WATER FOR ELEPHANT - Sara Gruen [109]
“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