behind my back, my feet hang over the edge of the open door, and I'm facing a line of trees that passes altogether too quickly.
"Blackie," barks the old guy. "Blackie! Let 'im go. Let 'im go, I tell ya, and on the inside of the train, too!"
Blackie yanks my arm up toward the nape of my neck and shakes me. "Blackie, I'm tellin'
ya!" shouts the old man. "We don't need no trouble. Let 'im go!"
Blackie dangles me a little further out the door, then pivots and tosses me across the rolls of canvas. He returns to the other men, snatches the earthenware jug, and then passes right by me, climbing over the canvas and retreating to the far corner of the car. I watch him closely, rubbing my wrenched arm.
"Don't be sore, kid," says the old man. "Throwing people off trains is one of the perks of Blackie's job, and he ain't got to do it in a while. Here,"
he says, patting the floor with the flat of his hand. "Come on over here." Water for E l e p h a n ts
I shoot another glance at Blackie.
"Come on now," says the old man. "Don't be shy. Blackie's gonna behave now, ain't you, Blackie?"
Blackie grunts and takes a swig.
I rise and move cautiously toward the others.
The old man sticks his right hand up at me. I hesitate and then take it.
"I'm Camel," he says. "And this here's Grady. That's Bill. I believe you've already made Blackie's acquaintance." He smiles, revealing a scant handful of teeth.
"How do you do," I say.
"Grady, git that jug back, will ya?" says Camel.
Grady trains his gaze on me, and I meet it. After a while he gets up and moves silently toward Blackie.
Camel struggles to his feet, so stiff that at one point I reach out and steady his elbow.
Once he's upright he holds the kerosene lamp out
and squints into my face. He peers at my clothes, surveying me from top to bottom.
"Now what did I tell you, Blackie?" he calls out crossly. "This here ain't no bum. Blackie, git on over here and take a look. Learn yourself the difference."
Blackie grunts, takes one last swallow, and relinquishes the jug to Grady.
Camel squints up at me. "What did you say your name was?" "Jacob Jankowski."
"You got red hair." "So I've heard." "Where you from?"
I pause. Am I from Norwich or Ithaca? Is where you're from the place you're leaving or where you have roots?
"Nowhere," I say.
Camel's face hardens. He weaves slightly on bowed legs, casting an uneven light from the swinging lantern. "You done something, boy? You on the lam?"
Sara Gruen
"No," I say. "Nothing like that."
He squints at me a while longer and then nods. "All right then. None of my business nohow. Where you headed?"
"Not sure."
"You outta work?" "Yes sir. I reckon I am."
"Ain't no shame in it," he says. "What can you do?" "About anything," I say.
Grady appears with the jug and hands it to Camel. He wipes its neck with his sleeve and passes it to me. "Here, have a belt."
Now, I'm no virgin to liquor, but moonshine is another beast entirely. It burns hellfire through my chest and head. I catch my breath and fight back tears, staring Camel straight in the eyes even as my lungs threaten to combust.
Camel observes and nods slowly. "We land in Utica in the morning. I'll take you to see Uncle Al."
"Who? What?"
"You know. Alan Bunkel, Ringmaster Extraordinaire. Lord and Master of the Known and Unknown Universes."
I must look baffled, because Camel lets loose with a toothless cackle. "Kid, don't tell me you didn't notice."
"Notice what?" I ask.
"Shit, boys," he hoots, looking around at the others. "He really don't know!"
Grady and Bill smirk. Only Blackie is unamused. He scowls, pulling his hat farther down over his face.
Camel turns toward me, clears his throat, and speaks slowly, savoring each word. "You didn't just jump a train, boy. You done jumped the Flying Squadron of the Benzini Brothers Most Spectacular Show on Earth."
"The what?" I say.
Camel laughs so hard he doubles over.
"Ah, that's precious. Precious indeed," he says, sniffing and wiping his
"Blackie," barks the old guy. "Blackie! Let 'im go. Let 'im go, I tell ya, and on the inside of the train, too!"
