Water For Elephants (33 page)

"What?" I say.

"I'll work on him, you work on her." "The hell with that."

"You're in a bad spot, yes. A friend to both." "I'm no friend of his."

He sighs, and assumes an expression of great patience. "You have to understand August.

He does this occasionally. It's not his fault." He leans forward, peering into my face.

"Good God. I think I'd better have a doctor

out to look at you."

"I don't need a doctor. And of course it's his fault."

He stares at me, and then leans back in his chair. "He's ill, Jacob." I say nothing.

"He's paragon schnitzophonic." "He's what?!"

"Paragon schnitzophonic," repeats Uncle Al. S a r a G r u en

"You mean paranoid schizophrenic?"

"Sure. Whatever. But the bottom line is he's mad as a hatter. Of course, he's also brilliant, so we work around it. It's harder for Marlena than the rest of us, of course. Which is why we must support her."

I shake my head, stunned. "Do you even hear what you're saying?" "I cannot lose either one of them. And if they don't get back together, August will be impossible to handle."

"He hit her," I repeat.

"Yes, I know, very upsetting, that. But he's her husband, isn't he?" I place my hat on my head and rise.

"Where do you think you're going?"

"Back to work," I say. "I'm not going to sit here and listen to you tell me that it's okay for August to hit her because she's his wife. Or that it's not his fault because he's insane. If he's insane, that's all the more reason she should stay away."

"If you want a job to go back to, you will sit back down."

"You know what? I don't give a damn about your job," I say, moving to the door. "See you. Wish I could say it's been a pleasure."

"What about your little friend?"

I freeze. My hand is on the doorknob.

"That little shit with the dog," he says, musing. "And that other one, too—oh, what's his name?" He snaps his fingers as he tries to come up with it.

I turn around slowly. I know what's coming.

"You know who I mean. That useless cripple who's been scarfing my food and taking up space on my train for weeks without doing a lick of work. How about him?"

I stare, my face burning with hatred.

"Did you really think you could keep a stowaway without me finding out about it?

Without him finding out about it?" His face is hard, his eyes glinting.

His expression suddenly softens. He smiles warmly. He spreads his hands in supplication.

"You've got me all wrong, you know. The people 2.66 «

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on this show are my family. I care deeply about each and every one of them. But what I understand and you apparently do not as yet is that sometimes an individual has to make a sacrifice for the good of the rest of us. And

what this family needs is for August and Marlena to work things out. Do we understand each other?"

I stare into his glowing eyes, thinking how very much I'd like to sink a hatchet between them.

"Yes, sir," I say eventually. "I believe we do."

ROSIE STANDS W I T H one foot on a tub while I file her toenails. She has five on each foot, like a human. I'm working on one of her front feet when I'm suddenly aware that all human activity in the menagerie has ceased. The workers are frozen, staring at the entrance with widened eyes.

I look up. August approaches and comes to a stop in front of me. His hair flops forward, and he brushes it back with a swollen hand. His upper lip is bluish purple, split like a grilled sausage. His nose is flattened and off to the side, encrusted with blood. He holds a lit cigarette.

"Dear Lord," he says. He tries to smile, but his split lip prevents him. He takes a drag from the cigarette. "Hard to say who got the worst of it, eh, my boy?"

"What do you want?" I say, leaning over and rasping the edge off a huge toenail.

"You're not still sore, are you?" I don't answer.

He watches me work for a moment. "Look, I know I was out of line. Sometimes my imagination gets the better of me."

"Oh, is that what happened?"

"Look here," he says, blowing smoke. "I was hoping we could let bygones be bygones.

So what do you say, my boy—friends again?" He extends his hand.

I stand up straight, both arms at my sides. "You hit her, August." The other men watch wordlessly. August looks stunned. His mouth S a r a G r u en moves. He pulls his hand back and transfers the lit cigarette to it. His hands are bruised, the nails cracked. "Yes. I know."

I stand back and appraise Rosie's toenails. "Poloz nogg. Poloz nogg, Rosie!"

