William Rabkin - Psych - Mind Over Magic

An excited buzz ran through the crowd, and members of the Fortress began to shout out questions. Mostly the magicians wanted to know when this new trick was going to premiere, but at least two were asking how they might buy tickets.

“And he’ll do that on a stage fifty feet from the nearest member of the audience so no one can see what a fake he is,” Balustrade said. “Real magic isn’t like going to see The Matrix at a movie theater. It’s up close. It’s personal. It’s real.”

“It’s three shows a night at the Budget Buffet Dinner Theater,” Fleck said. “That’s what you mean, isn’t it? Real magic is what you do, the way you do it, and nothing else counts?”

Another wave of laughter rippled through the crowd. Balustrade’s face was getting redder by the second. He sputtered and spit, but he was so enraged, his tongue couldn’t form words.

The tattooed woman didn’t have the same problem. “We all know what stage magic is supposed to be, and we know where the art of it lies,” she shouted to the crowd. “All of you, fellow magicians, have spent years perfecting your art, mastering your craft, honing your skills so that what you do is seamless. Perfect. So that you can stand right in front of your audience and they will never be able to figure out your illusion. But this man might as well be George Lucas, casting digital shadows on a wall. He is not worthy of your respect, or of the name magician.”

Gus looked around the room and saw that the woman’s impassioned plea had actually begun to move some of his listeners. Benny Fleck apparently saw the same thing, because he lifted his arms high in the air-high for him, anyway, which brought them roughly to the level of Gus’ nose-and spoke in a serious voice.

“P’tol P’kah has heard the complaints of his fellow practitioners, and it has hurt him deeply,” Fleck said. “Although he is not a native of this planet-”

“Oh, knock it off for five minutes,” Rudge moaned from his new spot deep in the crowd.

Fleck glared at Rudge, then started over. “Although P’tol P’kah is not a native of this planet, as so many of you know, he has adopted Earth as his home. And he feels closer to you, his brethren, than to any other humans. All he desires is your respect.”

“And the hundred K a week he pulls down at the casino,” the man in red vinyl muttered.

“For many, many months he has heard these complaints,” Fleck continued. “That he performs too far from the audience. That somehow he cheats with technology. That he is not a real magician. And his desire for privacy has only inflamed the rumors. But tonight, he has come here to put all this to rest. Tonight, P’tol P’kah has come to the Fortress of Magic to prove to his fellow magicians that he belongs not only among your number, but at the top of your profession.”

“It’s a profession now?” Shawn whispered to Gus. “Does that make three-card monte a career path?”

Gus waved him off, fascinated by the argument going on in front of him.

“I got a deck of cards, if he wants to start with a few basic moves,” Balustrade said.

“We’ll dispense with the sleight of hand,” Fleck said. “P’tol P’kah has come to the Fortress of Magic to prove that he does not need a special stage or lighting to perform his miracles. He has come to you tonight to perform for you the keystone of his act.”

A woman in the crowd gasped. “The Dissolving Man?”

“The Dissolving Man,” Fleck confirmed. “In front of your eyes, P’tol P’kah will immerse himself in a tank of water, and the lid will be locked. And then in front of your eyes, he will become one with the water. He will dissolve into a cloud of bubbles. And then he will rematerialize outside the tank. I tell you all the parts to this performance now so you can watch at every step for chicanery.”

A spontaneous burst of excited applause broke out in the room.

“If this demonstration is of interest to you, I invite you to come into the main showroom now,” Fleck said. “Or you can stay here and count how many people have the five of hearts in their shoes.”

Fleck made a theatrical turn and led the way down the hallway. Chattering excitedly, the crowd of magicians, bachelor partyers, book club members, and other guests followed. Lyle Wheelock was at the head of the crowd, and he was pushing past his guest of honor to be among the first to get into the showroom.

“I don’t think your father’s present can compete with the Dissolving Man,” Gus said, gesturing down at the wrapped gift that was still in Shawn’s hand.

“You’re right. Let’s go home.”

Shawn started toward the door. Gus grabbed his arm. “What do you mean ‘home’?”

“Generally I mean that place where I keep my clothes and my toothbrush,” Shawn said. “Although in this case I think I really meant anywhere that doesn’t have magicians in it.”

“You don’t want to see how a seven-foot-tall Martian dissolves in a tank of water?”

“I’ve got a package of lime Fizzies in my kitchen,” Shawn said. “Probably pretty much the same effect.”

“Only if the Fizzie can reconstitute itself into a tablet across your kitchen. Come on, you can’t tell me you’re not the slightest bit curious about how he’s going to pull this off.”

Shawn sighed heavily. “Because it’s impossible, right?”

“Well, yeah.”

“See, that’s the problem,” Shawn said. “He’s telling you he’s going to do something that’s impossible. Which means he’s figured out a foolproof way to make it look like he’s doing the impossible, while he’s really backstage, making out with a showgirl or something. So who cares?”

“I do.”

“Only because you haven’t thought it through.”

“That could be,” Gus said. “But there’s something you haven’t thought through.”

“What’s that?”

“I’ve got the car keys.”

Gus turned and followed the last of the crowd down the hallway. Shawn cast a longing glance at the front door, then followed him toward the showroom.

The tank was simple, a glass rectangle ten feet tall and four feet across with steel brackets reinforcing the corners and a metal lid on the top. It towered over Benny Fleck in the middle of an empty stage that was raised three feet above the showroom’s threadbare rug.

“As you can see, P’tol P’kah has nothing to hide,” Fleck said as the audience crowded the edge of the stage for a better view. “And more important, he has no place to hide. He will perform this astonishing feat directly before your eyes.”

Gus and Shawn stood at the back of the room, nearly forced against the rear wall by the crowd of spectators.

“Figured out how he’s going to do it yet?” Gus said.

“You really think this is something special, don’t you?” Shawn said.

“Five minutes ago you were cowering in fear because the defrosted Frankenstein monster was going to eat you,” Gus said. “So don’t act like you’re better than everyone else here.”

“I wasn’t afraid,” Shawn said. “I saw that you were enjoying the experience, and I decided to enhance the moment with a small performance of my own.”

“If your performance was any bigger, you’d have to change your pants.”

“It’s about committing to the moment,” Shawn said. “Now that moment is over, and all that’s left is some fugitive from vaudeville who’s painted himself green to trick the rubes into thinking he can do magic.”

“If it’s so obvious, go ahead and tell me.”

Shawn studied the tank on stage, examining the way the theatrical lighting refracted through the water in the tank, sending ripples of light across the room.