martinsmithstories

Image credit: Kranich17 from Pixabay

Harry arrived backstage on the night of the magic show in tears and short of breath. He held a flattened top hat and a snapped wand, and mud covered his cape and pants. He found Mr Le Marvellous side stage, holding a clipboard.

‘Hello, my boy,’ the old man said. ‘Here, at last. I was beginning to worry you’d got stage fright. Not to worry. I’ve bumped you to the bottom of the programme. You’re on next.’

Harry released a sob. ‘M … M … Mr Le Marvellous. I can’t do my act. Our car broke down, and by the time we hailed a taxi and got here, I was in a rush and slipped in the wet car park and fell on my top hat and wand, and now they’re broken.’

Harry fell into Mr Le Marvellous’s arms and sobbed.

Mr Le Marvellous hugged Harry and patted him on the back. ‘My boy, my boy. There, there. Don’t let a little technical glitch hinder your big moment. It’s you, not the equipment, that makes magic. Here, you can borrow mine.’

The old man removed his cape and placed it over Harry’s shoulders. He took off his top hat, placed it on Harry’s disbelieving head and handed him his wand.

‘But … but …’

‘No buts, my boy. The show must simply go on.’

‘But … Mr Le Marvellous, what do I do?’

‘Quite simple, my boy. Just place the top hat on the chair and tap the rim three times with the wand while saying “Abracadabra”. Then reach in and pull it out.’

‘What’s “it”?’

‘You’ll see.’

Beyond the side-curtain there came applause. A white dove fluttered over Harry’s head, and a young girl exited the stage, wearing a cape covered in white feathers and grey goo.

Assisted by his cane, Mr Le Marvellous hobbled onto the stage, stood before a microphone and said, ‘Thank you, Sarah, for your wonderfully entertaining act. I’ll just introduce our final magician, and then I’ll help you capture that dove.’

The audience laughed.

Mr Le Marvellous cleared his throat and said, ‘Ladies and gentlemen, girls and boys, our final magic act tonight is to be performed by one of our most promising magicians. He’s a little nervous, tonight, so please show him your support, and I assure you that the magic he’s about to perform will amaze you. Without further ado, I present Harry Legerdemain and the “Hat Trick”.’

A feeble applause greeted Harry as he shuffled on stage.

The old man gave Harry a reassuring pat on the shoulder as he passed him, then tapped his wooden leg with his cane and whispered, ‘Break a leg, my boy.’

Harry stood mid-stage, and shielding his eyes from the glaring stage lights, he peered into the audience. In the last row, he spotted his family: his mother with her fingers crossed, his father with his hands clasped in prayer, his sister with her hands over her eyes and, lastly, his brother, who ran his index finger across his throat, dropped his head and lolled his tongue.

The audience coughed and stirred as fear froze Harry. I can’t do this, he thought. And he wished for a handful of magic dust so he could disappear with an Alakazam and a puff of smoke.

Harry looked to the side of the stage for salvation. Mrs Le Marvellous’s pallid jowls puffed like a goldfish, and a white dove sat upon Mr Le Marvellous’s bald head.

Harry mouthed to the old man, ‘Help. Help me.’

Mr Le Marvellous pointed to the top hat in Harry’s shaking hand and whispered, ‘Go on, my boy, pull a rabbit out of the hat.’

‘A rabbit?’ Harry mouthed back to him.

‘Yes. Just tap the hat three times with the wand and say the magic word. And remember to entice, enthral and entertain.’

Harry gave the old man a nervous nod and turned and faced the glaring stage lights and said, ‘Behold. An empty hat.’ He held the hat in his shaky hand and presented its black inside to the audience. ‘Now, I will pull a rabbit out of this hat.’

A snort of disbelief came from the back row.

Harry closed his eyes, tapped the rim of the hat three times and said, ‘Abracadabra.’

The audience fell silent in anticipation.

Harry opened an eye and peeked inside the top hat. Only a black emptiness returned his glance. He looked over to Mr Le Marvellous, and the old man signalled for Harry to reach his hand into the hat. Harry reached in and felt about. Nothing. Panic filled Harry. Trapped under the glare of the stage lights, he was Bambi, and a freight train of failure was about to run him down. He took a step to flee the stage, but something sharp within the top hat clamped down on his fingers. He released an ‘ouch’ and pulled his hand out of the hat, and to his horror he saw a pair of dentures, pink and moist and buck-toothed, biting down hard on his fingers.

A roar of laughter filled the auditorium. Tears filled Harry’s eyes. He turned to flee, but he ran into the arms of Mrs Le Marvellous as she entered stage right.

‘Ah, there they are,’ she said through a gummy mouth that sat between a pair of floppy jowls. ‘I knew I’d left them somewhere.’ And she took the dentures from Harry, placed them in her mouth and exited stage left.

A bewildered Harry looked towards Mr Le Marvellous, hoping the old man would come on stage and end his misery. Again the old man urged him to reach his hand into the hat.

