by Paul Gallico
He crushed and crumpled the coat and eventually rolled it up into a ball which he held between his hands. If the magicians expected to see him make it vanish now, which they were prepared to concede would have been a neat trick, they were disappointed. Instead, he threw it across the stage to Jane, who made a very good catch of it.
She shook out the folds and creases, smoothed the back and tails, hung it over the top arm of the clothes rack and retired to the side.
Adam removed his hat and from twenty feet away, spun it across the stage and onto the top of the rack, where it revolved three times and came to rest tilted backwards somewhat, so that it was possible to see into the empty interior. It was such a silly little trick that for an instant it eased the tension and there was a gasp and a titter. For the first time the people watching shifted and rustled in their seats.
The coat rack became the center of attraction. Once more every man, woman and child in the theater felt themselves in the grip of well-nigh unbearable suspense. Whatever was going to happen? What could happen with both the magician and his assistant each half a stage length away from their clothes?
Mephisto whispered to Malvolio and Fussmer, “I think we’ve got him.”
Malvolio said, “Shsh! Watch for my signal.”
The Great Robert murmured to his wife, “He’s not wearing the coat, so it can’t be pigeons.”
But it was! At least at the beginning!
Gracefully, Adam raised his right hand towards the object in the center of the stage in a gentle, caressing, almost coaxing movement, as though to release something.
Someone in the audience gasped and pointed. For peering from inside, around one of the lapels of the empty tail coat, was the snow-white head of a fan-tailed dove. For an instant it regarded the scene out of unwinking, pinkish eyes and then flew out, to be followed immediately by another, a third, a fourth . . .
Thereafter they materialized from the garment by the hundreds, streaming forth to rise and fill the Auditorium with the whirring beat of their wings, until the very air seemed to vibrate. They rose from the stage circling, climbing, crisscrossing one another, flitting through the great chandelier.
The audience of magicians sat stunned by the outpouring of the birds, their necks craned upwards to the ceiling of white-feathered clouds, their ears filled with the rush and the whirr. Their cheeks felt the touch of the wind from their passage.
As the materialization of the doves came to an end, once more Adam gestured with beckoning fingers and now from the folds of Jane’s cape there began to emerge flight after flight of tiny birds of every color and variety. There were tits and goldfinches, robins, larks, chaffinches, canaries, flycatchers, bullfinches, budgereegahs, greenfinches, honeysuckers, warblers, hummingbirds, chiffchaffs, bulbuls, small thrushes, cardinals, orioles and buntings.
In addition to the brilliant, darting flashes—reds, blues, greens, bright yellows, dark purples, blacks, grays and blazing oranges—they brought a symphony of sound.
Against the background of the cooing and crooning of the doves, the songbirds raised their voices in chorus, to fill the hall with the most delicious music. It seemed to have in it the sound of flutes and violins in concert and far-off bells that penetrated to the depths of everyone present and held them enthralled.
For the third time Adam gestured. And then came the butterflies.
They rose out of the top hat like confetti—painted ladies, orange tips, graylings, swallowtails, mourning cloaks, blues, brimstones, skippers, peacocks, red and purple admirals, monarchs, tigers, pearl crescents, spring azures and aphrodites in every hue and shade of the spectrum, spotted, striped, dotted, fringed or bared in an unending, shimmering stream.
No one any longer saw the child and the man. All eyes were riveted upon the tapestry of flying feathers that was being woven above their heads, a many-hued canopy in which the white doves formed the background, threaded through in delicate patterns by the multicolored songbirds, while the wavering, erratic, hither-thither darting of the butterflies, on delicate, luminous wings created an effect of fairy lights.
The magicians sat spellbound, but the children in the audience raised their arms to the enchanted flight as though to try to capture some of the flashing beauty overhead.
But it rose higher and higher towards the cupola of the Auditorium, swirled for a moment about the great, crystal chandelier and then the birds began to fade, diminish and thin out like smoke rising into the air, until they vanished.
