by Sword Stone Table- Old Legends, New Voices (retail) (epub)
Jack found himself rubbing Brad’s back, even though all of what Brad was telling him was frightening him more than he could say. “It’s okay,” he said.
Brad’s back trembled with a shuddering intake of breath. “I don’t want to die anymore,” he said. “I really don’t. I got some help, some really important help, and I’m okay, you know? I’m really happy now, I really am, and maybe it’s partially because of everything shitty that happened, you know?” He raised his pained face to regard Jack again. “I mean, I’m sure you can figure out what I’m trying to tell you. But, well, we have to be very careful. Like really careful. I really want you. I do. You’re gorgeous and smart and kind, and…and, well…we need to use condoms, always. Because, you know.” Brad chewed his lower lip, closed his eyes, and then quietly said, “I’m positive. And I don’t want to give that to you.”
Jack held his breath. There it was. He had always been an intense germophobe. AIDS and the prospect of HIV infection were among the main reasons he had had so little sex since moving to New York. He had seen the photo essays in Time of emaciated men covered in KS lesions, horrifying images he could barely take in. He would never, as Brad had, knowingly put himself in harm’s way. But he hadn’t ever considered what he might do if he were faced with a moment such as the one in which he found himself. For the first time in his adult life, he was developing strong feelings for a potential romantic partner, he was allowing himself to get swept up in thinking about the possibilities of what it could turn into—and now this news. How could he go forward from here? How could he remain safe and healthy? What would happen?
And yet, as he sat there with Brad, listening to him, comforting him, seeing his lovely, boyish face distorted with fear and shame, Jack discovered, in that moment, that those questions, those fears, didn’t really matter. He discovered in himself a capacity for holding this new, explosive information alongside his growing feelings of affection and connection. And so, when Jack gently took Brad’s face between his hands and said, “It’s okay. It’s really okay. Thank you for telling me. You aren’t going to scare me away that easily,” he surprised himself with how much he meant every word.
* * *
—
Shaking his head to clear away these thoughts, Jack joined in the sparse but heartfelt applause that followed the Broadway singer’s final song. Brad turned to Jack and exclaimed, “He was so good, wasn’t he?”
“Yes, honey, he was excellent,” Jack said, even though he had barely paid attention to the performance.
“Oh, look, a magician!”
There was, indeed, a magician taking the singer’s place in front of the small audience. He wore a tuxedo featuring sequined silver stars and crescent moons on its sleeves, which were repeated on the slightly absurd cone-shaped hat perched atop his head. It was the same sort of hat that Mickey Mouse wore in Fantasia. The magician had a strangely ageless quality, looking like he could be anywhere between fifty and eighty years old. His eyes were framed by small old-fashioned gold-wire-rimmed glasses, and his upper lip sported a rather bushy and elaborate gray handlebar mustache. He looked ridiculous to Jack.
“Greetings, my esteemed patrons,” the magician began with a sweep of his sequined arms. Jack thought his pretentious British accent sounded especially fake, and he leaned back in his seat, folding his arms, trying to hide from Brad his immediate dislike of this performer. “It is a glorious evening for that most magnificent, mysterious, and monumental of the living arts practiced throughout human history by fellows both high and low. Oftentimes misunderstood, in its most desperate moments subjected to slanderous accusations of demon worship or worse, but surviving these degradations to rise triumphantly again and again, to the delight and wonder of beings of all ages. I am speaking, of course, of that most magnificent, mysterious, and monumental living art known colloquially as magic.”
He waggled his eyebrows, seeming to Jack to be awaiting someone kind of raucous response from his audience, oblivious to the fact that these very ill patients wouldn’t be supplying him with anything like that anytime soon. The magician forged ahead anyway.
“I am Merlin, and it is my great honor to be here tonight, to enrapture and entertain you with fantastical feats you never dreamed possible.” He clapped his hands together, and a cloud of sparkling, glittering confetti erupted, dissolving into nothing as it dissipated around him.
“So pretty,” Brad breathed.
