The Art of Disappearing

by Ivy Pochoda

  At the center of the crowd were two acrobats wearing tailcoats over Lycra leggings. They had slicked-back hair, and their makeup matched Olivia’s.

  “Those are the Christophs,” she said over the music. “One is Dutch, the other Belgian. They also work for Leo.”

  The dancers made room for the Christophs as they launched into a series of impressive acrobatic moves. They did handstands on one another’s shoulders. They linked their arms and feet and formed a human wheel that rolled across the floor. They flipped and twirled and landed in each other’s arms. And when they were done, they slipped into the crowd, and the dancers closed over the open space they’d left behind.

  The air was filled with incense and alcohol. The music crept inside me. I lost Toby. I looked across the room and saw his silk robe vanish into one of the corridors. A man dressed as a snake charmer took my hands and twirled me into the air. He set me down and disappeared. I turned in circles until I stumbled out of the room. Soon Olivia and I were moving deeper into the catacombs, stepping over partiers who’d sunk to the floor, staring at tarot cards in the torchlight or drinking hot cups of twiggy tea.

  The party spun away from me on all sides. I saw someone swallow a sword. A contortionist squeezed herself through a tiny hoop. The music grew darker, its beat deeper. The light from the torches licked the archways with tendrils of orange flame. I ducked into a corridor and saw bodies slumped on velveteen cushions while a silent movie of a vaudeville act played on the wall.

  Toby stood at the deepest point of the catacombs on a stone platform beneath an arch that framed his head. His features were crossed by shadows—his face almost opaque. But even in the dim room, the phoenix robe glowed. The dragons on the front slithered to the music, and I imagined the phoenix on the back rejoicing in the flaming torches.

  A crowd had gathered. A ball of fire burst from Toby’s clenched fist, then shot upward and hovered in the air while the magician conjured another. When he had five balls at his command, he began to juggle. He tossed the balls in the air, sometimes shooting them over the crowd so they formed an ellipse that circled into his hands. Then he threw them over his head, and they swirled around him like a halo.

  Olivia and I drew closer. Toby gathered the fireballs into one flaming mass, which he stretched into a semicircle. I felt someone move into the space between me and Olivia. A large man dressed in a maroon velvet tuxedo stared at the stage.

  “Leo!”

  But Leo didn’t answer Olivia.

  Finally, Toby clapped his hands. The fire shot out over the crowd in two thick streams, then spread across the ceiling and vanished. Toby stepped off the stage. The audience swayed and twirled to the music.

  Olivia and I rushed to Toby, but Leo got there first.

  “This robe,” he said, lifting one of Toby’s arms and stroking the silk. “Where did you get it?”

  “Mel, my wife,” Toby stuttered, looking my way, “someone gave it to her. To us.” He was not ready for conversation.

  “I made this robe,” Leo said. “I made it with my partner, Erik.” He let go of Toby’s arm and offered him a oversized hand. “I am Leo, and this is my party.”

  “Toby Warring.”

  “A magician,” Leo said.

  “And this is Mel,” Toby continued.

  “A fabric designer,” Olivia added. “Fabrics sing to her.”

  Leo clasped my small palm in both his hands. “Do they?”

  I nodded.

  “Then we have much to talk about,” Leo said, leading our little group to a stone alcove piled high with velvet cushions.

  A lantern swung from the top of the alcove, casting a glow on Leo’s mane of sleek gray hair. His face was long, with plump lips and a hooked nose, rounded at the tip. Despite his ungainly size and his age, his carriage was graceful. Even as he sat, he seemed to radiate a strange vitality. My eyes lingered on his suit.

  “You are American,” Leo said, taking four glasses of wine from a passing tray.

  Toby and I nodded. “We’ve been here only a few days,” Toby said.

  “You are, I imagine, staying with one of Theo’s magicians. Or perhaps with Theo himself.”

  “With Piet,” I explained.

  “Piet.” Leo let the name hang for a moment. “Piet, I always liked best. He’s the one who didn’t do magic.”

  “You don’t like magic?” Toby asked.

