WATER FOR ELEPHANT - Sara Gruen [25]
“—i nie wódz na pokuszenie ale nas zbaw ode zlego. Amen.”
I nestle against the wall and close my eyes. “Amen,” I whisper.
The train lurches. The lights flicker for a moment and go out. From somewhere ahead of us a whistle screeches. We begin rolling forward and the lights come back on. I’m tired beyond words, and my head bumps unbuffered against the wall.
I wake some time later and find myself facing a pair of huge work boots.
“You ready then?”
I shake my head, trying to get my bearings.
I hear tendons creaking and snapping. Then I see a knee. Then Earl’s face. “You still down there?” he says, peering under the bunk.
“Yeah. Sorry.”
I shimmy out and struggle to my feet.
“Hallelujah,” says my host, stretching out.
“Pierdolsi,” I say.
A snort of laughter comes from a bunk a few feet away.
“Come on,” says Earl. “Al’s had enough to loosen him up but not enough to get mean. I figure this is your opportunity.”
He leads me through two more sleeping cars. When we reach the platform at the end, we’re facing the back of a different kind of car. Through its window I can see burnished wood and intricate light fixtures.
Earl turns to me. “You ready?”
“Sure,” I say.
I am not. He grabs me by the scruff and smashes my face into the doorframe. With his other hand, he yanks open the sliding door and chucks me inside. I fall forward, my hands outstretched. I come to a stop against a brass rail and straighten up, looking back at Earl in shock. Then I see the rest of them.
“What is this?” says Uncle Al from the depths of a winged chair. He is seated at a table with three other men, twaddling a fat cigar between the finger and thumb of one hand and holding five fanned cards in the other. A snifter of brandy rests on the table in front of him. Just beyond it is a large pile of poker chips.
“Jumped the train, sir. Found him sneaking through a sleeper.”
“Is that a fact?” says Uncle Al. He takes a leisurely drag from his cigar and sets it on the edge of a standing ashtray. He sits back, studying his cards and letting smoke waft from the corners of his mouth. “I’ll see your three and raise you five,” he says, leaning forward and flinging a stack of chips into the kitty.
“You want I should show him the door?” says Earl. He advances and lifts me from the floor by the lapels. I tense and close my fists around his wrists, intending to hang on if he tries to throw me again. I look from Uncle Al to the lower half of Earl’s face—which is all I can see—and then back again.
Uncle Al folds his cards and sets them carefully on the table. “Not yet, Earl,” he says. He reaches for the cigar and takes another drag. “Set him down.”
Earl lowers me to the floor with my back to Uncle Al. He makes a halfhearted attempt to smooth my jacket.
“Step forward,” says Uncle Al.
I oblige, happy enough to be out of Earl’s reach.
“I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure,” he says, blowing a smoke ring. “What’s your name?”
“Jacob Jankowski, sir.”
“And what, pray tell, does Jacob Jankowski think he is doing on my train?”
“I’m looking for work,” I say.
Uncle Al continues to stare at me, blowing lazy smoke rings. He rests his hands on his belly, drumming a slow beat on his waistcoat.
“Ever worked on a show, Jacob?”
“No sir.”
“Ever been to a show, Jacob?”
“Yes, sir. Of course.”
“Which one?”
“Ringling Brothers,” I say. A sharp intake of breath causes me to turn my head. Earl’s eyes are wide in warning.
“But it was terrible. Just terrible,” I add hastily, turning back to Uncle Al.
“Is that a fact,” says Uncle Al.
“Yes, sir.”
“And have you seen our show, Jacob?”
“Yes, sir,” I say, feeling a blush spread across my cheeks.
“And what did you think of it?” he asks.
“It was . . . spectacular.”
“What was your favorite act?”
I grasp wildly, pulling details out of the air. “The one with the black and white horses. And the girl in pink,” I say. “With the sequins.”
“You hear that, August? The boy likes your Marlena.