WATER FOR ELEPHANT - Sara Gruen [125]
It occurs to me that my conscience stopped me from killing August at the very moment someone was attempting to carry out his orders to kill me.
I wonder how he felt waking up beside that knife. I hope he understands that while it started out as a threat, it’s since transformed into a promise. I owe it to each and every one of the men who got tossed.
I SKULK AROUND all morning, searching desperately for Marlena. She is nowhere to be seen.
Uncle Al strides around in his black and white checked pants and scarlet waistcoat, slapping the head of anyone who isn’t quick enough to jump out of his way. At one point he catches sight of me and stops cold. We face each other, eighty yards apart. I stare and stare, trying to focus all my hatred through my eyes. After a few seconds, his lips form a cold smile. Then he makes a sharp right turn and continues on his way, his grovelers straggling behind.
I watch from a distance when the flag goes up over the cookhouse at lunchtime. Marlena is there, dressed in street clothes and lined up for food. Her eyes scan the crowd; I know she’s looking for me, and I hope she knows I’m okay. Almost as soon as she sits down, August comes out of nowhere and sits opposite. He has no food. He says something and then reaches across and grabs her wrist. She pulls backward, spilling her coffee. The people around them turn to watch. He lets go and rises so quickly the bench falls backward onto the grass. Then he storms out. As soon as he’s gone, I sprint to the cookhouse.
Marlena looks up, sees me, and goes pale.
“Jacob!” she gasps.
I set the bench upright and sit on its edge.
“Did he hurt you? Are you okay?” I say.
“I’m fine. But what about you? I heard—” Her words catch in her throat, and she covers her mouth with her hand.
“We’re getting out today. I’ll watch you. Just leave the lot when you can and I’ll follow.”
She stares at me, pale. “What about Walter and Camel?”
“We’ll go back and see what we can find out.”
“I need a couple of hours.”
“What for?”
Uncle Al stands at the perimeter of the cookhouse, snapping his fingers in the air. From across the tent, Earl approaches.
“There’s some money in our room. I’ll go in when he’s not there,” she says.
“No. It’s not worth the risk,” I say.
“I’ll be careful.”
“No!”
“Come on, Jacob,” says Earl, taking hold of my upper arm. “The boss wants you to move along.”
“Give me just a second, Earl,” I say.
He sighs deeply. “Fine. Struggle a bit. But only for a couple of seconds, and then I gotta take you out of here.”
“Marlena,” I say desperately, “promise me you won’t go in there.”
“I have to. The money’s half mine, and if I don’t get it we won’t have a cent to our names.”
I break free of Earl’s grasp and stand facing him. Or his chest, anyway.
“Tell me where it is and I’ll get it,” I growl, poking my finger into Earl’s chest.
“Under the window seat,” Marlena whispers urgently. She rises and comes around the table so that she’s beside me. “The bench opens. It’s in a coffee can. But it’s probably easier for me—”
“Okay, I gotta take you out now,” says Earl. He turns me around and bends my arm behind my back. He pushes me forward so I’m bent in the middle.
I turn my head to Marlena. “I’ll get it. You stay away from that train car. Promise me!”
I wriggle a bit, and Earl lets me.
“I said promise me!” I hiss.
“I promise,” Marlena says. “Be careful!”
“Let me go, you son of a bitch!” I shout at Earl. For effect, of course.
He and I make a great spectacle of leaving the tent. I wonder if anyone can tell that he’s not bending my arm far enough for it to hurt. But he makes up for that detail by chucking me a good ten feet across the grass.
I SPEND THE ENTIRE afternoon peering around corners, slipping behind tent flaps, and ducking under wagons. But not once can I get near car 48 without being seen—and besides, I haven’t laid eyes on August since lunchtime, so it’s entirely possible that he