  “Magic was Erik’s domain. We lived together for more than thirty years. He disappeared during a hiking trip in the Dolomites.” Leo looked out over the room at the dancers watching the snake charmer who’d taken Toby’s place on the platform. “We met Theo and his company in Japan. They had just performed at the Royal Palace. We saw them in Kyoto. There was something odd about Theo’s shows. I found them unsettling. But Erik was transfixed.”

  “What did he do?” Toby asked, waving his palm over Leo’s glass, changing the wine from red to white and back again.

  Leo laughed and sipped his wine. “The first show we saw was astounding. He made oranges turn into doves in the middle of the air. The doves flew through the audience and turned into smoke. That very night, Erik decided to make this robe. He wanted to make something that captured the flow of Theo’s magic. His idea was that the robe’s design would be choreographed to the illusions. He never imagined that it would take four years to complete.”

  “Four years?” I asked.

  “Erik’s relationship with fabric is not easy to explain.”

  Olivia winked at me.

  “And I,” Leo continued, “had to embroider the thing myself.”

  “You embroidered this?” I held Toby’s sleeve.

  Leo nodded. “Erik designed it. He researched the phoenix and the dragons for a long time. Then he designed it, and I followed his instructions.” He finished his wine and sighed. “I thought seeing it again would bring Erik closer.” He shook his head. “It doesn’t. It reminds me more of Theo.” The snake charmer left the platform, replaced by a burlesque dancer.

  “Leo and Erik made many costumes for the magicians,” Olivia added.

  “Yes. We did swamis, Sikhs, Chinese mystics. Very old-fashioned costumes. I’m sure Piet has them tucked away somewhere.”

  “Oh, he does,” Toby said. “I can’t imagine him throwing anything out. Not even a single set list.”

  Leo smiled. “So, you are here to carry on the strange tradition of Theo van Eyck.”

  “No,” Toby replied. “I always wanted to be a Las Vegas magician. Although my tricks might seem old-fashioned, Theo’s style is antique. There’s something about the modern grit of Las Vegas that speaks to me.”

  “Then why bury yourself in a house full of crumbling men?”

  “Because, Las Vegas spat me out. My magic is no longer welcome there or maybe anywhere.”

  Leo nodded. “There is a gritty side to this city, too. Maybe it will inspire you. But be careful: Amsterdam is a magicians’ graveyard. Secrets come here to die.” He shook Toby’s shoulder. “But you are too young for that.”

  Olivia popped a cigarette into her mouth. Toby cupped his palms. In an instant, the space between his hands began to glow. Olivia leaned forward. Toby clapped, and the light in his hands went out.

  Olivia sat back and exhaled. “Some trick,” she said.

  A woman in a long pink wig, a rhinestone bodice over denim shorts, and stockings held up by black garters peered into our alcove. “Found him,” she called over her shoulder.

  Toby looked up.

  “You’re the man who can play with fire,” she said.

  The magician smiled. “Sometimes.”

  She leaned in close. “Come,” she said, pulling Toby to his feet. “Unfair of you to hide in the corner.” Then she noticed Leo. “Sorry to steal him from the host.”

  “Be my guest,” Leo said.

  Toby hesitated. I put my hand on his back, urging him up.

  “They all want to see,” the woman in the wig whispered.

  Toby turned to Leo, who e
xtended his hand. “You’ll come visit us sometime.”

  “Of course,” the magician replied.

  Toby stepped into the corridor, and the flames on all the torches turned from orange to blue.

  Leo watched him go, the phoenix dancing at his back, then turned to me. “I haven’t forgotten that fabric sings to you.”

  “Not at the moment,” I said. “The wine and the music are taking care of that.”

  “We have many things to discuss. But now you two should be dancing.”

  Olivia extinguished her cigarette.

  “Olivia, make sure Mel comes to the villa.”

  Olivia nodded.

  Leo fingered the red ribbons that dangled from the bodice of my costume, holding their ends up to the lantern. “Since Erik disappeared, his fabrics seem lifeless. Perhaps you can bring them to life. If only for a moment.”

