Water For Elephants (12 page)

"Is there anything else we can do for him?" she asks.

"Short of getting him off the train, no. Even under the best of circumstances, there's not a lot you can do but take them off their feed and

pray."

Sara Gruen

She glances at me and does a double take when she sees my arm. "Oh my God. What happened to you?"

I look down. "Oh, that. It's nothing."

"No it's not," she says, climbing to her knees. She takes my forearm in her hands and moves it to catch the sunlight coming in through the slats. "It looks new.

It's going to be a heck of a bruise. Does this hurt?" She takes the back of my arm in one hand and runs the other over the blue patch that's spreading beneath my skin. Her palm is cool and smooth, and leaves my hair standing on end.

I close my eyes and swallow hard. "No, really, I'm—"

A whistle blows, and she looks toward the door. I take the opportunity to extricate my arm and rise.

"Twen-n-n-n-n-n-n-nty minutes!" bellows a deep voice from somewhere near the front of the train. "Twen-n-n-n-n-n-n-nty minutes to push-off!" Joe pokes his head through the open doorway. "Come on! We gotta

load these animals! Oh, sorry ma'am," he says, tipping his hat to Marlena. "I didn't see you there."

"That's okay, Joe."

Joe stands awkwardly in the doorway, waiting. "It's just that we've got to do it now," he says in desperation.

"Go ahead," says Marlena. "I'm going to ride this leg with Silver Star." "You can't do that," I say quickly.

She looks up at me, her throat elongated and pale. "Why ever not?" "Because once we get the other horses loaded you'll be trapped back here."

"That's all right."

"What if something happens?"

"Nothing's going to happen. And if it does, I'll climb over them." She settles into the straw, curling her legs back under her.

"I don't know," I say doubtfully. But Marlena is gazing at Silver Star with an expression that makes it perfectly clear she's not budging.

I look back at Joe, who raises his hands in a gesture of exasperation and surrender.

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

After a final glance at Marlena, I swing the stall divider into place and help load the rest of the horses.

DIAMOND JOE IS RIGHT about the long haul. It's early evening before we stop again.

Kinko and I haven't exchanged a word since we left Saratoga Springs. He clearly hates me. Not that I blame him—August set it up that way, although I don't suppose there's any point in trying to explain that to him.

I stay up front with the horses to let him have some privacy. That, and I'm still nervous at the thought of Marlena trapped at the end of a row of thousand-pound animals.

When the train stops she climbs nimbly over their backs and drops to the floor. When Kinko emerges from the goat room, his eyes crinkle in momentary alarm. Then they shift from Marlena to the open door with studied indifference.

Pete, Otis, and I unload and water the ring stock, camels, and llamas. Diamond Joe, Clive, and a handful of cage hands head up to the second section of the train to deal with the animals in dens. August is nowhere to be seen.

After we get the animals back on board, I climb into the stock car and poke my head into the room.

Kinko sits cross-legged on the bed. Queenie sniffs a bedroll that has replaced the infested horse blanket. Sitting on top is a neatly folded red

plaid blanket and a pillow in a smooth white case. A square sheet of cardboard lies in the center of the pillow. When I lean over to pick it up,

Queenie leaps as though I've kicked her.

Mr. andMrs. August Rosenbluth request the pleasure ofyour immediate presence in stateroom 3, car 48, for cocktails, followed by a late dinner.

I look up in surprise. Kinko is staring daggers at me.

"You wasted no time ingratiating yourself, did you?" he says.

S even

The cars are not sequentially numbered, and it takes me a while to find car 48. It is painted a deep burgundy and trimmed

with foot-tall gold lettering trumpeting BENZINI BROS

MOST SPECTACULAR SHOW ON EARTH. Just beneath that, visible only in relief under the shiny fresh paint, is another name: CHRISTY BROS CIRCUS. "Jacob!"

Marlena's voice floats from a window. A few seconds later she appears on the platform at the end, swinging out from the handrail so

that her skirt swirls around her. "Jacob! Oh, I'm so glad you could make it. Please come in!"

"Thanks," I say, glancing around. I climb up and follow her down the interior passageway and through the second door.

