The Magician's Tale

by William Bayer

  David deGeoffroy and I sit in the great San Francisco bar, Top of the Mark, on the nineteenth floor of the Mark Hopkins Hotel, he nursing a martini in a perfect conical glass, I refreshing myself with a lemonade. The views here are spectacular, encompassing the city. The sun is low, the mood mellow. I'm underdressed, but David doesn't seem to mind. However, when I remove my shades, he comments on the bruises on my upper cheeks and shiners around my eyes.

  "Do you live with someone, Kay?"

  "No. And I wasn't battered by a lover. I was jumped the other night, probably because I stuck my camera where it didn't belong."

  "This has something to do with Tim?"

  I nod.

  "You're a brave girl."

  "Less brave than pissed off. Listen, David, the suspense is killing me. Isn't it getting time for you to, you know. . ."

  "Describe the trick?"

  "Yep, the trick."

  He nods, takes a careful sip, folds his hands. First, he says, he will describe it from the audience point of view, then explain how it is done.

  The illusion is best performed outdoors, preferably in an open field. The Great deGeoffroy is dressed and made up as an Indian fakir—turban, robe, dark skin, black beard and mustache. He is assisted by his daughter, Zamantha, a small, lean, dark-haired girl with flashing dark eyes and coppery skin. She's a spunky little thing, cloaked like an Indian in an immaculate white pleated smock. Through the performance she acts as a jill-of-all-trades, handing apparatus to the fakir, juggling balls, performing cartwheels, passing the hat to the assembled crowd. Being eager and affectionate, she quickly wins its collective heart; thus the crowd is shocked when, near the end of the performance, the fakir suddenly turns on her on account of some minuscule error.

  "Idiot! Haven't I taught you never to do that?"

  Zamantha squeals an apology, but that's not good enough. The fakir is working up to a rage. He slaps Zamantha hard. She cries out, cringes from him in fear. He grabs her by her hair, drags her to the edge of the circle, threatens her with severe punishment, while she begs feverishly for mercy.

  "Enough!" the fakir retorts. "I'll teach you a lesson you won't forget!"

  And with that he draws a dagger from beneath his robe, brings it to Zamantha's neck and, with a single swipe, slashes her fragile throat.

  Immediately blood spurts, drenching Zamantha's pristine smock, staining the fakir's robe. A few drops may spatter too on the clothing of people seated nearby. The audience goes into collective shock. Mass confusion, screams, as blood bubbles from the dying Zamantha's throat.

  But despite the chaos the fakir, projecting the confidence he has shown throughout, persuades the audience that no harm has actually been done, meanwhile placing the apparently dead Zamantha into a large bulbous wicker basket which he has employed earlier in other tricks.

  He has great difficulty stuffing her inside. The mouth of the basket is narrow and Zamantha is bigger than she looks. When he finally gets her in, he covers the mouth of the basket with a cloth, then, proceeding to calm the audience, changes out of his bloody robe.

  Now come the incantations, pronounced in a language no human can understand. However, a few choice words of English are interspersed to the effect that the fakir is evoking the Lords of Darkness to restore to life his beloved daughter, whom, due to some terrible flaw of character, he has wrongly killed.

  A pause while the fakir allows the suspense to build. The audience holds its collective breath. Can he bring little Zamantha back? She was so sweet, endearing. The fakir swears that if he cannot, he will immediately hang himself before their very eyes.

  With a flourish he suddenly tears away the cloth cover from the basket, which he then tilts and revolves so the entire audience can see inside. It's empty! Zamantha's gone, disappeared! And then, just as the audience gasps, they hear the voice of a little girl crying "Papa! Papa!" from far beyond the circle. Collectively they turn. It's Zamantha, alive and well, in spotless garb, skipping gaily toward them from the distance. The crowd parts to let her through. She runs to her father, throws her arms about him while he in turn hugs her. They kiss, embrace, then take their bows, acknowledging thunderous applause and a rain of coins and bills thrown in appreciation for the fabulous illusion just performed.

