The Magician (short version)

I heard my son scampering home moments before the front door was flung open, his small, wooden shoes clomping loudly on the cobblestone road outside.

"Papa, Papa!" Blake cried over and over as he whirled through the house searching for me. He quickly found me upstairs in my study. I turned away from my writing just in time to see him trip over his own two feet when he spied me. As he stumbled forward I reached out to steady him and he breathlessly tumbled into my arms. "Look, Papa, look," he gasped between big gulps of air, "there's a 'gician comin' to town." He thrust his little hands toward me. He was clutching a thin scrap of paper.

"Calm down, son," I said. "Breathe, nice and slow. That’s it." I gently rescued what turned out to be an advert from the town newspaper from his stubby, newsprint-stained fingers. "Now, what do you have here?"

I leaned back in my chair and arranged the boy comfortably in my lap. I positioned the piece of paper in front of us and began to read: "Presenting, for the first time in over twenty years, the Inexplicable Erskine, Europe’s most prominent and prodigious prestidigitator, performing phenomenal feats certain to fascinate and captivate. One night only."

"Erskine," I said to myself. "From where do I know that name?"

"A real live 'gician, Papa," Blake squealed as he squirmed around to face me. "Can we see 'im?" His eyes were bright and round, hungry with anticipation and excitement.

"I actually think I’ve seen this magician before, this Erskine," I said.

"You have?" Blake said, mouth agape.

"I haven’t thought about it in years, but reading that advert has made it all came back to me. I saw him when I was about your age, Blake. I remember my parents and me getting all dressed up in our best clothing and walking downtown to the theatre. There was a huge crowd of people; it seemed like the entire town was there, all dressed in their finest clothing, men in suits and top hats, the women in gowns and heels.

"Our seats were toward the back of the theatre. The crowd was buzzing and murmuring as all crowds do when, suddenly, the lights went out. Real quick, like someone had thrown a pillowcase over your head. It was blacker than midnight. The murmuring turned to surprised outbursts. People weren’t sure if this was part of the show. Then a booming voice rang out in a language I didn’t understand, followed by a bright flash of light and smoke, and there he was, the Inexplicable Erskine, standing onstage, his arms held wide apart in welcome.

"Time has clouded my memory regarding the specifics of most of that evening. I remember being enthralled, enraptured, by the wizened old man on stage, by his witty patter with the crowd, by the ease with which he made it all look. Except..." I paused, unsure if my mind was playing tricks on me.

"What, Papa, what happened?"

"His last trick," I continued. "It didn’t work. He was going to...he said he was going to make the building, the entire theatre disappear from around us, exposing us to the elements. He spoke in that strange tongue he used at the beginning of the evening, waved his arms around and plunged us into darkness again. There were no panicked cries this time. We all knew it was part of the show, but when the lights came back up we were still seated inside the theatre. Rather, the theatre was still enclosing us. Erskine looked confused, unsure of himself. He kept looking out over the crowd with this bemused, bewildered face.

"Then the laughter started. Just a small, stifled chuckle at first, but soon it overcame the entire audience. Everyone was laughing and jeering, deriding that poor man just because one trick out of many failed to work properly. I felt bad for him. He vanished shortly after that performance. No one knew what happened to him."

"That’s sad, Papa. Why was everyone laughing at him?"

I sighed. "I guess because they found it amusing that he had failed for some reason. I don’t really know, son."

"When we see him we’re gonna cheer for him, right, Papa? No matter what happens?"

I smiled and wrapped my arms around my boy. "That’s right, son. No matter what happens."