Stateroom 3 is glorious as well as a misnomer—it constitutes half the car, and contains at least one additional room, which is cordoned off with a thick velvet curtain. The main room is paneled in walnut and outfitted with damask furniture, a dinette, and a Pullman kitchen.

"Please make yourself comfortable," says Marlena, waving me toward one of the chairs.

"August will be along in a minute."

"Thank you," I say. She sits opposite me.

"Oh," she says leaping up again. "Where are my manners? Would you like a beer?"

"Thank you," I say. "That would be swell." She flutters past me to an icebox.

"Mrs. Rosenbluth, can I ask you something?" Sara Gruen

"Oh, please, call me Marlena," she says, popping the bottle cap. She tips a tall glass and pours beer slowly down its side, avoiding a foam head. "And yes, by all means. Ask away." She hands me the glass, and then returns to get another.

"How is it that everyone on this train has so much alcohol?"

"We always head to Canada at the beginning of the season," she says, taking her seat again. "Their laws are much more civilized. Cheers," she says, holding out her glass.

I touch mine to hers and take a sip. It's a cold, clean lager. Magnificent. "Don't the border guards check?"

"We put the booze in with the camels," she says.

"I'm sorry, I don't understand," I say. "Camels spit."

I nearly spurt beer through my nose. She giggles too, and brings a hand demurely to her mouth. Then she sighs and puts her beer down. "Jacob?" "Yes?"

"August told me about what happened this morning." I glance at my bruised arm.

"He feels terrible. He likes you. He really does. It's j u s t ... Well, it's complicated." She looks into her lap, blushing.

"Hey, it's nothing," I say. "It's fine."

"Jacob!" shouts August from behind me. "My dear fellow! So glad you could join our little soiree. I see Marlena has set you up with a drinky-poo; has she shown you the dressing room yet?"

"The dressing room?"

"Marlena," he says, turning and shaking his head sadly. He waggles a finger in reprimand. "Tsk tsk, darling."

"Oh!" she says, leaping to her feet. "I completely forgot!" August walks to the velvet curtain and whisks it aside. "Ta-dah!"

There are three outfits lying side by side on the bed. Two tuxedos, complete with shoes, and a beautiful rose silk dress with beading on its neck

and hemline.

Water for E l e p h a n ts

Marlena squeals, clapping her hands in delight. She rushes to the bed and grabs the dress, pressing it to her body and twirling.

I turn to August. "These aren't from the Monday Man—"

"A tux on a wash line ? No, Jacob. Being equestrian director has the odd perk. You can clean up in there," he says, pointing to a polished wooden door. "Marlena and I will change out here. Nothing we haven't seen before, eh darling?" he says.

She grabs a rose silk shoe by the heel and chucks it at him.

The last thing I see as I shut the bathroom door is a tangle of feet toppling forward onto the bed.

When I come back out, Marlena and August are the picture of dignity, hovering in the background as three white-gloved waiters fuss with a small wheeled table and silver-domed platters.

The neckline of Marlena's dress barely covers her shoulders, exposing her collarbone and a slim bra strap. She follows my gaze and tucks the strap back under the material, blushing once again.

The dinner is sublime: We start with oyster bisque and follow with prime rib, boiled potatoes, and asparagus in cream. Then comes lobster salad. By the time dessert appears—English plum pudding with brandy sauce—I don't think I can take another bite.

And yet a few minutes later I find myself scraping my plate with my spoon.

"Apparently Jacob doesn't find dinner up to snuff," August says in a slow drawl.

I freeze midscrape.

Then he and Marlena dissolve into fits of giggles. I set my spoon down, mortified.

"No, no, my boy, I'm joking—obviously," he chortles, leaning over to pat my hand. "Eat.

Enjoy yourself. Here, have some more," he says. "No, I couldn't possibly."

"Well, have some more wine then," he says, refilling my glass without waiting for a response.

August is gracious, charming, and mischievous—so much so that as the evening wears on I begin to think the incident with Rex was just a joke S a r a G r u en

gone awry. His face glows with wine and sentiment as he regales me with the tale of how he wooed Marlena. Of how he recognized her powerful way with horses the very moment she entered his menagerie tent three years before—sensed it from the horses themselves.

And how, to the great distress of Uncle Al, he refused to budge until he had swept her off her feet and married her.