  David takes another sip of his martini. "Now is that a good trick or not?"

  "It's good," I say. In fact damn good, I think . . . if not also bloody and cruel.

  "By now you've figured it out."

  "I know the part of Zamantha is played by both kids."

  David nods.

  "But there's plenty I don't understand."

  He smiles. "I'll break it down for you, mystification by mystification. First, the slitting of the throat and the explosion of blood. That's done with stage blood, bloody meat entrails and liver. The effect's so repugnant and the audience so shocked that most members turn away. Those who don't can't bear to look too closely.

  "Second, the stuffing into the basket: Due to the use of the loose-fitting smock, Zamantha appears a good deal larger than she is. I fake it when I appear to have trouble getting her in. There's actually lots of room, but I want the audience to think she barely fits.

  "Third, her disappearance: In fact she's in the basket the entire time, even as I rotate it so everyone can see she's not. This is where the contortionist training comes in. The basket interior is lined; Zamantha curls herself inside the lining against the round middle of the container and thus becomes invisible. By the way, when we perform outdoors there's no question of a tunnel. Indoors, to show there's no trapdoor, we set the basket on a legged stand off the floor.

  "Last, the reappearance. The second Zamantha, as you rightly figured out, is played by her twin. With identical garments, haircuts and flashing eyes, plus effeminate gestures in which Timmy's been carefully rehearsed, the audience believes it sees the girl I 'killed.' So you see, Kay, once it's explained, like all stage illusions, it's simple ... at least in theory."

  He asks if I'll join him for dinner. I accept but suggest I go home first and change. He pooh-poohs that, insisting I look fine, pointing out we're in a city known for its informal style. We adjourn downstairs to the dining room, where David orders a bottle of Opus One to accompany our food. Once settled in and eating, he continues his tale.

  "The moment I described the trick, the twins were entranced, eager to start rehearsals at once. Except that there was some unhappiness on Timmy's part, his feeling that he was being shortchanged. After all, he pointed out, as much to Ariane as myself, she would have most of the fun participating throughout the show, while he would only make an entrance at the end and until then remain hidden from view.

  "Although I hadn't anticipated his objection, I knew at once I'd have to deal with it. Any anger or jealousy between the twins and my plan could fall apart. I was trying to think up a solution when Ariane came up with her own—she and Timmy would each perfect both parts, Zamantha I and II, then alternate the roles."

  David laughs. "Think about it. The twins were all of eight years old at the time, yet already highly assertive. Ariane especially—she had this disingenuous way of taking charge, consulting Timmy and myself, yet controlling the dialogue so in the end she'd get her way. There I was, a mature (or perhaps not so mature) adult sometimes having to approach an eight-year-old as supplicant. In addition she constantly took on the role of Timmy's protector, as in this case, with her proposal that they split the Zamantha part.

  "Frankly, I was wary. She was the better contortionist, and body contortion was essential to the trick. I also didn't think Timmy could sustain the part of a girl. It was one thing to play Zamantha at the end, quite another to make her believable throughout. But Ariane had no such qualms. She would coach her brother until he could give a faultless imitation. Meanwhile they'd have fun switching off.

  "As it turned out, she was right. Although to my eyes she was slightly better as Zamantha I, our audiences were dazzled no matter which twin played the role."

/>   By this time David and the twins had grown close. He had won their confidence; they adored him as a father. Thus he left it to them to bring Aunt Molly around to the idea that they be allowed to work with him full-time over the summer. The kids were clever little manipulators; they knew exactly which of their aunt's buttons to push. They had a lot going for them: her pity for them as orphans, an intelligence far superior to hers, a polished heartbreaking manner when making a request, an iron will in pursuit of their goals.

  One Tuesday afternoon in May, after David had finished giving his lesson for the week, Aunt Molly sent the twins outdoors to play, then invited him into the living room to talk. Would he consider, she asked, taking the twins on for the summer? They so loved magic, he had told her many times that they were talented, they could assist him during performances, and she'd be willing to pay a reasonable fee for his trouble. David said he'd give the matter some thought and get back to her the following day.

