“Wise choice, my boy.”
“So, did you two manage to hook up?” I ask, lifting my fork to my mouth and trying to sound casual.
“No, we arrived in separate taxis. Twice the expense, but I’d pay it a hundred times over to make sure my darling wife was safe—wouldn’t I, darling?”
Marlena stares at her plate.
“I said wouldn’t I, darling?”
“Yes, of course you would,” she says flatly.
“Because if I thought she was in any danger at all, there’s no knowing what I might do.”
I look up quickly. August is staring right at me.
COLLECTION OF THE RINGLING CIRCUS MUSEUM, SARASOTA, FLORIDA
Twelve
As soon as I can do it without attracting attention, I flee to the menagerie.
I replace the giraffe’s neck poultice, cold-soak a camel for a suspected hoof abscess, and survive my first cat procedure—treating Rex for an ingrown claw while Clive strokes his head. Then I swing by to pick up Bobo while I check the rest. The only animals I don’t run my eyes or hands over are the baggage stock, and that’s only because they’re in constant use and I know someone would alert me at the first sign of trouble.
By late morning, I’m just another menagerie man: cleaning dens, chopping food, and hauling manure with the rest of them. My shirt is soaked, my throat parched. When the flag finally goes up, Diamond Joe, Otis, and I trudge out of the great tent and toward the cookhouse.
Clive falls into stride beside us.
“Keep your distance from August if you can,” he says. “He’s in a right state.”
“Why? What now?” says Joe.
“He’s steamed because Uncle Al wants the bull in the parade today, and he’s taking it out on anyone who crosses his path. Like that poor sod over there,” he says, pointing at three men crossing the field.
Bill and Grady are dragging Camel across the lot to the Flying Squadron. He’s suspended between them, his legs dragging behind.
I jerk around to Clive. “August didn’t hit him, did he?”
“Naw,” says Clive. “Gave him a good tongue lashing, though. It’s not even noon, and he’s already skunked. But that guy who looked at Marlena—whooeeee, he won’t make that mistake again soon.” Clive shakes “That damned bull ain’t gonna walk in no parade,” says Otis. “He can’t get her to walk in a straight line from her car to the menagerie.”
“I know that, and you know that, but apparently Uncle Al does not,” says Clive.
“Why is Al so set on having her in the parade?” I ask.
“Because he’s been waiting his whole life to say ‘Hold your horses! Here come the elephants!’” says Clive.
“The hell with that,” Joe says. “There ain’t no horses to hold anymore these days, and we don’t have elephants, anyway. We have elephant.”
“Why does he want to say that so badly?” I ask.
They turn in unison to stare at me.
“Fair question,” says Otis finally, although it’s clear he thinks I’m braindamaged. “It’s because that’s what Ringling says. Course, he actually has elephants.”
I WATCH FROM a distance as August attempts to line Rosie up among the parade wagons. The horses leap sideways, dancing nervously in their hitches. The drivers hold tight to the reins, shouting warnings. The result is a kind of contagion of panic, and before long the men leading the zebras and llamas are struggling to maintain control.
After several minutes of this, Uncle Al approaches. He gesticulates wildly toward Rosie, ranting without pause. When his mouth finally closes, August’s opens, and he also gesticulates toward Rosie, waving the bull hook and thumping her on the shoulder for good measure. Uncle Al turns to his entourage. Two of them turn tail and sprint across the lot.
Not long after, the hippopotamus wagon pulls up beside Rosie, drawn by six highly doubtful Percherons. August opens the door and whacks Rosie until she enters.
Not long after, someone starts up the calliope and the parade begins.
THEY RETURN AN HOUR later with a sizable crowd. The towners hang around the edges of the lot, growing in numbers as word spreads.
Rosie is driven right up to the back end of the big top, which is already connected to the menagerie. August takes her through and to her spot. It is only after she is behind her rope with one foot chained to a stake that the menagerie is opened to the public.
I watch in awe as she is rushed by children and adults alike. She is easily the most popular animal. Her big ears flap back and forth as she accepts candy and popcorn and even chewing gum from delighted circus-goers. One man is brave enough to lean forward and dump a box of Cracker Jack into her open mouth. She rewards him by removing his hat, placing it on her head, and then posing with her trunk curled in the air. The crowd roars and she calmly hands the delighted patron his hat. August stands beside her with his bull hook, beaming like a proud father.