A Touch of Magic
4 The Great Paris
12 September 1974, Minneapolis
“I HAVE THREE SILVER CUPS. They’re made of sterling silver, which to you, of course, may be unimportant. To me, it’s important. I paid for them. But you can see that they are cups, and that they are empty. Nothing in this cup. Nothing in this cup. And nothing in this cup.”
Blinding pain flashed behind the magician’s eyes. Momentary loss of memory. He forgot where he stood or what his hands were doing. On stage, however—in the eyes of his audience—he kept up his constant patter as his hands automatically executed the moves that entertained. As the flash of pain subsided, he was surprised to find his hands deftly maneuvering the objects on the table, and the audience laughing at the joke he had just made.
“What’s important to you is not that the egg is silver, but that it fits under any one of the cups. I see you are skeptical. So, let’s get a volunteer up here to verify my claim. Who’d like a chance at stardom?”
A dozen hands shot up around the smoky little club. The Great Paris scanned the room for a likely candidate. That one was too drunk and might cause problems. Magic in bars and nightclubs was risky enough. He walked a fine line between providing entertainment and making the audience an adversary. He guessed it was just bad breaks that brought him to this level of entertainment instead of playing showrooms in Las Vegas. He certainly didn’t believe in fate. But it was a living and he did what he wanted to do. He shook the headache from behind his eyes and called on the man in the three-piece striped suit. There was one thing Paris disliked more than three-piece suits, and that was stripes. The gold watch fob connecting the vest pockets would provide a nice touch as he’d seen the man looking at his watch frequently during the evening. Paris wondered if he was that anxious to see the show end or if he just wanted to show off his watch to his companions.
“All I’m going to ask you to do is keep your eye on the egg. Everyone can see it as I place the silver egg on the table and place the silver cup over the egg. Right? You, sir, are up here close and personal so you can keep an eye on exactly which cup the egg is under.” Paris paused with his hands over the top of the three cups. “By the way, do you have the time?” he asked. The man automatically reached for his pocket watch.
“Yes,” he said, as he opened the case. “It’s ten thirty-five.”
“I like to keep track of how long this trick takes from time to time. It varies.” The man dropped his watch back in the vest pocket and returned his attention to the cups.
“Now, which of the cups is the egg under?” Paris asked.
“This one.”
“Perhaps we went too fast. I distinctly remember telling you that I was placing this cup over the egg. You see? There is nothing over here.”
There were a few titters from the audience. It was an old trick practiced on street corners around the world, but it was working well. Fortunately, it was also a trick that his hands could work without his mind. The headache had hit shortly after he got off the train yesterday and hadn’t let up. The train, at least, was a place where he could rest from it. It had been his chosen mode of transportation ever since he hit the road. The clacking of the wheels over the uneven rails that spanned the country lulled him into sleep and drove the headaches away. The thought flitting across his mind in the nightclub gave Paris a little relief from his headache and his eyes cleared.
“Now, which of the cups is the egg under?”
“This one,” his volunteer said confidently.
“Maybe three cups are too much for you to keep track of. You see, the egg is over here.” The party at the man’s table was laughing out of control. Paul seldom had bad thoughts about his volunteers, but somehow hoped the party included the man’s boss. “Tell you what. Let’s set this cup aside and only use two cups. Now which cup is the egg under?”
“This one,” he said a little more hesitantly.
“It’s good to see you’re paying attention because as you can see, the egg is indeed under this cup.” There were more titters from the audience as Paris lifted the cup to show nothing under it. “I seem to have lost track of it myself. Would you mind looking under the other cup?”
“It’s not here,” his assistant said as he lifted the cup and looked inside it as well.
This time, light applause erupted from the audience. Paris was confident of the disappearing egg trick now. If he could only make the headache disappear with the egg. “Did you take my egg?” Paul demanded.
“No!”