The butterflies were the last to go. For an instant the dome was filled with their darting, iridescent fire caught by the spotlights, and the next it was empty. The wings beat no more; one last, rippling, tinkling tone of a skylark was heard and after that—silence.
Slowly attention once more returned to the figures on the stage; Jane, her eyes shining, her lips parted with excitement, Adam still with his air of secret mischief and mystery. Now he walked the twenty paces to the rack, removed the child’s silken cape therefrom, shook it once or twice and then hung it about her shoulders.
Jane in turn held his tail coat for him. He put it back on, adjusted it, reached into an inside pocket to produce another pair of white, kid gloves which he donned. Then both came forward together. She curtsied, this time deeply and Adam bowed.
But there was no ensuing storm of cheers and applause such as had thundered forth at the completion of Ninian’s act. Instead, from somewhere in the depth of the Auditorium a man shouted, “It’s impossible! It can’t be done!” And nearby a woman screamed, “Witchcraft!”
In the first row Malvolio the Mighty, his thin face pale and twitching, small mustache quivering, arose in his seat and pointing his finger at Adam, cried, “I denounce him! He’s not one of us! He’s a devil! Kill him!”
It was the agreed-upon signal. A murmur of horror ran through the audience. Yet, before the full effect of the accusation could make itself felt, or the stooges planted throughout the house could get down to their dirty work, there was a strange diversion.
It consisted of a series of shrill yelps from the rear of the theater, followed by the rapid patter of paws. A small dog came tearing down the center aisle, at such a rate that the hair was blown back from the front of his face and for the first time his features were wholly visible, Launching himself like an arrow, he flew over the orchestra pit, bounced once onto the stage and thence directly into Adam’s arms where, panting, he licked his face, laughed, cried and talked to him all at once.
“I’ve escaped! I was a prisoner! Are you all right? They said they were going to kill you. Malvolio was going to give the signal. They shut me up in the Museum. I tried every way to get out. Ninian’s told about the picnic, the goldfish bowl and everything. They threw a blanket over me and carried me away. But I wouldn’t talk. They’re afraid your magic will put them out of business and they’ll lose all their money. Malvolio said if you did anything funny, they’d cut your throat. I pulled an electric switch and got chased around the Museum by awful things that came to life until somebody opened the door and I got out. Golly Adam, I’m glad I’m in time!”
But, alas, he wasn’t. For now from various quarters in the theater, left, right, center and in the balconies as well, where Malvolio’s agitators were planted, cries arose:
“Wizard!”
“Sorcerer!”
“Kill him!”
“Black Magic!”
“Necromancy!”
“Destroy him!”
“Diabolism!”
“Beat him to death!”
“The dog’s bewitched too. He talks!”
“Get them both!”
It was all that was needed to turn the weaker ones in the audience, already nervous and frightened by the rumors they had heard, to thirsting for blood. And once the ugly mob spirit had been evoked, there was no resisting it. A moment later almost as one, the people rose and surged towards the stage and there ensued the dreadful sound of the uncontrolled horde in action, as seats were slammed and the ind
ividual shouts, cries and maledictions turned into a bestial roar. The house lights came up to show faces distorted by hatred as the magicians, with a great rushing and churning of feet, began to pound down the aisles, converging on Adam.
From his box The Great Robert made an attempt to arrest it. “Stop it!” he bellowed. “Hold it! If he’s really a sorcerer, there ought to be a trial! Let me handle this!”
Above the tumult Malvolio was heard to shout, “Trial, nothing! It’s too late! You’re through, Robert—I’m in command now! Come on, boys we’ll take him!” And with that he tried to leap onto the stage, but in his excitement missed and fell into the orchestra pit. The next moment the first wave of the mob came tumbling in after him.
Mopsy wriggled out of Adam’s arms and ran to the front of the platform, barking and growling defiance, every hair standing on end.
Adam said, “Quick! Run to your father, Jane. Ninian has told tales on us.”
The child cried, “No, I won’t leave you!”
