by Ann Hite

No one could remember how The Connors came to live on Black Mountain. That’s how long they’d been in the same farm. Oshie Connor being one of them, along with his family: Mama, Daddy, his three younger brothers, and Maynard, his oldest brother. When Maynard turned seventeen, he took out for Asheville. There was lots of reasons to go; Hobbs Pritchard showing back up being one of them and the Depression eating away at all the lives on the mountain. No one could fault Maynard for his big notions. Oshie watched his back as he walked down that road. Surely he would die. Not many folks had the courage to leave the mountain. Oshie wanted to follow in Maynard’s footsteps, would have, if Mama hadn’t put her foot down. She was worried that somehow Maynard might never come home like Hobbs. Not that Mama worried over such a mean man. She was like the rest of the mountain sure he got exactly what he deserved.

It was the end of May, one year later, when Maynard came rambling up that mountain road like he had never been away. Now, Mama thought it was the best sight in the world, and hugged him to no end. The younger boys clustered around like a bunch of ants on a piece of candy. Oshie hung back with Daddy. A shyness washed over him like some little kid afraid to leave his mama. Daddy just watched, leaning on his hoe.

Maynard opened a sack and pulled out presents. Mama got a glass measuring cup. Now, Mama didn’t need no measuring cup, but she smiled as if she received a million dollars. The boys got slingshots made out of shiny new metal, instead of carved wood. Maynard gave Daddy a leather wallet and inside was three twenty dollar bills.

“Half a year’s pay. I want my family to have it.”

Daddy fumbled around like he might turn down the money because of pride, but in the end, he smiled and put the wallet in his pocket. Oshie, he kept his distance. After all, he wasn’t a kid anymore. He was fourteen.

Maynard grinned. “You’ve grown two inches.” He came to stand by Oshie, and that old feeling of being partners in some kind of crime spread between them. Maynard looked at Daddy. “I’ve been working for this big carnival and we travel all over the country. I run the Astounding Freak Show. I take tickets and make sure all my freaks are happy.”

“What kind of freaks?” Oshie couldn’t resist.

“Well, we have a bearded lady, the smallest man in the world, fire-eating man, and strongman just to name a few.”

Daddy just laughed. “Sounds like a game instead of a job.”

Now, Oshie only knew Black Mountain folks and a few town folks that wandered up the mountain here and there. The closest he’d come to seeing a freak was Tyler Morgan’s two-headed calf. Boy that was something to look at. It died three days after it was born, but Tyler drank up the attention. Sometimes it was hard having him as a best friend.

The smaller boys were firing the prickly balls from the sweetgum tree in their slingshots. They couldn’t help it if some came Oshie’s way.

“I want to take Oshie, here, with me while the carnival is in Asheville for a month. He can make good money running the baseball toss. It’s a game where people pay to throw three balls at stacked tin cans.” He looked at Oshie, grinning. “That’s why I didn’t bring you no gift. I figured you’d rather go down the mountain.”

And, he figured right. Oshie jumped in before Daddy and Mama could say a word, which could have earned him a spanking. “You got to let me go. I want to make money. I want to see Asheville.”

No was written all over Mama’s face, but Daddy spoke out. “I don’t see why a boy can’t go on adventures.” He looked at Mama. “He has Maynard to look out for him. You have to let the boy grow up, Mama.” So, the next morning Maynard and Oshie set out down Black Mountain in the direction of freedom, Asheville.

Asheville was a big place; instead of wagons pulled by old horses, most people rode in automobiles. That took a lot of getting used to. The two-story houses that lined the neighborhoods, frilly lace curtains that Mama wouldn’t dare wear as a dress much less hang on windows, big green ferns—like near the creek—hanging on wraparound porches with fancy white furniture, and electric lights, made Oshie see just how poor folks on the mountain were. He stuck out like a sow standing in a herd of sheep.

Maynard just laughed. “We’re going to the other side of town. It won’t matter there whether you wear patched overalls or not. This is the rich side of town. And, let me tell you little brother, I’ve seen much richer places than this. These people just come to the carnival and go home. They really don’t even notice folks like me and you. They look right through us. They’re too busy spending money and believing every word we say.”

Just when Oshie thought he couldn’t walk anymore, the carnival appeared as they topped a hill. Workers pulled on long ropes raising tents, red, white, and blue tops with red striped walls, flags without stars. The Ferris wheel loomed over the fairground like a giant bird.

Oshie imagined what it would be like to ride in such a creature. He’d seen a picture once in Pastor Dobbins newspaper. “You think I could ride her?”

“Sure! But first we have to help set up.”

They worked until sunset and the midway lights flickered on. Then, Maynard suggested a ride or two. Oshie saw the night world and the prospects of adventure flash before him. How could he go back to Black Mountain with its backward ways? Then, he saw him, a man bent over, face pulled into his shoulder, shielded from sight, clutching a leather black bag. “Who’s he?”

“Stay away from Major Hawkins. He takes care of the animals and minds the funhouse. They say he was in the last war, murdered his whole platoon by setting fire to the camp. Just stay clear. You hear?”

The Ferris wheel made another round, spinning lights in the sky. The hibbie-jeebies ran down Oshie’s spine as the figure marched down the midway.