“It’s in the other cup!” The shout came from a thick-lipped man sitting nearby. Just the type expected to mouth off and try to ruin a good trick. One too many drinks had crossed those lips, making an otherwise dull and harmless brain think it had a sudden gift of wit and entertainment.
“Would you check the other cup, my friend?” Paris appealed to his volunteer, making the man a coconspirator. His volunteer picked up the cup that had been set aside. He double-checked inside the cup.
“It’s not here.”
“I’m baffled. You didn’t take it?”
“No.”
“You don’t have it. I don’t have it. I’m a little confused. This has never happened before.” The audience laughed at the nonsensical dilemma, certain Paris would make the egg materialize out of thin air or pull it from the man’s ear. “Well, thank you for your assistance. Nothing ends a trick faster than a lost prop.” The man had one foot on the step down from the stage when Paris put a hand on his shoulder. “By the way, just for the record, what time is it?”
The volunteer pulled the chain from his pocket. At the end dangled the silver egg. The audience roared. The man fumbled for words as he watched the egg swinging from the chain in his hand as if this illusion would go away and his watch would appear. He glanced around to see if Paris had the watch.
“Where’s my watch?”
“You take my egg and want me to keep track of your watch?” Paris leaned over conspiratorially as he took the egg from the man’s watch chain. He stage-whispered, “I spotted it a bit ago. I thought sure you’d find it and the jig would be up.” Paris led the man back to the table and pointed at the third cup. “That’s what our friend over there thought was a silver egg under this cup.”
Paris reached for the third cup and dropped the pocket watch out of the impossibly small cup into its owner’s hand. The audience loved it and suspected the volunteer was an accomplice. All but his own table where his companions were still laughing at him as he sat down. Paris wished he could sit, as well. His hands had begun to shake and he almost dropped the watch on its last pass. He would have to alter his routine and conclude the show a few minutes before eleven. He could never do the scarf tricks or handle animals with his hands shaking like this. The pain in his head was incredible.
“You see, nothing ever really disappears. It just moves from place to place,” he said turning over the three cups one at a time to show the egg move from one to the other. A young woman sitting alone in a far corner of the room near the light booth looked up suddenly at him and he caught her eye. It held there for a split second before he forced himself to continue.
He had noticed her early in the show. The lighting tech had arranged a chair next to his stand and Paris wondered if she was his girlfriend. She looked so out of place in this crowd. In this split second that they shared a glance, Paris was startled by a fantasy that momentarily took the place of his headache and he set his course of action quickly.
“I need another assistant from the audience for this next little trick. You notice I said trick, for magic is all in your head. I wonder if the young woman sitting over there would join me for this. Miss?”
The young woman looked startled and glanced toward the light booth, but stood and started toward the stage. Paris picked up a deck of cards and began to shuffle, flipping half a dozen accidentally on the floor. He quickly gathered up the cards and offered his hand to the young woman as she stepped up to the stage.
“If you are going to do a trick with cards, it helps to play with a full deck,” he said. He handed the cards to a man sitting at the table directly in front of the stage. “Sir, would you mind counting these to make sure there is a full deck there. You can verify that this is an ordinary deck of playing cards and shuffle them up a bit if you would.” He led the young woman to the center of the stage. He wasn’t sure what he expected when he took her hand, but he was amazed to have it held in his. It wasn’t cold and clammy, as many were that he took to lead to the stage, nor was it hot and sweaty. It was warm and grasped his hand with gentle confidence. His forced stage smile thawed into something more genuine.
She stood quietly where he directed her, and he retrieved the deck from the man who had been vigorously shuffling. The cards fit his hand better now as it had stopped its momentary shaking. He zipped through the cards quickly twice to bring them into the order he wanted. He felt better about this trick already.
“And what, may I ask, is your name?”
“Serepte.”
“That’s beautiful. I’ve never met a Serepte. They may suspect you of complicity. They always do.” She smiled at him. It was a beautiful name and a beautiful smile. It sounded like it should have a beautiful romantic story behind it. It was a name he would like to hear again. And would like to speak frequently.
