WATER FOR ELEPHANT - Sara Gruen [92]
And August was a force. Charming, gregarious, and handsome as the devil. Dressed immaculately in blinding white jodhpurs, top hat and tails, he radiated both authority and irresistible charisma. Within minutes, he had secured the promise of a surreptitious meeting and disappeared before the L’Arche seniors rejoined their daughter.
When she met him later, at an art gallery, he began wooing her in earnest. He was twelve years her senior and glamorous in the way only an equestrian director can be. Before the end of the date, he had proposed.
He was charming and relentless. He refused to budge until she married him. He regaled her with stories of Uncle Al’s desperation, and Uncle Al himself made pleas on August’s behalf. They had already missed two jumps. A circus could not survive if it blew its route. This was an important decision, yes, but surely she understood how this was affecting them? That the lives of countless others depended on her making the right choice?
The seventeen-year-old Marlena gazed upon her future in Boston for three more evenings and on the fourth packed a suitcase.
At this point in her story, she dissolves into tears. I’m still holding her, still rocking back and forth. Eventually she pulls away, wiping her eyes with her hands.
“You should go,” she says.
“I don’t want to.”
She whimpers, reaching across the divide to stroke my cheek with the back of her hand.
“I want to see you again,” I say.
“You see me every day.”
“You know what I mean.”
There’s a long pause. She drops her gaze to the ground. Her mouth moves a few times before she finally speaks. “I can’t.”
“Marlena, for God’s sake—”
“I just can’t. I’m married. I made my bed, and now I have to lie in it.”
I kneel in front of her, searching her face for a signal to stay. After an agonizing wait, I realize I’m not going to find one.
I kiss her on the forehead and leave.
• • •
BEFORE I’VE GONE forty yards, I’ve heard more than I ever wanted to about how Rosie paid for the lemonade.
Apparently August stormed into the menagerie and banished everyone. The puzzled menagerie men and a handful of others stood outside, their ears pressed to the seams of the great canvas tent as a torrent of angry screaming began. This sent the rest of the animals into a panic—the chimps screeched, the cats roared, and the zebras yelped. Despite this, the distraught listeners could still make out the hollow thud of bull hook hitting flesh, again and again and again.
At first Rosie bellowed and whimpered. When she progressed to squealing and shrieking, many of the men turned away, unable to take any more. One of them ran for Earl, who entered the menagerie and hauled August out by his armpits. He kicked and struggled like a madman even as Earl dragged him across the lot and up the stairs into the privilege car.
The remaining men found Rosie lying on her side, quivering, her foot still chained to a stake.
“I HATE THAT MAN,” says Walter as I climb into the stock car. He’s sitting on the cot, stroking Queenie’s ears. “I really, really hate that man.”
“Someone wanna tell me what’s going on?” Camel calls from behind the row of trunks. “’Cuz I know something is. Jacob? Help me out here. Walter ain’t talking.”
I say nothing.
“There was no call to be that brutal. No call at all,” Walter continues. “He damn near started a stampede, too. Could have killed the lot of us. Were you there? Did you hear any of it?”
Our eyes meet.
“No,” I say.
“Well, I wouldn’t mind knowing what in blazes you’re talking about,” says Camel. “But it seems I don’t count for squat here. Hey, ain’t it dinnertime?”
“I’m not hungry,” I say.
“Me either,” says Walter.
“Well, I am,” says Camel, disgruntled. “But I bet neither one of you thought of that. And I bet neither one of you picked up so much as a piece of bread for an old man.”
Walter and I look at each other. “Well, I was there,” he says, his eyes full of accusation. “You wanna know what