Dumbo Live Action Novelization Page 4

  A few years later, war broke out. Proud to serve his country, Holt had enlisted in the army, and although Annie fretted over him, he’d waved off her fears. Holt had never considered she would be the first one to run out of tomorrows.

  The sun peeked over the horizon, lighting the sky with orange and pink hues. Joe stooped to pick up the apples he’d been juggling as he waited for dawn. Finally! Now he could wake up his father. Milly had instructed him very firmly to let their father sleep in—at least until the sun was up.

  “Dad, let’s go!” Joe burst into the tent, pausing to shove his father’s cowboy hat out of his face. He clambered onto his dad’s cot and shook him. “The elephants need us.”

  Holt grumbled and rolled over, accidentally pushing Joe off the mattress.

  Smiling, Joe stood and began juggling his apples once more.

  “I think I heard one call out in the middle of the night, but I waited a while and it was quiet, so maybe I didn’t, but now it’s morning and they’re all trumpeting at the sun, just like roosters. Maybe something’s happening! Or maybe they’re just saying they want breakfast.”

  Joe lost control of his apples and they rained down, mostly on his father.

  From her cot, where she was braiding her hair, Milly smirked as Holt groaned.

  “Good grief, Son,” he mumbled. “Gonna make me miss the war.”

  But now that he was awake, Holt staggered to his feet, moving awkwardly to get ready. Milly and Joe waited outside. Milly wondered if he’d need help and almost went back in, but when Holt emerged, his left shirtsleeve was neatly tucked and pinned up out of the way.

  He plucked his hat off Joe’s head and strode off toward the elephants.

  Rufus and his men had beaten them to the elephant cars and were already unloading the first two pachyderms, Goliath and Zeppelin. With his pole, Rufus banged on the ramp of Mrs. Jumbo’s car.

  “Move it, Mrs. Jumbo. Don’t make me hafta incentivize you,” he threatened.

  All Joe could see was Mrs. Jumbo’s back. She ignored Rufus, continuing to shove hay into a big pile. Was she making herself a bed?

  His ears pink with annoyance, Rufus leapt up into the car and slammed his pole on the wall. The elephant turned, bellowing in concern.

  “Easy, Rufus,” Holt called out. “That’s a lady in there.”

  Rufus sauntered to the doorway and sneered down at the Farrier family. “Oh, ho, look who’s riding in to the rescue, but he ain’t on the marquee no more. Time to see what he’s been missing down here in the dirt. Ever git that feeling, Holt? Like there’s something yer missing?”

  “Imagine my surprise you didn’t enlist,” Holt parried back.

  “Weak ticker,” Rufus said, tapping his chest. “Doc’s advice.”

  Joe seriously doubted that. Rufus was just not as brave and heroic as his dad. Nor did he understand serving the country, working for a greater cause. As far as Joe could tell, the only thing Rufus cared about was himself.

  Rufus beckoned his men into the car and they advanced on Mrs. Jumbo, who backed away nervously, trumpeting and swinging her head side to side.

  “Dad, something’s wrong. She doesn’t want to leave,” Milly said.

  Reaching up, Rufus unhinged part of the wall and slammed it down, scaring Mrs. Jumbo. As she scrambled away, she wound up on the ramp, slipping and sliding toward the ground. The men hurried after her, herding her with their arms and poles. Rufus pushed on her head, shoving her backward down the ramp.

  “Stop! She’s scared!” Milly cried as the elephant rolled her eyes and stamped her feet.

  Holt stormed forward. “All right, Rufus, leave her alone!”

  He swung and punched the red-haired man, sending him sprawling.

  Rufus spat at the ground. “Real chivalrous there, cowboy. Bet your dear departed would be proud.”

  “Dad, look!” Joe called from the top of the ramp.

  Everyone spun to see him pointing at the pile of hay Mrs. Jumbo had been building. It was…moving.

  Holt, Milly, and Joe edged toward it as Mrs. Jumbo trumpeted. Something within the pile stirred, and pieces of hay cascaded down, revealing two blinking dark eyes.

  “Whoa,” Holt said, a tremble of awe in his voice. “We got a baby in here.”

  Down the train, in his personal car, Medici was lounging in a bath dictating to Rongo, who was balancing ledgers on his knees.

