“No,” said the Reverend. “I was laughing near you. There’s a difference.”

“Especially when you ain’t the one who’s wet and cold.”

“Now-now, Linus; don’t get short with me.”

“Oh, that’s a stump-slapper, all right.” He tossed his canes into the back, then pulled himself up into the van while I got out and went around to retrieve his cart, watching as he maneuvered himself around and up into one of the back seats. Most people would take one look at Linus and feel revulsion or pity; me, I marvel at the strength of the man. His arms are the most muscular I’ve ever seen in person. You had to feel bad for anyone who might be on the receiving end of one of his punches.

“You got any more carny work lined up?” I asked him.

“Starting in early June,” he replied. “I will once again be touring the tri-state area as Thalidomide Man.”

“You gonna carve out any more of those little wood figures you used to sell?”

“Always.”

Linus makes a seasonal living with whatever touring carnival will hire him. He calls himself “Thalidomide Man” because of his legs—tells people it was because his mother took the drug during her pregnancy. Every season he whittles a couple of hundred little wood figures of himself—long arms, hands, no legs—and sells them for a couple of dollars each. I have a few, and have noticed that he tends to change the look of the figure every year, usually making himself much more handsome than he really is...and I tell him that every year. One of these days he’s going to carry through on his threat to bite off my kneecaps.

I put the cart on top of the van, covering it with the tarpaulin we keep there, then secured it in place with a length of clothesline. The Reverend reached back and slid closed the side door as I was climbing back in just in time for their traditional Godzilla Trivia game.

“All right,” Linus was saying. “I got a toughie for you tonight.”

“I doubt that.” The Reverend knows his Godzilla trivia.

Linus made a hmph sound, then cracked his knuckles like some card dealer ready to toss out a losing hand to an opponent. “Okay, Mr. Chuckles, try this one: Name the first movie where Godzilla was the good guy and tell me the other monsters who were in the movie and how long into the movie it is before good-guy Godzilla makes his first appearance.”

The Reverend looked at Linus and grinned. “Is that it?”

Linus looked at me. “’Is that it?’ he asks me. A lesser man would feel insulted.”

“A lesser man would have no arms and be hanging on a wall and be named Art,” I replied.

Linus made the hmph sound again and shook his head. “You know what you two are? You’re limb-ists.”

“That’s not a word,” I said.

“Then how can I say something that isn’t a word? Huh? Answer me that one, Kato.”