Disappearing Act

by James Moloney

  ‘That makes sense,’ Mattheus said. ‘Carrida changed our boy’s name to its English version. Tell me this also – your great-grandmother. Is she …?’

  ‘She died a long time ago, before my dad was born,’ said Matt.

  Mattheus closed his eyes and leaned against the back of the seat. ‘Then that is why the letters stopped,’ he whispered to himself.

  He remained that way for almost a minute, then lurched forward suddenly, clutching at his chest.

  ‘What’s the matter?’ Matt asked.

  The only reply was a groan. Before Matt could catch him, Mattheus had slipped off the seat to lie on his side on the pavement.

  Matt dropped quickly onto his knees beside him. ‘What is it? Do you need an ambulance?’

  Stupid question! Of course he did. Matt rocked back on his heels, about to rise to his feet. An ancient hand shot out and grabbed his wrist.

  ‘Wait,’ Mattheus gasped. The pain in his face was terrible.

  ‘I’ll get help,’ Matt said.

  ‘No, listen to me. Coperneau is a name despised by all magicians. It shouldn’t be so. Redeem your family’s name, Matthew. Make it a proud name again, for Carrida and me.’

  And with the name of his wife on his lips, Mattheus Coperneau joined her in death.

  5

  Son, Grandson, Great-grandson

  Matt didn’t know what to do. Maybe the old man had simply passed out. Soon other people noticed the teenager leaning over a figure on the ground and help came from everywhere. Matt had no idea who rang for the ambulance, or the names of the men and women gathered around, some kneeling beside him and trying to rouse Mattheus, others watching anxiously.

  One helpful woman said, ‘Do these belong to the old gentleman?’

  Matt saw that she was holding the notebook and his small daypack. ‘No, they’re mine,’ he said quickly.

  She handed him the pack and the book. He dropped the book into his bag and held onto it through everything that came next. The ambulance drove into Martin Place and right up to the little crowd around Mattheus. There was no miracle to call him back to life, however.

  ‘I’m sorry, we can’t revive the patient,’ said the ambulance man after they’d worked on Mattheus for a few minutes. ‘Looks like a heart attack. At his age …’ He shrugged his shoulders sympathetically. ‘Do you have someone with you?’

  ‘No,’ said Matt, without thinking about what this would mean. Before he could stop her, a woman had rung the police.

  ‘But I just want to go home,’ he protested.

  ‘Of course you do,’ she said in the kind of voice people use when they’ve decided to ignore what you’re saying. ‘The police will make sure you get there safely.’

  A second woman came up to him. ‘Do you mind if I ask you a few questions?’

  ‘What for?’ Matt said.

  ‘For my newspaper. That old man was sort of famous. Thousands of people have seen the words he wrote every day. They mean only the heart knows apparently, in some language hardly anyone speaks any more. It’s probably some religious thing, warning people to let God into their hearts so they’ll go to heaven.’

  Matt knew it had nothing to do with that, but he didn’t say so. ‘Why do you want to talk to me?’

  ‘Because people are saying you added some more words in the same language.’

  Matt nodded. He was worried about what the police would do when they arrived. What if his mum found out he was here on his own?

  ‘What’s your name?’ the reporter asked.

  ‘Matthew,’ he said automatically. Then a horrifying picture suddenly flashed in front of his eyes: his name in headlines and a photograph of him standing in Martin Place. His mother would freak out. ‘Er … Tony Matthews.’

  ‘What was the man’s name?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ he lied. He decided then that he wouldn’t tell the police, either.

  ‘What do the rest of the words mean, the ones you wrote?’

  ‘They mean that magic is real,’ said Matt, without thinking.

  ‘So what can you tell me about the man?’

  ‘Only that he was a magician, a famous one from a long time ago.’

  ‘A magician! Amazing. This story gets better all the time,’ said the reporter as she wrote furiously in a notepad that had appeared out of her shoulder bag. ‘Did he teach you any tricks?’

  ‘No, but I’ve learned a few on my own.’

  ‘So you’re a magician too?’