Merlin proceeded to perform trick after trick of the sort Jack had seen before: pulling infinite scarves out of his sequined sleeves; pouring water into a newspaper folded into a large cone and then snapping it open to reveal no liquid inside; causing various flowers, coins, and stuffed birds to suddenly appear in his hands, on his shoulders, or from behind the ear of an audience member. Jack had to admit, begrudgingly, that Merlin did manage to perform these tricks with a certain amount of aplomb. And gradually he realized that every item had in fact disappeared entirely at the end of every trick; there was no typical side table or bag where discarded props gathered. By the end, Jack found himself a bit more impressed than he would have guessed at the start of the performance, although Merlin’s over-the-top accent continued to grate throughout.
Brad, however, was totally captivated from the first moment to the last, exclaiming awe and delight at the punctuation of each trick. Jack couldn’t be certain, but he thought he noticed the magician glancing at Brad from time to time. Then, as the audience applauded at the end of his performance, Merlin took an elaborate bow, and when he removed his ridiculous hat, a pristine white dove flew out and made a beeline directly for Brad, who clapped his hands to his mouth, laughing, as it circled above his head. It returned to Merlin’s shoulder, and when the magician delicately offered his finger to it, the dove perched without pause. Merlin kissed his dove lovingly, then tossed it into the air, where it instantly disappeared.
“Ah!” Brad exclaimed. “Amazing!”
The magician took his final bow, and Jack saw him glance again at Brad, his eyes glinting behind his wire-rimmed spectacles. Brad’s applause was joyful, by far the most boisterous of any of the patients’ responses to the performance. Jack rubbed his boyfriend’s back tenderly.
“I’m glad you enjoyed that,” he said.
Brad’s smile was the brightest Jack had seen on Brad’s face in weeks. “It was so, so, so wonderful.”
Then, to Jack’s surprise, Merlin was striding over to them. He extended his hand to Brad, who took it and shook as vigorously as he was capable of. “Young man,” Merlin began, holding Brad’s hand in both of his own, “may I say thank you to you?”
“Thank you to me? I’m supposed to be thanking you!”
“Well, then, we shall have to thank one another, then, shan’t we? You have given me a gift today. Your enthusiasm, your joy, has reminded me of why I do what I do and has lifted my spirits, and I shall not forget you.”
Jack could see Brad’s eyes glistening as he listened.
“And who is this handsome young fellow?” Jack realized that Merlin was referring to him and felt his cheeks burn with a jolt of shame at his own internal impoliteness. He stood and extended his hand.
“I’m Jack,” he said. “Thank you for your performance.”
“You are most welcome, Jack. You are most welcome.” Up close, Jack could see that Merlin’s eyes were slightly milky and rheumy with age, but nonetheless Jack found himself suddenly and intensely captured by them. “It is indeed my honor and my pleasure.”
Jack felt it would be polite to engage further, so he asked the first question that came to his mind: “How long have you been a magician?”
Merlin chuckled as he responded. “Oh, my dear boy, that is a question that is most intriguing and most difficult to answer. It touches on the mysteries and vagaries of Time itself, and it requires me to engage in that most confounding and stubborn of the living arts known as maths. I beg you, do not subjec
t me to maths!”
Jack felt his cheeks burning anew, his attempt at civility backfiring. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to offend.”
Merlin reassuringly patted Jack’s arm, smiling warmly. “I promise you, I am not so easily offended. No, no, no, not so easily offended as that! Accuse me of consorting with a succubus, or threaten me with a good burning at the stake, and I might be offended. No, your question is an honest one, and worthy of a response. Suffice it to say, I have been practicing my art for a very, very, very, very, very, very long while.”
“Well, you are really good at it,” Jack said, discovering in that moment that he really did mean it.
“Total agreement,” Brad interjected.
Merlin turned back to Brad and rested a hand on his shoulder.
