by Sara Gruen
August stares at her. His lower jaw moves a bit, but no sound comes out. Then he reaches forward and clasps her in his arms.
I have to look away.
THANKS TO UNCLE AL'S superior marketing techniques, the big top is packed solid. So many tickets sell that after Uncle Al entreats the crowd to shift closer together for the fourth time, it becomes clear that this won't be enough.
Roustabouts are sent to toss straw down on the hippodrome track. To keep the crowd occupied while this happens, the band plays a concert and the clowns, including Walter, tour the stands, handing out candy and chucking tots' chins.
The performers and animals are lined up out back, ready to start the Spec. They've been waiting for twenty minutes and are fidgety.
Uncle Al bursts out the back of the big top. "Okay, folks, listen up," he barks. "We've got a straw house tonight, so keep to the inside track and make sure there's a good five feet between your animals and the rubes. If so much as one child gets run over, I'll personally flay the person whose animal did it. Got it?"
Nods, murmurs, more adjusting of outfits.
Uncle Al pops his head back inside the big top, raising his hand for the band leader. "All right. Let's go! Knock 'em dead! But don't, if you know what I mean."
Not a single child is run over. In fact, everyone is brilliant, and none more so than Rosie. She carries Marlena on her pink sequined head during the Spec, curling her trunk in a salute. There's a clown in front of her, a lanky man who alternately does back flips and cartwheels. At one point, Rosie reaches forward and grabs hold of his pants. She yanks so hard his feet leave the ground. He turns, outraged, to face a smiling elephant. The crowd whistles and applauds, but after that the clown keeps his distance.
When it's nearly time for Rosie's act, I sneak into the big top and stand flattened against a section of seats. While the acrobats are receiving their applause, roustabouts run into the center ring, rolling two balls ahead of them: one small, the other large, and both decorated with red stars and blue stripes. Uncle Al raises his arms and glances at the back end. He looks right past me, making eye contact with August. He gives a slight nod and flicks one hand at the band leader, who slides into a Gounod waltz.
Rosie enters the big top, promenading beside August. She carries Marlena on her head, her trunk curled in a salute and her mouth open in a smile. When they enter the center ring, Rosie lifts Marlena from her head and places her on the ground.
Marlena skips theatrically around the border, a whirl of shimmering pink. She smiles, spinning, throwing her arms out and blowing kisses to the crowd. Rosie follows at a fast clip, her trunk curled high in the air. August moves beside her, hovering with the silver-tipped cane rather than the bull hook. I watch his mouth, lip-reading the Polish phrases he's learned by rote.
Marlena dances around the ring's perimeter one more time and comes to a stop beside the smaller ball. August brings Rosie to the center of the ring. Marlena watches and then turns to the audience. She puffs up her cheeks and wipes a hand across her forehead in an exaggerated gesture of exhaustion. Then she sits on the ball. She crosses her legs and sets her elbows upon them, resting her chin in her hands. She taps her foot, rolling her eyes toward the heavens. Rosie observes, smiling, her trunk held high. After a moment, she turns slowly and lowers her enormous gray rear onto the larger ball. Laughter ripples through the crowd.
Marlena does a double take and stands, her jaw dropped in mock outrage. She turns her back on Rosie. The elephant also stands and then shambles around to present Marlena with her tail. The crowd roars with delight.
Marlena looks back and scowls. With dramatic flair, she lifts one foot and plants it on her ball. Then she crosses her arms in front of her and nods once, deeply, as if to say, Take that, elephant.
Rosie curls her trunk, lifts her right front foot, and sets it gently on her ball. Marlena glares, furious. Then she thrusts both arms out to the side and lifts her other foot from the ground. She straightens her knee slowly, her other leg pointing to the side, toes extended like a ballerina's. Once her leg is straight she lowers her second foot so that she's standing on the ball. She smiles broadly, sure that she has finally outsmarted the elephant. The audience claps and whistles, also sure. Marlena shuffles around so her back is to Rosie and lifts her arms in victory.