The face and figure of Ninian was seen endeavoring to stem the tide for a moment, waving his arms and shouting, “No, no, you mustn’t! He’s good! Stop it! Go back!” and trying to bar the way. And on the other side of the house, the white-haired Professor Alexander was doing the same. The mob rolled right over them. In another instant it would be able to make its way onto the stage over the bodies of those who had fallen into the orchestra pit.
Adam cried, “Well said, Jane! If you aren’t afraid, then nothing can ever hurt you. Stay where you are.” He strode down to the footlights in the face of the oncoming horde and in a voice that thundered above the roar, the trampling of feet and the splintering of wood, he shouted, “Wait!”
Those in the forefront of the wave recoiled momentarily and as those behind pushed and pressed on, there were shouts and screams of “Stop!” “Hey, look out!” He’s dangerous!” “He may be armed!” “He could blast us!”
It did bring the attack to a temporary halt, for with the sudden disappearance of Malvolio there seemed to be no longer a leader.
“Look above you,” Adam cried and pointed to the cupola from the center of which hung the huge chandelier, now blazing with lights.
So compelling was his voice, gesture and presence that all eyes turned upwards to the ceiling, through which only a few moments before the magic birds had vanished.
Something was falling. As it fell it glittered brightly and then, striking the back edge of a seat it landed on the floor ringing the sweet note that only gold can make.
A magician dived for it, retrieved it and cried, “Hey! Money! A hundred-tingal piece!”
Somebody shouted, “Don’t touch it! It’s counterfeit-fake! It’s bewitched!”
“Is it?” asked Adam. “Look again.”
Another coin came glittering down from the ceiling and another and another. One fell between Fussmer and Mephisto.
The fat man made a lunge for it, but Mephisto pushed him aside. “Look out! That’s mine!” he said, secured it and then shouted, “It’s real! It’s real!”
“Ah,” Adam called out, “that’s better. So then, since you’re all so frightened of losing your money because of me, let there be enough for everyone.”
And at that the golden rain began to shower from above, clinking, chinking, chiming as the large hundred-tingal pieces descended and went rolling and bouncing down the aisles and between the seats. An instant later there wasn’t a single person in the audience to be seen standing upright. Onto hands and knees went one and all, scrabbling, pushing, fighting, grabbing and clawing.
But the deluge of precious metal was not confined to Mageian tingal pieces. Coins of the world were now pouring down: gold florins of Florence, sequins and ducats of Venice and solidi of the Lombards. There were oboli of Charlemagne, grossi of Bavaria, nobles of Britain, angels, gold crowns and spade guineas, and heavy doubloons and pieces of eight from the Spanish Main. Even those of the ancients were represented in the downpour: golden staters of Greece, tetradrachmae of Alexander the Great, the daric of Darius and the mohur of Akbar.
In the torrent of the riches were latter-day Austrian thalers, as well as French louis d’or, English guineas, Dutch guilders, German marks, Italian lire, Turkish piasters and American gold eagles, all shining and new-minted. It was as though the bullion of the world had been tapped.
The citizens of Mageia from the highest to the lowest fought for them, rolling on the ground or knocking one another out of the way, as they held up their hands or took off their coats to make sacks to catch the cascade of wealth. In the orchestra pit Zerbo had Mephisto by the throat and was choking him to make him let go a handful of Spanish and Mexican pieces. Abdul Hamid was beating Fussmer about the head and face to force him to give up coins of Kushan, Malabar and Mysore, while all about them still lay monies of ancient China, Persia and Arabia.
The family of The Great Robert was no longer visible in the box. They too were on their knees, shoveling up the treasure. Pockets were filled, shoes were removed to use as receptacles, bags were made of skirts, hats were packed to the brim with the yellow metal. No one so much as thought to give another glance in the direction of the stage. Everything had been forgotten, except to harvest the bounty.
At last the fabulous storm of money began to abate. What had been a cloudburst turned into a mere downpour, lessened to a rain, diminished to a drizzle and then ceased altogether as one, final, solitary coin dropped from the ceiling and chimed onto the floor, where two magicians wrestled one another for it and a third pocketed it. And then it was over.
