Metamorphosis

by Sesh Heri

  When we got off the ride, Jack consulted his watch.

  “Durn it!” he exclaimed. “We’re running out of time! Got to catch the noon ferry. Durn it! We can cram two more rides— then we’ll have to run. ‘Creation’ and the ‘Safety Racer.’ C’mon we have to cram like mad!”

  We rushed over to ‘Creation’ and experienced the first chapter of the Book of Genesis in full, lurid detail.

  “Sin! Sin!” Jack cried out on the ride. “This is the theme!” And then he would laugh wildly.

  No sooner had we stepped out of ‘Creation,’ than we were practically running to the ‘Safety Racer.’ Here, we found plenty of curves and speed, and then— just like the ride— our trip to the fair was over.

  “Where’s the auto train?” I asked.

  Jack snapped his fingers. No auto train appeared.

  “My magic’s run out,” Jack said. “What do you do when the magic runs out?”

  “I walk,” I said.

  “Let’s walk fast,” Jack said.

  We finally got to an auto train, and via the little train we made it back to the main entrance of the fair where we got into another taxi cab.

  “To the Ferry Building!” Jack said. “And step on it.”

  Our cab sped back up the hill, leaving the fair behind.

  “We’re having Thanksgiving dinner at our hotel tomorrow,” I said. “Want to join us?”

  “Absolutely,” Jack said.

  “My brother and his family will be there,” I said. “And Alexander Pantages.”

  “Wonderful!” Jack said. “I’d like to bring my daughters, but I know my ex-wife would never allow it. She has very fixed ideas about Thanksgiving, as she has very fixed ideas about so many things.”

  “Can I help with any of the preparations?” Charmian asked.

  “Sure,” Bess said.

  “We’ll call you tonight when we get back to Oakland and discuss everything,” Jack said. “Give me the Adams’ telephone number.” He finished lighting a cigarette, and then reached inside his coat and brought out a small notepad and pencil and handed them to me. I wrote the number down on the pad, and then handed the pad and pencil back to him.

  Our cab sped over the hills of San Francisco and then back up Market Street. We got to the Ferry Building just in time for Jack and Charmian to catch a boat going north to Tiburon.

  “I must testify on my sister’s behalf this afternoon,” Jack said as he and Charmian stepped forward on to the gangplank. “She stood by me when I desperately needed it, and now I will stand by her.”

  Bess and I waved to Jack and Charmian and they waved back from the deck of the ferry.

  “They’re a whirlwind,” I said.

  “Oh, they’re completely crazy,” Bess said.

  For the next few days Jack and Charmian became our constant companions. After Jack testified at his sister’s divorce trial in Santa Rosa, he and Charmian took the train south to Tiburon and the ferries back to San Francisco and Oakland. They arrived just in time to see my performance that evening at the Orpheum. That night I had taken up the packing-box challenge of the Roos Brothers, an Oakland clothier. After the show, Jack and Charmian came backstage to see Bess and me, and, before the evening concluded, all four of us had consumed a sumptuous meal at the Saddlerock.

  Thanksgiving dinner in our hotel room turned out to be an elaborate affair with Jack and Charmian attending to all the details. A gigantic turkey with all the trimmings, along with numerous other dishes, was rushed over to our hotel from the Saddlerock. A Saddlerock waiter and Jack’s Japanese servant attended to our every need. We had a long table brought into our parlor. When the table was covered with linen and all the dishes, a remarkably festive, home-like atmosphere filled the room. Our meal began at five sharp. Gathered for the feast were my brother Dash, his wife, Elsie, their two sons, Alexander Pantages (owner of the Pantages chain of vaudeville theatres), Jack and Charmian, and Bess at one end of the long table and me on the other. I carved the turkey. The conversation and the laughter flowed freely with Dash and Jack alternately dominating the sound waves at intervals. The topic of conversation came around to the “feud” between Dash and me. Dash was saying:

  “…and the fella asked, ‘Aren’t you mad at Houdini for getting all those crowds out there?’ And I said, ‘Sure, but half the people out there think that’s me up there hanging on the side of that building. I’ve got boys down on the street paperin’ the crowd with advertising cards showing my picture and the words: Hardeen— All This Week at Pantages.’ So— I says to him: ‘Let Houdini do the work— I’ll turn the profits!’”