Rosie waits a moment, and then sets her other front foot on the ball. The crowd explodes. Marlena does a double take over her shoulder. She shuffles back around so that she's facing Rosie and once again places her hands on her hips. She frowns deeply, shaking her head in frustration. She lifts a finger and starts wagging it at Rosie, but after just a moment she freezes. Her face lights up. An idea! She raises her finger high in the air, turning so that the whole audience can absorb that she is about to outdo the elephant once and for all.
She concentrates for a moment, staring down at her satin slippers. And then, to a rising drum roll, she starts shuffling her feet, rolling the ball forward. She goes faster and faster, her feet a blur of motion, rolling the ball around the ring as the audience claps and whistles. Then there is a wild explosion of delighted cries--
Marlena stops and looks up. She has been so busy concentrating on her ball that she hasn't noticed the ridiculous sight behind her. The pachyderm is perched on the larger ball, with all four feet crowded together and her back arched. The drum roll begins again. At first, nothing. Then, slowly, slowly, the ball begins to roll under Rosie's feet.
The bandmaster signals the band into a fast number, and Rosie moves the ball a dozen feet. Marlena smiles in delight, clapping, extending her hands toward Rosie and inviting the crowd to adore her. Then she hops down from her ball and skips over to Rosie, who climbs rather more carefully down from hers. She drops her trunk and Marlena sits in its curve, hooks an arm around it, and points her toes daintily. Rosie raises her trunk, holding Marlena aloft. Then she deposits Marlena on her head and departs the big top to the cheers of an adoring crowd.
And then the shower of money starts--the sweet, sweet shower of money. Uncle Al is delirious, standing in the center of the hippodrome track with his arms and face raised, basking in the coins that rain down on him. He keeps his face raised even as coins bounce off his cheeks, nose, and forehead. I think he may actually be crying.
COURTESY OF TIMOTHY TEGGE, TEGGE CIRCUS ARCHIVES, BARABOO, WISCONSIN
Eighteen
I catch up with them as Marlena slides down from Rosie's head.
"You were brilliant! Brilliant!" says August, kissing her on the cheek. "Did you see that, Jacob? Did you see how brilliant they were?"
"Sure did."
"Do me a favor and take Rosie around, would you? I've got to go back inside." He hands me the silver-tipped cane. He looks at Marlena, sighs deeply, and claps a hand to his breast. "Brilliant. Simply brilliant. Don't forget," he says, turning and walking a few strides backward, "you're on with the horses right after Lottie."
"I'll get them right now," she says.
August heads back to the big top.
"You were spectacular," I say.
"Yes, she was good, wasn't she?" Marlena leans over and plants a loud kiss on Rosie's shoulder, leaving a perfect lip print on the gray hide. She reaches out and rubs it with her thumb.
"I meant you," I say.
She blushes, her thumb still on Rosie's shoulder.
I regret saying it instantly. Not that she wasn't spectacular--she was, but that wasn't all I meant and she knew it and now I've made her uncomfortable. I decide to beat a hasty retreat.
", Rosie," I say, motioning her forward. ", moj malutki pczuszek."
"Jacob, wait." Marlena lays her fingers on the inside of my elbow.
In the distance, right at the entrance to the big top, August stops and stiffens. It's as though he sensed the physical contact. He turns around slowly, his face somber. Our eyes lock.
"Can you do me a favor?" Marlena asks.
"Sure. Of course," I say, glancing nervously at August. Marlena hasn't noticed that
he's watching us. I place my hand on my hip, causing her fingers to fall from my elbow.
"Can you bring Rosie to my dressing tent? I have a surprise planned."
"Uh, sure. I guess so," I say. "When do you want her there?"
"Take her there now. I'll be along in a bit. Oh, and wear something nice. I want it to be a proper party."
"Me?"
"Of course you. I've got to do my act now, but I won't be long. And if you see August ahead of time, not a word, okay?"
I nod. When I look back at the big top, August has disappeared inside.
ROSIE IS PERFECTLY AGREEABLE to the unusual arrangement. She plods along by my side to the edge of Marlena's dressing tent and then waits patiently as Grady and Bill untie the bottom of the sidewall from the stakes.
"So, how's Camel doing, anyway?" asks Grady, crouching down and working on a rope. Rosie reaches out to investigate.
"About the same," I say. "He thinks he's getting better, but I don't see it. I think he doesn't notice as much because he doesn't have to do anything. Well, that and he's usually drunk."
