“What do you mean, ‘never mind about him’?” says August. “I thought he was the whole reason we came here. What happened?”
“What?” says Uncle Al vaguely. Heads pop out from behind him, shaking vehemently. One man makes the motion of slitting his throat.
August looks at them and sighs. “Oh. Ringling got him.”
“Never mind that,” says Uncle Al. “I have news—big news! You might even say jumbo-sized news!” He looks back at his followers, and is met with hearty guffaws. He swings around again. “Guess.”
“I have no idea, Al,” says August.
He turns expectantly toward Marlena.
“I don’t know,” she says crossly.
“We scored a bull!” Uncle Al shouts, spreading his arms wide in jubilation. His cane smacks a groveler, who leaps backward.
August’s face freezes. “What?”
“A bull! An elephant!”
“You have an elephant?”
“No, August—you have an elephant. Her name is Rosie, she’s fifty-three, and she’s perfectly brilliant. The best bull they had. I can’t wait to see the act you come up with—” He closes his eyes, the better to summon up an image. His fingers wriggle in front of his face. He smiles in closed-eyed ecstasy. “I’m thinking it involves Marlena. She can ride her during the parade and Grand Spec, and then you can follow with a feature act in the center ring. Oh, here!” He turns around and snaps his fingers. “Where is it? Come on, come on, you idiots!”
A bottle of champagne appears. He presents it for Marlena’s inspection with a deep bow. Then he unwinds the wire top and pops the cork.
Fluted glasses appear from somewhere behind him and are set up on Marlena’s vanity.
Uncle Al pours a small amount into each and passes one to Marlena, August, and me.
He lifts the final one high. His eyes mist over. He sighs deeply and clasps a hand to his breast.
“It is my great pleasure to celebrate this momentous occasion with you—my dearest friends in the world.” He rocks forward on his spatted feet and squeezes out a real tear. It rolls over his fat cheek. “Not only do we have a veterinarian—and a Cornell-educated one at that—we have a bull. A bull!” He sniffs with happiness and pauses, overcome. “I have waited for this day for years. And this is just the beginning, my friends. We are in the big leagues now. A show to be reckoned with.”
There is scattered clapping from behind him. Marlena balances her glass on her knee. August holds his stiffly in front of him. Except for grasping the glass, he hasn’t moved a muscle.
Uncle Al thrusts his champagne into the air. “To the Benzini Brothers Most Spectacular Show on Earth!” he shouts.
“Benzini Brothers! Benzini Brothers!” cry voices from behind him. Marlena and August are silent.
Al drains his glass and tosses it to the nearest member of his entourage, who drops it into a jacket pocket and follows Al from the tent. The flap closes, and once again it’s just the three of us.
There is a moment of utter stillness. Then August’s head jerks, as though he’s coming to.
“I guess we’d better go see this rubber mule,” he says, draining his glass in a single gulp. “Jacob, you can see to those damned animals now. You happy?”
I look at him, wide-eyed. Then I also drain my glass. From the corner of my eye, I see Marlena do the same.
THE FOX BROTHERS menagerie is now swarming with Benzini Brothers men. They run back and forth, filling troughs, tossing hay, and hauling away dung. Some sections of sidewall have been raised, creating a cross-breeze. I scan the tent as we enter, looking for animals in distress. Fortunately, they all look very much alive.
The elephant looms against the far sidewall, an enormous beast the color of storm clouds.
We push through the workmen and stop in front of her. She is gargantuan—at least ten feet tall at the shoulder. Her skin is mottled and cracked like a scorched riverbed from the tip of her trunk all the way down to her wide feet. Only her ears are smooth. She peers out at us with eerily human eyes. They’re amber, set deep in her head, and fringed with outrageously long lashes.
“Good God,” says August.
Her trunk reaches out to us, moving like an independent creature. It waves in front of August, then Marlena, and finally, me. At the end of it, a fingerlike protrusion wiggles and grasps. The nostrils open and close, snuffing and blowing, and then the trunk retreats. It swings in front of her like a pendulum, an enormous and muscled worm. Its finger grasps stray pieces of hay from the ground and then drops them again. I watch the swaying trunk and wish it would come back. I hold my hand out in offering, but it doesn’t return.
August stares in consternation, and Marlena simply stares. I don’t know what to think. I’ve never encountered an animal this large. She rises almost four feet above my head.
“You the bull man?” says a man approaching from the right. His shirt is filthy and untucked, puffing out from behind his suspenders.