This time Harry’s fingers felt a solid, cuboid, icy-cold object inside. He gripped the object and pulled it out of the hat. In his hands he held a plastic lunch box, and on its lid, written in a shaky scrawl, the words Rabbit Stew stared back at him. The audience released a roar of laughter. Harry fled again, only to run into the open arms of an approaching Mr Le Marvellous.

‘Breathe, my boy, breathe,’ the old man whispered in Harry’s ear. ‘You’ve got the audience in the palm of your hand: enticed, enthralled and entertained.’

Still embracing Harry, Mr Le Marvellous turned and said to the audience, ‘Well done, my boy, you’ve found my dinner.’ And he and the audience laughed. Harry’s legs weakened and his head dizzied, but Mr Le Marvellous’s firm hand on his shoulder steadied him.

‘And now, ladies and gentlemen,’ Mr Le Marvellous said, ‘the finale. Behold! Magic!’ He squeezed Harry’s shoulder and whispered, ‘Go on, my boy. All you need to do is believe.’

Harry closed his eyes and whispered, ‘I believe. I believe. I believe.’ He then tapped the hat three times and said, ‘Abracadabra.’ He opened an eye and peeked inside the hat and gasped, for there, inside the black top hat, sat a snow-white bunny looking up at him with gleeful red eyes.

‘Go on, my boy. Reach in,’ Mr Le Marvellous whispered.

Harry flourished his wrist and reached in and placed his hand under the rabbit’s soft, furry belly. He’d done it. Magic. All he had to do was pull the rabbit out of the hat. No exploding cards. No dismembered limbs. No cindered mentors this time. Just a harmless, fluffy bunny. What could go wrong?

As a relieved Harry lifted the bunny, a gnarled, bony hand from deep within the hat reached up and gripped Harry’s wrist and pulled. Harry gasped and pulled, but the gnarled hand pulled harder, and Harry slid towards the chair as his forearm disappeared inside the hat.

The audience gasped as Harry’s face reddened. A howl of laughter came from the back row. Mr Le Marvellous hobbled over and wrapped his arms around Harry’s waist.

‘Believe, my boy!’

The hand within the top hat pulled harder, and Harry’s stretched arm and shoulder disappeared inside the hat. A tut came from side stage, and Mrs Le Marvellous wandered on stage, wrapped her arms around her husband’s waist and said, ‘Not that rodent, again, Marvin! I told you we needed rat poison.’

The audience released a nervous laugh.

‘Believe, my boy!’

Harry’s face teetered at the rim of the top hat, and he looked within, but only a fathomless darkness greeted him. No bottom, no bunny, no gripping hand.

‘Believe, Harry!’

With a final mighty pull, the hand dragged Harry into the hat, and he fell into a great darkness and landed with a thud upon a carpeted surface. He sat and looked about, but the darkness blinded him. Only far, far above did he spy a small hole and the distant glare of the stage lights.

As Harry stood, a frail voice said, ‘Is that you, Irving?’

‘It is, Ira,’ Mr Le Marvellous said, invisible in the dark.

A click sounded near Harry. The dull yellow light of a bulb revealed a little grey-haired man struggling to rise from a battered armchair. He stood, stooped and leaning unsteadily upon a cane, and peered beyond the fringe of the light. Mr Le Marvellous stepped into the light and stood beside Harry.

‘It is you, Irving. I thought you’d never come, my boy.’

Mr Le Marvellous stepped forward and hugged Ira. After backslaps and cheek kisses, the two old men parted: Mr Le Marvellous’s cheeks aflame and Ira’s toupee askew.

‘It’s good to see you, Ira. It’s been too long. Look, I brought Isabella with me.’

Mrs Le Marvellous stepped into the light, and Harry did a double-take when the old woman revealed a dazzling, youthful smile.

‘Why, Issy,’ Ira said, ‘you’ve not aged a day since we last met. Still raging a losing battle against those pesky pests at the community hall, my girl?’

Mrs Le Marvellous released a girlish titter and enveloped Ira in a hug, and the old man and his toupee disappeared amidst her cape and bird’s nest.

When Ira re-emerged, toupee in hand, he looked over at Harry and said, ‘And who do we have here, Irving?’

Mr Le Marvellous placed his hand on Harry’s shoulder and said, ‘Ira, allow me to present Harry Legerdemain. Harry, this is the Great Gonstanzo. He is my and Mrs Le Marvellous’s teacher and mentor.’

Ira extended a shaky, frail hand. ‘It is a pleasure to meet you, my boy.’

Harry shook Ira’s hand and said, ‘Hello.’

‘So you’re a true believer, my boy?’ Ira said.

‘Indeed, he is,’ Mr Le Marvellous said. ‘He’s my finest student, who’s about to complete the “Hat Trick”.’

‘The “Hat Trick”, eh?’ Ira stood a little straighter and beamed a gappy smile. ‘Why, it must be seventy years since someone pulled off that trick. Weren’t you the last one to do it, Irving?’

Mr Le Marvellous chuckled and said, ‘I believe I was, Ira. Seventy years? My, my, how time flies. I do believe it was on that very same night that I first kissed Izzy. Now that was magic.’

‘And now this young man has stepped forward. He must be special.’