  “Just look for cuts across the board,” Medici said. “We’re gonna advertise a sale, but raise prices ten percent. Are you getting all this?”

  Rongo shot him a glare. “I’m the strongman.” He wasn’t supposed to be doing accounting and secretary work and inventory. He should be getting ready for his act.

  “Baby! The baby’s here!” someone called from outside.

  “Baby? I’m a savant-garde genius!” Medici exclaimed, reaching for a towel and robe. “Get word to all the papers: ‘The Medici Brothers Proudly Present…America’s Newest Precious Bundle of Joy!’”

  Back in the elephant car, Holt was slowly shifting hay away from the newborn elephant, trying to coax it out of the pile.

  “It’s okay now. Don’t be scared. Your mama’s right outside.” He was hoping the same soothing tone that worked on horses would transfer over.

  A grayish pink circle with two nostrils poked out of the hay. The end of the trunk sniffed, then sneezed, spraying fluid right in Holt’s face.

  “Aah!” Holt backpedaled in surprise, bumping into Milly, who bumped into Joe, so they all tumbled down, thumping against the boxcar floor with a loud boom.

  “Eeeeeuuuugh!” the baby elephant cried, scooting backward into the hay only to bang into the back of the car. This startled it even more, and it came zooming forward, shaking off hay in all directions.

  Holt grabbed his kids and dove to the side as the elephant tripped and tumbled, end over end, down the ramp toward the gathering crowd of troupe members below.

  “Oh, no!” called Miss Atlantis. Most people darted out of the way, but a few brave souls, Ivan among them, reached forward in concern.

  “Where’s my baby?” Medici called as he shoved to the front of the throng.

  The ball of gray came to a stop, back legs splayed open. There was a flash of an adorable face, two beautiful shining black eyes, and a tiny trunk before—flap.

  Two giant ears unfurled and landed over the animal’s face, completely blocking it from view.

  All the blood drained from Medici’s face. “What. Is. That?”

  “He’s Baby Jumbo!” Joe said excitedly. But none of the adults shared his enthusiasm. They were all peering at the creature with dismay.

  “But what are those?” Holt pointed at the gray flaps cloaking its face.

  A trunk nudged out, parting the ears slightly. They billowed like curtains.

  “That’s not a baby; it’s a blanket,” Catherine said from her spot in the crowd. She crossed her arms, clearly disgruntled there wasn’t a cute and cuddly creature to pet.

  “It’s a one-ton set of drapes,” Ivan added.

  “They do seem a little bit big,” Milly offered.

  Medici pulled on the sides of his hair, a gesture Holt recognized as panic. “I have fake freaks in the freak show. I don’t need a real one in the center ring,” the director yelled. “We’ve been swindled!”

  Rufus clapped slowly, mocking Medici. “Congratulations, ya idiot. Gone and bought yourself a baby monster. Almost as clumsy as your kid, cowboy.” He nodded at Holt and Joe before fixing his attention back on the elephant. “Hey, you think he can hear me?” He sprang toward it, shouting “Boo!”

  The baby squeaked and shuffled back into the ramp. Mrs. Jumbo had had enough. She reached over the men holding her back and wrapped her trunk around Rufus’s leg.

  “Whoaa!” Rufus was suddenly hanging upside down off the ground. Then he flew through the air.

  Splash. Rufus landed in a nearby water trough.

  Laughter rang out among the troupe as he sputtered and scrambl
ed out.

  “Job’s all yours, ya luckless lean-to,” Rufus hissed at Holt as he stalked away. Rufus’s two men followed him, releasing Mrs. Jumbo to move more freely.

  The mother elephant hurried to her baby’s side and gently nudged him up onto all fours. She patted him all over with her trunk—first, it seemed, to make sure he was unhurt, and then to tickle him affectionately. The baby nuzzled into her.

  Some of the troupe members drifted away, but others remained to gawk at the spectacle. Medici spied Rongo, who’d just arrived from the office.

  “Rongo, telegram to Brugelbecker: ‘We’ve been bilked with damaged goods. It’s an aberration-travestation and I demand pecuniary recompense!’ Do you have all that?”

  The strongman gazed down at his notebook. “I have up to ‘telegram.’”