  Dash let out a big belly laugh, and then he went on: “Here everybody’s thinking Houdini and I hate each other and all the while we’re nothing but two lovin’ brothers!”

  “That was quite a scare you gave us the other day,” Pantages said to me. “Thank God they got the tackle working again.”

  “I thought that was part of the act,” Bess said.

  Everyone at the table looked over to Bess.

  “Why’d everybody stop talkin’?” Dash’s son Harry asked.

  “The rope just twisted on the pulley a bit,” I said. “My man Collins had the whole situation well in hand.”

  Bess stared at me from across the long table.

  “That mince pie has my name on it,” Jack said. “I must stake my claim, because I see two boys there who have been trying to get at it all through dinner.”

  Jack broke the spell and the silence. Again the conversation flowed. But still Bess looked at me, and I knew what her look meant: Once again, I had withheld from her a danger I had faced. I looked down at my plate, then back up again. She was still giving me “the look.”

  The pie rapidly disappeared, and soon Dash was on his feet, with his son Harry pulling at his arm.

  “Got to go,” Dash said. “Elsie’s going to take the boys back over to San Francisco. They think we came to Oakland just so’s they could go to the fair!”

  “Sounds like a perfectly reasonable assumption,” Jack said, rising to his feet. “Charmian and I will go down with you. We need to go back to our hotel. I’m afraid I’ve fallen frightfully behind on my writing schedule. Must catch up.”

  “You work even on a holiday?” Pantages asked.

  “I have no holidays when it comes to writing,” Jack said. “I have too many mouths to feed.”

  Jack and Charmian went to the door, following Dash and his family out.

  “See you at the theatre tonight,” Jack said, putting on his hat.

  “See you,” I said, standing. “Oh, and Dash—“

  Dash stopped at the door.

  I picked up the bill that the waiter had placed on the table in front of me.

  “The bill from the Saddlerock,” I said. I held the bill out to him. Dash looked over at Elsie.

  “Don’t want to forget it,” I said.

  “Sure,” Dash said, and he crossed the room to where I stood and took the bill from my hand.

  “Just two lovin’ brothers,” Jack said.

  I shook Dash’s hand.

  “You can handle it,” I said to Dash, “turning all those profits.”

  Pantages laughed, “Oh, he’s packin’ ‘em in.”

  Dash went back to the door and Jack, Charmian, Elsie and the two boys (who were now jumping up and down with impatience) all filed out of the room as they waved to us.

  “I’m packin’ ‘em in, all right,” Dash said, shaking his head at the departing group, and then he waved too, and went out the door.

  “What a crowd,” I said.

  “What a crowd,” Pantages said.

  “So you’ve known Jack and Charmian a while,” I said.

  Pantages took a puff on his cigar and nodded.

  “Have they been coming to all your shows?” Pantages asked.

  “Jack and Charmian?” I asked.

  Pantages nodded, and took another puff on his cigar.

  “For the last couple of days,” I said. “
Why?”

  Pantages shrugged, and then said, “I don’t know. They just seem to never do anything by halves. They see a lot of shows when they’re here, but not people. You know, a lot of the leading citizens of Oakland hate them.”

  “Why?” I asked.

  “To some extent I think it’s his ex-wife’s doing,” Pantages said. “She has nothing good to say about Jack. But then Jack was never popular with the pillars of the community.”

  “What was it?” I asked. “His politics?”

  “I used to think so,” Pantages said. “But now I think it’s something deeper. A lot deeper. Jack’s not like most people. He’s different. People don’t like different. It scares them. I think people in Oakland are scared of Jack. He’s alone. Sometimes I think Jack London is the loneliest man in the world. I can see why he’s taken to you. He needs somebody like you.”

