Now You See It... Part 20

80 Richard Mathexon

And certainly the words he spoke, I had spoken-if not word for word then, surely, feeling for feeling.

"Consistency of detail," he repeated- "Speaking clearly to die last row as to the first. Speaking to my audience as though the words are coining for the first time instead of being repeated verbatim as they've been for twenty years."

Dear Lord, an echo of my own repeated declarations.

"Preparing monologues not only for the audience to hear," said Max, "but for myself to think as well. Soundless lines for me to think between the words I speak aloud- De- tails."

Was I smiling? Surely not; I couldn't. But inside I was. In- side I felt a warmth of sweet nostalgia.

Max had lowered the pistol now and begun to pace again.

I saw Harry watch him with suspicion. And knew that he was thinking. Now what?-for I was thinking it as well, de- spite my pleasure at the words my son was speaking.

"Details," Max said, gesturing with his left hand.

"You must not surprise an audience. You must 'stage- surprise' them. An audience loathes to be truly surprised, because it is unexpected, therefore unenjoyable."

The inner smile again. These words, like benedictions from the past. I wonder if he knew the pleasure they were giving me.

"The 'stage-surprise' is different," he continued. "Open- ly announced in advance. The magician declaring: 'My friends, I am going to surprise you. Are you ready? Prepare yourself carefully. Here it comes.'"

I was not a hunching cabbage in a wheelchair now, not a worthless lump of detritus. I was back in the world I knew and loved, and Max, my son, had taken me there.

"Details," he said again.

"The choosing of a volunteer. One who will cooperate- Bright outfit, never drab. Eye-catching. Preferably female.

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Not overly attractive, though. If she's too attractive, she'll draw excess attention from the act."

Quite so, I thought; absolutely right.

'Tf a male," said Max, "someone with a physical odd- ity-skinny, fat, protruding ears, whatever. Someone to amuse me audience. Distract it.

"And look before the need," he added. "Let them be al- ready chosen when the time arrives to use them."

Absolutely, 1 reacted.

Max was coming to life now, as I was (well, relatively)- his eyes bright, his posture alert, his voice increasingly ex- cited as he spoke; and why not? Wasn't this his kingdom?

Hadn't it been mine?

"What will these volunteers be used for?" he asked. The question was academic, of course; he already knew die an- swer. "Helpers? Subjects? Subjects must be credulous, not doubtful, not distrusting."

Harry would have made a lousy Subject, it occurred to me.

- "Lenders of objects?" Max was adding further academic queries. "Watches? Keys? Pens? Lenders must be chosen for appearance of integrity- The same for inspectors of de- vices. The audience must trust their judgment."

How well I had taught him; I basked in me knowledge.

Now Harry tensed as Max moved to the desk and set the pistol down, then began to use both hands to gesture as he continued pacing, is that a good idea? I fretted. What if Max moved so far from the desk mat Harry could make a rush for the pistol? Surely he would do it There was no other way out for him.

It seemed as though Harry listened now with one ear (as they say), keeping himself prepared to move should the op- portunity arise. Vfatch it. Son, I thought. Don't get so carried away by your rhapsodizing that you overlook basic caution.

82 Richard Matheun

"As for me, the magician/' Max was saying; he seemed to have completely forgotten the pistol. "I must show no sign of strain or stifmess in the hands, the elbows, or me shoul- ders- Gestures must be practiced to perfection-even the smallest one/'

He demonstrated some. 'Their length," he said. "Their speed. Never more than one at a time."

Watch it. Sonny boy, I thought.

"Time," said Max, so loudly mat it made Harry twitch.

"Pauses. Counts and rhythms. Root out everything which might distract. Useless movements- Pointless jewelry- domes that call attention to themselves.

"And always an alternative ending; always," he said- "One must look ahead. Things can go wrong."

Yes, they can, I thought. Lite an agent rushing to a desk and s.n.a.t.c.hing up a pistol.

It disturbed me to see mat Max's gaze was so inward now. I'm not sure he even knew that Harry was in the same room with him. And I saw mat even wooden-witted Harry sensed this and was readying his move.

"Consider every detail," Max was saying (or was it The Great Delacorte, father and son, who spoke?). "Light- ing. Music. Apparatus. Stagehands. Posture- Footwork; one kind for a cross, another for climbing steps. Another for moving upstage, yet another for moving down."

He began to demonstrate as to a cla.s.s of novices. Ambiva- lence tore at me. I loved what he was saying but feared that, in saying it, he had become too incautious. I saw Harry edg- ing forward on the chair. Oh, G.o.d, to have a voice! my mind exploded with lamenting rage.

"The eight positions of the body," Max was saying, demonstrating as he spoke. "Full back. Three-quarter right.

Right profile. Quarter right. Full front. Quarter left. Left profile- Three-quarter left- Return to full back."

Harry started up, men sank down hurriedly as Max

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turned back. Was it possible mat Max was playing with him? If so, he was taking greater risks than were prudent.

"The six positions of the feet," Max told him, smiling as he demonstrated. (He was lost in his kingdom!) "Feet to- gether, side by side, pointing forward. Either foot one step sideways so the feet are twelve to twenty-four inches apart.

One foot perpendicular to me other, the heel of me perpen- dicular touching the arch of me other."

Despite uneasiness, I could not but be awed by me de- tailed lengths to which Max had gone to perfect his act.

Even I had not gone so far, I admit (with contrition).

"The perpendicular foot one step forward," he was con- tinuing, "one foot pointing forward, the other at a forty- five-degree angle to it, the heel of me angled foot touching me toe of the first.

"The same, but with the angled foot a step forward in the direction it points."

Look out. Max, I was thinking anxiously. Harry's arms were rigid as he pressed down on the armrests, preparing himself to lurch up. How could Max not notice?

"Never more than three steps at a time," Max was saying, transported, words falling quickly from his lips. "Quick steps. Slow. Exaggerated strides." He demonstrated each with delicate precision. "Details, always details."