  She was jumping ahead too quickly, making things seem different from how they really were, and all the time scribbling in her notepad.

  ‘Was the man your grandfather?’ she asked.

  ‘No,’ said Matt, glad that he could be firm about one answer at least. Both of his grandfathers were still alive. He saw them every few weeks, in fact.

  The grandfather question came to his rescue, because another woman was listening and she spoke up. ‘Hey, steady on. The boy’s just seen a man die. You’ll upset him even more.’

  An argument started, and it was still going when the police arrived, which meant he was actually pleased to go with them. When they asked his name back at the police station, he hesitated. It was one thing to trick a newspaper reporter, but the police! Along with his name, he gave them his mum’s number at the Institute of Art.

  ‘She’s coming as quick as she can,’ said the policeman behind the counter.

  Matt knew he was in deep trouble. Not that it was the first thing on his mind. Poor Mattheus; such a sad story and now he was dead.

  Matt opened his pack to look again at the notebook and discovered something else alongside it – the biscuit tin. The woman at Martin Place must have put the tin in his bag before she handed it to him. This was the evidence Mattheus had collected! He wrenched off the lid, but all the notes and newspaper cuttings were in a language he couldn’t read. That left the photographs. The largest was a black and white portrait of a couple on their wedding day. Could Mattheus ever have been that young?

  Matt’s father arrived first. Mr Cooper was short and his hair was creeping back from his forehead a little more each year – something Matt liked to tease him about, although this afternoon probably wasn’t a good time. He looked worried.

  ‘What’s this about, Matt? Mum called me, asked me to come as well. She’s pretty upset. Where’s Hayden? She said you’d come into town with Hayden and the pair of you are in trouble with the police.’

  ‘It’s not like that, Dad, at least not all of it.’

  Mr Cooper went to the counter. He was calm, he was firm, he listened, he asked questions, and after a couple of minutes he had put together the whole story.

  He returned to Matt and folded him into a gentle hug. ‘You tried to help a dying man. That was a brave thing to do, Matt. And he died in front of you. Must have been awful. How are you feeling?’

  Matt couldn’t give an answer about Mattheus Coperneau just then, but inside his father’s arms he felt safe in a way he hadn’t since he was little. Now that he was into his teens, he and his dad didn’t do hugs.

  Then Matt’s mother arrived and he wished he could sneak back under his father’s protection.

  ‘You said you’d be with Hayden the whole time,’ she railed at him when she heard Hayden had gone home early. ‘I wouldn’t have let you go if I’d known!’

  Worse was to come as she heard the full story.

  ‘It was the old man who chased us down the stairs, wasn’t it? You went back to see him.’

  ‘I didn’t think you’d let me if I asked,’ Matt said.

  ‘Of course I wouldn’t, and that only makes it worse. Why do you think I kept you away from him the first time? There are some people you should avoid, Matt, and instead you went behind my back. You deliberately put yourself in danger.’

  Matt copped her tirade. Trying to justify what he’d done would only make her go on for longer. But he couldn’t take what she said about Mattheus.

  ‘He was a lonely old man who wou
ldn’t hurt a fly,’ he said. ‘It’s not right to say those things about him. He was special. He told me about his life. You should have heard him, Mum, I think there’s some kind of connection –’

  ‘Should have heard him!’ snapped his mother. ‘That’s just the point, Matthew, you shouldn’t have been there by yourself with a man who might have –’

  ‘The man’s dead,’ said Matt’s father, coming to his rescue at last. ‘Cut him some slack. Come on, time we went home.’

  Matt’s father had clocked off for the day from his work at the law courts and so all three of them went home in his car. Matt knew his mum was still mad at him, but all the same he took a risk and asked them about Montilagus. Neither of his parents had ever heard of it.

  ‘But this came from there, Dad,’ he said, opening his daypack and taking out the handwritten notebook. ‘I showed it to you before. It was with a whole lot of junk in the garage.’

  ‘Now I think of it, some of that stuff is your grandad’s,’ Mr Cooper said. ‘When Grandma died and he sold the house, he had nowhere to store it.’

