The Man Who Was Magic (20 page)

In the first row, Malvolio’s eyes glittered. He felt his great moment approaching.

Now, with a swift movement, Jane slipped off her satin cape, showed both sides and shook it out. Then she crumpled it up so that it was obvious to the most practiced eye that nothing was concealed within the folds. She then hung it upon the lower arm of the rack, pushed the contraption to center stage, curtsied again and waved with her right hand towards Adam, thus in time-honored manner transferring attention to the magician.

One could not only hear but feel the sigh of suppressed excitement from the shadows beyond the footlights.

Adam acknowledged Jane’s gesture with a slight bow and whispered, “Well done!” Then, with great deliberation he stripped off his white, kid gloves and threw them offstage into the wings. For an instant he regarded his bare hands as though he had never seen them before and then, stepping down stage, he removed his tail coat.

Not only its own silence, but that of the performers was beginning to get on the nerves of the packed house. For it was accustomed to hearing magician’s patter, namely the speech with which he accompanies his routine and which was supposed either to entertain, or at times to misdirect. But now there was nothing but quiet, controlled movements and the curiously compelling expression in the strange eyes of the man.

Thereupon Adam turned all the coat pockets inside out, normal as well as secret ones, and again a wave of irritation seemed to run through the spectators. It was as though by thus revealing empty all the places they were wont to stow their loads of articles, he was denigrating them and their profession.

He crushed and crumpled the coat and eventually rolled it up into a ball which he held between his hands. If the magicians expected to see him make it vanish now, which they were prepared to concede would have been a neat trick, they were disappointed. Instead, he threw it across the stage to Jane, who made a very good catch of it.

She shook out the folds and creases, smoothed the back and tails, hung it over the top arm of the clothes rack and retired to the side.

Adam removed his hat and from twenty feet away, spun it across the stage and onto the top of the rack, where it revolved three times and came to rest tilted backwards somewhat, so that it was possible to see into the empty interior. It was such a silly little trick that for an instant it eased the tension and there was a gasp and a titter. For the first time the people watching shifted and rustled in their seats.

The coat rack became the center of attraction. Once more every man, woman and child in the theater felt themselves in the grip of well-nigh unbearable suspense. Whatever was going to happen? What
could
happen with both the magician and his assistant each half a stage length away from their clothes?

Mephisto whispered to Malvolio and Fussmer, “I think we’ve got him.”

Malvolio said, “Shsh! Watch for my signal.”

The Great Robert murmured to his wife, “He’s not wearing the coat, so it can’t be pigeons.”

But it was! At least at the beginning!

Gracefully, Adam raised his right hand towards the object in the center of the stage in a gentle, caressing, almost coaxing movement, as though to release something.

Someone in the audience gasped and pointed. For peering from inside, around one of the lapels of the empty tail coat, was the snow-white head of a fan-tailed dove. For an instant it regarded the scene out of unwinking, pinkish eyes and then flew out, to be followed immediately by another, a third, a fourth . . .

Thereafter they materialized from the garment by the hundreds, streaming forth to rise and fill the Auditorium with the whirring beat of their wings, until the very air seemed to vibrate. They rose from the stage circling, climbing, crisscrossing one another, flitting through the great chandelier.

The audience of magicians sat stunned by the outpouring of the birds, their necks craned upwards to the ceiling of white-feathered clouds, their ears filled with the rush and the whirr. Their cheeks felt the touch of the wind from their passage.

As the materialization of the doves came to an end, once more Adam gestured with beckoning fingers and now from the folds of Jane’s cape there began to emerge flight after flight of tiny birds of every color and variety. There were tits and goldfinches, robins, larks, chaffinches, canaries, flycatchers, bullfinches, budgereegahs, greenfinches, honeysuckers, warblers, hummingbirds, chiffchaffs, bulbuls, small thrushes, cardinals, orioles and buntings.

In addition to the brilliant, darting flashes—reds, blues, greens, bright yellows, dark purples, blacks, grays and blazing oranges—they brought a symphony of sound.

Against the background of the cooing and crooning of the doves, the songbirds raised their voices in chorus, to fill the hall with the most delicious music. It seemed to have in it the sound of flutes and violins in concert and far-off bells that penetrated to the depths of everyone present and held them enthralled.