  When he did he proposed that they draw up a contract regarding the rights and obligations of the parties, necessary protection since he would be taking responsibility for two minor children. As for a fee, none would be required; the twins would earn their keep by assisting at performances. A good deal all around, he said, since they'd have a great summer learning experience and he'd have two charming child confederates with whom to expand his act.

  Within a week the contract was signed. The day after school let out, the twins joined him in New York. Thus began a five-year relationship which lasted until they were thirteen years old.

  Summer stretched into fall. At that time a new contract was drawn naming David as full-time guardian. A private tutor, a young woman named Beverly Jenkins (David's then girlfriend, an aspiring magician in her own right) was engaged to keep the twins current on schoolwork, act as sitter and chaperon, and stage-manage the show. Meantime all obligations to Molly Kerrigan were rigorously met—at David's insistence, since Ariane and Timmy showed little interest: weekly phone calls, frequent letters, occasional visits home. A fine arrangement by which Aunt Molly was relieved of the stress of bringing up two difficult children, while the Lovsey twins, liberated from a stultifying home life, were free to discover their natures while seeing the world.

  By the end of August the Zamantha Illusion had been thoroughly rehearsed. The three of them performed it publicly for the first time on a carnival ground near Camden, Maine. The show was taut with energy. Audience response was tremendous. Afterward a vacationing Broadway producer approached to say he'd never seen a magic act so bold.

  Thus began years of travel that took the Great deGeoffroy and his little troupe from one end of the country to the other, on to Europe for a two-year tour, then on to Australia, New Zealand and Japan. There were other illusions in the act, of course, but the Zamantha was its signature. The posters featured it: a little Indian girl with bleeding throat being stuffed into a basket by a fierce-eyed fakir. The caption read: See The Great deGeoffroy Bring Zamantha Back to Life. Even professional magicians who understood the mechanics were dazzled by the execution.

  It was three years into the relationship, in the midst of their grand European tour, that the first serious difficulties arose. As the twins grew taller, certain modifications were made, but there came a point where the gender difference became too pronounced to be ignored. Timmy's voice began to change and he starting shooting up, while Ariane's hips began to widen and breasts began to bud. A falsetto, elevator shoes and floppy garments could only go so far. As the twins passed their eleventh birthday it became clear the Zamantha Illusion would have to be dropped.

  They worked up new tricks, some quite excellent, including an Indian livestock illusion involving a cobra and a mongoose, the Double Sawing-in-Half Illusion, the Torture Harness Escape and a violent illusion called Pillars of Fear. But nothing could equal the Zamantha, which depended on the interchangeability of twins. Thus the twins' relationship with David entered a new phase; later, in retrospect, David would call it "our Baroque."

  Around this time David turned to Beverly Jenkins. In the classic tradition, in which a pretty young woman acts as confederate to an all-powerful magician, David began to center his show on complicated illusions in which he cut her in half and/or made her disappear, while Ariane and Timmy were relegated to minor roles, performing flips and cartwheels along the fringes of the stage, juggling balls and swallowing knives while apparatus was hauled in and out. When David was ready to perform a new illusion he'd reappear and, in an amusing leitmotif, swat at the twins and shoo them off.

  This did not go down well with two exceptionally brilliant children who'd grown accustomed to being the center of attention in a bloodcurdling heart-stopping display. Why couldn't David come up with something new for them, something extraordinary instead of these degrading stunts? But David could not and tried to explain to them why—that their value to the show lay in their ability to appear identical, and now that they no longer did, a return to a stable home life was probably in order.

  He did not put it so bluntly, but the twins quickly grasped their situation. Since there was no hope of ever again playing in a substitution trick, their future as child magicians was bleak; on the other hand, any humiliation was better than resuming life with tiresome Aunt Molly.

  It was Ariane who came up with a solution, albeit a temporary one. She suggested to David that she and Timmy recruit and train a new set of twins.

