WATER FOR ELEPHANT - Sara Gruen [93]
“No,” I say, staring at Queenie. She meets my gaze and whacks the blanket a few times with her stump.
“You sure?”
“Yes I’m sure.”
“Thought you might be interested, you being the vet and all.”
“I am interested,” I say loudly. “But I’m also afraid of what it might make me do.”
Walter looks at me for a long time. “So who’s going to get that old git some grub? You or me?”
“Hey! Mind your manners!” cries the old git.
“I’ll go,” I say. I turn and leave the stock car.
Halfway to the cookhouse, I realize I’m grinding my teeth.
WHEN I COME BACK with Camel’s food, Walter is gone. A few minutes later he returns, carrying a large bottle of whiskey in each hand.
“Well, God bless your soul,” cackles Camel, who is now propped up in the corner. He points at Walter with a limp hand. “Where in tarnation did you come up with that?”
“A friend on the pie car owed me a favor. I figured we could all use a little forgetting tonight.”
“Well, go on then,” says Camel. “Stop yapping and hand it over.”
Walter and I turn in unison to glare.
The lines on Camel’s grizzled face furrow deeper. “Well, jeez, you two sure are a couple of sourpusses, ain’t you? What’s the matter? Someone spit in your soup?”
“Here. Pay him no mind,” says Walter, shoving a bottle of whiskey against my chest.
“What do you mean, ‘pay him no mind’? In my day, a boy was taught to respect his elders.”
Instead of answering, Walter carries the other bottle over and crouches down beside him. When Camel reaches for it, Walter bats his hand away.
“Hell no, old man. You spill that and we’ll all three be sourpusses.”
He raises the bottle up to Camel’s lips and holds it as he swallows a half-dozen times. He looks like a baby taking a bottle. Walter turns on his heels and leans against the wall. Then he takes a long swig himself.
“What’s the matter—don’t like the whiskey?” he says, wiping his mouth and gesturing at the unopened bottle in my hand.
“I like it just fine. Listen, I don’t have any money so I don’t know when or if I can ever make it up to you, but can I have this?”
“I already gave it to you.”
“No, I mean . . . can I take it for someone else?”
Walter looks at me for a moment, his eyes crinkled at the edges. “It’s a woman, isn’t it?”
“Nope.”
“You’re lying.”
“No I’m not.”
“I’ll bet you five bucks it’s a woman,” he says, taking another drink. His Adam’s apple bobs up and down and the brown liquid lowers by almost an inch. It’s astounding how quickly he and Camel manage to get hard liquor down their gullets.
“She is female,” I say.
“Ha!” snorts Walter. “You better not let her hear you say that. Although whoever or whatever she is, she’s more suitable than where your mind’s been lately.”
“I’ve got some making up to do,” I say. “I let her down today.” Walter looks up in sudden understanding.
“How ’bout a little more of that?” Camel says irritably. “Maybe he don’t want none, but I do. Not that I blame the boy for wanting a little action. You’re only young once. You gotta get it while you can, I says. Yessir, get it while you can. Even if it costs you a bottle of sauce.”
Walter smiles. He holds the bottle up to Camel’s lips again and lets him have several long swallows. Then he caps it, leans across, still on his haunches, and hands it to me.
“Take her this one, too. You tell her I’m also sorry. Real sorry, in fact.”
“Hey!” shouts Camel. “There ain’t no woman in the world worth two bottles of whiskey! Come on now!”
I rise to my feet and slip a bottle in each pocket of my jacket.
“Aw, come on now!” Camel pleads. “Aw, that just ain’t no fair.”
His wheedling and complaining follow me until I’m out of earshot.
IT’S DUSK, AND several parties have already started at the performers’ end of the train, including—I can’t help but notice—one in Marlena and August’s car. I wouldn’t have gone, but it’s significant that I wasn’t invited. I guess August and I are on the outs again; or rather, since I already hate him more than I’ve ever hated anyone or anything in my life, I guess I’m on the outs with him.
Rosie is at the far end of the menagerie,