Suddenly, amidst motes of dust, swirls, and spirals of cigar smoke that formed floating phantoms in its narrowing, gelatinous yellow beam, a gas-lit reflecting spotlight shone fully upon the bare stage for the time of three heartbeats… then the light abruptly disappeared leaving only the ghostly, flickering gaslight from the chandeliers above.
“LADIES AND GENTLEMEN!”
The Climbing Boy: 12; London, England December 24, 1843
The hollow voice coming from somewhere, from everywhere.
“GARIBALDI THE GREAT!”
Quiet…
The transparent darkness…
Quiet.
Now, a pinpoint of light shone directly center stage. Slowly… Slowly, the light broadened upon a face—an evil face…
Shoulders…
Torso…
“GARIBALDI THE GREAT!”
A rotund man of indeterminate age; round and youthful, the face of Garibaldi had a shiny black mustache and a Faust like goatee, which in itself would not be frightful. However, what was startling were the eyes, the fathomless eyes… for, piercing black under pure white, arched brows, the eyes of Garibaldi were the eyes of an old man, and when looking into these eyes one was immediately reminded of one dimensional lumps of coal set into the face of a snowman…
Within moments, though, the flatness disappeared, leaving in its place the awesome sensation of looking into bottomless black pits. Flowing white hair came to just below the magician’s shoulders and, except for a startling white shirt, Garibaldi was dressed entirely in black: pants, cutaway coat, and top hat.
Standing perfectly still, the magician silently regarded his audience.
Not a sound.
Not a whisper.
Silence.
Silence…
…Till a low murmur came from the audience and, the murmur of the audience being the magician’s cue, removing the hat, bowing with a flourish, “Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen!” Garibaldi said in a deeply resonant, but curiously relaxing voice. “What you see here in my hands is a hat!” Pausing, he smiled. “Ahh, but it is not just any hat! This hat is a magic hat…
“YOU!”
Startled, each individual bounded upward in his or her seat.
“Yes! You!” Making a sweeping motion, Garibaldi pointed vaguely into the audience.
Turning, people looked at their neighbors.
“Yes!” His voice rising, “Yes! YOU!” he repeated, his hand dropping to his side. “You know who you are! I see your doubt!” Sweeping the audience slowly, Garibaldi’s black eyes looked everywhere, at everyone, yet, at each one person individually…
“THIS IS A MAGIC HAT!” his voice boomed.
Silence…
There was absolute silence throughout.
Not a cough, not a rustle.
Three hundred and thirty-three pairs of eyes stared, unblinking, at the man in the spotlight, and not one of those three hundred and thirty-three people had a doubt that the hat in Garibaldi’s hand was anything but magic.
Silence…
CHABOOOMMM!
A loud clap of thunder, a bright flash of light, and a cloud of dense smoke simultaneously enveloped the magician. Startled, the audience moved to the edge of their seats.
The smoke hovered… then, as if a curtain, lifting from the bottom, the smoke slowly rose, and as it did it revealed the magician standing as before, but…
Staring at the seated mass, yet staring at each person individually, he reached into the inverted top hat, the top hat that now sat on a waist-high, wooden table, which had appeared directly before him.
Made of unvarnished wood, the top of the table was no more than a foot square and an inch thick, and was held up by four thin, spindly legs.
Obviously nothing was hidden beneath the table, for Garibaldi’s sharply creased trousers could be seen through the legs.
Hissing, “Disbelievers, watch!”
The magician’s fingers, hand and wrist, descending slowly into the hat, appeared to be searching for something. “I know he’s in here.” Seemingly speaking to himself, his voice was heard by the furthest person in the furthermost row.
Deeper! His arm went deeper into the hat and was now past his forearm and elbow, yet, it hadn’t emerged from beneath the tabletop….
“Where are you?”
In a soft, singsong voice, the entire audience heard…
“Where are you?”