  Matt’s grandfather had moved to an apartment not far from where the Coopers lived. They would just about drive past it on the way home. Did Matt dare take another risk?

  ‘Can we call in on Grandad?’ he asked.

  His mother didn’t look keen. She glanced across the front seat to her husband and muttered, ‘It’s up to you.’

  ‘I haven’t seen him for a while. It would save having him over for tea, I suppose,’ said Mr Cooper sheepishly.

  He made the turn from the main road and parked in front of the apartment block. Matt’s grandfather answered the door in an old pair of shorts and no shirt.

  ‘Oh, sorry. Wasn’t expecting visitors. Come on in, I was just watching the cricket.’

  He ducked into his bedroom and came out wearing a T-shirt more battered than the shorts, with paint speckles on it. Grandad wasn’t one for putting on a show, especially when his guests were family.

  ‘Cup of tea?’

  ‘Any Coke, Grandad?’ Matt asked hopefully.

  Who was he kidding? Matt had to make do with a glass of cold water.

  Once the teas were poured and the television set was turned off, Matt started in with his questions. ‘Grandad, your name’s Matthew, same as mine, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yes, and very proud I am to have a grandson named after me,’ said the older Mr Cooper, who was bald except for a ring of grey hair at the back of his head. He was taller than Matt’s father, but seemed smaller because he was slim and a little stooped. Matt had always thought of him as old, but he was nowhere near as old as Mattheus Coperneau. Where Mattheus had been slow in all his movements, his words, even the expressions on his face, Grandad Cooper had a cheeky eye that didn’t miss much, and he still played golf when most people his age had powered down to lawn bowls.

  ‘Why did your parents name you Matthew?’

  Grandad seemed surprised by the question. ‘I didn’t ask. Couldn’t ask my father, of course, because I never knew him. And as for my mother – well, she sometimes got it a bit muddled. It was her accent, you see. She wasn’t born in Australia and she stumbled back into her old language now and again. Sometimes, when she was a bit dreamy, she’d say my name a bit different. Called me Mattheus.’

  Matt felt his stomach fall around his knees. ‘Was your mother’s name Carrida?’ he asked.

  Grandad stared at him thoughtfully for a moment. ‘Close, but not quite right, Matt. Her name was Karen.’

  By now Matt’s stomach had flopped around his shoes. ‘What happened to your father, Grandad?’

  ‘Matthew!’ cried his mother. ‘These questions might upset your grandad. Some things can be painful to talk about.’

  ‘I don’t mind,’ said Matt’s grandfather with a laugh. ‘If the boy has questions, let him ask. Aren’t we old fogies always complaining how the young show no interest in earlier generations?’ Turning to Matt, he said, ‘I don’t know what happened to him. My mother never talked about him. I guessed it was a brief and unhappy marriage, enough to put her off marrying again, because she never did, even though she was still young and pretty. Then, of course, she died when I was sixteen and there could be no more questions. I tell you what, young Matthew, I don’t think you’ve ever seen this.’ Leaving the room for a moment, he returned with a photograph album, which he opened at the first page.

  ‘There she is,’ he said, pointing down at the very first picture on the opening page. ‘That’s the earliest photo I have of her. She couldn’t have been more than thirty years old when that was taken.’

  Matt took a long look. Then, with his hands shaking, he opened the pack he’d brought with him from the car and eased the lid off the biscuit tin. Without a word, he laid the wedding photograph he’d found earlier beside the picture of his great-grandmother.

  No one spoke for ten seconds and then everyone was speaking at once.

  6

  Cooper or Coperneau

  If Mattheus Coperneau had died a day earlier, only the priest would have attended his funeral. But because Matt Cooper had written words in chalk on the concrete of Martin Place, deceived his mother and then listened to a long story of love and loneliness, and because he’d found a photograph in a biscuit tin and shown it to his grandfather, an entire family joined the priest at the service. By then, Matt had shared all that Mattheus had told him with his parents and his grandfather. That was when the story became unbearably sad.

