The Great Magician (Deleted Stories)

As the man in the top hat performed the final vanishing act upon him; closing the lid of the box, the Great Marvello knew that he had been outsmarted by a far greater conjuror than he.

He had appeared, suddenly, the day before, after the great Marvello’s matinee performance, seemingly growing out of the shadows of his dressing room.

“I’m impressed”, said the Great Marvello, “Where the heck did you spring from? Is there a trap door under my dressing room?”.

“Is everything magical a trick?”, asked the man, shaking his head and tutting, “What if I told you that it was real magic?”.

“Ha!”, scoffed the Great Marvello, tapping his nose, “Now, we both know very well that there’s no such thing as ‘real’ magic”.

Then the Great Marvello seemed to pull a cheap cigar out of his right ear and light the end of it with his finger tip, taking a puff upon it and blowing out large blue smoke rings.

The mystery magician merely coughed and conjured up a tiny electric hand fan to shield his lungs from the foul smelling smoke, “Oh, but Great Marvello, what if everything you know or think you know; all that you take to be real is in itself a trick; an illusion. What if true magic hides itself away from conjurors and con men”.

It was an amusing idea, the thought that all the kidders were being kidded but, to an arch sceptic like the Great Marvello, that’s all it was, just an amusing idea.

“It’s something we could have a long philosophical discussion about”, he answered, yawning, “But I’m tired and I really don’t want to get into it right now”.

The other Magician pulled up the sleeve of his black jacket and looked at the watch on his wrist, “Yes, you are rather pressed for time”, he said, nodding, “So I’ll only say this. Tomorrow, when you do your big vanishing trick. That’s when I do my magic”.

Then the mysterious magician smiled warmly; then he was no more than a smile; a cheshire cat grin or a lipstick mark upon the air; then even his smile was gone.

“I’d really love to know how he did that”, thought the Great Marvello; stubbing out his cigar and pawing at the air infront of him, looking for mirrors.

But then, the next day, as he was stepping into his trick cabinet to do the big finale of his act; “The Vanishing Man”, he noticed that other, mysterious magician again , sitting in the front row of the audience and, strangely, though the man was dressed from head to foot like a conjuror in a black top hat and long black cape, no one round about him in the audience seemed to think it in the least bit odd. Even those in the seats directly behind him, whose view his tall top hat must surely have been obscuring, said nothing but seemed merely to look straight through it.

Then that other magician smiled again and this time, it was an unnerving sort of smile that made the Great Marvello hesitate for a moment as he started to pull the door of his trick cabinet shut.

But he kept going as usual, “After all, the show must go on”, he thought.

That’s the moment when he started feeling the pains begin inside his chest; pains like a hand squeezing firmly upon his heart. “Am I having a cardiac arrest?”, he wondered, panicking.

And suddenly there was a loud gasp from his audience; not because he had disappeared but because he was stumbling back out of his cabinet and onto the stage, gripping his heart and then, all of a sudden, a dark curtain seemed to be falling between him and the audience and even the sound of them seemed to be buried beneath that curtain.

Now, as the man in the top hat; not a magician this time but an undertaker, performed the big vanishing act upon him, boxing him away and consigning him to eternal darkness and slow decay; closing the lid of the box, his coffin. He knew that he had been outsmarted by a far greater conjuror than himself; the grim reaper, perhaps or maybe just Old Father Time.

“Time indeed”, said a loud voice from deep within him, “Time is the ultimate conjuror. Though people tend to focus so much upon his vanishings that they forget all the good things which time makes appear; they forget about the roses which he pulls miraculously from the earth and makes bloom and worry only about the fact that they themselves will wither. Talk about bad reviews. What if practically everyone in the whole world was your critic and, no matter how many miracles you made appear before them they would only ever see your limitations and failings”.

But then, something even more astonishing happened; as if his mind was a rabbit being pulled out of a hat ; he felt himself drawn towards a bright, white light in the darkness and then.

“Oh my god”, he thought.

“I believe Abracadabra is the word you magicians customarily use”, said the voice, revealing itself to be an angel as reality disappeared as if by sleight of hand and another world beyond life was revealed to him.

“It was all just an illusion”, his spirit yelled in amazement, “An illusion!”.

Then the whole universe seemed to smile, “If you think that’s impressive”, it said, “Just wait till you see Heaven”.