The Man Who Was Magic (6 page)

“Who’s the little fellow with his silk hat on one side of his head and something of a squint?” Adam had noticed him immediately they had come in, from his cockiness and his face which seemed to be set in a permanent sneer. Instead of the spikily waxed mustache, his was the wretched little toothbrush kind.

“I’ve had my eye on him, too,” muttered Mopsy.

“Shsh!” warned Jane. “That’s Malvolio the Mighty. He hates Daddy and Daddy doesn’t like him, either. And the tall one with the funny eyebrows, sitting beside him, who looks like a devil, calls himself Mephisto the Mysterious. He’s almost as bad. He’s always backing up Malvolio against Daddy.”

“And the very old one, at the end?” said Adam. “He looks a pet.”

“Oh, he is,” agreed Jane. “That’s Professor Alexander. He’s our oldest magician and knows more about everything than anyone. He always brings me a present when he comes to see us. And that’s Zerbo the Matchless sitting by him. I can’t stand him. He always teases me.”

And so Jane pointed out and commented upon the rest of the Council: Frascati the Fantastic who did illusions with ghosts and skeletons that gave her bad dreams, but who was very nice outside; Boldini the Brilliant, the card expert, proud of his fine, long hands; Saladin the Stupendous, whose speciality was coins and who was known to be the greatest inventor of magical tricks and apparatus in Mageia. And, of course, the last arrival to make up the thirteenth was fat Fussmer the Fabulous.

This was indeed a formidable group, each an expert in his own field of the various types of stage magic. They had seen practically all that there was to see, knew what to look for and could be counted upon to detect the slightest slip-up in any kind of mechanical gadget used to aid a trick, or faltering, or a suspicious movement on the part of a performer. Individually and collectively they would be very difficult to fool.

The Town Clerk had taken over a sheaf of forms listing the names and now called out, “First candidate, Flippo the Flabbergasting.”

A heavy-set magician and his assistant arose uneasily and marched to the center of the floor, where they set up a tremendous array of paraphernalia of stands, tables, bowls, pails, rings, tubes, boxes and small cabinets and soon became involved in a trick so complicated that the Judges began to yawn and lose interest.

The magician Jane had pointed out as Malvolio the Mighty leaned over and whispered to Mephisto, loud enough to be heard by everyone, “He’d better change his name from Flippo to Floppo,” which of course, made the poor magician out in the middle of the floor more nervous and butterfingered than ever.

“That’s a rotten trick he’s doing,” added Mopsy.

“Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear! I know mine won’t work either. I wish I’d thought to try something else.”

These words from his neighbor on the left caused Adam to turn to see who had spoken.

Although the man was seated, it was plain that when he arose, he would be very tall. And he seemed to be a living picture of discouragement and despondency.

His face was long and thin. His hair parted in the center, hung limply on either side of his head and his black mustaches drooped likewise. His dark eyes were kindly but sad and worried, and his whole expression was a mixture of melancholy, anxiety and hopelessness.

This air was reflected as well in his clothes. His full dress suit which certainly had seen better times, was rusty black and appeared to be at least two sizes too large for him. The collar stood away from his neck and the sleeves came down almost to his fingertips.

He was sitting bolt upright in his chair, his elbows to his sides and Adam, looking more closely, saw that he was holding a small bird cage between the palms of his hands.

Inside the cage, swinging on a little perch, sat an orange-colored canary which now cocked its head and regarding Adam with a not particularly friendly eye, opened his beak and uttered a disheartened, “Cheep.”

“Albert hates this trick,” the magician whispered, noting Adam’s interest. “Not that I blame him.”

“Oh,” said Adam, likewise quietly, “what is it you do?”

“I make him disappear. Or at least I try to.”

“How clever of you. From inside the cage, right in front of our eyes?”

The candidate’s unhappy face lit up for a moment, “That’s not all,” he said. “I make the cage disappear too. Presto! Change-o! Gone! That is, if it works.”

“But why shouldn’t it?” Adam asked.