  “Jack London doesn’t need me,” I said. “Why, he’s the happiest man I’ve ever known. Listen to how he laughs all the time.”

  “I know,” Pantages said, puffing his cigar. “It scares me.”

  The next morning Collins and I paid a visit to the Riggers and Stevedores Union to work out the details of the challenge for that night. When we returned to the theatre around eleven in the morning, I found Jack lying on the couch in my dressing room. He had tied a rope to a clothes hook on the wall and had strung it across the room and tied its other end to the knob of the closet door. Along the rope he had attached little slips of paper with clothespins. When I came in, Jack was lying on his back writing rapidly on a pad of paper and smoking a cigarette. He didn’t look up at me, but he did speak:

  “Charmian and Bess have gone to San Francisco on a shopping spree. I took the liberty of getting a little writing done here. I’m frightfully behind. Hope you don’t mind.”

  “Not at all,” I said. “Don’t let me disturb you.”

  “No,” Jack said. “Don’t let me disturb you.”

  Jack stopped writing for an instant and looked up at me.

  “I don’t disturb you, do I?” he asked.

  “Not at all,” I said.

  “You don’t disturb me either,” he said, and went right back to writing. I went about my business, reading my mail, and answering some of the letters. We were both intent, quiet as church mice, and the situation seemed to be the most natural in the world, like I had always traveled with Jack and shared a dressing room with him.

  Later, Jack and I ate sandwiches in the dressing room and talked little. As soon as Jack was finished he was back on the couch writing again, like a machine. I watched his hand with the pencil move. His hand never paused, never scratched out or erased a word; it just kept moving down the page. I could see how Jack was able to write all his books; he had made himself into a writing machine.

  The matinee went by uneventfully. I came into my dressing room after my turn. Jack was still writing. Bess and Charmian came in, and Jack stood up, unpinned all his notes from the rope, put the notes in his pocket, and took down the rope.

  “We’ve got to go,” Jack said. “I’ve got my thousand words for yesterday and my thousand for today. I need Charmian to do some typing now. We’ll go back to the hotel. I’ll try for tomorrow’s thousand at the hotel. I’ve got to dig! Dig! I can only stay even by staying ahead. We’ll see you tonight after the show!”

  Jack went out the door. Charmian threw up her hand, and said, “Later!” and she went out also.

  “What did you buy?” I asked Bess.

  “You’ll see,” she said, her eyes glittering like a young girl’s. She kissed my cheek, and then nibbled my ear.

  I said, “That’s a new angle.”

  She laughed, and said, “I’ve got lots of new angles.”

  That night I performed once again to a packed, standing-room-only house. Our Oakland publicity campaign had been a smashing success. I stood in the wings before my turn thinking about this. Success. Mere success has never been enough for me. Collins came by me, and I took him by the arm.

  “Let’s try something new tonight,” I said to him. “I’m going to add another minute to the escape time on the upside-down, see what the audience does.”

  “Sir,” Collins said, “I fear another minute would send the house into pandemonium.”

  “We don’t want that,” I said. “We just want to get as near to it as we possibly can.”

  “I think we’re as near as we dare get,” Collins said.

  “I think we’re not,” I said. “Another minute. Tell Vickery and the others. I’ll stay behind the curtain an extra minute.”

  Collins nodded, frowning.

  “I’ll listen to their reaction,” I said. “The moment it begins to get out of hand, I’ll step out.”

  “I’ll tell the others,” Collins said. He went off.

  The first part of my act went smoothly. When time came for the Torture Cell, I could feel the tension in the audience increase. The inspection committee from the audience was particularly somber. With my feet secured in the stocks, I was raised over the cell. I gave the signal to be lowered. As I went down into the water I heard loud voices from the audience. Down I went, and was locked in. The curtains shut in front of me. I went into action, and came out of the tank. Even as I was climbing over the side, I could hear the murmurs of the audience. A tiny watch hanging inside the curtained cabinet told me the exact time. I watched the minute hand and listened. The audience murmur became louder, competing in volume with the strains of the orchestra as it performed “The Diver.” I could hear loud coughing down front, and the high-pitched sounds of women’s voices.