  ‘I saw him,’ said Grandad in a voice brittle with feeling. ‘I saw the man you’re talking about many times. He was writing in chalk on the ground, just like you said, Matty. He’d ask people if they could add to what he’d written. He asked me once, but I kept walking. Never gave him a thought, never guessed in my wildest dreams that he was the father I never knew. He’d come all this way to look for me and I didn’t know …’

  ‘It breaks my heart,’ said Mrs Cooper. ‘All those years he tried to find you and then he died just when he might have met you face to face. He must have been so lonely.’

  Grandad summed up the story from his own point of view. ‘Most people get a father on the day they’re born. I had to wait until I was sixty-five.’

  They all shared in the sadness, but Matt had a closer connection to Mattheus than the others. He was the only one who’d actually spoken to him properly. He had been at Mattheus’s side when he said his last words. ‘Redeem your family’s name. Make it a proud name again.’

  Your family’s name he’d said, changing Matt from a Cooper into a Coperneau in a handful of words. How could a teenager redeem his family’s name? The question haunted Matt.

  On the day of the funeral, a small article appeared at the bottom of page eleven in the Sydney Morning Herald under the headline ‘ “Only the Heart” Man Dies’:

  An elderly man collapsed and died in Martin Place on Thursday. Nothing was found on his body to identify him and police are appealing for information. Despite this, the man was a common sight around the city where he wrote on the footpaths using chalk. He always wrote the same words, even though few could read them. In English the words mean ‘only the heart knows’, but no explanation has ever been offered until recently.

  Young Sydney resident Tony Matthews was with the man when he collapsed. He claimed the deceased had been a well-known magician in Europe many decades ago. Matthews, who had been learning magic from the dead man, had also written words on the footpath. His words meant ‘magic is real’, although he would not explain what this might mean.

  Matt was glad he had given the reporter a false name, especially when she got an important fact wrong. He hadn’t been learning magic from Mattheus. She’d given the impression the words were some kind of code for magicians, and that made him just plain angry.

  Life would never be quite the same now the Coopers knew about Mattheus Coperneau. When Matt’s grandfather came for dinner a few days after the funeral he and Matt took everything out of the biscuit tin and sprea
d it carefully across the dining table. The newspaper clippings were all in a foreign language – Montilagan most likely.

  ‘I wish I knew what they were about,’ said Matt.

  ‘So do I. It’s the language I was born to speak and I can’t read a word,’ said Grandad. Before they could quite believe what they were saying, they had decided to get everything translated. It would take a while, but in the meantime they had the photographs. Grandad had bought a silver frame for the wedding portrait, which took a position of honour on the sideboard beside his own wedding photo.

  ‘My mother must have changed our name so the Prince’s agents wouldn’t track us down,’ he said, ‘but she couldn’t let it go completely. Coperneau, Cooper. Who would guess? And yet the connection’s there if you know what to look for.’

  The rest of the photos – all black and white – showed faces they couldn’t possibly recognise. Some had names on the back, others didn’t. There were pictures of the royal family in Montilagus and some of servants lined up in rows. There were odds and ends too, but Matt had no idea of their significance. Any hope of finding the real thief had died with Mattheus.

  If the notebook had fitted inside the biscuit tin, Matt would have stored it with the rest of Mattheus’s stuff, but the book was a centimetre too long and he didn’t want to force it. He left both the tin and the book in the drawer beside his bed, where he’d kept the notebook for weeks already. There was no more magic he could learn from the notebook, not unless he could read the words. And his French lessons at school had shown him he wasn’t much good with foreign languages.

  Despite this, Matt was more interested than ever in magic after hearing Mattheus’s story. He wanted to master more than just the card tricks he continued to practise on a bewildered Hayden. He would love to pull a live rabbit out of a hat and see the wonder on the faces of an audience. He’d never told Hayden about his dreams, of course, in case he laughed, or worse, told the kids at school who would make fun of him mercilessly. But now that he had a great magician in his family tree, Matt lost those fears.