July 12 1926 Kansas

 Kerplat! my head slammed down hard against the seat cushion.

I must have dozed off, since I was still wearing my costume. Out of the dust caked window, I saw yellow sun baked fields rolling past me. We hit another pot hole and it jostled me out of the cot. 

“You plan to wear that costume all day Harvey?” said Ambrose, holding aloft my copy of Hamlet. “Oh woe unto me, lamenting such a pitiful life, this one hobo clown,” he sighed. 

“I see you’ve discovered Shakespeare. I like to imagine myself as Yorick the court jester.” I said. 

“I suppose this Yorick was a passed out drunkard such as yourself?” he chuckled.  

“It must be the damned heat,” I protested. “I just laid down for a second and dozed off,” I said, wiping my sweaty brow. 

“You’ve been mumbling in your sleep again you old fool,” he laughed. 

“Yeah, ‘cept this time I dreamt I was like the piped piper leading a sad parade of Negros bound in chains down main street of some small town,” I said. 

“That sounds rather odd and sinister,” he said.  

“Yes, it’s a recurrent theme. So where are we at?” I said, changing the subject. 

“Just a few miles west of Wichita. We should be there by nightfall,” he said.

I slid my legs off the cot and went to the small dresser. I sat on the little wooden stool and wiped the make-up from my face. My skin now blotched and wrinkled having lost the firm texture of youth. My eyelids sagged within deep sockets. I sighed, “You know, women used to find me quite dashing, but alas…Now I only get noticed in the costume.” 

“Aren’t you gettin’ a bit too old to be a clown, Harvey?” Ambrose sneered. 

“I suppose it’s your life’s dream as well,” I said, irked at his words. 

“Oh, not me my friend, the boss intends to train me on the high wire acts. I plan to be a star of the flying trapeze. Girls from towns all over the country will be falling at my feet,” he said, looking in the mirror twisting his mustache. 

The caravan pulled over to give the animals one last break before hitting town. We stopped near a creek. I was relieved to get out and stretch my legs. Ambrose jumped out and said, “Hell, I’m gonna jump in the creek. You coming old man?” he said, puffing his chest. 

“Don’t you worry ‘bout me. I’ll be there soon enough.” I picked up my fiddle, walked out the door, and felt a slight breeze. Everything was covered in dust. The air was thick with the sounds of katydids and grasshoppers buzzing in the dry grass. Four young men led the elephants out of the trucks towards the creek. Their feet bound in heavy chains so they wouldn’t run. Just two weeks past, I was told one of the young men was injured when one of the elephants got loose and tore down a tent. 

I walked down to the gulch and sat on a boulder. I took off my shoes and cooled my feet in the stagnant water. I heard Ambrose boasting and bragging downstream as he frolicked half naked in the muddy water. He was entertaining the beautiful young horseback rider, Miss Melody Vanderpelt, who laughed at his antics. I yearned to be young again. 

The elephants rushed to the creek. The four of them rolled and submersed themselves in the mud, spraying water from their trunks.  They caressed each other ever so gently with their trunks. They seemed rather happy beasts. I picked up the fiddle and held it to my chin, then ran the bow across the strings playing a happy tune. One of the older elephants named Rosie stopped what she was doing and looked in my direction. She sat up like a child and listened as I played. Her trunk moving in rhythm to the tune. 

“Hey Harvey, looks like you have an audience,” said one of the young roustabouts.  I stood and walked towards them, still playing the fiddle. 

Rosie stood in the creek, then lumbered towards me. “Don’t get too close to that one. She’s got a temper,” said Jimbo, filling his hat with water. 

I kept walking slowly towards her. “Hey miss Rosie.” I plucked a fistful of grass and held it out. She walked up to me, raised her trunk, and took the grass from my hand. “Good Rosie. What a beautiful elephant.” I said, petting her trunk. 

“Looks like you have a way with elephants,” he said, pouring the water on himself and replacing his hat atop his head. “You can’t turn your back on that one. No siree! She’s a smart devil, that one. She tries to break loose any chance she can get,” he said, with his hands perched on his waist. 

“Is that so?  Is that why they have to wear all these heavy chains on their feet?” I asked.

 “Yeah, especially Rosie. As long as she doesn’t run, the others behave.” he said. 

I started to play a different tune, but this time, a waltz. Rosie’s head swayed side to side along with the music. Miss Helen Devine, the fat lady from Cleveland was being assisted to the ravine by Eddie Bee, the dwarf. 

“Oh my!” she grinned, fanning her face, “The sad clown is making merry.” 

A crowd of circus folk gathered on the muddy bank. The other elephants continued to frolic in the water as Rosie stood and swayed. There was some forlorn look in her eyes as she stood captivated by the music. The roustabouts cheered and clapped. 

Suddenly, the foreman shot down the bank all red and shaking his fists. “What’s the hold up?” he yelled. 

“Seems like old Rosie has taken a liking to Harvey,” said Jimbo. 

“Well isn’t that fine and dandy, but the boss ain’t gonna like it if we don’t make Wichita by nightfall. And if the boss is mad, then I’m mad, so boys get those damned elephants back on the trucks now. Don’t let me tell you again,” he said, storming up the bank. 

The crowd dispersed and I cringed as the roustabouts used a bullhook on Rosie. She looked back at me as if pleading. There was nothing I could do. I was just some old clown nearing the end of his career. I shrugged my shoulders and held my head down in resignation to my lowly position. I sat back down on the big rock, carefully placed my old fiddle beside me and put on my shoes. I heard someone approaching from behind. Startled, I turned to see the boss walking down the hill dressed in his dark pinstriped suit and bowler. He stroked his mustache and said, “That’s quite a talent for the fiddle you have there Mr Jones. How would you feel about performing with the elephants?”