  “And whatever you do, don’t call the papers. We can’t advertise this baby.” Medici paused and peered up at Rongo. “Tell me you didn’t yet—did you?” His eyes grew wild.

  Rongo stared back at him with a dumbfounded expression.

  Medici pulled at his hair. “Aargh! Never do anything I tell you without checking with me first!”

  Rolling his eyes, Rongo dropped the notebook and walked away.

  Plonking down on a log, Medici scrubbed his head with his hands. “Why? Why me?” he moaned. “A face only a mother could love—”

  “Sir, many of us find you handsome,” Miss Atlantis said reassuringly.

  Medici glared at her. “I was talking about the elephant.”

  “Look, she’s drawing him a bath.” Milly pointed to where Mrs. Jumbo was using her trunk to suck up water from the trough, then gently spraying it along the baby’s back.

  “Wait, that’s it,” Medici said, suddenly enthused. “A wash—whitewash, hogwash, brainwash. Holt!”

  Holt stepped forward. “Need a vet to come look at him, Max?”

  “What, a witness?” Medici shook his head. “We’ll do no such thing. We’re in Joplin for two whole weeks and we’ve promised them a beautiful baby. You have until tomorrow night to fix it.”

  The circus director stood and brushed off his pants as the cowboy blinked in astonishment.

  “Me? This is my problem?”

  “I’m the boss. I’m delegating,” Medici proclaimed. “You tend to the elephants. Just make sure those ears disappear!”

  Holt stared after him as Medici waltzed away. How was he going to just make somebody’s ears disappear? He turned to the remaining performers, picking out Ivan from the group.

  “Don’t look at me!” The magician shook his head, hurrying off.

  Water droplets landed on Holt’s face as the baby elephant shook itself dry. Its ears were so large they dragged on the ground, immediately collecting dust. Mrs. Jumbo trumpeted softly and wrapped her baby in a hug.

  “Awww,” Milly and Joe said together. They leaned against one another, their hearts warm.

  But all Holt saw were those ears. Flapping, flopping ears. Ears five times the size of its head. Ears only a mother could love, indeed.

  By the light of an oil lamp, Rongo sat on his cot, holding a framed piece of paper. He stared at the photograph of himself at age nineteen, standing in a construction site. The caption underneath read RONGO JONES AND THE IMMENSE STEEL BEAM HE LIFTED TO SAVE THE LIVES OF 10 FELLOW WORKERS.

  The reporters had circled for days, everyone wanting to know more about the day he’d held the heavy weight aloft as the foreman pulled each of the men trapped below it free.

  “How’d you do it?” they asked.

  “It was just something I had to do to get my crew out. I didn’t think—I just picked it up,” Rongo had replied. The truth was he’d always been a strong kid—hauling water for his parents on the farm, hefting bales of hay for neighbors during the summer and fall. He’d won every lifting competition with his friends, challenging each other to bigger and heavier objects. They’d always been in awe of him, cheering him on and slapping his back as they walked home after one of their contests. Once construction had come in earnest to his part of Ohio, it had seemed like a natural fit for him.

  After the rescue of his team, the town threw a parade for him, the families of the men welcomed him into their homes for dinner, and even the mayor met him—pinning a medal of valor on his coat.

  Then the world moved on and everyone forgot about him. Sure, his crewmates still tipped their hats to him and wanted to work near him in case of another accident, but in the streets he was once again invisible, just another man on his way to and from work.

  Medici tracked him down and offered a life of fame and glory—promised him thousands of admiring fans everywhere he went and write-ups of all his tremendous feats. Rongo signed up on the spot, needing to feed that yearning in him to be seen.

  Ha! Looking around his tent, Rongo wondered whether he’d tell his younger self to join up with Medici or not. At first it had been great, just what Medici promised—loads of awestruck people at each stop, not caring that he was a poor boy from Ohio, not caring that his skin was dark or that his teeth were crooked. All they cared about was his talents, like his strength. He’d heave up the barbells, twist and toss them in the air to catch them again and set them down gently, all with a practiced grimace.

  Then he’d hurt his back, and Medici had downgraded him to fake barbells while he recuperated.

  Rongo had never gone back to real weights.

  Why not?