"That sure sounds like Camel," says Bill. "Where's he getting liquor? It is liquor, ain't it? He ain't drinking that jake shit no more, is he?"
"No, it's liquor. My bunkmate's taken a shine to him."
"Who? That Kinko guy?" says Grady.
"Yup."
"I thought he hated working men."
Rosie reaches out and takes Grady's hat. He turns around and swipes at it, but she holds it high. "Hey, would you keep your bull under control?"
I look into her eye, which twinkles back at me. "!" I say sternly, although I'm finding it hard not to laugh. Her great ear waves forward and she drops the hat. I stoop to retrieve it.
"Walter--Kinko--could use some softening around the edges," I say, handing the hat back to Grady, "but he's been real decent to Camel. Gave up his bed for him. Found his son, even. Talked him into meeting us in Providence to take Camel off our hands."
"No kidding," says Grady, stopping and looking at me in surprise. "Does Camel know this?"
"Uh . . . Yeah."
"And how did he take it?"
I grimace and suck the air in through my teeth.
"That well, huh?"
"It's not like we had a lot of alternatives."
"No, that you didn't." Grady pauses. "What happened wasn't really his fault. His family probably even knows that by now. The war made a lot of men go funny. You knew he was a gunner, didn't you?"
"No. He doesn't talk about it."
"Say, you don't think Camel could manage standing in line, do you?"
"I doubt it," I say. "Why?"
"We been hearing rumors that maybe there's money finally, maybe even for the working men. Hadn't given the story much credence up till now, but after what just happened in the big top, I'm beginning to think there might be half a chance."
The bottom of the sidewall is now flapping free. Bill and Grady lift it, exposing the rearranged interior of Marlena's dressing tent. There's a table at one end, with a heavy linen tablecloth and three place settings. The other end of the tent has been completely cleared.
"Where do you want the stake? Over there?" says Grady, gesturing toward the open space.
"Guess so," I say.
"Back in a sec," he says, disappearing. A few minutes later he's back, carrying two sixteen-pound sledges, one in each hand. He slings one through the air to Bill, who looks not even remotely alarmed. He catches its handle and follows Grady into the tent. They pound the iron stake into the ground in a battery of perfectly timed strokes.
I lead Rosie in and crouch on my hams while I secure her leg chain. She leaves that leg planted firmly on the ground, but is leaning hard on the others. When I rise again, I see she is inclining toward a large pile of watermelons in the corner.
"You want us to tie it back down?" says Grady, pointing at the flapping sidewall.
"Yes, if you don't mind. I don't think Marlena wants August to know Rosie's in here till he steps inside."
Grady shrugs. "No skin off my nose."
"Say, Grady? Do you think you could keep an eye on Rosie for just a minute? I need to change my clothes."
"I don't know," he says, looking at Rosie with narrowed eyes. "She's not going to pull her stake out or anything, is she?"
"I doubt it. But here," I say, walking to the pile of watermelons. Rosie curls her trunk and opens her mouth in a wide smile. I carry one over and smash it to the ground in front of her. It explodes, and her trunk dives instantly into its red flesh. She scoops chunks into her mouth, rind and all. "There's some insurance," I say.
I duck under the sidewall and go get changed.
WHEN I RETURN, Marlena is there, wearing the beaded silk dress August gave her that night we had dinner in their stateroom. The diamond necklace sparkles on her throat.
Rosie is munching happily on another watermelon--it's at least her second, but there are still half a dozen in the corner. Marlena has removed Rosie's headpiece, which hangs over the chair in front of her vanity. There is now a serving table laden with silver-domed platters and wine bottles. I smell seared beef, and my stomach twists from hunger.
Marlena is flushed, digging through one of the drawers of her vanity. "Oh, Jacob!" she says, looking over her shoulder. "Good. I was getting worried. He'll be here any second. Oh heavens. Now I can't find it." She straightens up suddenly, leaving the drawer open. Silk scarves spill over its edge. "Can you do me a favor?"
"Of course," I say.
She extracts a bottle of champagne from a three-legged silver cooler. The ice inside shifts and jingles. Water drips from the bottle's bottom as she hands it to me. "Can you pop it just as he comes in? Also, yell 'surprise!'"