‘He certainly is, Ira. He’s one of us. Probably the best of all of us.’

‘A worthy successor, eh?’

‘Yes. But now he should return to the stage and complete his act. He can’t leave the audience enticed, enthralled and entertained forever.’

‘Still plugging the old three Es, Irving?’ And Ira cackled.

Mr Le Marvellous turned and placed his hand upon Harry’s shoulder. ‘You’d best get back, my boy.’

‘OK. After you, Mr and Mrs Le Marvellous.’

‘We’re not going back, my boy.’

‘Not going back?’

‘No, we’ve played our last show.’

Tears welled in Harry’s eyes. ‘But you have to. I’ve finally mastered a trick, and there’s so much more I want you to teach me.’

‘I’ve taught you everything you need to know, my boy. It’s all up to you now. You’ve got your entire future ahead of you, years and years of the greatest magic of all: life. Go, my boy, and remember: believe.’

‘But … but …’

‘Go, Harry.’

Tears streamed down Harry’s face, and he choked back a sob and ran his sleeve across his runny nose. ‘Goodbye, Mr Gonstanzo. Goodbye, Mrs Le Marvellous. And goodbye, Mr Le … Le … Le …’ Harry ran into Mr Le Marvellous’s arms and released a sobbing howl.

After Harry’s tears subsided, the old man gave Harry a final pat on his back and released him. ‘And you’ll be needing this, my boy.’ He handed Harry the white bunny.

Harry clutched the bunny against his chest. ‘Thank you, Mr Le Marvellous. Thank you for everything.’

‘No, my boy, thank you.’

***

When Harry reached the top of the stairs inside the hat, he thought the audience had gone home as only the heated glare of the spotlights and an eerie silence greeted him and his bunny. Harry drew a deep breath, climbed out of the hat and stepped back onto the stage. And the audience roared to life. Claps and cheers and hoots deafened Harry, and the crowd rose and stood as one. Harry smiled, raised his arm in the air and took a long, sweeping bow. On and on the clapping and cheering continued. He sought out the back row, and there stood his family. Tears ran down his parents’ and sister’s cheeks, and his brother stood upon his seat, wolf-whistling and whooping and shouting, ‘More, more.’

***

Two months after Mr and Mrs Le Marvellous were laid to rest in the wooden box Harry had sawed in half—with the community hall closed and dark on Wednesday evenings and the Speldlings’ barber shop boarded up—two boxes arrived at the Legerdemain house.

‘Delivery for Mr Harry Legerdemain,’ the courier said.

Harry signed the docket with a shaky hand and carried the boxes inside. With his family looking on, a bewildered Harry opened the smaller of the two boxes and pulled out a cut-throat razor, a pair of barber’s scissors, a shaving strop and a set of shop keys.

Harry placed the box aside and opened the larger box and removed a battered, dusty, black top hat. Harry looked inside the hat and pulled out a rickety old wand and a large black-and-white photograph in which sat a handsome, dark-haired young man with a toothy grin and a twirled black pencil moustache. A black top hat sat upon his head, and a black, shiny cape half-hid a crisp, slick tuxedo. Beside him, with her arms draped around his shoulders, leant a beautiful young woman with a dazzling smile and a glittering gown. Beside the happy couple a billboard read: The Marvin and Mavis Le Marvellous Show of Magic and Illusion. And across the bottom of the photo, a flourishing hand had written: To my favourite student. All you need to do is believe.

***

These days, Harry’s an old man, as pencil-moustached and stooped and grey as his mentor all those years ago. Harry stopped cutting hair a few years back, but he, with his beautiful wife, Hannah, still runs the Le Marvellous School of Magic and Illusion at the community hall on a Wednesday evening. Before his parents died, they sometimes came and sat and watched Harry teach the kids all kinds of magic, and they marvelled at the man—indeed, the diamond—their son had become.

Harry has only a few students now, mostly the children, grandchildren or great-grandchildren of all the students he’d taught over the years. He’ll tell you they’re hard work, this modern generation of young magicians. They think they know everything, and they hop on their phones and try to demystify the tricks he teaches them, though they still haven’t figured out how he ends up in the car park.

When the class’s interest wanes, Harry gets them to form a conga line and places Mr Le Marvellous’s top hat on a seat. He taps the hat three times with the rickety old wand, says the magic word and even throws about a little magic dust, just to add a bit of enticement, enthralment and entertainment. Once the air clears, Harry looks down into the hat, and Mr Le Marvellous appears, holding a grey, droop-eared, red-eyed bunny, and the old man looks up to the old Harry and gives him a smile. The elder man’s gnarled hand reaches up and grasps Harry’s liver-spotted hand and drags him and the rest of the conga line into the hat. Mrs Le Marvellous fumigates the new arrivals with pumps of her hand fly sprayer, puts the kettle on and lays out a plate of cookies and glasses of chilled milk, and Mr Le Marvellous spends half an hour wandering about the students, helping them master their tricks, all the while whispering in their ears, ‘All you need to do is believe. Believe in the magic.’

For my parents, who taught me to believe