For the third time Adam gestured. And then came the butterflies.

They rose out of the top hat like confetti—painted ladies, orange tips, graylings, swallowtails, mourning cloaks, blues, brimstones, skippers, peacocks, red and purple admirals, monarchs, tigers, pearl crescents, spring azures and aphrodites in every hue and shade of the spectrum, spotted, striped, dotted, fringed or bared in an unending, shimmering stream.

No one any longer saw the child and the man. All eyes were riveted upon the tapestry of flying feathers that was being woven above their heads, a many-hued canopy in which the white doves formed the background, threaded through in delicate patterns by the multicolored songbirds, while the wavering, erratic, hither-thither darting of the butterflies, on delicate, luminous wings created an effect of fairy lights.

The magicians sat spellbound, but the children in the audience raised their arms to the enchanted flight as though to try to capture some of the flashing beauty overhead.

But it rose higher and higher towards the cupola of the Auditorium, swirled for a moment about the great, crystal chandelier and then the birds began to fade, diminish and thin out like smoke rising into the air, until they vanished.

The butterflies were the last to go. For an instant the dome was filled with their darting, iridescent fire caught by the spotlights, and the next it was empty. The wings beat no more; one last, rippling, tinkling tone of a skylark was heard and after that—silence.

Slowly attention once more returned to the figures on the stage; Jane, her eyes shining, her lips parted with excitement, Adam still with his air of secret mischief and mystery. Now he walked the twenty paces to the rack, removed the child’s silken cape therefrom, shook it once or twice and then hung it about her shoulders.

Jane in turn held his tail coat for him. He put it back on, adjusted it, reached into an inside pocket to produce another pair of white, kid gloves which he donned. Then both came forward together. She curtsied, this time deeply and Adam bowed.

But there was no ensuing storm of cheers and applause such as had thundered forth at the completion of Ninian’s act. Instead, from somewhere in the depth of the Auditorium a man shouted, “It’s impossible! It can’t be done!” And nearby a woman screamed, “Witchcraft!”

In the first row Malvolio the Mighty, his thin face pale and twitching, small mustache quivering, arose in his seat and pointing his finger at Adam, cried, “I denounce him! He’s not one of us! He’s a devil! Kill him!”

It was the agreed-upon signal. A murmur of horror ran through the audience. Yet, before the full effect of the accusation could make itself felt, or the stooges planted throughout the house could get down to their dirty work, there was a strange diversion.

It consisted of a series of shrill yelps from the rear of the theater, followed by the rapid patter of paws. A small dog came tearing down the center aisle, at such a rate that the hair was blown back from the front of his face and for the first time his features were wholly visible, Launching himself like an arrow, he flew over the orchestra pit, bounced once onto the stage and thence directly into Adam’s arms where, panting, he licked his face, laughed, cried and talked to him all at once.

“I’ve escaped! I was a prisoner! Are you all right? They said they were going to kill you. Malvolio was going to give the signal. They shut me up in the Museum. I tried every way to get out. Ninian’s told about the picnic, the goldfish bowl and everything. They threw a blanket over me and carried me away. But I wouldn’t talk. They’re afraid your magic will put them out of business and they’ll lose all their money. Malvolio said if you did anything funny, they’d cut your throat. I pulled an electric switch and got chased around the Museum by awful things that came to life until somebody opened the door and I got out. Golly Adam, I’m glad I’m in time!”

But, alas, he wasn’t. For now from various quarters in the theater, left, right, center and in the balconies as well, where Malvolio’s agitators were planted, cries arose:

“Wizard!”

“Sorcerer!”

“Kill him!”

“Black Magic!”

“Necromancy!”

“Destroy him!”

“Diabolism!”

“Beat him to death!”

“The dog’s bewitched too. He talks!”

“Get them both!”

It was all that was needed to turn the weaker ones in the audience, already nervous and frightened by the rumors they had heard, to thirsting for blood. And once the ugly mob spirit had been evoked, there was no resisting it. A moment later almost as one, the people rose and surged towards the stage and there ensued the dreadful sound of the uncontrolled horde in action, as seats were slammed and the individual shouts, cries and maledictions turned into a bestial roar. The house lights came up to show faces distorted by hatred as the magicians, with a great rushing and churning of feet, began to pound down the aisles, converging on Adam.

