Water For Elephants Read Online Free Page A

can call. I mumble that all my relatives are in Poland. He asks about neighbors and members of our church, but for the life of me I can't come up with a single name. Not one. I'm not sure I could come up with my own if asked.
    When he leaves I slip out. It's a little over two miles to our house, and I arrive just as the last sliver of sun slips beneath the horizon.
    The driveway is empty. Of course.
    I stop in the backyard, holding my valise and staring at the long flat building behind the house. There's a new sign above the entrance, the lettering glossy and black:
    E.JANKOWSKI AND SON Doctors of Veterinary Medicine
    After a while I turn to the house, climb the stoop, and push open the back door.
    My father's prized possession—a Philco radio—sits on the kitchen counter. My mother's blue sweater hangs on the back of a chair. There are Water for E l e p h a n ts ironed linens on the kitchen table, a vase of wilting violets. An overturned mixing bowl, two plates, and a handful of cutlery set to dry on a checked dish towel spread out by the sink.
    This morning, I had parents. This morning, they ate breakfast.
    I fall to my knees, right there on the back stoop, howling into splayed hands.
    THE LADIES OF THE CHURCH auxiliary, alerted to my return by the superintendent's wife, swoop down on me within the hour.
    I'm still on the stoop, my face pressed into my knees. I hear gravel crunching under tires, car doors slamming, and next thing I know I'm surrounded by doughy flesh, flowered prints, and gloved hands. I am pressed against soft bosoms, poked by veiled hats, and engulfed by jasmine, lavender, and rose water. Death is a formal affair, and they're dressed in their Sunday best. They pat and they fuss, and above all, they cluck. Such a shame, such a shame. And such good people, too. It's hard to
    make sense of such a tragedy, surely it is, but the good Lord works in mysterious ways.
    They will take care of everything. The guest room at Jim
    and Mabel Neurater's house is already made up. I am not to worry about a thing.
    They take my valise and herd me toward the running car. A grim-faced Jim Neurater is behind the wheel, gripping it with both hands.
    Two DAYS AFTER I BURY my parents, I am summoned to the
    offices of Edmund Hyde, Esquire, to hear the details of their estate. I sit in a hard leather chair across from the man himself as it gradually sinks in that there is nothing to discuss. At first I think he's mocking me. Apparently my father has been taking payment in the form of beans and eggs
    for nearly two years.
    "Beans and eggs?" My voice cracks in disbelief. "Beans and eggs?" "And chickens. And other goods."
    "I don't understand."
    "It's what people have, son. The community's been hit right hard, and Sara Gruen your father was trying to help out. Couldn't stand by and watch animals suffer."
    "But... I don't understand. Even if he took payment in, uh, whatever, how does that make everything belong to the bank?"

    "They fell behind on their mortgage."
    "My parents didn't have a mortgage."
    He looks uncomfortable. Holds his steepled fingers in front of him. "Well, yes, actually, they did."
    "No, they didn't," I argue. "They've lived here for nearly thirty years. My father put away every cent he ever made."
    "The bank failed."
    I narrow my eyes. "I thought you just said it all goes to the bank."
    He sighs deeply. "It's a different bank. The one that gave them the mortgage when the other one closed," he says. I can't tell if he's trying to give the appearance of patience and failing miserably or is blatantly trying to make me leave.
    I pause, weighing my options.
    "What about the things in the house? In the practice?" I say finally. "It all goes to the bank."
    "What if I want to fight it?" "How?"
    "What if I come back and take over the practice and try to make the payments?"
    "It doesn't work like that. It's not yours to take over."
    I stare at Edmund Hyde, in his expensive suit, behind his expensive desk, in front of his