William Rabkin - Psych - Mind Over Magic

“All an illusion,” Shawn said. “There probably isn’t even water in that tank.”

The crowd fell silent as P’tol P’kah’s heavy boots rocked the stage. He stomped up beside the tank and surveyed the crowd.

“Is there anyone who doubts?” the green man said, his filed teeth bared in a grin that would cause most people to give up any suspicions very quickly. “Is there anyone here who wishes to challenge me?”

Gus nudged Shawn. “This is your chance. Go up and expose him.”

“Bear. Den,” Shawn said.

“Cow. Ard,” Gus said.

“I challenge you, you giant zucchini!” There was a bustle in the crowd and after a moment, Balustrade heaved his body onto the stage. “What are you going to do, throw me off this stage to keep me from investigating your tank?”

“I welcome your attention,” P’tol P’kah said. “You may study every inch of it.”

“You bet I will,” Balustrade said, walking around the tank. As he passed behind it, Gus could see his distorted image through the water. Balustrade finished his circumnavigation and appeared at the front. He rapped on the glass, and the sound was a damp, heavy thud.

“Are you satisfied?” boomed P’tol P’kah.

“Satisfied that you’re a fake,” Balustrade said.

“Would you like a closer inspection?”

“Do you have to ask?”

P’tol P’kah stomped off stage and came back wheeling out a set of metal stairs, the kind they used at airports too small to build Jetways. He wedged the steps against the side of the tank and motioned to Balustrade. “After you.”

Clutching the handrails, Balustrade climbed up the stairs. At the top, he peered down suspiciously at the tank’s lid. “I suppose you won’t let me open this.”

“You may do as you wish,” P’tol P’kah said. “Although I warn you, you may not be happy when you do.”

“Yeah, I’m the one who’s going to be unhappy,” Balustrade said. He knelt down on the top step, opened a latch, and, groaning under the weight, pulled back the lid. When he looked down into the tank, his face fell.

“Would you like a closer look?” P’tol P’kah had climbed the stairs behind Balustrade, and now, even standing two steps below the magician, towered over him.

Balustrade suddenly looked nervous. “No, I-”

“I insist,” the green man said, giving Balustrade a shove that knocked him off balance and sent him tumbling into the tank.

Balustrade sunk slowly to the bottom, his ponytail floating up behind him. Flailing desperately, the magician tried to turn himself right side up, but the tank was too narrow to maneuver in. His face reddening, cheeks puffed out with his last breath of air, the magician pounded feebly on the inside of the tank as if he hoped to break through.

The green man put his hands on his hips and let out a booming laugh. “Do you think he’s had a close enough look?” he shouted to the crowd.

A couple of people in the audience laughed, but most were silent as they watched Balustrade struggle to bring himself back above the water.

“Help him!” a woman in the crowd shouted. “He’s drowning in there!”

The green man peered out into the audience to see who was talking to him, cupping an ear to suggest that he couldn’t hear what was being shouted.

“What’s he doing?” Gus said to Shawn.

“Proving I was wrong,” Shawn said. “There really is water in there.”

“There’s a guy in there, too,” Gus said. “We should help him.”

“And mess up the trick?” Shawn said. “I’m shocked.”

“This isn’t part of the trick.”

“Isn’t it?” Shawn said.

Shawn pointed to the stage where the green man was reaching his hand up behind the proscenium arch and pulling down a sturdy cable with a noose at the end. He dropped the noose into the water and looped it around Balustrade’s ankle. Then he gave the cable a sharp tug and it retracted quickly, like a cheap roll-up window blind, pulling Balustrade straight out of the tank.

Gasping and coughing, the magician hung by his ankle, high above the stage. The green man closed the tank lid, then took the magician gently by the hand and pulled him along as he went back down the stairs. When he reached the bottom, he settled Balustrade on the stage, then unhooked the cable from around his ankle. The magician flopped on the floor, gasping like an angelfish scooped from its tank by a curious kitten.

Benny Fleck emerged from the wings. “Let’s have a round of applause for our gracious volunteer,” the small man said as he helped the still-coughing Balustrade to his feet. A small spate of confused clapping came from various corners of the room as Fleck led the magician off stage.

“Volunteer?” Gus asked Shawn. “Is that a regular part of the act?”

“I don’t know, but I bet the green guy never gets a second heckler,” Shawn said. “Besides, it accomplished its purpose.”

“To humiliate Balustrade?”

“That was a bonus,” Shawn said. “It was to keep you watching Balustrade so you wouldn’t pay attention to whatever the green giant was doing.”

“What was he doing?”

“Something he didn’t want you to notice.”

Gus waited for more details, but Shawn didn’t have any to offer. He turned his attention back to the stage, where the green man had climbed back up the stairs and reclosed the hatch, bolting it shut. He faced the audience, hands on his hips.

“Ladies and gentlemen, this is the moment where we must take our leave from each other,” he said. “If all goes according to plan, I will see you shortly. In fact, I will be right there.”

He pointed to a spot exactly in the center of the showroom. Unconsciously, the crowd edged away from his destination, in case he was planning to materialize inside of them. The three nondampened magicians who had challenged the green man in the lobby all moved a little closer.

“But it is possible that I will not return at all,” the green man continued. “To dissolve one’s molecules is difficult, but to reintegrate them is much harder. If I fail, then I will forever remain a cloud of dust suspended in a tank of water. And if that is to be my fate, then so be it!”

The green man took a deep bow, then unlatched the lid and threw it open. He stretched to his full height and stepped off the platform. Weighted down by the heavy boots, the Martian Magician sunk to the bottom of the tank. For one long moment, he stood absolutely still, staring out through the glass at the audience.

Gus knew this was a trick. He understood that everything Shawn had said was right. But as he watched the green man standing patiently at the bottom of a tank of water, he could feel the pounding of his heart, the thin trickle of sweat on his palms. His lungs began to ache for air, and he realized he’d been holding his breath since P’tol P’kah slipped under the water.

“This can’t be part of the trick,” Gus whispered to Shawn. “There’s got to be something wrong.”

“That’s what you’re supposed to think,” Shawn said.

“Well, I’m not the only one here who’s good at taking instruction.” Gus gestured at the crowd of bachelor partyers. They were staring, transfixed, worry on their faces. Even some of the magicians in the room were beginning to look concerned.

“We should do something,” Gus said.

“You’re right,” Shawn said. “If we left now, we could beat the rush to the parking lot.”

Before Gus could respond, there was a gasp from the audience. He turned back to the stage to see that the water in the tank had changed. Before it had been perfectly still. Now it bubbled and frothed like a glass of cheap champagne. As Gus stared, he realized that the bubbles were coming from the green man’s body.