Dumbo Live Action Novelization Page 5

  Milly dropped a peanut in for him as Joe clapped. The elephant let out a huff of air from his trunk, and the edge of his ear rose for a second.

  “Look, he sees the peanuts.” Joe pointed at the baby, an idea sparking. “Let’s give him one if he can lift his ears out of the way!”

  As Joe swung the peanuts back and forth in front of the elephant, the animal stopped puffing air and instead stretched his trunk as far as it could go between the rails, grasping for the food.

  “No, you have to blow. Like this.” Joe tried to demonstrate.

  Milly laughed. “Good luck with that. Maybe you can teach him to juggle, too.”

  Joe frowned, elbowing his sister in the side. He wouldn’t give up that easily. His dad was a superb animal trainer, and Joe had watched him for years. There must be something else he could try. He took off his dad’s cowboy hat to scratch his head, and then he saw it—a small black feather in the hat’s band.

  “Aha!” Joe plucked the feather from the hat and placed it over his own eye. “Okay, look, Baby Jumbo.” He blew air upward, lifting the feather to the side. “Now you try. You can do it—for the peanuts! Just do what I do. Blow!”

  With a big puff, Joe sent the feather flying, and it drifted over the fence to land gently on Baby Jumbo’s forehead.

  “Eeeeeuuugh!” The elephant scrambled backward in alarm, then eyed the feather as it drifted down to the hay.

  Slowly, his trunk inched out, sniffing at the strange item in his pen. He let out a tiny chuff and the feather danced into the air before settling on the ground again.

  “No, not the feather. Your ears, blow to lift your ears,” Joe coached.

  But the elephant instead puffed out another burst of air toward the feather, launching it high in the air. It twirled back over the fence and landed at Joe’s feet. The elephant almost seemed to smile at them.

  Milly smiled back. “He thinks it’s a game.”

  Always willing to play, Joe dropped to his stomach and blew the feather back through the fence. Baby Jumbo wriggled happily and mimicked Joe—legs splayed out to get his belly on the ground. He puffed, shooting the feather back to Joe.

  “Hey, let me have a turn,” Milly said. She plopped down next to her brother and sent the feather tumbling toward the elephant with a gentle exhale. As the baby puffed it back, Milly and Joe beamed at each other. They took turns guiding the feather back to the animal.

  “Now stronger,” Joe said. “With all your might.” He sucked in a big breath and then whooshed it out to show the baby what he meant.

  Baby Jumbo inhaled deeply, but to everyone’s surprise, he accidentally sucked the feather toward him, and it shot up one of his nostrils. The elephant scrambled to his feet, hiccuping. His eyes and nose were twitching just like Milly’s did when she dusted.

  “Ah-ah-ah-ah-chooooo!” the elephant sneezed. With a whoosh, the feather cannoned out of his nose and his ears unfurled like butterfly wings.

  Baby Jumbo rose into the air.

  And stayed there.

  Five feet off the ground.

  His ears flapped, and then he tumbled to the ground in a pile.

  Milly and Joe leapt to their feet, mouths open wide. Even the mice stared out from their cage, awestruck. The kids looked at each other to make sure they’d seen the same thing.

  “Give him the peanuts,” Joe said.

  “You got it,” Milly answered.

  She flung the whole bag over the fence, and they took off without a word. Their dad had to hear this!

  Outside his family’s tent, Holt was practicing with a rope lasso. He was lucky he was right-handed, he thought for the thousandth time since the war had claimed his other arm. Flicking his wrist, he sent the rope arcing through the air and noosed the toy he’d been aiming for.

  “Yes!” Holt exclaimed, oblivious to the seething gaze fixed upon him.

  Rufus lurked in the shadow of a nearby tent. He rubbed at his bandaged jaw and muttered. “Think you’re still a big shot, huh? Got news for ya, cowboy. You’re gonna be sorry you ever came back.”

  Rufus spotted the short figure of the circus director headed their way and slipped off.

  “Max, come here, watch this,” Holt shouted, waving Medici over. As soon as the circus owner was closer, Holt launched into his pitch. “Okay, forget the dozen horses. I figure all we need is one. I ride out and do some jumps.” Holt mimed galloping out and leaping over barrels. “And then all of a sudden—a stampede!”