She lifts her enormous foot and puts it back on the ground. I kick the overturned tub toward her other front foot. "Nogg! Nogg/"Rosie shifts her weight and places her foot in the center of the tub. "Teraz doprzodu" I say, poking the back of her leg with my fingers until her toenails hang over the front edge of the tub. "Good girl," I say, patting her shoulder. She lifts her trunk and opens her mouth in a smile. I reach in and stroke her tongue. "Do you know where she is?" says August.

I lean over and evaluate Rosie's toenails, running my hands along the underside of her foot.

"I need to see her," he continues.

I start filing. A fine spray of toenail powder shoots into the air.

"Fine. Be that way," he says, his voice shrill. "But she is my wife, and I will find her. Even if I have to go from hotel to hotel, I will find her."

I look up just as he flicks the cigarette. It arcs through the air and lands in Rosie's open mouth, sizzling as it hits her tongue. She roars, panicked, throwing her head and fishing inside her mouth with her trunk.

August marches off. I turn back to Rosie. She stares at me, a look of unspeakable sadness on her face. Her amber eyes are filled with tears. I SHOULD HAVE KNOWN he'd go from hotel to hotel. But I wasn't thinking, and so she's in the second hotel we came across. Couldn't be easier to find.

I know I'm being watched, so I bide my time. At the first opportunity, I slip from the lot and rush to the hotel. I wait around the corner for a minute, watching, making sure I wasn't followed. After I've caught my breath,

I remove my hat, wipe my forehead, and enter the building. The clerk looks up. It's a new one. His eyes glaze over.

"What Aoyou want?" he says, as though he's seen me before, as though battered rotten tomatoes walk through his door every day.

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

"I'm here to see Miss L'Arche," I say, remembering that Marlena has checked in using her maiden name. "Marlena L'Arche."

"There is no one here by that name," he says.

"Yes, of course there is," I say. "I was with her when she checked in this morning."

"I'm sorry, but you're incorrect."

I stare at him for a moment and then sprint for the stairs. "Hey, pal! You get back here!"

I mount the steps, two at a time.

"If you go up those stairs, I'm calling the police!" he shouts. "Go ahead!"

"I'm doing it! I'm calling right now!" "Good!"

I rap on her door with my least-bruised knuckles. "Marlena?"

A second later, the clerk grabs me and spins me around, shoving me against the wall. He has me by the lapels, his face right in mine. "I told you before, she's not here."

"It's all right, Albert. This is a friend." Marlena has come out into the hallway behind us.

He freezes, panting hot breath on me. His eyes widen in confusion. "What?" he says.

"Albert?" I say, equally confused. "Albert?" "But what about earlier?" sputters Albert.

"This isn't the same man. This is another one."

"August was here?" I say, finally clueing in. "Are you okay?" Albert jerks around from me to her and back again.

"This is a friend. This is the man who fought him," Marlena explains. Albert lets me down. He makes an awkward attempt to smooth my jacket and then extends his hand.

"Sorry, pal. You look an awful lot like

that other guy."

"Uh, that's all right," I say, taking his hand. He squeezes and I wince. "He's coming after you," I say to Marlena. "We've got to move you." "Don't be silly," Marlena says.

Sara Gruen

"He's already been," says Albert. "I told him she wasn't here and he seemed to buy it.

That's why I was surprised when you—he—er, showed up again."

Downstairs, the bell over the front door tinkles. Albert and I lock eyes. I hustle Marlena into the room, and he hurries down.

"May I help you?" he says as I close the door. I can tell from his voice that it's not August.

I lean against the door, breathing hard with relief. "I'd really feel better if you let me find you a room farther from the lot."

"No. I want to stay here." "But why?"

"He's already been here and he thinks I'm somewhere else. Besides, it's not like I can avoid him forever. I have to go back to the train tomorrow."

I hadn't even thought of that.

She crosses the room, dragging a hand across the top of the small table as she passes.

Then she drops into a chair and rests her head against its back.

"He tried to apologize to me," I say. "And did you accept it?"

"Of course not," I say, offended.

She shrugs. "It would be easier for you if you did. If you don't, you'll probably get fired."

"He hit you, Marlena!" She closes her eyes.