Murmuring…
Whispering, looking straight forward, “Where’s ‘is bloody ‘and?”
Looking straight forward, too, the man’s companion whispered back, “D’know. It ain’t under the table!”
“Where’s ‘is bloody arm?”
Deeper. Now, to the armpit.
“Where arrre you?” In a melodic, singsong voice, “Oscar, my pretty baby, where arrre you?”
Searching, the lost arm moved in circles within the rim of the hat.
“Ah-ha!” Garibaldi smiled wickedly. “There you are!”
Suddenly, the arm and table shaking violently, the hat began to move furiously from one corner of the table to the other.
“Come… Come, my friend. We won’t hurt you!” Looking up, speaking to the audience, “We won’t hurt him, will we?” Back to his hat, “Don’t make such a fuss.” As though speaking to a child, “We won’t hurt you.” Cajoling, “Come!” the magician pleaded, “Come!”
All eyes glued to the man in black, the audience strained forward.
“Shhh! Shhh, my little baby,” Garibaldi sang in a voice scarcely loud enough to be heard, but yet could be heard by all, as slowly, his arm rose, still thrashing back and forth within the confines of the magic hat, ever so slowly, still singing, “Come, my little baby. Come, my pretty Oscar.” The arm rose… Upper arm. Elbow. Forearm and wrist until…
There!
Held tightly in the magician’s fist was the mottled…
Higher.
…green and brown head…
Higher.
…of a thrashing…
Higher yet.
…boa constrictor.
In unison, as though on cue, a collective, startled gasp came from the people in the theater and all eyes were riveted on the huge, squirming reptile as it slithered out of the hat upward as now, standing on the tips of his toes, holding the snake in both hands, Garibaldi lifted upward, lifting the creature higher and higher above his head… and still it came from within the bottomless hat till…
Oscar was out!
At least eight feet of fearsome, thrashing muscle, Oscar was out of the hat.
Coming from the wings, appearing as though terrified, quickly, removing the hat and table, an attendant rushed back to the wings, as…
Standing dead center upon the bare stage, Garibaldi held the head of Oscar above his head as…
Thrashing back and forth, whipping up dust upon the bare wood, the tail of the snake unexpectedly….
“Not so tight my beautiful baby.”
… flipped upward, wrapping itself around Garibaldi’s lower body and chest.
“Oscar, not so tight…”
Coiling higher, upward, around his throat.
“Please!”
Was this part of the act?
“I can’t breath!” the magician gasped. “Please! I can’t breath!”
Could something be wrong?
In shock, standing, a woman in the audience shrieked, “’elp him! Someone ‘elp ‘im! The beast’s killing him!”
Hissing softly… though loudly enough for even the furthest person in the furthermost row to hear, turning its head to the audience, its small, beady eyes glowing red, its long, forked tongue flicking in and out of its seemingly smiling, evil mouth.
As the magician ineffectively tried to pull the tight coil from around his neck, a man—a heroic man in the third row—began to climb over the man in the seat in front of him in an effort to get to the stage…
CHABOOMMM!
A loud clap of thunder, a bright flash of light, and a cloud of dense smoke once again simultaneously enveloped the magician and Oscar, and the stage momentarily went black. Another flash of light and the stage was lit again, and… As the smoke dissipated, standing with his arms spread, the magic hat back on his head, the snake was gone, and in its place, around Garibaldi’s neck, was a garland of flowers.
His leg held in mid-air, the man in the third row stopped.
“‘ow’d ‘e do it?”
The audience could not believe their eyes.
“It’s a trick?”
Turning to each other…
“How?”
In a multitude of accents and dialects...
“‘ow’d ‘e do it?”
“Can’t be!”
“Got to be!”
“‘ow?”
“Now!” His voice booming over the tumult of their voices, Garibaldi said, “Do I have your attention?”
Silence…
A moment later the magician was answered by tumultuous applause.