  Holt kicked over a crate that had been blocking his tent flap, and a herd of poodles bounded out, yipping like crazy. The cowboy spun his lasso and flung it toward one, but the dog slipped through the hole and darted away to join the others.

  “Still working out the timing,” Holt said, turning back to Medici with a hopeful smile.

  Medici’s eyebrows quirked up. “Yeah,” he said indulgently, “it’s coming along.” His expression shifted as he tapped the long box at his side. “Meanwhile, for when you lead out the elephants, I had Costumes make you something.” He offered up the box.

  Swinging the rope over his shoulder, Holt flipped the box open. Inside lay a fake stuffed arm, complete with a flesh-toned hand with stubby fingers and a strap to attach it to his body.

  “You really broke the bank with this one,” Holt joked. It would fool people from a distance, but it looked like a scarecrow up close, lumpy and uneven. It was slightly longer than his real arm, meaning it would hang an inch or two lower.

  “There are a lot of kids coming to the show…” Medici trailed off.

  “So I don’t scare anyone. I get it,” Holt said with a nod. It would be bad for business if families stayed away on his account.

  Just then, Joe’s voice interrupted them. “Dad, it’s Baby Jumbo! You have to come see!”

  As his kids raced up, Holt jiggled the box so the top flipped closed. Joe tripped over the end of the rope and crashed into his father. The box crashed to the ground, spilling the arm out into the dirt.

  Milly and Joe were too excited to notice, but Holt ducked down and gathered it up as his children chattered at him.

  “He jumped in the air…with his ears!” Milly exclaimed.

  “It was amazing!” Joe added.

  “Guys, I said leave him be.” Holt’s voice was gruff.

  “But he was this far off the ground,” Joe said, pointing above himself.

  “Yeah, I’ll bet he was,” Holt drawled, rising to his feet, the box clutched to his chest. “He’ll be tripping all over with ears like that.”

  “Dad, really. We tried an experiment,” Milly began, but her father’s cheeks were red as he spun around.

  “This isn’t a game! It’s our livelihood. Stay out of his tent and leave the poor guy alone.” Holt shoved the box inside the tent.

  Milly stood back, arms crossed, assessing her father. If that was the way he was going to be, there was no point sharing the miracle they’d discovered with him. Her spine was stiff as she pivoted to Joe.

  “First rule of science: you have to have interest. Otherwise, you don’t deserve to know.” Her dad had proved that he didn’t even want to try to understand her, nor did he want to listen to them. Not even when what they had to tell him was the most incredible thing in the world. “Come on, Joe.”

  Holt grimaced as Milly stormed away, her brother trailing after her.

  “Hard months on her, Holt,” Medici said softly. “She’s had to grow up way too fast.”

  “Annie knew how to talk to them.” The cowboy slumped, deflated.

  “Well. Can’t fail until you start,” Medici advised in a rare moment of wisdom. He patted Holt’s shoulder and then headed off.

  Holt watched his kids disappear around a tent corner, wishing he knew how to be a better dad, wishing his wife were still there, wishing things were different. But there was no wishing away his problems. It was time to tackle what he could—he had to figure out how to hide that elephant’s ears before the performance that night.

  The day
of the contest had finally arrived. All the finest snake charmers in the Punjab region had been invited to compete, but Pramesh’s brow was smooth. He knew his snakes, he’d practiced his moves, and his nephew, Arav, was the best assistant anyone could ask for.

  The stones of the courtyard were cool now, but he knew the sun would beat down mercilessly upon them by the time the honorable judges arrived.

  Where to sit to avoid the sun? It appears I should have gotten up earlier, Pramesh thought. Snakes were more sluggish when they were cool.

  His rival, Garjan, grinned smugly from his chosen spot close to the arched walkway.

  Harrumph. No matter. He’ll also be hard to pick out from the crowd.

  Waving to Arav, Pramesh marked out a four-foot ring in the southeast quadrant. He unrolled his mat and folded his legs under him, facing diagonally toward Garjan in order to keep an eye on his stiffest competition.