"It took some doing," says August, emptying the remains of one champagne bottle into my glass and then reaching for another. "Marlena's no

pushover, plus she was practically engaged at the time. But this beats being the wife of a stuffy banker, doesn't it, darling? At any rate, it's what she was born to do. Not everyone can work with liberty horses. It's a God-given talent, a sixth sense, if you will. This girl speaks horse, and believe me, they listen."

Four hours and six bottles into the evening, August and Marlena dance to "Maybe It's the Moon," while I lounge in an upholstered chair with my right leg draped over its arm. August twirls Marlena around and then stops with her extended from the end of his straightened arm. He's weaving, his dark hair tousled. His bow tie trails from either side of his collar and the first few buttons of his shirt are undone. He stares at Marlena with such intensity he looks like a different man.

"What's the matter?" says Marlena. "Auggie? Are you all right?"

He continues to stare into her face, cocking his head as though evaluating her. The edge of his lip curls. He starts to nod, slowly, barely moving

his head.

Marlena's eyes grow wide. She tries to step backward, but he catches her chin with his hand.

I sit forward, suddenly on full alert.

August stares for a moment longer, his eyes shiny and hard. Then his face transforms again, becoming so sloppy that for a moment I think he's going to burst into tears. He pulls her to him by the chin and kisses her full on the lips. Then he steers himself into the bedroom and collapses face first onto the bed.

"Excuse me a moment," Marlena says. W a t e r for E l e p h a n ts She goes into the bedroom and rolls him over so he's sprawled across the center of the bed. She removes his shoes and drops them to the floor. When she comes out, she pulls the velvet curtain shut and immediately changes her mind. She pulls it open again, turns off the radio, and sits opposite me.

A snore of kingly proportions rumbles from the bedroom. My head is buzzing. I am entirely drunk.

"What the hell was that?" I ask.

"What?" Marlena kicks off her shoes, crosses her legs, and leans forward to rub the arch of her foot. August's fingers have left red marks on

her chin.

"That," I sputter. "Just now. When you were dancing."

She looks up sharply. Her face contorts, and for a moment I'm afraid she's going to cry.

Then she turns to the window and holds a finger to her lips. She is silent for almost half a minute.

"You have to understand something about Auggie," she says, "and I don't quite know how to explain it."

I lean forward. "Try."

"He's ... mercurial. He's capable of being the most charming man on earth. Like tonight."

I wait for her to continue. "And... ?"

She leans back in her chair. "And, well, he has ... moments. Like today."

"What about today?"

"He nearly fed you to a cat."

"Oh. That. I can't say I was thrilled, but I was hardly in danger. Rex has no teeth."

"No, but he's four hundred pounds and he has claws," she says quietly.

I set my wineglass on the table as the enormity of this sinks in.

Marlena pauses, then lifts her eyes to meet mine. "Jankowski is a Polish name, isn't it?"

"Yes. Of course." S a r a G r u en

"Poles do not, in general, like Jews." "I didn't realize August was Jewish."

"With a name like Rosenbluth?" she says. She looks at her fingers, twisting them in her lap. "My family is Catholic. They disowned me when they found out."

"I'm sorry to hear that. Although I'm not surprised." She looks up sharply.

"I didn't mean it like that," I say. "I'm n o t ... like that." An uncomfortable silence stretches between us.

"So why am I here?" I finally ask. My drunken brain is unable to process all this.

"I wanted to smooth things over." "You did? He didn't want me here?"

"No, of course he did. He wanted to make it up to you, too, but it's harder for him. He can't help his little moments. They embarrass him. The best thing to do is pretend they didn't happen." She sniffs and turns to me with a tight smile. "And we had a lovely time, didn't we?"

"Yes. Dinner was lovely. Thank you."

As yet another silence engulfs us, it dawns on me that unless I want to try leaping across train cars drunk and in the dead of night, I'll be sleeping right where I am.

"Please, Jacob," says Marlena. "I do so want things to be all right between us. August is simply delighted you've joined us. And so is Uncle AL"

"And why is that, exactly?"

"Uncle Al was touchy about not having a vet, and then out of blue, here you are, from an Ivy League school no less."

I stare, still trying to comprehend.