“I’m going to ask you to cut the deck and show all the audience the card that you cut to, then put it all back onto the pack.” The instructions were obediently carried out. He watched her hand move across the cards. It was as beautiful as her name. She wore no jewelry. The fingers were graceful and looked, to his eye, like the hands of someone skilled in their use. What did she use them for? An artist? Another magician? That would be a jolt.
“This is an amazing feat of telepathy. The trick is to make you, the audience, believe it is only a trick and not deep magic of the ancient past. The only reason I include this trick is so I can sit down.” How true. It will be pleasant, as well, to learn the woman’s hands better. “Serepte, I’d like you to stand right behind me. I’ll shuffle the cards again to make sure that the card you’ve selected is good and buried. Now, I want you to concentrate on the card that you selected and I’m going to pick it out of the rest of the pack. If you would place your hands on my forehead and concentrate on the card, please.”
She placed her hands on his forehead from behind and he began to relax. At last he could sit down. Flashes of the years he’d been victim to this infernal headache crossed his mind. As far back as he could remember, but recently, more frequent than ever. Twice in the past month he dropped significant tricks in his show because his hands were shaking. He kept telling himself he’d see a doctor after he got home from this tour, but this tour never seemed to end. Home was in his trunk. The very thought of doctors, hospitals, and the sterile white environment repulsed him. The thought of replacing the smell of cigarette smoke with the smell of iodine was little comfort. They would tell him what he already knew. Traumatic amnesia. He would have pain until he remembered.
“I see that you want me to display five cards on the table,” he said as she held her hands soothingly on his forehead. He turned up the first five cards on the deck and displayed each to the audience before laying it face down on the table. “And yes, I am getting your message clearly now. The next card I turn over will be the card you selected.” He ran his hands over the deck and people in the audience tittered. They knew he had already displayed her card and discarded it. What they did not expect was that he reached to the cards on the table and turned over the third one he had discarded, the seven of spades. The audience applauded their appreciation more for his having misled them in believing he had already passed the card than for his selecting the correct card.
“That worked so well, I’d like to try going deeper into the subconscious with you, taking our audience into the trance so that they can communicate telepathically with us. You shall become our medium, Serepte. Let us see if you can transfer the thoughts of the audience to me without having seen the card yourself.” He shuffled the cards and held the deck in the palm of his hand. “I would like you to cut the cards and display the cut card to the audience without looking at it and without showing me.”
Serepte lifted a third of the cards from the deck and displayed the bottom card to the audience before placing them back on the pack in Paris’s hand. Another blinding flash of pain caused Paris to squeeze his eyes shut. He took a deep breath. It would all be over soon and he could get an ice pack.
“Now if you would return to your position with your fingers on my sweaty brow, I would like the audience to focus on the card you selected and see if I can find it in this standard pack of fifty-two playing cards.” He shuffled the deck and she stepped behind him. She seemed hesitant to put her hands on his forehead, but Paris scarcely noticed. He was having difficulty with the cards again. His vision blurred and his stomach rose as he felt the sharp premonition of a trick about to fail.
Then he felt her hands. The cards didn’t fall to the floor. The pain subsided. It was such a complete draining of the tension in his head that he felt faint for a moment. His eyes cleared and he returned to his patter. He’d complete the trick and do some quick spot changes then leave the stage.
“You over there,” he pointed vaguely. “Quit trying to send me a false message. That’s not fair.” He waved his hand over the deck, fanned the cards and drew one. “And the card was this one!” he said, displaying the four of hearts.
Applause greeted the card and Paris smiled. Serepte lifted her hands from his head and with them went the last sensation of the fleeing headache that Paris had been fighting all night. He was flooded with the sensation of wellbeing that replaced it. He bowed and led her to the edge of the stage before he turned to look at her.