  A throng of people had already gathered, surrounding the courtyard, craning to see the preparations. Arav and other assistants arranged their mentors’ baskets around them.

  “You fed them yesterday?” Pramesh asked unnecessarily—he’d watched his nephew do it.

  “Yes, Uncle,” Arav replied, ever polite, eager to learn the trade. As usual, he seemed afraid Pramesh would turn him away, despite the fact that Pramesh had always thought of him as the son he’d never had.

  Nodding, Pramesh examined the woven baskets and inched one slightly to the right to give it more room from its neighbor.

  They’d left their feistiest snake at home, as he required further training. There could be no mistakes today.

  If all went well, he’d walk away with the prize—a paid trip across the ocean to America, where sponsors were eager to exhibit foreign acts for the benefit of wealthy, elite families.

  “Should you rehearse? Test out their moods?” Arav asked.

  “No, let’s save it for the performance.” Pramesh’s snakes were more inclined to cooperate when they first awakened. Warming them up would only make them quicker to lash out.

  Around midday, the judges arrived—the local magistrate, with the British deputy commissioner in his wake. The latter looked mildly ill, but maybe that was just his milky-white skin. His attendants carried a covering for him so he wouldn’t have to stand directly in the sun. The magistrate and deputy commissioner paused to survey the courtyard full of snake charmers.

  At last! Pramesh’s back straightened and he adjusted his turban. Taking a meditative breath, he closed his eyes and envisioned his performance—how he’d pick up his pungi, play a few notes, then open up the first basket and free the snake.

  But apparently Pramesh would have to wait a bit longer. The deputy commissioner and his entourage wound their way through, letting one snake charmer perform at a time.

  Arav crouched next to his uncle and watched as Pramesh offered commentary on each.

  “Kuldip is too aggressive and impatient with his snakes—see how he prods them out with his foot? It is best to tap near the basket so the snake senses the vibration. If you poke the serpent, it will rear up and might lash out.

  “Ah, what is Jasveer thinking? That is a spitting cobra,” Pramesh muttered as they watched the charmer next to them.

  Sure enough, the angry snake angled its head and sent a spray of venom toward the young man. Jasveer was able to shield his eyes, but in the chaos, the cobra began to flee, whipping its body toward the deputy commissioner himself.

  “Eeeek!” the deputy commissioner squeaked, backpedaling into his attendants.

  Seizing his chance, Pramesh vaulted over his baskets, landing lightly on his feet, and grabbed the snake behind its head.

  The cobra writhed but couldn’t spray due to Pramesh’s firm grip. Instead, it wound its tail along his arm. Calmly, Pramesh nodded to the deputy commissioner, whose eyes were wide with fear and relief, his skin even paler than before. Then Pramesh skillfully returned the cobra to Jasveer’s basket, where Arav waited with the lid to shut it in again. Jasveer hung his head in shame and began packing up his baskets. He knew he was out.

  Once the snake was contained, Pramesh bowed with his hands pressed together to the deputy commissioner, whose shoulders relaxed.

  “Thank you,” the deputy commissioner said. “What is your name?”

  “I am Pramesh, honorable sir.”

  “Well, Pramesh, you handle snakes expertly. I am grateful to you. Let us see what else you can do.” The deputy commissioner gestured for him to sit.

  Pramesh folded himself into his spot. Gently, he picked up each of his three baskets, one by one, and breathed a puff of air into them lightly. This let his snakes know it was time and that he was there. Next he picked up his pungi, blew a few notes, and gently uncovered the first basket.

  Sadhana, his favorite serpent, unwound herself from her rest and raised her top third, eyeing him warily. Her tongue flicked, and as Pramesh wove the pungi back and forth, she flared her hood, displaying the beautiful marking on the back of her head for the deputy commissioner. Of course, Sadhana didn’t mean to be beautiful. She was trying to intimidate the pungi (and Pramesh) into leaving her alone. Her head followed the movements of the instrument, considering it a threat.