Slowly everyone, laden with their burden of gold, began to pick themselves up off the ground dazed, disheveled, their clothing torn, each looking suspiciously at his neighbor and prepared to fight again to protect what he had collected. Sanity began to return.
They remembered their passions then and what had been their objective before they had been diverted—the dangerous magician who had wormed his way into the city and threatened their livelihood. But when they turned their eyes to the stage once more, it was empty of all but Jane, standing there alone in her bright, assistant’s costume and gay, satin cape. Adam the Simple and his talking dog Mopsy had vanished.
XX
AND THREE TO GO
Mephisto was the first to make the discovery that they were gone and the reason it was he and not the ringleader of the plot who saw it was that Malvolio, too, was no longer present. He was lying at the bottom of the orchestra pit, dead of a broken neck. But this was only ascertained much later.
And so it was Mephisto who, pointing with his finger, shouted, “They’ve disappeared! We mustn’t let them get away! They can make gold for us.” In spite of the loot that weighed him down, he climbed up onto the stage and towering menacingly over Jane, cried, “You! You helped them to escape! Which way did they go?”
But Jane wasn’t frightened. For she seemed to be aware of a familiar voice whispering, “If you aren’t afraid, nothing can ever hurt you,” and couldn’t be certain whether she had actually heard it, or whether it was something inside her own head. She said, “They didn’t go anywhere. They just sort of melted away. But first Adam said good-by and Mopsy kissed me.” And then she added, “You drove them away!”
“Melted? Nonsense, child! Impossible!” Mephisto shouted and he was now joined by Zerbo, Fussmer and the rest of the gang. “They must be somewhere. They couldn’t have got away without being noticed. He can make us all millionaires. We’ll search the place down. Come on boys!”
But the fact was that nobody had seen them. All the backstage crew of electricians, carpenters, property men and sceneshifters had, of course, deserted their posts and rushed into the Auditorium to join in the battle for money. And the stage doorman swore that no one of that description had emerged through his portals.
They began to tear the theater apart examining the trap doors, machinery or apparatus which might have aided the disappearance. They climbed into the flies, testing every rope and pulley; they ransack
ed the dressing cubicles and the passageways and storerooms beneath the stage.
Adam the Simple and his talking dog Mopsy had managed somehow to evaporate into thin air as though they had never existed. Nor did anyone in Mageia find out where they had disappeared to or how. Only the valuable coins from the golden shower the magician had produced, and of which almost every family in Mageia had garnered at least a few, remained to remind them of his presence and their treatment of him.
At first they watched over their hoard with disquiet and suspicion. They were unable wholly to believe in the fortune that had descended upon them and were fearful that as in some ancient fairy tale, when they awoke the next day, or even at some later time, the precious metal might have turned to lumps of coal or stones. But such was not the case. The coins continued to ring of purest gold and the rare and valuable ones that tumbled out of the nowheres fetched large prices. Many of the magicians, including The Great Robert’s family, became wealthy.
Yet somehow even though they had gained a measure of financial security, neither the city nor its inhabitants seemed to be the same as before. And the difference in what they felt was something that could not quite be caught or defined. It was a sadness that they seemed to feel in the pit of their stomachs, one that would not go away.
As is usually the case with people who have permitted themselves to be led or hoodwinked into stupidity and wickedness they had never intended, they turned upon the men who had misled them and as far as they were able took their revenge upon them.
Malvolio the ringleader was found dead and good riddance to him, everyone said.
They took Mephisto, Fussmer, Zerbo and other members of Malvolio’s conspiracy, tried them for incitement to riot and public disturbance and tucked them away in prison. Yet this did nothing to assuage the feeling that through their own human weaknesses they had failed to recognize one whose innocence of heart had endowed him with powers that transcended theirs and who meant them no harm. The long-feared magician who might some day appear to show all of them up as tricksters and against whom they had barricaded themselves behind high walls had proven to be no more than a simple, friendly young man who had come modestly to sit at their feet and learn from them. They had stoned him from their midst and he had repaid them with gold. The city remained chastened and unhappy, and a noticeable falling-off in the zest for stage magic affected both the magicians and their audiences.