It didn’t take long to make a name for himself as a barker. He took in more money at his game in one day than any of the other booths. He guessed it was his down home country boy look because all the folks that stopped acted like they knew him personal. One night, Maynard came up behind him, clapped him on the back and told him to go have himself a good look around. He’d been too darn tired to look on nights when he finished his fourteen-hour day, so he jumped at the chance. It seemed the freak show closed for the night due to a fight between the bearded lady and the shortest man in the world. She gave him a black eye.

Oshie made a b-line to the live animal exhibit. The elephant stood, chained to a big metal ring in the ground. How in the world did people believe such a beast could be held down by some puny chain? He’d only seen drawings of elephants at school, and this was a dream come true. The magnificent animal swung its trunk back and forth as if bored with the whole world.

When he turned to leave, Major Hawkins stood right in front of him, his bag close to him, his stare locked on Oshie, or one eye anyway. The right side of his face looked like melted candle wax, gathering at the jaw with a blob of skin. But, that one eye held a hateful stare. Oshie could only compare it to Hobbs when he was drunk—he had been the meanest soul on Black Mountain. Anyway, Major Hawkins stared at him with all that hate until Oshie just couldn’t look anymore and turned away. He went back to his booth early and kept to himself.

One morning the week before the carnival moved on to the next stop, and Oshie went back to Black Mountain, he was watering the bearded lady’s horses—she did stunts on their backs—when Major Hawkins walked by with determination in every step, looking this way and that; he didn’t see Oshie because he moved behind the flank of the horse. The way that man held his bag to him he had to have gold or something valuable inside. He was crazy; you could see the craziness in the way each foot hit the path. That bag was just too hard to ignore and that set up a fester like a splinter left under the skin too long.

That night in his bunk, Oshie told Maynard what He saw. “What do you think he carries in that bag?”

Maynard rolled out of his bunk next to Oshie and squatted real close so no one else in the bunkhouse or tent could hear. “You keep away from that man, Oshie. He’s bad through and through. You’re going home in a week, and I’m going to get you there in one piece.” Maynard went back to his bunk.

Oshie propped his head up with his hand. “Yeah, but don’t you wonder what’s in that bag?”

“You ain’t never been a listener little brother. Stay away from him.” Maynard laid his head back on his pillow and was snoring before long.

Instead of scaring Oshie off, he thought about that bag every minute of the day. Then, the world’s shortest man told him the Major was the only survivor of a flash fire, which wiped out a whole platoon, a fire the Major started. Oshie started imagining that black bag was filled with eyeballs that came from the dead soldiers. He had a thing about eyeballs since he had witnessed his cat’s eye pop out. He dreamed about the bag at night until finally the day before he was to head back to the boredom of Black Mountain, he seen Major Hawkins step away from his personal tent without his bag, and he snuck right inside.

The tent was simple, not scary. The bag sat on the ground close to the neatly made cot. If Major Hawkins was an evil arsonist, he sure was clean. Oshie sat on his knees, his hand on the bag. A traveling trunk stood open in the corner. Tacked on the inside of the lid were old photographs and a medal hanging on a purple ribbon. The photos were of men wearing white coats leaning against cars, talking, smiling. His victims? Oshie opened the bag, holding his breath, pulling back to arms length just in case. Inside were instruments. He rubbed his finger across the shiny surface of the scissors.

“I guess privacy doesn’t mean much to you?” In the door, the sun outlining him, turning him into a shadow, stood Major Hawkins.

Oshie knocked the bag balanced on his knees, spilling the contents, as he stood.

“Now I will have to sterilize all my instruments.” Major Hawkins sounded tired and disgusted. “Do I dare ask you why?”

Oshie’s words dried in his throat like a wad of Mama’s oatmeal.

The major moved from the door. “What story are they telling now? Am I a butcher who chopped to death his victims? Or am I still the Major who set fire to his whole platoon?”

Oshie just stared at the major’s weird eye.

“I gave you more credit, young man. The way you treated those animals I thought for sure you were different than these ignorant people. I thought to myself, one day he’ll be a Vet.”

Oshie looked at his feet.

He shook his head. “Get out of here!”

Oshie wanted to run for his life like some coward with his tail tucked between his legs, but he couldn’t help to think of how the major saw him as an animal doctor. Nobody ever saw him being anything but a poor farmer on Black Mountain. This man with the melted face saw something Oshie couldn’t even see in his dreams.

“I was raised better. I want to thank you for seeing the good in me. I’m sorry I didn’t look for the good in you.”

Major Hawkins only looked at him.

Oshie ran right into the owner of the carnival standing just outside the tent. “You’re Maynard’s brother?”

“Yes Sir.”

“Dr. Hawkins is a good man. You know how he got that face?”

Oshie shook his head, wishing he could crawl under a rock.

“He pulled twenty patients out of a hospital fire fifteen years ago. He was a brilliant surgeon on his way to the easy life. Works for me now, doctoring the animals and watching the funhouse. It’s kids like you, full of meanness that make his life miserable. The mayor of Chicago gave him a medal for his courage.” The owner looked Oshie in the eye. “You can collect your paycheck and head home.”

And that’s just what Oshie did, but in the back of his mind a plan formed just as plain as day. He saw himself handling animals, caring for them. He knew once a person left the mountain, they never really went back home, or so the old folks said.