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then nods. “All right then. None of my business no-how. 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 eyes with the back of his hand. “Ah, me. You done landed yer ass on a circus, boy.”
    I blink at him.
    “That there’s the big top,” he says, lifting the kerosene lamp and waving a crooked finger at the great rolls of canvas. “One of the canvas wagons caught the runs wrong and busted up real good, so here it is. Might as well find a place to sleep. It’s gonna be a few hours before we land. Just don’t lie too close to the door, that’s all. Sometimes we take them corners awful sharp.”

COURTESY OF THE PFENING ARCHIVES, COLUMBUS, OHIO

Three
    I awake to the prolonged screeching of brakes. I’m wedged a good deal farther between the rolls of canvas than I was when I fell asleep, and I’m disoriented. It takes me a second to figure out where I am.
    The train shudders to a stop and exhales. Blackie, Bill, and Grady roll to their feet and drop wordlessly out the door. After they’re gone, Camel hobbles over. He leans down and pokes me.
    “Come on, kid,” he says. “You gotta get out of here before the canvas men arrive. I’m gonna try to set you up with Crazy Joe this morning.”
    “Crazy Joe?” I say, sitting up. My shins are itchy and my neck hurts like a son of a bitch.
    “Head horse honcho,” says Camel. “Of baggage stock, that is. August don’t let him nowhere near the ring stock. Actually, it’s probably Marlena that don’t let him near, but it don’t make no difference. She won’t let you nowhere near, neither. With Crazy Joe at least you got a shot. We had a run of bad weather and muddy lots, and a bunch of his men got tired of working Chinese and moped off. Left him a bit short.”
    “Why’s he called Crazy Joe?”
    “Don’t rightly know,” says Camel. He digs inside his ear and inspects his findings. “Think he was in the Big House for a while but I don’t know why. Wouldn’t suggest you ask, neither.” He wipes his finger on his pants and ambles to the doorway.
    “Well, come on then!” he says, looking back at me. “We don’t got all day!” He eases himself onto the edge and slides carefully to the gravel.
    I give my shins one last desperate scratch, tie my shoes, and follow.
    We are adjacent to a huge grassy lot. Beyond it are scattered brick buildings, backlit by the predawn glow. Hundreds of dirty, unshaven men pour from the train and surround it, like ants on candy, cursing and stretching and lighting cigarettes. Ramps and chutes clatter to the ground, and six-