  David was extremely fond of the Lovseys, and he was not without compassion and loyalty, but he recognized that the twins charmed him less as they approached adolescence than they had as graceful young innocents. He also felt responsible for them and a measure of guilt for having used them to further his ambitions. It would soon be time, he knew, to cut them loose, but since Ariane's proposal enabled him to keep them on awhile longer, he agreed to set them the task of finding substitute twins without thinking through the fallacy.

  It was a ploy, of course, a manipulation; Ariane had no intention of finding a suitable pair. Oh, she turned up twins, several sets of female identicals, and at first things would seem to go well. But then always a problem would arise—insufficient commitment, lack of suppleness, recalcitrance, stupidity or, Ariane's favorite bugaboo, equivocal parents. Each failed involvement would waste a couple of months. Meantime Ariane and Tim (he no longer cared to be called Timmy) were secretly working up an act of their own—an act so good, fated to become so popular, it would guarantee their position in the troupe.

  "It was fabulous," David tells me, as we sip coffee after dinner. By this time the hotel dining room has nearly emptied out. "A mentalist routine, extraordinary because it was performed by kids. Mentalism, you understand, depends upon charisma. A top-notch mentalist has to be bigger than life. So to see a girl twelve years old command a stage entirely by herself—the effect was tremendous. And Ariane brought it off. She had grown that powerful. I was amazed.

  "Actually what they did was a classic second-sight routine, Ariane blindfolded sitting on a stool in the center of the stage, Timmy roaming the house, asking audience members to show him objects such as watches, jewelry, banknotes and coins. Ariane would then divine what was being shown, describing the objects in great detail. In the case of banknotes she would give the serial numbers, in the case of coins the denominations and dates.

  "Such feats are accomplished by a complex set of signals having to do with the first letters of the words the confederate employs to frame his questions to the medium. Questions such as, 'What does the gentleman have?' or, 'Tell us what the lady is holding up,' convey detailed information, which is then further refined in regard to color, size and so on by such follow-up comments as: 'Hurry now!' 'Come on, Ariane!' 'Surely you see it in your mind's eye!' The codes are complicated. Mastering them requires a major feat of memorization. Yet the twins, by rigorous practice and intense concentration during their routine, could dazzle audiences even more than when I sliced Beverly into sections, recombined them and at the end brought her back smiling and
whole."

  I look closely at David. "You sound like you were jealous."

  He nods. "I was! They prepared their act behind my back, sprung it on me as a surprise. It was polished, professional. They were prodigies. I was overwhelmed. Then as soon as they started performing, it created tremendous word of mouth. Crowds thronged the theater. I felt eclipsed."

  David beckons to a waiter, orders a cognac. I settle for a second coffee.

  "They had something powerful going. Call it twinship. Their rapport was so finely tuned, their need to stay on the stage so great, that they brought off one of the most demanding of all routines. Yes, I was jealous. I was also proud. It was I, after all, who had trained them, and now was being surpassed."

  Listening I see wonderment in David's eyes, the mixture of pride and envy, amazement and dismay he's just described. The memory of Ariane's power still disturbs him. But where, I interrupt to ask, was Tim in all of this? Was he merely his sister's stooge, or did he acquire power of his own?

  "Certainly," David says, "he was a fine magician. He had talent and his juggling and sleight-of-hand were better than hers. But she was the one with presence, who radiated authority, so I'd say she was the superior, the one for whom magic was nourishment. Reaching the top in magic, as in music or sports, calls for more than talent. It requires mental toughness, inner strength, a will to power. Ariane had those traits, Timmy didn't. What I grasped, and even feared in her, was a potential to go all the way."

  This kind of self-knowledge came later to David; during the Baroque he was only aware of his unease. There were moments, he remembered, when he considered devoting his life to the twins, stepping down from his role as The Great deGeoffroy to become their full-time manager. He even thought up a new name for Ariane—he'd anoint her The Amazing Amoretto, meaning "Little Cupid"—not to be confused with the bitter almond-flavored Italian liqueur of similar name. But these were daydreams. David was still too young to renounce his ambitions and become a stepping-stone for a child.