Water for Elephants

by Sara Gruen

  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 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 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 lucky man, your husband," I sniff.

  "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.

  COLLECTION OF THE RINGLING CIRCUS MUSEUM, SARASOTA, FLORIDA

  Twenty

  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.

  "Please. I'm begging you," says August. He drops to his knees in the dirt. His hands slide down her arm until he's holding her left hand. He brings it to his face, showering it with tears and kisses as she stares stonily ahead.

  "Marlena. Darling. Look at me. I'm on my knees. I'm begging you. What more can I do? My darling--my sweet--please come inside with me. We'll talk about it. We'll work it out." He digs through his pocket, and comes up with a ring, which he tries to slip onto her third finger. She jerks her hand free and starts walking.

  "Marlena! Marlena!" He is screaming now, and even the unbruised parts of his face are discolored. His hair flops over his forehead. "You can't do this! This is not
the end! Do you hear me? You're my wife, Marlena! Till death do us part, remember?" He climbs to his feet and stands with fists clenched. "Till death do us part!" he screams.

  Marlena thrusts her suitcase at me without stopping. I turn and follow, staring at her narrow waist as she marches across the brown grass. Only at the edge of the lot does she slow down enough that I can walk beside her.

  "MAY I HELP YOU?" says the hotel clerk, looking up as the bell above the door announces our arrival. His initial expression of solicitous pleasantry is replaced first by alarm and then by disdain. It's the same combination we've seen on the faces of everyone we passed on the way here. A middle-aged couple sitting on a bench by the front door gawks unabashedly.

  And we do make quite a pair. The skin around Marlena's eye has turned an impressive blue, but at least her face has kept its shape--mine is pulpy and mashed, the bruises overlaid with oozing wounds.

  "I need a room," says Marlena.

  The clerk peers at her with disgust. "We haven't got any," he replies, pushing his spectacles up with one finger. He returns to his ledger.

  I set her suitcase down and stand beside her. "Your sign says you've got vacancies."

  He presses his lips into an imperious line. "Then it's wrong."

  Marlena touches my elbow. "Come on, Jacob."

  "No, I won't 'come on,'" I say, turning back to the clerk. "The lady needs a room, and you've got vacancies."

  He glances conspicuously at her left hand and raises an eyebrow. "We don't rent to unmarried couples."

  "It's not for us. Just her."

  "Uh-huh," he says.

  "You better watch it, pal," I say. "I don't like what you're implying."

  "Come on, Jacob," Marlena says again. She is even paler than before, looking at the floor.

  "I'm not implying anything," the clerk says.

  "Jacob, please," says Marlena. "Let's just go somewhere else."

  I give the clerk a final, searing stare that lets him know exactly what I'd do to him if Marlena weren't here and then pick up her suitcase. She marches to the door.

  "Oh, say, I know who you are!" says the woman half of the couple on the bench. "You're the girl from the poster! Yes! I'm sure of it." She turns to the man sitting next to her. "Norbert, that's the girl from the poster! Isn't it? Miss, you're the circus star, aren't you?"

  Marlena swings the door open, adjusts the brim of her hat, and steps outside. I follow.

  "Wait," calls the clerk. "I think we may have a--"

  I slam the door behind me.

  THE HOTEL THREE DOORS down has no such qualms, although I dislike this clerk almost as much as the other. He's just dying to know what happened. His eyes sweep over us, shining, curious, lewd. I know what he'd assume if Marlena's black eye were the only injury between us, but because I am far worse off, the story is not so clear.

  "Room 2B," he says, dangling a key in front of him and still drinking in the sight of us. "Up the stairs and to the right. End of the hall."

  I follow Marlena, watching her sculpted calves as she climbs the stairs.

  She fusses with the key for a minute and then stands aside, leaving it in the lock. "I can't get it. Can you try?"

  I jiggle it in the cavity. After a few seconds, the deadbolt slides. I push the door open and stand aside to let Marlena enter. She tosses her hat on the bed and walks to the window, which is open. A gust of wind inflates the curtain, first blowing it into the room and then sucking it back against the screen.

  The room is plain but adequate. There are flowers on the wallpaper and curtains, and the bed is covered with chenille. The bathroom door is open. The bathroom itself is large, and the tub has clawed feet.

  I set the suitcase down and stand awkwardly. Marlena has her back to me. There's a cut on her neck, from where the necklace clasp dug into it.

  "Do you need anything else?" I ask, turning my hat over in my hands.

  "No, thank you," she says.

  I watch her for a while longer. I want to cross the room and wrap her in my arms, but instead I leave, shutting the door quietly behind me.

  BECAUSE I CAN'T THINK of anything else to do, I head for the menagerie and do the usual. I cut up, stir, and measure food. I check a yak's abscessed tooth and hold hands with Bobo, leading him around as I check the rest of the animals.

  I have progressed to mucking out when Diamond Joe comes up behind me. "Uncle Al wants to see you."

  I stare at him for a moment, then lay my shovel in the straw.

  Uncle Al is in the pie car, sitting behind a plate of steak and fries. He's holding a cigar and blowing smoke rings. His entourage stands behind him, sober-faced.

  I remove my hat. "You wanted to see me?"

  "Ah, Jacob," he says, leaning forward. "Glad to see you. Did you get Marlena sorted out?"

  "She's in a room, if that's what you mean."

  "That's part of it, yes."

  "Then I'm not sure what you mean."

  He is silent for a moment. Then he sets his cigar down and brings his hands together, forming a steeple with his fingers. "It's quite simple. I can't afford to lose either one of them."

  "As far as I know, she has no intention of leaving the show."

  "And neither does he. Imagine, if you will, what it will be like if they both remain but don't get back together. August is simply beside himself with grief."

  "Surely you're not suggesting she go back to him."

  He smiles and cocks his head.

  "He hit her, Al. He hit her."

  Uncle Al rubs his chin and ponders. "Yes, well. I didn't care much for that, I must say." He waves at the seat opposite him. "Sit."

  I approach and perch on the edge.

  Uncle Al leans his head to the side, surveying me. "So was there any truth to it?"

  "To what?"

  He drums his fingers against the table and purses his lips. "Are you and Marlena--hmmm, how shall I put this . . ."

  "No."

  "Mmmm," he says, continuing to ponder. "Good. Didn't think so. But good. In that case, you can help me."

  "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.

  "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 doorkno
b.

  "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 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 WITH 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."