Blackie yanks my arm up toward the nape of my neck and shakes me. "Blackie, I'm tellin'
ya!" shouts the old man. "We don't need no trouble. Let 'im go!"
Blackie dangles me a little further out the door, then pivots and tosses me across the rolls of canvas. He returns to the other men, snatches the earthenware jug, and then passes right by me, climbing over the canvas and retreating to the far corner of the car. I watch him closely, rubbing my wrenched arm.
"Don't be sore, kid," says the old man. "Throwing people off trains is one of the perks of Blackie's job, and he ain't got to do it in a while. Here,"
he says, patting the floor with the flat of his hand. "Come on over here." Water for E l e p h a n ts
I shoot another glance at Blackie.
"Come on now," says the old man. "Don't be shy. Blackie's gonna behave now, ain't you, Blackie?"
Blackie grunts and takes a swig.
I rise and move cautiously toward the others.
The old man sticks his right hand up at me. I hesitate and then take it.
"I'm Camel," he says. "And this here's Grady. That's Bill. I believe you've already made Blackie's acquaintance." He smiles, revealing a scant handful of teeth.
"How do you do," I say.
"Grady, git that jug back, will ya?" says Camel.
Grady trains his gaze on me, and I meet it. After a while he gets up and moves silently toward Blackie.
Camel struggles to his feet, so stiff that at one point I reach out and steady his elbow.
Once he's upright he holds the kerosene lamp out
and squints into my face. He peers at my clothes, surveying me from top to bottom.
"Now what did I tell you, Blackie?" he calls out crossly. "This here ain't no bum. Blackie, git on over here and take a look. Learn yourself the difference."
Blackie grunts, takes one last swallow, and relinquishes the jug to Grady.
Camel squints up at me. "What did you say your name was?" "Jacob Jankowski."
"You got red hair." "So I've heard." "Where you from?"
I pause. Am I from Norwich or Ithaca? Is where you're from the place you're leaving or where you have roots?
"Nowhere," I say.
Camel's face hardens. He weaves slightly on bowed legs, casting an uneven light from the swinging lantern. "You done something, boy? You on the lam?"
Sara Gruen
"No," I say. "Nothing like that."
He squints at me a while longer and then nods. "All right then. None of my business nohow. Where you headed?"
"Not sure."
"You outta work?" "Yes sir. I reckon I am."
"Ain't no shame in it," he says. "What can you do?" "About anything," I say.
Grady appears with the jug and hands it to Camel. He wipes its neck with his sleeve and passes it to me. "Here, have a belt."
Now, I'm no virgin to liquor, but moonshine is another beast entirely. It burns hellfire through my chest and head. I catch my breath and fight back tears, staring Camel straight in the eyes even as my lungs threaten to combust.
Camel observes and nods slowly. "We land in Utica in the morning. I'll take you to see Uncle Al."
"Who? What?"
"You know. Alan Bunkel, Ringmaster Extraordinaire. Lord and Master of the Known and Unknown Universes."
I must look baffled, because Camel lets loose with a toothless cackle. "Kid, don't tell me you didn't notice."
"Notice what?" I ask.
"Shit, boys," he hoots, looking around at the others. "He really don't know!"
Grady and Bill smirk. Only Blackie is unamused. He scowls, pulling his hat farther down over his face.
Camel turns toward me, clears his throat, and speaks slowly, savoring each word. "You didn't just jump a train, boy. You done jumped the Flying Squadron of the Benzini Brothers Most Spectacular Show on Earth."
"The what?" I say.
Camel laughs so hard he doubles over.
"Ah, that's precious. Precious indeed," he says, sniffing and wiping his
Similar Books
The Hungry House
Elizabeth Amelia Barrington
The Kilternan Legacy
Anne McCaffrey
Storm Glass
Maria V. Snyder
Ashoka: The Search for India's Lost Emperor
Charles R. Allen
My Wolf's Bane
Veronica Blade
Six Stories
Stephen King
The Death of an Irish Consul
Bartholomew Gill
magical cures 06.5 - a charming christmas
tonya kappes
Dakota Love Me: Tiller Brothers Book 2
Judith Lee
Entangled
Ginger Voight