WATER FOR ELEPHANT - Sara Gruen [100]
“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