“I thank you again,” the magician said. “You have such a light in you, young man. Such a light. It shines brightly, even as…” He trailed off, waving his hand vaguely around at their surroundings. Then he began again, gently looking down at Brad. “I must be honest with you, my dear boy. My real and profound regret is that I only ever dabbled in the more…frivolous aspects of my art. Tricks. Illusions. Nonsense, really.”
“It’s not nonsense,” Brad interjected. “It’s beautiful.”
“Ah, perhaps you are right, my dear boy. Perhaps you are right. Illusions can, and do, delight the soul and engage the mind. Yes. They can open us up to experience something of the wonders of the universe. Yes. This is true, I will admit.” He paused, his brow furrowing. “But,” he continued, “in the end, I have begun to see that, while they are often exciting, and occasionally entertaining, and sometimes quite impressive, these frivolous displays often fall far short of making any real difference. Far too short indeed. Yes, I am afraid it is true.”
He removed his spectacles, cleaned them, and returned them to his face.
“You see, there are those among my fellow artists who have, throughout history, dedicated themselves to the much more difficult, and therefore much more powerful, practice of performing the most challenging work of all: the healing Magicks. These Magicks require delving into, and altering the very essence of, Life itself. Yes, my dear boy, I am beginning to see, at long last, that it would have been much more beneficial, much more worthwhile, and much more impactful—so much so—for me to have joined them in this pursuit. I…am quite sorry that I cannot do more for you than I have.”
Jack took Brad’s hand, feeling his chest tighten. Brad looked up at the magician and said, quietly and earnestly, “You really are who I think you are, aren’t you?”
“I assure you that I am indeed myself, but I have no inkling as to whether or not that is the same person as you imagine me to be.”
“You really are Merlin.”
Jack felt lost and was afraid that Brad was beginning to have another episode. “Honey, what do you mean, he’s already said that’s his name.”
“It is indeed my name,” the magician replied, smiling.
Brad gripped Jack’s hand tightly, his eyes alight. “No, no, I mean, he’s Merlin. The real Merlin.”
Jack couldn’t tell if he or Brad was the source of the confusion. “I don’t know what that means.”
Merlin said, “He means that I am who I say I am, and he is correct, and that is all. My…reputation precedes me, from time to time.”
“I’m sorry, I don’t understand.”
Brad tugged at Jack’s hand. “Don’t you know who Merlin is?”
Jack, embarrassed and a little afraid, tried to keep his voice from rising. “I don’t, no. Should I?”
Brad covered his eyes with his free hand, shaking his head. “Ah, man, I’m sorry, sometimes I don’t remember that the stories I grew up with aren’t always the stories you grew up with. I’m sorry, I’m sorry….”
Jack felt the need to intervene in any sadness or shame Brad was experiencing as quickly as possible. “It’s okay, it’s okay. But what do you mean by ‘stories’? What does this have to do with stories?”
Merlin interjected again: “Well, allow me to try to explain. One can’t always believe everything one reads, but in my case, there have been various tales that have been told about me over the years, and some of them are closer to the truth than others.” He turned his attention back to Brad. “I must say that it is most flattering, my dear boy, to be remembered by you.”
Brad’s eyes were luminous as he gazed up at the magician. “Of course I remember.”
Jack felt even more confused and concerned; he very much wanted this interaction to end. He caught Esmerelda’s eye, and she immediately made her way over to them.
“Okay, okay, I’m afraid it’s time for everyone to go, visiting hours are over, thank you for your performance, sir, thank you, it was so good, it was so fun to see you do your magic, I couldn’t believe it, some of the things you did, so exciting!” She began to help Brad out of his seat, and Jack assisted her. “But, sir, I need to get him back to his room, okay? Thank you, thank you, good night, good night.”
Brad wavered as he stood up, leaning on Jack, gripping Jack’s arm to steady himself. Esmerelda was supporting his other arm. Brad twisted toward Merlin and said, “I’m so glad to have met you.”
“The feeling is mutual, my dear boy, the feeling is mutual.”