"Sure," I say, taking the bottle. I remove the wire contraption and wait with my thumb on the cork. Rosie reaches over with her trunk, trying to pry her way between my fingers and the bottle. Marlena continues to dig through the drawer.
"What is this?"
I look up. August stands in front of us.
"Oh!" cries Marlena, spinning around. "Surprise!"
"Surprise!" I shout, twisting away from Rosie and popping the cork. It bounces off the canvas and lands in the grass. Champagne bubbles over my fingers, and I laugh. Marlena is there instantly with two champagne flutes, trying to catch the overflow. By the time we get coordinated, we've spilled a third of the bottle, which Rosie is still trying to take from me.
I look down. Marlena's rose silk shoes are dark with champagne. "Oh, I'm so sorry!" I laugh.
"No, no! Don't be silly," she says. "We have another bottle."
"I said what is this?"
Marlena and I freeze, our hands still tangled. She looks up, her eyes suddenly worried. She holds a mostly empty champagne flute in each hand. "It's a surprise. A celebration."
August stares. His tie is loose, his jacket open. His face is an utter blank.
"A surprise, yes," he says. He removes his hat and turns it over in his hands, examining it. His hair rises in a wave from his forehead. He looks up suddenly, with one eyebrow cocked. "Or so you think."
"I beg your pardon?" Marlena asks in a hollow voice.
He flicks his wrist and sends his hat sailing into a corner. Then he removes his jacket, slowly, methodically. He walks to the vanity and swings his jacket as though he's going to place it over the back of the chair. When he sees Rosie's headpiece, he stops. Instead, he folds the jacket and places it neatly on the chair's seat. His eyes move down to the open drawer and silk scarves spilling over its sides.
"Did I catch you at a bad moment?" he says, looking up at us. He sounds as though he's just asked someone to pass the salt.
"Darling, I don't know what you're talking about," Marlena says softly.
August reaches down and pulls a long, nearly transparent orange scarf free from the drawer. Then he weaves it through and around his fingers. "Having a little fun with scarves, were you?" He pulls the end of the scarf, and it slips through his fin
gers again. "Oh, you're a naughty one. But I guess I knew that."
Marlena stares, speechless.
"So," he says. "Is this a postcoital celebration? Did I give you long enough? Or perhaps I should go away for a while and come back? I must say, the elephant is a new twist. I dread to think."
"What in God's name are you talking about?" Marlena says.
"Two flutes," he observes, nodding at her hands.
"What?" She lifts the flutes so quickly their contents slosh onto the grass. "Are you talking about these? The third one is right--"
"Do you think I'm an idiot?"
"August--" I say.
"Shut up! Just shut the fuck up!"
His face is purple. His eyes bulge. He trembles with rage.
Marlena and I stand perfectly still, stunned into silence. Then August's face undergoes another transformation, melding into something close to complacency. He continues to play with the scarf, even smiles at it. Then he folds it carefully and places it back in the drawer. When he straightens up, he shakes his head slowly.
"You . . . You . . . You . . ." He raises a hand, stirring the air with his fingers. But then he trails off, his attention caught by the silver-tipped cane. It's leaning against the sidewall near the table, where I left it. He saunters over and picks it up.
I hear liquid hitting the ground behind me and turn quickly. Rosie is peeing into the grass, her ears flat against her head, her trunk curled under her face.
August holds the cane and slaps its silver handle repeatedly against his palm. "How long did you think you could keep it from me?" He pauses for a second, and then looks me straight in the eye. "Eh?"
"August," I say. "I have no idea what--"
"I said shut up!" He spins and swipes the cane across the serving table, knocking platters, cutlery, and bottles to the ground. Then he raises a foot and kicks the whole thing over. It crashes onto its side, sending china, glass, and food flying.
August stares down at the mess for a moment, and then looks up. "You think I don't see what's going on?" His eyes drill into Marlena, his temple pulses. "Oh, you're good, my dear," he wiggles his finger at her and smiles, "I'll give you that. You're very good."
He walks back to the vanity and rests the cane against it. Then he leans over and peers into the mirror. He pushes the hair that's fallen over his forehead 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."