Her expression had darkened. Her brow was furrowed. She smiled a bit sadly and bowed to him. Then she left the stage. Paris watched her hurry out the door as he proceeded to change the spots on the four of hearts. A second person, no more than a shadow, slipped out behind her. He couldn’t see who it was because of a spotlight that hit him from a low angle in the direction of the door. Too many confusing things happened at once.
“As I pass my hand in front of the card, one by one the spots disappear. One more time. And we have left a four of nothings. But remember, nothing ever disappears; it just moves from place to place. Over here on the seven of spades we used earlier, you see there are printed four beautiful red hearts.” Warm applause and a few ‘ohs’ were a sweet sound.
“Tonight’s performance is a bonus for those who happened to stop in on a Thursday night. Tell your friends and come back tomorrow for three sets starting at eight o’clock. Remember, what you have seen this evening is only illusion. The magic is all in your head. Sweet dreams, and good night.”
The magic is all in my head. Paris left the stage in near euphoria. He felt good enough to go on another hour. The management had told him to take as much time as he needed for this warmup performance. Too bad he’d been so committed to the conclusion of the show by the time his headache disappeared. He stepped outside the stage door and took a deep breath of the night air. Glancing up and down the alley, he almost expected to see the young woman, Serepte, waiting for him. That fantasy didn’t quite play out the way he hoped, but just thinking of her brought a smile to his face.
A jazz pianist took the stage for an impromptu late-night happy hour set. She crooned her invitation to high heel heaven and Paris sighed into the night air. Then he returned to his dressing room to remove his makeup and leave the club.
Soft tones floated over the water at Lake of the Isles. The lakes attracted walkers and romantics at all hours, day and night. The eerie tones of the bansuri flute were not so loud as to create a disturbance, but they carried across the water. A couple walking on the opposite shore of the lagoon looking for a sheltered place to stop and make out—maybe more—paused and listened to the music. It felt like it emerged from the lake itself, charming them to stillness. Geese, settled in their nests for the night, lifted their heads when the music picked up its tempo, but content that there was no alarm, soon settled down with heads beneath their wings. In one of the stately houses along the east shore, a window was opened and a child peered into the night, attempting to capture the music that had invaded her sleep.
The flutist poured herself into the music as if charming spirits of the lake that may have grown restless. But the surface her music touched was only a reflection in the still water. She opened a gateway between her world and a reality where pain could take shape and claim its beauty and freedom. She had visited here frequently, but there was a wistfulness in the tone tonight that caused the denizens of even that other reality to pause and take note.
A creature of darkness peered through the veil of his prison and solidified. It had been so easy. He touched the arms of his body, feeling the strong physical presence he had maintained in that other world for so long. The man who had previously owned the body was little more than a memory, subsumed in the demon he had called to possess it.
He was drawn to power. They shared that trait. They bathed in power while they walked on this earth long in the past, collecting it as artifacts they exchanged for wealth and wealth for power. Yet there was one they had failed to grasp. Instead, they had been imprisoned behind an impenetrable curtain in gray nothingness. They had starved, though neither body nor spirit required sustenance. So, they survived. Survived until the human part of him had lost its essence and only the demon fed on the blank nothingness of eternal madness.
Then he had heard the music for the first time and followed. He followed through the grayness for a long time before the music ceased. And then it happened again and he followed. He had no sense of time in this place. Only the thoughts in his head and his lust for power. When he had the power he craved, he would rule the world.
He discovered the prison, the impenetrable veil, held him away from only this world. Yet other worlds could be opened to him and he flowed from one to another across eons and lokas, but there was no power there for him to feed on. Still the music had called him.
And then, the music had parted the veil between a world of pain and the world of earth where he now stood. The veil of his prison did not block his entry into this world from that other reality. And when he emerged, he could feel the power emanating from that music. He hungered for it and it drew him.
