Magic

 

February 14, 2022

 

Greetings from the mystical,  

 The tiny theater was dark now, only the outline of the seats could be seen from the stage.  He sat on a prop box, tipped sideways on stage, lit a ragged, hand rolled cigarette.  The blue smoke curled around his face, held him like a loving wraith.

 The manager had taken down the show bills and rolled them up, and they lay on the floor next to his feet, curled and water stained.  He could see the top edge where it read ‘The Amazing Alessandro’. He laughed a little, chuffing wisps of smoke as he did. 

“Not particularly ‘amazing’ in this moment.” he muttered, pushing the paper away with his foot.  And then he heard her.

“You are amazing in ways that words fail to capture.”

 She spoke from the shadow of the red velvet curtain, a voice he knew in any crowd.  She walked out of the wings, graceful, regal almost, and moved across the stage to where he sat.  She leaned over to kiss the top of his head, and then sat next to him. 

 “We can start again.” she said.  “There are other places we can be.”

“No. People are too cynical for magic. Even the children mock us now.”

She didn’t argue, except to say he might be part of the problem.  “You let them talk you out of the magic, Eddy.”

 He shook his head.  “It’s all changed, now there’s movies and telephones.  No one wants to go to a holy place like this,” he waved his arm at the empty seats, “and see us create the impossible right in front of their eyes.  They are too consumed with the flickering electricity.  Ach.”  He ran his hand over his eyes. 

 He had to admit, his props were looking a little tired.  And, while he was admitting things, the mirror wasn’t doing him any favors either.  He looked down at his hands, his long slender fingers knotted with swollen joints, the fingers yellowed from too many thousand cigarettes.  He slid his cuff up slightly, notice that the sleeves were frayed, the fabric of his tuxedo jacket shiny with age. 

“Lily, my final illusion was to fool myself.”  He held up his hands.  “How did I get old?”

She laughed, a glittering sound, and the place was changed.  She held his face and looked at him.

“I remember when you came into the diner.  I had only been there a week and already knew I wouldn’t be there much longer.” she said. “And I saw you, still wearing your top hat, and that cape.  I saw you in the doorway and I thought the word; ‘magic’.”

He smiled at that.  The years parted like the heavy stage curtain, and he saw their life whirling around them.

They got a sparkly sequined costume from a burlesque dancer he knew, cut off some of the more dramatic tassels, and she became ‘Valentina’, his Beautiful Assistant.   She was his ‘box jumper’, a phrase she told him not to use.  “I’m not a prop,” she said, “I’m part of the magic.”  He didn’t argue.  They did their act, made a little money, made a life.  She put herself in boxes and he sawed her in half and slid swords through her and she emerged smiling.  And she stepped into the Infinity Box and disappeared, and the audience gasped in awe.

 Even today, he marveled at how she could fit through a small space, still lithe and willing.  He did illusions and card tricks, made things disappear, balls and handkerchiefs and rabbits and doves.  She whirled around him, glistening and beautiful, smiling, making the magic possible.

 They did their last show in front of empty seats, the only people who witnessed was the stage manager who slipped into the alley before they finished.  The cages where he kept the rabbit and the doves were empty now.  He’d sold some of the other things, the sword box, the saw box.  It hurt him to do it, but they had to eat.   

The woman who ran the boarding house where they lived had locked them out, kept their last puny possessions as payment of the rent.  They slept in the theater on a bed of excelsior, held each other curled up under their coats.

 He pinched the ember from his cigarette and tucked the remainder in his vest pocket.  He looked at her, still a little bit in awe that such a creature could care for him. 

They sat in the dim light of the stage, and spoke in the old language, the one made before words, before magic was a separate thing, before it needed to be understood until it vanished.

 “We need to go.” she said softly.

“Go?”  He laughed, with no smile.  “There’s nowhere left to go.  The world has moved on without us.”

“Thou.” she said, her voice deeper now, “Thou hast the magic, and the word cannot exist without thee.” 

“Thou.” He looked into her, saw their truth.  “Thou made me possible, made us, made me thine.”

Time was enchanted by them, held still with them, pushed away the impatient moments that waited.

“We need to go.” she said again.  The look in her eyes said all he needed to know, which was to be wherever she was.  She stood and took his hand and led him across the stage to the Infinity Box, looked over her shoulder at him, and opened the door.  Still holding him, she stepped through the door.

 He saw the place inside, saw it surround her, felt himself pulled with her.  She locked eyes with him, told him all he needed to trust, and he followed her into forever.   In the shadowed place on stage there was a puff of light, which fell about the old boards like living sparks, and the box, and the living inside it, went to where magic would never be doubted.

  

Hope this finds you believing,

 

David

 

 

 

 

 

Copyright © 2022  David Smith