  Then from the balcony came a man’s hysterical voice, “In the name of God, do something! He’s drowning!”

  This was instantly followed by the terrified scream of a woman— and I had not even gone my full extra minute yet.

  I pulled back the curtain. Vickery stood directly in front of me in his long slicker with his fire ax raised high above his head. The audience was in a roaring tumult, which instantly ceased upon my appearance.

  The silence was followed by thunder. It was the audience on its feet, applauding and shouting. I did not bow, but only stood there for several minutes as the sound of their voices and clapping hands filled the house. Finally I waved, and walked off stage. Bess was waiting for me in the wings. She put her arms around me.

  “I’m fine,” I said. “It was all just part of the act.”

  “Jimmy told me,” Bess said, “at the last minute.”

  “Good,” I said. “He was supposed to tell you.”

  “You could’ve told me,” she said.

  “The idea came to me at the last minute,” I said.

  “Boss,” Vickery said, “you’ve got to come back out. The audience won’t sit down.”

  I went out on the stage and began taking bows. Finally I held up my hands and brought the audience to their seats. I said:

  “If you will be so kind to allow me a moment to change, I will confront my latest challengers from the Riggers and Stevedores Union. Mr. Collins, would you please bring the challengers up to the stage?”

  I went back to my dressing room, dried off, and threw on my formal suit. By the time I came out, Collins and the stevedores had already set the stage for the challenge. The Water Cell had been removed, and replaced with a seven-foot wooden plank that lay atop two sawhorses.

  Four riggers stood next to Collins, and I shook hands with each one of them.

  “Ladies and gentlemen,” I said. “These men are from the Riggers and Stevedores Union. They have challenged me to escape from their ropes lashed around this seven-foot plank. Is that correct, gentlemen?”

  “That is correct!” replied one of the riggers.

  Collins stepped toward me and whispered in my ear, as we had arranged earlier. I feigned surprise.

  “Ladies and gentlemen,” I said, “I’ve just been informed that we have in the house tonight Mr. Jack London, the famous author of Call of the Wild. Mr. London— wherever you are out th
ere— would you please stand and take a bow?”

  Down front off to my left Jack stood up suddenly with a big grin; he waved his hat in the air at the audience as they applauded, and then bowed.

  “Mr. London,” I said, “I think these riggers are quite competent with their rope ties, but some genuine sailor’s knots would add a real challenge. What do you say, folks? Wouldn’t you like to see Jack London tie me up?”

  The audience applauded loudly. Jack waved his hat again, and came trotting toward the stage, with that big grin on his face. He mounted the stairs to the stage, and came on up and walked toward me.

  “Ladies and gentlemen,” I said, “Mr. Jack London!”

  The audience applauded enthusiastically. Jack waved his hat at them again, and bowed. Then I stepped over to Jack and shook his hand and whispered: “Make it look good.”

  Jack gave me a wink, and the hog-tying began.

  I took off my coat and handed it to Collins. Then the riggers tied a broomstick between my legs, and then lashed my wrists to the stick with each of my hands against the inside of my knees. They then lifted me up on the plank and put me down on it so that I was lying on my back. And then they began lashing my whole body to the plank.

  “This is how you truss up prisoners on the high seas,” I said.

  “That’s right,” said one of the riggers. “And it never fails.”

  When the riggers finished the lashing and tying, I said, “What do you think, Mr. London? Am I ready for overseas shipping?”

  “Not quite,” Jack said. “You need one more good sailor’s knot.”

  Jack made an elaborate show of tying me with an extra rope, finishing the lashing with several authentic sailors’ knots.

  “There!” Jack said, stepping back. “That should hold you at least as far as Shanghai!”

  “Very well,” I said. “Is everyone satisfied?”