WATER FOR ELEPHANT [129]
Marlena moans. She lifts a hand and drops it. I glance quickly at the thing that was August and decide I cannot let her see it again. I scoop her up and carry her out through the ticket gate.
The lot is nearly empty, the outer perimeter defined by people and animals, all running as far and as fast as they can, expanding and dispersing like a ring on the surface of a pond.
COLLECTION OF THE RINGLING CIRCUS, MUSEUM, SARASOTA, FLORIDA
Twenty-three
Post-stampede, day one.
We’re still finding and retrieving animals. We’ve caught a great many, but the ones that lend themselves to catching are not the ones the townsfolk are concerned about. Most of the cats are still missing, as is the bear.
Immediately after lunch we are summoned to a local restaurant. When we arrive, we find Leo hiding under the kitchen sink, shivering in terror. Wedged in beside him is an equally terrified dishwasher. Man and lion, cheek by jowl.
Uncle Al is also missing, but no one is surprised. The lot is crawling with police. August’s body was found and removed last night, and they’re performing an investigation. It will be perfunctory, since it’s clear he was trampled. The word is that Uncle Al is keeping away until he’s sure he won’t be charged with anything.
POST-STAMPEDE, DAY TWO.
Animal by animal, the menagerie fills. The sheriff returns to the lot with railroad officials and makes noises about vagrancy laws. He wants us off the siding. He wants to know who’s in charge here.
In the evening, the cookhouse runs out of food.
POST-STAMPEDE, DAY THREE.
In late morning, the Nesci Brothers Circus train pulls up on a siding next to ours. The sheriff and the railroad officials return and greet the general manager as though he were visiting royalty. They stroll the lot together and finish up with hearty handshakes and booming laughter.
When Nesci Brothers men start moving Benzini Brothers animals and equipment into their tents and onto their train, even the most fervently optimistic among us can no longer deny the obvious.
Uncle Al has done a runner. Each and every one of us is out of work.
THINK, JACOB. THINK.
We have enough money to get ourselves out of here, but what good is that with nowhere to go? We have a baby coming. We need a plan. I need a job.
I walk into town to the post office and call Dean Wilkins. I had been afraid that he wouldn’t remember me, but he sounds relieved to hear from me. He says he’s often wondered where I went and whether I was okay, and by the way, what had I been up to for the last three and a half months?
I take a deep breath and even as I’m thinking about how hard it will be to explain everything, the words start spilling out of me. They tumble forth, competing for precedence and sometimes coming out so tangled I have to back up and pick up a different thread. When I finally fall quiet, Dean Wilkins is silent for so long I wonder if the line has gone dead.
“Dean Wilkins? Are you there?” I say. I take the earpiece from my ear and look at it. I consider tapping it against the wall but don’t, because the postmistress is watching. Staring at me agog, in fact, because she’s been listening to every word. I turn toward the wall and bring the phone back to my ear.
Dean Wilkins clears his throat, stammers for a second, and then says that yes, by all means, I am welcome to return and sit my exams.
WHEN I GET BACK to the lot, Rosie is standing some distance from the menagerie with the general manager of the Nesci Brothers, the sheriff, and a railroad official. I break into a jog.
“What the hell is going on?” I say, coming to a stop by Rosie’s shoulder.
The sheriff turns to me. “Are you in charge of this show?”
“No,” I say.
“Then it’s none of your business,” he says. “This is my bull. That makes it my business.”
“This animal is part of the chattel of the Benzini Brothers circus, and as sheriff I am authorized on behalf of—”
“The hell she is. She’s mine.”
A crowd is gathering, mostly made up of displaced Benzini Brothers roustabouts. The