Free No Stars at the Circus by Mary Finn Page A

suitcase with labels stuck all over it. They said MOSCOW and VIENNA and COPENHAGEN and ROME and some other places.
    He gave the suitcase to me and said really loudly, “On no account open those clasps, young man. I’m not responsible for what happens if you do.”
    I had no idea what was in the case but it was very,
very
light. I thought it might be full of small balloons that would float off. Or flat ones I’d have to blow up. Or else maybe stink bombs that might explode when they felt the air.
    But it wasn’t any of those.
    When he had the theatre set up right with its little platform sticking out in front, Signor Corrado told me to put the suitcase down on the platform, facing out to the audience.
    “Do
not
go near the clasps!” he said. “Only I, Luigi Corrado, can deal with the menace that lurks inside this case.”
    I could hear people whispering down in the rows of chairs. Someone shouted that he was itchy already, but everyone else shushed him.
    Then La Giaconda appeared from behind the caravan with a long wooden flute and began to play the strangest tune you ever heard. It was as if she was calling something out of a magic forest. I’d never heard a sound like it before. As she played, the lid of the suitcase began to rise, even though Signor Corrado was standing well away and had his hands down by his sides.
    I could see everything because I was so close.
    The lid went up. It was lined with golden shiny material and so was the bottom part, which was raised level with the rim of the suitcase. There were four tiny Roman chariots lined up at one end. A wall divided the middle of the ring but there was space at both ends. The wall had ancient Romans painted onto it, some in togas, some with helmets. I think it was meant to be the Colosseum.
    Two of the chariots were shifting a bit as if they wanted to start racing but I couldn’t figure out how they were doing it. Nobody was touching anything and there were no wires that I could see.
    Then Signor Corrado pointed to the people in the front row and told them to come up. When they got close he moved forward and tapped underneath the platform. All the chariots took off! One of them got right ahead and went round the middle at a lick but then it bumped itself over and was passed by the others.
    I kept looking at the crashed one because right away I could see the tiny, tiny legs. There really was something pulling the chariots along!
    It was a real live flea circus. I’d read about them in my comics.
    La Giaconda stopped playing. She came forward and used her flute to move people into two lines and after they’d had their look at the chariots racing she pointed them back to their seats. Mostly they said nothing much. One boy asked if he could hold one of the chariots on his arm like he did last year but Signor Corrado smiled and shook his head.
    The man who’d said he was itchy started scratching really hard when he came up. It was the fifth time the chariots were going round. I knew the man was just stupid but it was making me itchy just to see him scratch. He had pimply skin all over his arms.
    But Signor Corrado was able to deal with him. He spoke in a very loud voice so everybody could hear. He said the man should show some respect for the rare art of the flea circus.
    “Because, ladies and gentlemen, these tiny patriotic French animals are straining their hearts and their extraordinary leg muscles to give pleasure in a grey and cold world.”
    I remember his words perfectly. Because it was right then that I decided I would have a flea circus of my own. Anyone could get fleas. They weren’t rare, like lions. I just needed to learn how to train them. When I got good at it I’d be able to earn a bit of money and we could buy some nice things on the black market. Then Papa wouldn’t have to sell any more watches.

TROUBLE
    The show was nearly finished. Signor Corrado lowered the lid of the suitcase and told me I could sit down. La Giaconda came out of the