The Last Illusion

Step right up and read about a grand spectacle of prestidigitation.

Edward shuffled his feet, kicking up thickets of dry straw while he strolled through the fairgrounds. Cheers from an occasional winner on the midway echoed nearby, as did screams from the top of the Ferris wheel. Shouts from a distant lectern advertised sideshow attractions of every known variety. An elephant was ushered past gawking children by two East Indian men dressed in brightly colored attire and costume jewelry.

In one of Edward’s pockets was an acceptance letter from a nearby university. In the other pocket was a watch. When he could wait no longer, Edward pulled out the watch and checked the time. No more than a few minutes had passed since he last checked. The spectacle known as Gaston the Magnificent would begin his magic show in fifteen minutes. In a few hours Edward would be on a train.

The college bound young man walked to the front of the magician’s tent, where a small crowd was already gathering. Seats were first-come first-served and arriving late meant a seat in the back row, hardly close enough to appreciate Gaston’s performance.

Edward could not stand still, shifting his weight from one leg to the other and moving about the other patrons. He put his hands in his pockets to quiet his excitement. The letter was still there.

The tent’s fabric door flaps were tied shut. On the outside they were painted with Gaston’s image and stage name. He was dressed all in black, including a top hat, in stark contrast to the bouquet of red roses he held out, partially obscuring his face. His other hand was fanning out playing cards down and away from his side, all aces.

While the image was fading, it did not detract from the magician’s grand presence. Only one thing could pull Edward’s eyes from it, and that was a much younger boy who bumped square into him while slithering around the adults.

“Oh, excuse me, sir,” the boy said. “I had my head down and was not watching my step.”

“It’s not an issue, but mind the crowd as it’s only going to get bigger,” Edward said.

The boy seemed to ignore Edward’s advice. He kept his head pointed downward, dangled out over his neck, wandering directionless amidst a sea of adults who were now growing restless with his antics. When the boy had distanced himself, Edward checked his watch again. Gaston was never late, but never was he early. It was all a part of the pageantry, a steady build of tension to play off their nerves.

In the distance, Edward thought that he heard crying, confirmed by the familiar voice of the boy, who lamented, “I seem to have lost my ticket. Has anyone picked up a lost ticket? Please, help me look before I miss the show.”

When the crying grew louder, several people turned toward the noise. Although not unbearable, a snide young woman could not hold in her disdain, saying to the boy, “If you must do your wailing, please do it somewhere else. You should have kept your ticket in hand.”

Others joined in the chorus, shooing him away from the scene, pushing him further to the outskirts of the gathering until Edward could barely hear him utter, “My pocket had a hole. How was I to know?”

Massive kettle drums from within the tent beat rhythmically, drowning out the minor disturbance from the boy. These were Gaston’s signature sound, announcing his arrival, at which point the tent flaps flung backward. Ushers were standing ready at the entrance to take tickets. People shuffled in swiftly. All except Edward, who stepped aside.

Edward turned to find the boy, who was still searching, a steady stream of tears falling from his cheeks. Every few moments, the boy would bend down, pick up a candy wrapper or discarded paper, hoping that it would be revealed as his ticket. At last, when all hope was lost, he stood still, a melancholy statue that passersby ignored.

“It appears you’ve looked in all the wrong places,” Edward said, kneeling in front of the boy so that he was forced to look at him face to face.

“My mother says that I would lose my head if it weren’t attached,” the boy said.

“That may be true, but magic is not found in the head. It’s found in the heart,” Edward said, pointing his finger at the boy’s chest. Between the tip of his finger and the boy’s shirt was Edward’s ticket, which the boy noticed wide eyed.

The boy grabbed the ticket, dried his tears and to Edward’s surprise, gave him a mighty hug. As he turned to run inside the tent, Edward said, “You’re forgetting something else.”

“You found my ticket. What else do I need?”

Edward squinted his eyes, reached up behind the boy’s ear, and pulled out a ten-cent piece. One of many illusions mastered since becoming enamored with Gaston. Edward handed it to the boy and said, “For the show. You’ll know when the time is right. Keep it safe.”

As Edward exited the fair, he felt the letter again from the university, working the paper between his fingers. Before he could leave, an elderly gentleman blocked his path. The old man used a cane, had long gray hair and a beard, and was hunched over so much that he might topple at any second. The bud from a single red rose was pinned to his lapel.

“Excuse me, but I overheard your conversation with that boy,” the old man said in a gravelly voice. “What a kind gesture. I have a ticket, but I’ve grown tired from the day’s activities. You take it.”

“That’s very generous of you, but I’ve seen Gaston before. A total of six times if you can believe it,” Edward said.

“I can believe it. I’ve watched Gaston’s shows for the last two hundred and fifteen years, never growing tired of the way he can enchant and fool an audience with equal measure.”

Before Edward could protest the impossibility of the number given by the old man, a ticket was shoved into his hand. The old man rapped his cane gently on Edward’s shoulder and said, “A fine young man you are. You’ll make your mother proud one day, no matter your choice of education or profession.”