From his box The Great Robert made an attempt to arrest it. “Stop it!” he bellowed. “Hold it! If he’s really a sorcerer, there ought to be a trial! Let me handle this!”

Above the tumult Malvolio was heard to shout, “Trial, nothing! It’s too late! You’re through, Robert—I’m in command now! Come on, boys we’ll take him!” And with that he tried to leap onto the stage, but in his excitement missed and fell into the orchestra pit. The next moment the first wave of the mob came tumbling in after him.

Mopsy wriggled out of Adam’s arms and ran to the front of the platform, barking and growling defiance, every hair standing on end.

Adam said, “Quick! Run to your father, Jane. Ninian has told tales on us.”

The child cried, “No, I won’t leave you!”

The face and figure of Ninian was seen endeavoring to stem the tide for a moment, waving his arms and shouting, “No, no, you mustn’t! He’s good! Stop it! Go back!” and trying to bar the way. And on the other side of the house, the white-haired Professor Alexander was doing the same. The mob rolled right over them. In another instant it would be able to make its way onto the stage over the bodies of those who had fallen into the orchestra pit.

Adam cried, “Well said, Jane! If you aren’t afraid, then nothing can ever hurt you. Stay where you are.” He strode down to the footlights in the face of the oncoming horde and in a voice that thundered above the roar, the trampling of feet and the splintering of wood, he shouted, “Wait!”

Those in the forefront of the wave recoiled momentarily and as those behind pushed and pressed on, there were shouts and screams of “Stop!” “Hey, look out!” He’s dangerous!” “He may be armed!” “He could blast us!”

It did bring the attack to a temporary halt, for with the sudden disappearance of Malvolio there seemed to be no longer a leader.

“Look above you,” Adam cried and pointed to the cupola from the center of which hung the huge chandelier, now blazing with lights.

So compelling was his voice, gesture and presence that all eyes turned upwards to the ceiling, through which only a few moments before the magic birds had vanished.

Something was falling. As it fell it glittered brightly and then, striking the back edge of a seat it landed on the floor ringing the sweet note that only gold can make.

A magician dived for it, retrieved it and cried, “Hey! Money! A hundred-tingal piece!”

Somebody shouted, “Don’t touch it! It’s counterfeit-fake! It’s bewitched!”

“Is it?” asked Adam. “Look again.”

Another coin came glittering down from the ceiling and another and another. One fell between Fussmer and Mephisto.

The fat man made a lunge for it, but Mephisto pushed him aside. “Look out! That’s mine!” he said, secured it and then shouted, “It’s real! It’s real!”

“Ah,” Adam called out, “that’s better. So then, since you’re all so frightened of losing your money because of me, let there be enough for everyone.”

And at that the golden rain began to shower from above, clinking, chinking, chiming as the large hundred-tingal pieces descended and went rolling and bouncing down the aisles and between the seats. An instant later there wasn’t a single person in the audience to be seen standing upright. Onto hands and knees went one and all, scrabbling, pushing, fighting, grabbing and clawing.

But the deluge of precious metal was not confined to Mageian tingal pieces. Coins of the world were now pouring down: gold florins of Florence, sequins and ducats of Venice and solidi of the Lombards. There were oboli of Charlemagne, grossi of Bavaria, nobles of Britain, angels, gold crowns and spade guineas, and heavy doubloons and pieces of eight from the Spanish Main. Even those of the ancients were represented in the downpour: golden staters of Greece, tetradrachmae of Alexander the Great, the daric of Darius and the mohur of Akbar.

In the torrent of the riches were latter-day Austrian thalers, as well as French louis d’or, English guineas, Dutch guilders, German marks, Italian lire, Turkish piasters and American gold eagles, all shining and new-minted. It was as though the bullion of the world had been tapped.

The citizens of Mageia from the highest to the lowest fought for them, rolling on the ground or knocking one another out of the way, as they held up their hands or took off their coats to make sacks to catch the cascade of wealth. In the orchestra pit Zerbo had Mephisto by the throat and was choking him to make him let go a handful of Spanish and Mexican pieces. Abdul Hamid was beating Fussmer about the head and face to force him to give up coins of Kushan, Malabar and Mysore, while all about them still lay monies of ancient China, Persia and Arabia.