The host had been convenient—a thug seeking to prey on anyone weaker than he. He was strong and armed as he had always been, with a steel blade. It whispered from its sheath as he approached the source of power. He could see her now as his eyes became accustomed to long-forgotten sights. He would take her now and feast on her power.
“She does not wish to be disturbed,” a shadow spoke and then stepped in front of him. The figure was dark and small. No match for the brute.
“Go away little girl. This is not your concern.”
“If you take one more step, I will be your only concern.”
“You should go play ninja warrior someplace else. This is a man’s game.” He heard the hiss of a blade being drawn and it met his as he swung it to ward her away. His body recalled all the tricks. He slid his blade down hers, casually directing it away from him until he felt the bite of a second blade beneath his ribs and jumped back. This was not such an innocent as he supposed. He quickly assessed her size and posture. Her sword, much longer than his knife, equalized their reach and if he got too close, her second blade was a danger. And now that their blades had touched, he could sense the power coming from her. He could sate his appetite here and save the musician for later. He attacked.
Swordfights in movies sound like ringing bells that would attract a crowd. But that is movies. The reality of their battle was nearly silent as the blade of one softly kissed the blade of the other and turned it away. She parried his attacks and pursued her own, forcing him back. Each move he made, she countered. They might have trained with the same master. In fact, her moves so smoothly met his own that he might have been fighting himself.
The flute fell silent, arresting their combat, its silence almost as powerful as the music that had floated across the water. He glanced toward the empty space where she had played and found his nemesis’ blade at his throat. He dropped his knife in surrender and stepped away, still looking toward where the music had come from. A bamboo flute lay in the grass, but there was no sign of the girl.
He backed away from the sword point and his opponent did not pursue.
“I will have her,” he threatened. “One way or another. I can raise her power. She will be mine.” He turned to walk away.
“Not tonight, Father,” she whispered after him.
“Hennepin is blocked with midnight construction at Twenty-fourth. I can swing back down to Lake Street over to Lyndale and north or I can cut over to Lake of the Isles and drive along the lake up to Franklin and cut east,” the cab driver said.
“Is Lake of the Isles a nice drive?” Paris asked.
“Pleasant. A little slower, though.”
Paris thought perhaps the driver wasn’t telling him how much slower, but he was feeling so good that he didn’t care. A little nighttime sightseeing would be fine. The driver cut west to the lake and started north up the parkway.
“Beautiful houses,” Paris said.
“Used to be the high-class part of town. Now compare these to the houses around the south end of Lake Calhoun and Harriet Lake. Those started off as summer homes and cottages. Here at Lake of the Isles, you had the wealthy. On up at the north end, the folks on Mount Curve have the priciest homes in Minneapolis. They overlook the Guthrie Theater and the Walker Art Museum. Too bad about the freeway going through there,” the driver said. Paul tried to figure out what kind of accent he had.
“Have you been in Minneapolis long?”
“Two years. In my line of work, you must get to know a city quickly. That’s why I keep my Thomas Guide on the seat next to me.”
“Have you driven in many cities?”
“All over the world.”
“Hey, stop! I mean pull over please.” Paris quickly scrambled to get his window down as they pulled up next to the young woman walking quickly along the street. “Serepte? It’s me. Paris. The magician. Are you okay? Can we give you a lift somewhere?” Paris reprimanded himself for asking so many questions without letting her answer one. He opened the door so he could get out and talk to her. She looked over her shoulder again and pushed him back into the cab then climbed in after him.
“Yes, thank you,” she said breathlessly.
The driver pulled away from the curb and simply said, “Where to?”
“I was just going to get a late-night dinner. Would you like to join me? You look like you could use a respite.” She looked at him just before she opened her mouth to give directions to her house.
“Uh… Where were you going?”
“My technician at the show suggested I try this new barbecue place on Franklin. What was the name of that again, Mark?” he asked the driver.
“Rudolphs,” both the driver and Serepte answered. She took a deep breath.