  “I can try.”

  “Now, dance. It’s the reason I throw these things.”

  It was my turn to lead, drawing Olivia from the alcove and onto the dance floor. On our way, she grabbed two mugs of tea. It tasted of twigs and earth. Olivia finished hers in one gulp and followed me.

  The pace of the music picked up. I lost Olivia and found myself between the two Christophs. Soon the dance floor began to glow. The Christophs stopped dancing. The crowd parted, and the fiery silhouettes of two dragons and a phoenix began to sway in time to the music. In the center of the three was Toby. He was dancing.

  We slept until lunchtime the next day. When I got out of bed, leaving the magician to his dreamtime conjuring, my head felt swollen and my legs were uncertain. I crept down Piet’s perilous stairs, hoping for coffee and solitude, but found Theo sitting alone at the table.

  “Good afternoon,” he said.

  “Hi,” I replied.

  “Piet’s gone out,” Theo said.

  “Would you like coffee?”

  Theo nodded. “It is the jet lag?” the elegant magician wondered as I filled the pot with water.

  “Something like that.”

  “And Toby?”

  “He’ll be down soon.”

  “Good. This will give us time to talk.”

  I brought the coffee to the table and poured it into cups.

  “Tell me, how often do you think about your hands?” Theo asked.

  “Excuse me?”

  “Your hands.”

  I looked down at my short fingers and my square palms. Square palms—the sign of an artist, someone told me once. “Sometimes,” I answered. “From time to time.”

  “From time to time,” Theo mused, spooning sugar into his cup. “Your husband has the most extraordinary hands.”

  I nodded.

  “I hope he does not plan to suffocate their potential. There is so much he can do.”

  I sipped my coffee.

  “We can help him.”

  “How?” I asked.

  “There are tricks that will restore his faith in magic. When the time comes, I hope you will convince him to do them.”

  I shook my head. “When it comes to magic, I can hardly convince Toby of anything.”

  “That is because you haven’t tried.”

  I refilled my cup.

  “You volunteered for Toby’s trick in Las Vegas.”

  I nodded.

  “Why?”

  I looked into Theo’s eyes. His irises swirled, holding my gaze until I answered. “I was worried something would go wrong.”

  “And why was that?” The elder magician wouldn’t look away.

  “The woman Toby made disappear warned me that it would.”

  “But you didn’t tell him.”

  I shook my head. “Toby’s magic wasn’t what went wrong at the Winter Palace.”

  “Anytime a magician invites someone onto his stage, that person becomes part of the magic. Your husband should know that.” Theo blinked and released me from his stare. “Perhaps you should have said something.”

  “Maybe.”

  “Let us hope that the next time you have the opportunity to advise Toby, you will take it.”

  “I can’t see when that will happen.”

  “Soon. We have a trick that will make magic meaningful for Toby once more. He is a magician, like I was, and knows nothing else. When the time comes, convince him. Magic is his happiness. It is his calling. I’m sure there’s nothing you wouldn’t do for him.” Theo reached across the table and tapped the back of my hand with his hardened fingertips. “This is why you came to me.”

  Something in Theo’s tone wouldn’t let me admit he was right, so I pushed my chair back and collided with Toby as he walked in.

  “And why have we come?” Toby asked. He sounded cheerful, as if last night’s party had set something free in him.

  Theo smiled. “So that I can show you what remains of our little golden age.” He winked. “And so that you can explore some of Amsterdam’s best secrets.”

  “Secrets?” Toby said. “I cannot have secrets before coffee.”

  The stately theaters that line the east side of the Amstel are hospitable to musicals, opera, and ballet—really, anything that comes their way. Theo led us down a small street between two of these theaters, where props and posters were stacked against stage doors and I could hear a show tune being rehearsed in one of the buildings. At the back of the alley was a limestone building nearly obscured by vines. A small flight of steps led to the entrance. As he approached the door, Theo kicked aside a carpet of leaves and crumpled paper and withdrew an impressive iron key for the large rusted lock. The door opened with a groan, admitting us to dust and shadow.

