I stood next to the big Indian and took in the town. My father had been six or so when the family had moved here from the green hill country of northeastern Oklahoma. Looking at the streets and the buildings, the cars and the people, I couldn’t help but wonder what offence the Blackbirds had committed to have been banished to such a place. Maybe Clinton was where Adam and Eve had landed when they were thrown out of the garden.

Under the bright sun and fierce heat, the town felt as though it had been pulled hot from a forge and beaten flat on an anvil, the kind of place where people lived their lives in front of open refrigerators, and dogs melted on the sidewalks.

I didn’t have anywhere to go, and I wasn’t eager to brave the sunshine, so I waited in the shade of the big Indian until a woman in a lime-green Suburban shirt and dark brown slacks came out of the sales office.

“You look like you might could use a car.”

The woman wasn’t heavy-set, but neither was she small.

“Every one of these beauties has air conditioning. If they ain’t got air, we don’t sell ’em.”

The heat had raised a heavy sweat and turned parts of her shirt transparent.

“And I can make you a sweet deal right now.” The woman smiled and wiped her face with a handkerchief. “How about we talk inside? You like a soda?”

WHEN I GET to the breakfast room, Oz is sitting by himself, a globe of the world on the table in front of him.

“You are late.” He holds out both wrists. “I thought perhaps you had gone back to Budapest.”

“Why would I do that?”

“The refugees are the news,” says Oz. “They are now exciting and possibly a tourist attraction.”

I stare at the globe.

“For my granddaughter,” says Oz. “She wants to know about the world. This is the safe way to do that.”

“It’s a nice globe.”

“But erroneous,” says Oz, “as is much of our knowledge of the world.”

I sit down and gently turn the globe. I don’t find the Czech Republic immediately.

“Mercator,” says Oz, “Gall-Peters, Robinson, Winkel tripel, AuthaGraph. Do you have a favourite?”

I turn the globe some more and find Canada.

“This globe is a Mercator,” says Oz. “1569. The Flemish cartographer Gerardus Mercator. Very popular. Unfortunately, it inaccurately increases the relative size of land masses the farther away you get from the equator.”

The server comes by with coffee. Oz orders the egg special. I order the ham and cheese.

“This is why Greenland looks to be the same size as Africa, when in fact Africa is more than thirteen times larger.” Oz rubs his hands together. “And Scandinavia. All of those countries are shown to be larger than India even though India is actually three times their size.”