“And to the man in the third row!” Garibaldi pointed to the man who had attempted to help him. “I thank you, Sir. You are indeed a brave man. But,” smiling benignly, “you do not really want to meet Oscar, because if you do…”
“No!” vigorously shaking his head, “No!” the man answered, retaking his seat. “I thanks ya, Gov, but no thanks!”
Sweeping the hat from his head, leaving a comet’s tail of sparkling dust in its wake, Garibaldi bowed to the man.
The attendant returned the table.
The magician put the hat back on the tabletop where…
A white rat climbed onto the rim, circled twice, looked inside the hat, and scampered up Garibaldi’s sleeve onto his shoulder and hid behind the magician’s head as the head of a small, black cat poked up through the hat. With Garibaldi’s assistance, the cat was pulled out of the hat and dropped onto the floor. Sniffing the air, the cat walked in a wide circle around the magician, stalking, as the rat ran around his collar in front when the cat was behind and behind when the cat was in front.
The audience roared with laughter.
A covey of partridges stumbled out of the hat, fluttered to the floor, formed a straight line and ambled off stage.
The people were enchanted.
A dove chased a puppy.
Each ensemble was followed with enthusiastic applause.
“Now, as my final feat of magic and in keeping with the season…” Garibaldi took the hat off the table, put it on his head, lifted the table, threw it to someone in the wings, set the hat, rim up, onto the floor, then, dramatically popping his wrists out of the top coat, as though to show he had nothing up his sleeves, kneeling, he put his hand into the magic hat once again… And searching into the depths of the hat, once again, his arm disappeared to the elbow. On both knees, bending over, his face, almost lying across the hat’s rim, was screwed in concentration…
But now, smiling his malignant smile, ever so slowly, the magician began to extract his arm… In his hand, held tightly between thumb and index finger, was the tip of something green and bristly. Straightening his knees, he pulled his arm higher, and there, in his hand, was the tip of an ever-growing Christmas tree fully bedecked with lit candles, strings of popcorn, and glass ornaments. As the top of the tree reached near the magician’s fully extended height, rushing on stage with a base, taking the tree, setting it inside, the stagehand rushed back to the wings. Taking his hat from the floor, Garibaldi placed it over the tip of the tree, then, a moment later, removed it revealing a star with burning candles on each of its five points.
Turning to the audience, bowing deeply, Garibaldi bid them, “A happy Christmas to you all!”
The applause thunderous, the audience rose from their seats.
Garibaldi the Great stood with his arms outstretched, as…
Retracting within its gelatinous yellow beam there were motes of dust, the phantoms of the swirls and spirals of cigar smoke, and then, but a pinpoint remained on the magician’s face.
A puff of smoke, a flash of light, and Garibaldi was gone.
The performance over, pulleys squeaked as once again the chandeliers were lowered and the theater, once again was lit.
Their hats and coats on, the people filed outside, into the cold gloom of this waning, prematurely dark day.
****
The coil of rope, brushes and the stack of drop clothes lying at his feet, holding the collar of the long-coat pressed tightly against his throat with one red, cold, chapped, scraped hand, the boy held his other hand against his breast pocket, trying to keep his friend the mouse inside warm also.
No bit of warmth nor a vestige of sunshine remained as this day’s late afternoon winter grayness began its ebb into early evening.
Standing, waiting at the rear door of Hobbins’ Funeral Parlor, thinking, Where’s the ol’ bastard? Johnson brought his fist back to the black, blistered, and cracked door to knock once again when he saw a shadow through the frosted window. There ya are, ya ol’ bastard! and heard the shuffling footsteps coming from within. Glancing at the boy, “The ol’ bastard’s comin’.” Shivering, he shoved both hands deeply into his trouser pockets.
Parted slightly, the thinly opened door throwing a sliver of light across Johnson’s face, “Yes?”
Recognizing the voice that came from behind the door, “Eh, Mizz’s Hobbins, Mum!”
The door opened wider.
To be continued