  “When my company was in its prime, we had our own theater.” We heard the click of a switch, and a weak yellow bulb flickered to life. “This is it.”

  We were standing at the edge of what once must have been an elaborate cabaret. A sign that read LA GAITE in art nouveau letters hung over the stage. A small flight of stairs led down to a seating area lined with banquettes upholstered in cracked crimson fabric. Dozens of round tables, blanketed in dust, each with a silk tasseled lamp, were scattered through the room. Theo fussed with switches until yellow bulbs hidden inside unevenly spaced glass sconces shone weakly.

  “When I was on tour, I always made sure that one of the other magicians was performing here.” He brushed dust from his fingertips. “I have never considered selling the place. Please look around.”

  Toby and I climbed the steps to the stage. Lights with cracked gels pointed at the dark ceiling. Toby walked in a circle, his long shoes leaving a trail in the thick dust. I slipped into the wings and was caught in a tangle of backdrops and props.

  The theater smelled of mothballs and mold. Indistinct secrets whispered from the walls. There was an uncertain majesty to the place, a tense combination of mystery and elegance—as if it were holding its breath, waiting for what might come next.

  I wandered until I came to a small dressing room. A decaying tailcoat was draped over a chair, and pots of dried grease paint lay along a table in front of a cracked mirror framed with bulbs. A disintegrating set list, written in an elegant old-fashioned hand, was tucked between the glass and the frame. Several top hats lay on their sides on a shelf above a mirror.

  The magicians’ voices carried from the stage into the wings.

  “It might not look like much to you now,” Theo said. “Once this was our sanctuary. A home for our magic. It was packed every night. Not with children and tourists, but with people who understood what it meant to be amazed.”

  I imagined Toby’s shoes tracing circles through the dust as Theo spoke.

  “Magicians from all over the world came to watch us. In a few years, we would have become as famous as Kellar or Carter. We were on the verge of greatness unparalleled in the world of magic, because there was no artifice to our shows. It’s a difficult task, winning people over to illusions that cannot be explained.”

  “I know.” I thought I heard Toby tucking his hands into his coat.

  �
�The average magician possesses a finite number of tricks that he combines and recombines to baffle the audience. And the audience knows they are being tricked. They simply cannot decide which of these tricks is in play at a given moment.” Theo lowered his voice. I could imagine his face growing stern and his irises beginning to swirl as they had in the kitchen that morning. “It is our job to trick the audience into believing they are being tricked, when they aren’t.” The elder magician paused. “It is our job to convince the audience that the danger they are witnessing isn’t real.”

  At the back of the dressing room, a door led to another dressing room, where a white silk robe with gold trim lay on a slipper chair. I took off my coat and slipped the robe over my sweater.

  “It is easy to win an audience on tour,” I heard Theo say. “Convincing audiences night after night to come back to the same cabaret is more difficult. My greatest feat was accomplishing just that.” Theo stopped speaking. I could hear Toby sanding circles in the dust with the soles of his shoes. “My accident ended everything. I know that if my hands hadn’t been burned, I would have brought people back. Audiences would have forgiven me for letting my assistant die. But the fire claimed her and my skill. Without magic, I was helpless.” The elder magician cleared his throat. “I want to go back to that moment when my magic was at its prime. When it mattered.”

  “Then you and I want the same thing.”

  “No,” Theo said slowly. “I want to go back to a moment when all magic mattered. The magic you perform hasn’t begun to have meaning. It’s merely trifles for tourists. You live in the wrong time for magic.”

  “It doesn’t matter anymore.”

  “We can change that.”

  In the patchy light, I could see a couple of framed pictures on the dressing table. I held them toward the mirror. A couple in wedding clothes stood on the deck of a boat. The woman’s face was shaded by a large white hat. The man, with his polished, austere features, was clearly Theo van Eyck. The second photo was a publicity still from a magic show. Here, Theo, dressed as a Sikh, held a sword above his head, with his assistant seemingly impaled on the blade.