“Because there’s so very much that can go wrong, you see,” the magician explained softly. “It isn’t really a cage at all, it’s just some wire and a bit of ribbon put together to look like one. I made it myself from instructions in a book. There’s a string tied to it coming out of my right sleeve. It runs up my arm, around my back and down my other sleeve, the left one, where it’s tied to my wrist. You can’t see it, can you?” he concluded anxiously.

“I can,” said Mopsy.

“Hush, Mopsy! That’s because you’re on the floor,” said Adam. “You can see a lot of things other people can’t.” He looked carefully and was glad to be able to say honestly that nothing of the string showed.

“That’s very good to know,” said the magician. “Well, when the time comes, I stand up and say my patter which ends with, ‘Presto! Change-o!’ Then I give a jerk with my left hand which pulls the string. The cage collapses and disappears up my right sleeve. If you look closely you can see that the wires are just loosely looped together and the whole thing goes quite flat.”

“And this they call magic?” said Mopsy.

Adam ignored the remark and said, “What about Albert? Does he go flat too? What happens to him?”

“Not exactly. He goes up my sleeve as well. That’s why he hates this trick so.”

“But isn’t that cruel?” Adam asked.

“Not really,” replied the magician. “It’s the only work he is ever called upon to do and besides, he doesn’t stay there long. Right after the applause—that is, if there is any—I rush backstage out of sight, take off my coat—which is why I wear rather a large one, so that he won’t suffocate—dig him out of my sleeve, give him some poppy seed he regards as a special treat and in a few minutes he’s back in his real cage, as right as rain.”

“I call that amazing. You must be wonderful. What’s your name?”

“Ninian,” replied his neighbor. “Ninian the Nonpareil. What’s yours?”

“Adam. And this is my assistant Jane and my talking dog Mopsy.”

“Delighted,” said Ninian. “So sorry I can’t shake hands or pat the little fellow, but as you can see . . .” and he waggled his elbows to indicate his situation once more.

“What does ‘Nonpareil’ mean, Mr. Ninian?” Jane asked.

The sad-looking magician reflected and then replied, “I’m not sure I quite know, myself. But it sounds good, doesn’t it? Ninian the Nonpareil. I think, actually, it means something like I’m unique; there’s no one quite like me. And do you know, it’s probably a good thing, because I’m afraid I’m the world’s worst magician. I try so very, very hard but everything I do seems to go wrong.”

“Oh, poor Mr. Ninian,” Jane whispered sympathetically. “I don’t believe that.”

“I’m afraid it’s true,” Ninian said. “But what a charming young lady. How fortunate you are, Mr. Adam, to have such a delightful helper. Now, I haven’t even got an assistant.”

“But I thought you had to have one. That it was in the rules?” Adam said.

“Special dispensation,” replied Ninian gloomily. “Nobody will have me. The girls don’t want to be made fools of. I’m really quite awful.”

“Well, I don’t see what can happen to you this time,” Adam declared. For as he studied the thing Ninian held between his hands, he saw that though from a distance it looked like a real birdcage, actually it was as the magician had described.

“You’d be surprised,” said Ninian. “The last cage collapsed, but didn’t disappear. Albert raised what-for. He was furious. The Magicians’ Animals Protective Association accused me of needless cruelty. I had to pay a fine and was flunked as well. I tried it again and just pulled the top of the cage off. Albert got out. It took us half an hour to catch him. He left a visiting card on one of the honored guests. I was fined again.” Then he added mournfully, “This is my last chance.”

“Can’t you apply again?” Adam asked.

“No,” Ninian replied and Jane and Adam saw the beginning of tears gathering in the corners of his sad eyes. “If you fail three times in the eliminations, that’s it. And they publish it and everybody knows. I shall never be able to put G.M.M., which stands for ‘Guild of Master Magicians,’ after my name. I suppose it was stupid of me to insist upon trying the third time.”

“It certainly looks like it,” said Mopsy.

“Mopsy, that’s naughty!” Adam scolded. “Can’t you see the poor man is in trouble?” Then addressing himself to Ninian, he asked, “Would you like us to help you?”