“Thank you, I…”

“Better get on with it before you miss the show.”

There was a single seat in the back row adjacent to the center aisle, right next to the boy. Small as he was, the boy was standing so that he could see just over the cluster of heads.

On the makeshift stage, Gaston waved his hands about with polished elegance, performing various illusions to the adoration of everyone. Their faces were glowing, a radiance cast from the lights and from the performance.

“You have been considerate and attentive this afternoon,” Gaston shouted. “I surmise that one of you will make a fabulous volunteer for my next trick. The first to bring me a single ten-cent piece will participate in one of the finest illusions I’ve ever performed.”

Several audience members rifled through their purses and pants pockets, hoping that Gaston would give them the ultimate pleasure of taking part in the show. The boy, however, sat down quickly, staring down at his feet. Edward nudged him, prompting him to take advantage of what he knew was about to happen.

The boy pulled out the coin from his pocket, fiddling with it between his fingers.

“It’s a shame. Does no one have a single ten-cent piece? My, oh my, this town has certainly fallen on hard times,” Gaston said.

A few people snickered, at which point Edward took the coin from the boy, gave him a wink, stood to his feet, and shouted, “Gaston! This young boy has lent me a ten-cent piece. If you promise not to cut me in two, I will be happy to bring it.”

The boy smiled, the audience burst into laughter and cheers, and Edward made his way to the front of the stage. There, Gaston positioned Edward to face everyone, and handed him a red blindfold. 

“If you please, young man, tie this around your head to cover your eyes. Be sure there is no peeking, or else I might have to cut you in two,” Gaston said to more laughter.

Edward did as was instructed, a deep, dark red overtaking his vision. Gaston, however, did not ask for the coin, as Edward had suspected. Instead, he began regaling the audience about his exploits around the world, people he had met, lovers he had quarreled and dangers he had faced. Then, to his surprise, Gaston informed everyone that this would be his last show. Edward was tempted to remove the blindfold, but a strange force rendered him immovable.

Edward felt both sleepy and dizzy, the room’s sounds fading in and out, finally down to a whisper. The smells of cotton candy and popcorn, previously hovering in the air, were now absent, giving way to the smell of lilies and honeysuckle. A cool breeze in the open air swept through Edward’s hair. When the birds sang, the force released him, and he took off the blindfold.

The old man that gifted Edward his ticket, as well as the boy, were all that was left. The boy sat in the chair in the open grass, looking up at Edward. The old man hunched, still clutching his cane. Nothing of the fairgrounds remained. Not a single trace. The shock caused Edward to falter.

“Is this… an illusion, or is it real?” Edward asked.

“Would you know the difference? I suppose not. Not many would. Their minds are too delicate to comprehend the universe behind the universe,” the old man said. 

“You’re Gaston, aren’t you?”

“Ha! Ha! I knew I made the right choice in my successor, Edward. My great-nephew here, Octavious, as adept as he is, prefers theatrics to magic. Quite the actor already, wouldn’t you say?”

Octavious stood up and took a bow.

“You’re telling me that magic is real — that this is real?” Edward asked.

“As real as you and I, as well as the Gaston before me and before him and so on and so forth. The stage is merely a distraction, an excuse, if you will, to travel the world using magic to protect and defend great men and even greater secrets.”

“Travel. I’m supposed to travel to university soon. I have to get home before I miss the train,” Edward said, pulling out his watch. Time stopped. No, he looked again. It was moving backward.

“You can learn a great deal in university, Edward, this is true. But I’ve been watching you for a long time, and I believe you have a different calling.”

“I haven’t learned any real magic. What good would I be as your successor?”

“A wise young man once said that magic is not in the head. It’s in the heart. Magic is not learned, not in the way you understand it. The knowledge and capacity are passed by contract. All the interested parties need to do is enter into an agreement, exchanging something of value as an oath.”

“The coin. If I give you the coin, and agree to it, I will know what you know.”

“Not only will you know, but you will also mature, passing along what you learn to your own successor. I will lose the ability, of course, but as you can see, I’ve reached an age where it’s no longer possible to wait.”

“You mentioned defense. Against what?”

“Evil. Some contend our knowledge of magic should elevate us above the ordinary man. They will do whatever it takes to make that happen. You will be in danger, Edward, make no mistake. But therein lies the irony. To do nothing will put us all in danger.”

Edward breathed in deep, took the coin out of his pocket, and considered the opportunity being presented. Before today, Gaston was nothing more than a stage magician, a fascination of an imaginative youth. Now he held knowledge greater than any university could provide, offering it for the price of ten cents.

Gaston walked toward Edward, held out his wrinkled hand, palm open, waiting for a decision. The magician was physically frail. Beyond the human form, though, Edward detected that the old man held a boundless depth of secrets that were magnetic. It pulled at Edward.

As he placed the coin into Gaston’s hand, the mysteries of the universe unlocked, opening a metaphysical door to another new dimension. Waiting on the other side, Edward could sense a life full of adventure, partnered with an awareness of a malevolent being hiding in the darkness.