“I shouldn’t stay out too late because I have classes in the morning, but if that’s where you’re going, I’d love to join you. It’s a good place. It’s safe.”
“Just keep heading to the restaurant, Mark. Thanks!” Paris said. He shifted in his seat so he could look at Serepte, who was still catching her breath. “You look really shaken. Want to tell me?”
“I was… I think I was being followed. I just got spooked, I guess. Thank you for coming to my rescue.”
“A damsel in distress? I’ll be your knight in shining armor,” he laughed. “I’m glad we came along when we did. Why are you out in the dark alone at this time of night?”
“Oh… uh… I wasn’t completely alone. My friend was… She’ll make sure I’m not followed any farther.”
“Serepte, do we need to go back and help your friend? I’m not really a big brawny guy, but if there is somebody stalking women, he won’t hesitate to switch to your friend. Sometimes just showing up is all that’s necessary to scare these guys away,” Paris said seriously.
“My friend… She can handle whatever gets thrown her direction. She’ll throw it right back. Believe me. She’ll be fine. It was just a little spooky.”
“If you’re sure,” he said as the driver turned the corner and pulled up next to a restaurant that looked like it had a movie marquee overhead. “This must be the place. It looks great!”
“Want me to pick you up? This place closes at three,” Mark, the driver, said as Paris paid him. Paris looked at Serepte and mouthed the question. She nodded.
“That would be great, Mark. We’ll be ready.”
“Here’s my card. You can call the dispatcher if you need me sooner.”
Serepte stepped out of the car and got in the short line to be seated.
“Wow. Is it always so busy?”
“This is nothing. It’s moving as fast as they can seat people. When the bars close at one, the line will stretch down the block,” Serepte laughed. “You go ahead and get a table. I need to sneak in and use the little girls’ room. Okay?”
She slipped inside and in a few minutes, Paris was led to a table under a large potted fern with posters of Rudolph Valentino hanging on the wall. Serepte quickly joined him on the opposite side of the booth. A waitress followed her to the table. Her nametag had little flashing lights around it and declared her to be Lissa.
“What’ll you kids have tonight?” she asked in a bored tone.
“Lissa!” Serepte interrupted before Paris could say anything. “You are in the presence of The Great Paris, magician extraordinaire.”
“Oh, Dahling! I am so thr-illed to meet you. I had no idea to whom I was speaking to. Really? The Great Paris? The One and Only?” Lissa’s whole demeanor changed from bored gum-chomping waitress to 1930’s silent film star. She even threw her head back with her hand to her forehead and moved her lips as if she were on the big screen. Then, holding her hand over her heart, she made it flutter a few times as she batted her eyes at him. Paul was shocked at first and then enthralled with her performance. As it ended people at the nearby tables joined his applause for her performance. “Thank you. Thank you, dahlings. I’ll be here all weekend. Don’t forget to tip.”
“Wow! What a great performance!” Paris said. “May I have your autograph?”
“I’ll put it on your check. So, had a show tonight? You must be starving. If you are anything like me, I can’t eat before a performance. Let me recommend the ribs.”
“That sounds great. Ribs and fries and… uh…” Paris scanned the sides.
“Coleslaw!” Lissa and Serepte said together. They laughed.
“Really,” Lissa continued. “Unless you’re allergic to cabbage, you really need to try our coleslaw.” Paris nodded. “And you, honey?” she asked turning to Serepte.
“Mac-n-cheese, please?” she answered with a grin. Lissa just grinned and shook her head.
“You come to a barbecue place and order macaroni and cheese?” Paris laughed.
“I can’t help it. Their mac-n-cheese tastes like Mom’s and she makes really good cheesiest macs.” Lissa left with their drink orders for sodas and Serepte turned her sparkling eyes on Paris. “Now, tell me all about the Great Paris,” she said.
Comments
Please feel free to send comments to the author at devon@devonlayne.com.