  There’d been more to do, that was why. First Medici had asked him to help with camp setup when a few of their crew had run away; then it was “Can you be the drummer to lead into act announcements?” which morphed into becoming the one-man band. To make it bearable, Rongo wrapped his head in a towel to muffle the noise when he played—drums were much louder at only a foot’s distance, he discovered.

  Then, when Medici discovered Rongo’s ability to track numbers (the strongman had beaten him at cards a few too many times), Rongo became the accounts manager and budget coordinator.

  You’d think that would mean a few housing perks, Rongo thought bitterly, staring around his dilapidated tent. A rip in the ceiling meant he had to position his bed at an angle to avoid drips on rainy nights. Then again, nobody else was doing much better, so he shouldn’t complain.

  Yet nobody else had quite as many tasks piled on them. It was as though Medici thought Rongo could carry the weight of the world, or at least the circus. He wished he could perfect his own strong act again. Maybe if he had time to focus on it, he could get back into shape and lift real weights overhead.

  But it didn’t seem there’d be time for that.

  Even worse, Medici kept adding on new tasks and expectations. Now he was in charge of inventory? Rongo could keep track of boxes and crates, but live animals? That wasn’t inventory. That was zookeeping.

  And Medici wanted him to read his mind, too? He’d told him to send the telegram not five minutes before he’d gotten mad at him for doing so!

  Rongo would ask for more pay, but he’d seen the ledgers—there was nothing to spare. He wouldn’t leave, though. Not now. This was his home, his family. So, yeah, he’d tell his younger self that there’d be no better group of coworkers in the world—including Medici, most of the time.

  “Hiya, Rongo,” Puck called, tapping on his tent. “Can I come in?”

  “Only if you can keep that monkey of yours contained from now on. I don’t enjoy getting yelled at because he slipped out again,” Rongo answered.

  “I know, I know. I’ll do my best.”

  “Okay, come on in, Puck,” Rongo said. He tucked the photo away on a shelf. No use dwelling on the past.

  Puck shuffled in wearing his usual somber frown.

  “What’s the matter?” Rongo asked. “Miss Atlantis still won’t look at you?”

  Blushing, Puck nodded as he slumped onto an overturned crate that served as a chair. “All she sees is a lowly organ-grinder, churning out tunes for a monkey. She can’t hear me from inside her tank, so how is she goi
ng to know I pour my heart and soul into the words? My talent is wasted!”

  Rongo shook his head. “All you have to do is talk to her. If she knew you were interested, she might be, too. You never know.”

  “If only that were true.” Puck sighed.

  “Sometimes opportunity comes along, and sometimes you have to make your own opportunities, right?”

  Rongo sat forward and pulled out a deck of cards.

  Thwwwiiiit. He shuffled.

  “Now, you going to mope all day or are you going to play?”

  Puck perked up a little. “I’ll play. But if I win, you have to listen to me rehearse my new Shakespearean bit.”

  Rongo grinned. “Then I better not lose, eh?”

  Early the next morning, Joe tore across the circus grounds, Milly at his side. Ivan stopped them, asking if they’d had breakfast yet. It was sweet of Ivan to fret over them, but their dad was back now. Joe assured him they were fine and they scurried on their way to the elephant pens.

  Mrs. Jumbo was in the ring practicing her act, so the little elephant was alone in a small enclosure. At the sight of them, he clambered to his feet and stumbled over to the fence, his ears trailing on the ground.

  “Aww, look at him,” Joe said. “Those giant ears just weigh him down.”

  “Hi, Baby Jumbo,” Milly said, setting down a covered cage to wave to him. “Welcome to the circus. We’re all family here, no matter how small.”

  She pulled back the blanket to reveal the miniature mouse circus cage. The three mice inside were already up and restless from the walk over.

  “Umm, aren’t elephants afraid of mice?” Joe asked.

  “Says who?”

  Her brother shot her a doubtful expression, and Milly continued. “That’s why you experiment. Besides, someone needs to keep him company when he’s not with his mom.”

  Behind the fence, the elephant’s eyes—or what they could see of them behind his ears—widened as he watched the mice run through their act. The ringmaster, Timothy Q., scaled a small ladder to a platform and slid across a tightrope to another. Below him, the other mice ran on a wheel—one on the inside and one on top. Boldly, Timothy Q. leapt onto a net and then rolled to the ground, where he took a bow.