Ninian stared at them in surprise. “Help me?” he queried. “Why, I’ll be out there on the floor all by myself. What could
you
do?”

“What can
he
do?” echoed Mopsy. “Better ask what can’t he do, when he starts making magic.”

Adam said quietly, “Don’t boast, Mopsy.”

Jane cried, “He made Mr. Fussmer’s teeth disappear from his mouth and I caught them in Adam’s cap. And he gave me a real, honest-to-goodness rose, with smell and everything, that came out of the nowhere—at least, I couldn’t find out how he did it.”

Ninian stared at them both for a moment and then repeated, “Mr. Fussmer’s teeth? And a rose with real smell, out of the nowhere?” Then he smiled his sad smile at Jane and said, “Of course, of course,” but it was plain to see he believed that this was something she was making up out of her head, as children often do. To Adam he said, “That’s very kind of you to offer, I’m sure, but you see it all depends upon the string.”

On the floor the magician had finished his complicated trick which ended with a pistol shot, the ringing of a bell, a box collapsing and a pigeon flying out of it with an envelope in its beak.

The Judges all put their heads together and conferred in whispers, then wrote things down on sheets of paper and passed them to Fussmer who studied them for a moment and rapped on the table for attention with the end of his pencil.

He piped, “Flippo, failed! Judges’ consensus: Act dull; trick too long; patter stupid; The Great Robert’s son saw a bit of the pigeon before it was introduced into the box. Malvolio saw him palm a ring and Professor Alexander notes the envelope switch was downright clumsy. Next candidate!”

“There, you see?” groaned Ninian. “That’s how it is all the time.”

Magician after magician appeared before the grim-visaged board of Judges. Few succeeded. One after another failed.

At last Fussmer called, “Next candidate! Ninian the Nonpareil.”

“Oh dear,” said Ninian, “that’s me,” and arose. His long, thin face was pale and great drops of perspiration stood out upon his brow. As he towered over Adam his knees could be heard kocking together. “Oh dear,” he repeated. “They’re calling for me. Something’s bound to go wrong. I know I’ll fail.”

“You won’t,” Adam said firmly.

“Oh, poor Mr. Ninian,” cried Jane. “Good luck!”

Ninian shambled forth to the center of the floor and stood there holding his bird cage, quaking, with Albert quite frantic, hopping about inside.

Jane looked up at Adam, her brown eyes wide. “Can you really help him?” she asked.

“We’ll try,” Adam said.

VII

M
OPSY
A
SSISTS

T
here stood Ninian then, the hands that clutched the so-called cage shaking so that Albert was put into an even greater flutter. Thirteen pairs of judgment eyes were trained upon him.

The Great Robert removed his gold-rimmed glasses, polished them for an instant and in returning them to his nose, looked down that feature and said, “Oh, so
you’re
back. Well, Ninian the Nonpareil, you’d better make it good this time.” While his son Peter sniggered, “Ha! I can do that one with my eyes shut.”

The eyebrows of the magician called Mephisto were raised right up to the brim of his hat as he cried, “Great heavens! Not the disappearing bird cage again! That’s as old as the hills.”

But Dante the Dazzling, whom Jane had characterized as “nice”—he was young and handsome, as well—said, “Oh, come on fellows, let’s give him a chance.”

Malvolio the Mighty (he was one of those little, insignificant, pushing men which, of course, was why he called himself “the Mighty”) shoved his hands into his pockets, leaning backwards in his chair, his top hat cocked farther onto the side of his head, his small mouth parted in a most unpleasant expression as he said, “Nobody’s forcing him to come here. Third and last time, Ninian.”

All of this put the unhappy performer into even more of a state of stagefright, and the hearts of both Jane and Adam went out to him. For although they had only just met, it seemed as if they had known him all their lives and understood him. So many people in the world were the same, full of hopes and ambitions but lacking the talent or skill to realize them. But unlike Ninian, they refused to acknowledge it. What had touched Adam, Jane too, was the fact that Ninian admitted he was not much of a magician but still felt impelled to try.