking experimentally. I prop

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myself up on my elbows and look down. It's limp, a tiny pink turtle hiding in its shell. It also seems to be stuck to my leg. She peels it free, delves both her hands between my thighs to spread them, and reaches down for my balls. She rests them on one hand, juggling them like eggs while she examines my penis. It flops hopelessly under her manipulations while I watch, mortified.

The other woman—now there's only one again, how the hell am I ever going to keep this straight?—lies next to me on the bed. She fishes a skinny breast from her dress and lifts it to my mouth. She rubs it all over my face. Now her lipsticked mouth is coming at me, a gaping maw with tongue extended. I turn my head to the right, where there is no woman. Then I feel a mouth close around the head of my penis.

I gasp. The women giggle, but it's a purring sound, an encouraging sound, as they continue trying to get a response.

Oh God, oh God, she's sucking it. Sucking it, for God's sake. I'm not going to be able to Oh my God, I need to

I turn my head and hurl the unfortunately varied contents of my stomach onto Nell.

THERE'S A HIDEOUS scraping noise. Then the blackness above me is broken by a sliver of light.

Kinko peers in at me. "Wake up, sunshine. Your boss is looking for you."

He's holding a lid open. All of which starts to make sense, because as my cramped body realizes my brain is open for business, it soon becomes clear I am stuffed into a trunk.

Kinko props the lid open and walks away. I work my bent neck free and struggle into a sitting position. The trunk is in a tent, surrounded by rack after rack of vibrant costumes, props, and vanities with mirrors.

"Where am I?" I croak. I cough and try to clear my parched throat. "Clown Alley," says Kinko, fingering some paint jars on a dresser. I lift an arm to cover my eyes and notice it is clad in silk. A red silk S a r a G r u en

dressing gown, to be exact. A red silk dressing gown that is wide open. I look down and discover that someone has shaved my genitals.

I snatch the edges of the gown together, wondering if Kinko saw. Dear God, what did I do last night? I have no idea. Nothing but scraps of memory, and Oh God. I threw up on a woman.

I struggle to my feet, tying the dressing gown. I wipe my forehead, which feels unusually slick. My hand comes away white.

"What the— ?" I say, staring at my hand.

Kinko turns and hands me a mirror. I take it with great trepidation. When I raise it to my face, a clown looks back at me.

I POKE MY HEAD out of the tent, look left and right, and then streak across to the stock car. I am followed by guffaws and catcalls. "Whooeeee, look at that hot mama!"

"Hey, Fred—check out the new cooch girl!" "Say, honey—got plans tonight?"

I dive into the goat room and slam the door, leaning against it. I breathe heavily, listening until the laughter outside dies down. I grab a rag and wipe my face again. I rubbed it raw before I left Clown Alley, but somehow I still don't believe it's clean. I don't think any part of me will ever be