Rosie blinks. She sweeps her trunk along the ground and then pauses. She curls its tip and pushes dirt onto it with her foot. Then she swings it around, throwing the collected dirt across her back and over the people around her. Several in the crowd laugh.
“Gertrude, lift your foot,” says Dick, stepping forward so that he’s right at her shoulder. He taps the back of her leg with the bull hook. “Lift it!”
Rosie swings her ears and sniffs him with her trunk.
“Lift it!” he says, tapping her leg harder.
Rosie smiles and checks his pockets. Her four feet remain firmly on the ground.
The bull man pushes her trunk away and turns to his boss. “He’s right. She doesn’t know a damned thing. How’d you even get her out here?”
“This fella brought her,” says the manager, pointing at Greg. He turns back to me. “So what does she do?”
“She stands in the menagerie and takes candy.”
“That’s it?” he asks incredulously.
“Yup,” I answer.
“No wonder the damned show collapsed,” he says, shaking his head. He turns back to the sheriff. “So, what else you got?”
I don’t hear anything after that because my ears are buzzing.
What the hell have I done?
I STARE FORLORNLY at the windows of car 48, wondering how to break the news to Marlena that we now own an elephant, when she suddenly comes flying out the door, leaping from the platform like a gazelle. She hits the ground running, her arms and legs pumping.
I turn to follow her trajectory and immediately see why. The sheriff and the general manager of the Nesci Brothers are standing beside the menagerie tent, shaking hands and smiling. Her horses are lined up behind them, held by Nesci Brothers men.
The manager and sheriff whip around when she reaches them. I’m too far away to make out much, but snatches of her diatribe—the bits in the uppermost register—cut through. Things like “how dare you,” “appalling nerve,” and “unspeakable gall.” She gesticulates wildly, arms flailing. “Grand theft” and “prosecution” make their way across the lot. Or was that “prison”?
The men stare, astonished.
Finally she stops. She crosses her arms, scowls, and taps her foot. The men look at each other, wide-eyed. The sheriff turns and opens his mouth, but before he has time to utter a word Marlena explodes again, shrieking like a banshee, poking a finger in his face. He takes a step backward but she moves with him. He stops and braces, his chest puffed and eyes closed. When she stops wagging her finger, she crosses her arms again. The foot taps, the head bobs.
The sheriff’s eyes open, and he turns to look at the general manager. After a pregnant pause, he shrugs feebly. The general manager frowns and turns to Marlena.
He lasts approximately five seconds before stepping backward with hands raised in surrender. His face has “Uncle” written all over it. Marlena puts her hands on her waist and waits, glaring. Eventually he turns, red-faced, and barks something to the men holding her horses.
Marlena watches until all eleven have been returned to the menagerie. Then she marches back to car 48.
Dear God. Not only am I unemployed and homeless, but I also have a pregnant woman, bereaved dog, elephant, and eleven horses to take care of.
I RETURN TO THE post office and call Dean Wilkins. He is silent for even longer this time. He finally stammers out an apology: he’s really very sorry—he wishes he could help—I’m still welcome to sit my final exams, of course, but he hasn’t the faintest idea what I should do with the elephant.
I RETURN TO THE lot rigid with panic. I can’t leave Marlena and the animals here while I return to Ithaca to write my exams. What if the sheriff sells the menagerie in the meantime? The horses we can board, and we can afford for Marlena and Queenie to stay in a hotel for a while, but Rosie?
I cross the lot, making a wide arc around scattered piles of canvas. Workmen from the Nesci Brothers show are unrolling various pieces of the big top under the watchful eye of the boss canvasman. It looks like they’re checking for tears before making an offer.
As I mount the stairs to car 48, my heart is pounding, my breath coming fast. I need to calm down—my mind is spinning in ever smaller circles. This is no good, no good at all.
I push open the door. Queenie comes to my feet and stares up at me with a pathetic combination of bewilderment and gratitude. She wags her stump uncertainly. I lean down and scratch her head.
“Marlena?” I say, straightening up.
She comes out from behind the green curtain. She looks apprehensive, twisting her fingers and avoiding making eye contact. “Jacob—oh, Jacob, I’ve done something really stupid.”
“What?” I ask. “Do you mean the horses? It’s okay. I already know.”
She looks up quickly. “You do?”
“I was watching. It was pretty obvious what was going on.”
She blushes. “I’m sorry. I just . . . reacted. I wasn’t thinking about what we’d do with them afterward. It’s just that I love them so much and I couldn’t stand to let him take them. He’s no better than Uncle Al.”
“It’s okay. I understand.” I pause. “Marlena, I have something to tell you, too.”