* * *
—
Esmerelda and Jack managed to get Brad back to his room and into his bed without too much fuss. Esmerelda patted Jack’s arm and said as she left, “I’ll give you a couple more minutes to say good night, but then I have to kick you out, okay? Don’t tell the boss, though, ha?”
“I won’t,” Jack said, then returned his attention to Brad, who was staring at the ceiling. Jack noticed tears silently streaming from Brad’s eyes, although he also noticed that he seemed to be smiling, ever so slightly. “Honey?” Jack said. “Are you okay?”
Brad took a long time to respond. “I’m…” he began, still staring at the ceiling. “I’m tired.”
Jack willed away the tears threatening to spill out of his own eyes and gently caressed Brad’s chest. “Okay, my love. Okay. Get some sleep. I’ll see you tomorrow.” He leaned down and kissed his boyfriend on the forehead. Brad closed his eyes. Jack turned and left, closing Brad’s door behind him.
“Good night, good night,” Esmerelda called from the nurses’ station. “Get some sleep, okay?” Jack silently waved to her and numbly made his way to the elevator.
* * *
—
When Jack emerged from the hospital onto Twelfth Street, he stuffed his hands into his jacket pockets and hunched into himself, trying to ward off the chill of the evening air. He realized that he was holding his breath and probably had been for some time. He stopped walking and stood very still, closing his eyes tightly and concentrating on taking several slow, measured breaths. He felt himself sway and imagined that he could sense the impossibly fast revolutions of the planet below his feet as it spun its way through the galaxy.
“Young man?”
The voice of the magician startled him out of his meditation. Jack opened his eyes to see the older man, now hatless and wearing a long overcoat, approaching him.
“Are you all right?”
Jack swallowed thickly and said, trying to control any possible quaver in his voice, “I’m all right.” He felt his hands clenching into fists in his jacket pockets.
“You looked, for a moment—and I mean no disrespect by this—but you looked, just now, as if you had fallen under some sort of spell. And as that sort of thing is more or less my bailiwick, I would like to offer my assistance to you.”
Jack found this man to be very confusing. He attempted a polite smile. “Thank you, but I’m really all right.” He was about to turn away when the magician held out a hand to him.
“Sir, please. Allow me to help.”
Jack froze, unsure of what
this eccentric older man could possibly do for him. Yet he hated the idea of being rude, and also took little pleasure in the idea of going home to his empty apartment. As Jack stood there, contemplating his response, Merlin regarded him with a softness and warmth that Jack found to be completely disarming.
“I assure you, good sir, I mean you no harm.”
Jack shook his head. “I don’t think you mean me harm.” And that was true enough.
“Well, that’s a start, then, isn’t it?” The magician gestured to a bench on the corner, facing Seventh Avenue. “Please, join me.”
Why was this man trying so hard to talk to him? “It’s cold out,” Jack protested.
“I have just the remedy for that. Come.”
Merlin gestured again, invitingly, and after another moment of hesitation, Jack followed the magician to the bench and allowed himself to sit. Jack’s fists were still clenched inside his pockets. Merlin removed from his own pocket a small, clear, diamond-shaped crystal. He tapped it three times with his forefinger, muttered something unintelligible, and set it on the bench between them. A few seconds passed, and then the crystal started to glow faintly, amber and purple spreading through its facets. It didn’t seem possible, but Jack could distinctly feel heat emanating from it.
“What…? How…?”
The magician smiled. “Is that better?”
Baffled, Jack nodded. The crystal was giving off a rapidly increasing—and quite comfortable—warmth now. “It’s…” he began. “I don’t know what it is, but…thank you.”
“Alas, this is yet another achievement of mine that is barely more than a parlor trick. Impressive, true, and mildly beneficial, especially on a night like tonight. But it is, nonetheless, more sorrowful evidence of all of which I am incapable.” He shook his head ruefully. “But no, enough of that from me. You, sir, are in no small amount of distress, and it is no mystery as to why. That wonderful young man in there—I realize I did not catch his name—but that most wonderful young man in there, he is yours, is he not?”