"My God—has he always been like this?"

"Yes. Well, he's never hit me before. But these mood swings? Yes. I never know what I'm going to wake up to."

"Uncle Al said he's a paranoid schizophrenic." She drops her head.

"How have you stood it?"

"I didn't have much choice, did I? I married him before I realized.

You've seen it. When he's happy, he's the most charming creature on earth. 2 7 0 «

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But when something sets him off... " She sighs, and then waits so long I wonder if she's going to continue. When she does, her voice is tremulous. "The first time it happened we'd only been married three weeks, and it scared me to death. He beat one of the menagerie workers so badly he lost an eye. I saw him do it. I called my parents and asked if I could come home, but they wouldn't even speak to me. It was bad enough that I'd married a

Jew, but now I wanted a divorce as well? My father made Mother tell me that in his eyes I had died the day I eloped."

I cross the room and kneel beside her. I raise my hand to stroke her hair, but after a few seconds place it on the arm of the chair instead.

"Three weeks later, another menagerie man lost his arm while helping August feed the cats. He died of blood loss before anyone could find out the details. Later in the season I found out that the only reason August

had a string of liberty horses to give me was that the previous trainer—another woman—jumped from the moving train after joining August for an evening in his stateroom. There have been other incidents, too, although this is the first time he's turned on me." She slumps forward. A moment later her shoulders shake.

"Oh, hey," I say, helplessly. "Hey now. Hey now. Marlena—look at me. Please."

She sits up and wipes her face. She stares into my eyes. "Will you stay with me, Jacob?"

she says.

"Marlena—"

"Sbb. " She scootches to the edge of her seat and touches a finger to my lips. Then she slides to the ground. She kneels in front of me, just inches away, her finger trembling against my lips.

"Please," she says. "I need you." After the slightest pause, she traces my features—tentatively, softly, barely grazing my skin. I catch my breath and close my eyes.

"Marlena—"

"Don't say anything," she says softly. Her fingers flutter their way around my ear and down the back of my neck. I shudder. Every hair on my body is standing on end.

S a r a G r u en

When her hands move to my shirt, I open my eyes. She undoes the buttons slowly, methodically. I watch her, knowing I should stop her. But I can't. I am helpless.

When my shirt is open she pulls it free of my trousers and looks me in the eye. She leans forward and brushes her lips past mine—so softly it's not even a kiss, merely contact. She pauses for just a second, keeping her lips so close I can feel her breath on my face. Then she leans in and kisses me, a gentle kiss, tentative but lingering.

The next kiss is stronger still, the next one even more so, and before I know it I'm kissing back, clutching her face in both my hands as she runs her fingers over my chest and down my body. When she reaches for my trousers, I gasp. She pauses, tracing the outline of my erection.

She stops. I am reeling, teetering on my knees. Still staring into my eyes, she takes my hands and brings them to her lips. She presses a kiss into each palm and then places my hands on her breasts.

"Touch me, Jacob."

I am doomed, finished.

Her breasts are small and round, like lemons. I cup them, running my thumbs over them and feeling her nipples contract under the cotton of her dress. I crush my bruised mouth to hers, running my hands over her rib cage, her waist, her hips, her thighs

When she undoes my trousers and takes me in her hand, I pull away. "Please," I gasp, my voice cracking. "Please. Let me be inside you." Somehow, we make it to the bed. When I finally sink into her, I cry out.

Afterward, I curl around her like a spoon. We lie in silence until darkness falls, and then, haltingly, she begins to talk. She slides her feet between my ankles, plays with my fingertips, and before long the words are pouring out. She speaks without need or even room for response, so I simply hold her and stroke her hair. She talks of the pain, grief, and horror of the past four years; of learning to cope with being the wife of a man so violent and unpredictable his touch made her skin crawl and of thinking, until quite recently, that she'd finally managed to do that. And then, finally, of how my appearance had forced her to realize she hadn't learned to cope at all. 272 <=

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When she finally falls silent, I continue to stroke her, running my hands gently over her hair, her shoulders, her arms, her hips. Then I start to talk. I tell her about my childhood and my mother's apricot rugelach.