  Once she was steady in position, Pramesh unboxed the second snake. Nadin was sluggish at first, but when Pramesh tapped the ground with his foot, the snake rose up and flared his hood as well. Pramesh played and swayed gently, guiding his snakes back and forth. Then he carefully used the lids to cover first Sadhana and then Nadin. When they were both back to resting, he set them to the side and moved the third box closer.

  “And now, honorable sir, allow me to introduce you to something you may have never seen!” Pramesh said.

  Arav removed the cover and Pramesh extended his hand into the basket itself, gently tugging on the snake within.

  The deputy commissioner gasped as Pramesh pulled out a yellow-and-white snake. The serpent kept coming, winding itself up Pramesh’s arm, pausing to flick its tongue in his ear, then continuing behind his neck and down his other arm, coming to rest its head on his other hand. It had to be over five feet long.

  “What is it?” the British man asked.

  “An ajgar, Your Grace. A python,” Pramesh answered. The man was unlikely to know that this species strangled its prey and had no venom. Even if he did, Pramesh was confident Tanak was an impressive creature. “One with a most unusual pigmentation.”

  “Quite extraordinary. Extraordinary indeed.”

  As the deputy commissioner moved away with the magistrate, Pramesh caught Garjan’s eye and smirked. From the glower Garjan wore, he didn’t have anything better stowed away in his pots. Indeed, the deputy commissioner moved through the rest of the performers quickly, and while Garjan put on a good show, he had nothing out of the ordinary in his repertoire.

  Pramesh beamed as the deputy commissioner announced him as the winner.

  He’d done it!

  I’m going to America! he thought.

  Bowing and thanking the deputy commissioner, Pramesh couldn’t wait for his journey to start. He’d heard they didn’t have jungles in America, so he’d need to bring everything his snakes would require to keep them healthy—there’d be no heading out into the wilderness to find replacements. But surely they had rats there for his snakes to eat.

  Pramesh’s brother and sister-in-law jumped up and down, giddy with excitement when he found them in the crowd. Then his brother’s face grew serious.

  “You will take Arav with you, won’t you? He would love to go.”

  “But won’t you need him here, to help with the farm?”

  Pramesh’s brother and his wife exchanged a look. “We discussed it, and we want Arav to travel, to see the world with you and continue to learn the trade. His future is brightest with you.”

  Pramesh turned to regard Arav. The boy was strong and promising, and Pramesh would certainly enjoy having family by his side. “Do you really want to come?” Pramesh asked him. He would not
force someone into an arrangement they did not embrace. That would be a recipe for regret and ruin.

  Solemnly, Arav nodded. “It would be my great honor to accompany you, Uncle.”

  “Then it is settled. Arav will come with me.”

  Pramesh smiled as his family celebrated. In a week’s time, he and Arav would be on their way across the rolling seas to the waving hills of grain and grass and bustling cities of America, a land where newcomers could find opportunity and where, apparently, they were so curious about snake charmers that they were willing to grant the best of the best a paid trip to demonstrate the art.

  I’m the best of the best! Pramesh thought gleefully as he carried his snakes home to his hut. In the streets, people waved and bowed and children rushed over to brush against his arm in the hopes his wisdom and experience would transfer to them.

  If this was the way his own villagers behaved after his win, imagine what Americans who had never seen a snake charmer before would do! Pramesh vowed to represent his people with strength and grace. He’d show America the powerful traditions of snake charming without any of the terrible tricks today’s charlatans used—like sewing up a snake’s mouth or defanging it and removing its venom sacs.

  Imagine harming a living creature so! No, Pramesh was the best of the best and he needed no such shortcuts. He knew snakes and their beauty. Now to share them with America!

  Joplin’s citizens crowded through the gate as soon as the circus opened that night, eager to finally see inside. Barely anybody noticed the bucket with a roughly painted sign reading MEDICI HORSE FUND. ONE HORSE ONLY. DONATIONS WELCOME! And anybody who did see it didn’t drop any money in—they were saving it for the food and wonders within the circus.

  Along each side of the pathway booths were set up with magnificent posters unfurled behind the stages for each performer in the show—from a gentleman juggler to tightrope walkers.