It turns out, Real Magicians don’t lie. Also, it turns out, it is difficult to lie to a magician. To say “No, I did not draw that cat”. When you actually did. I found myself failing to deny my own cat, when towards the end of an otherwise flat December, a message came: “Hi Jess, I’d like to send you tickets for a magic show I am promoting. Are you keen?” Of course, of course, of course, I am.
As we arrived – before the drawing of any cats – we were asked to write down a secret. Something the magician couldn’t possibly know. I followed the instructions precisely. Folded the paper strictly into quarters and put it into a big glass jar on the stage. There my secret stayed, waiting. Along with the other secrets.
The show begins. The magician reaches into nowhere and finds a coin. “I don’t know where they come from,” he says “but they never stay.” Oh yes. It is the same with writing.
“Why are you here? If you know it is a trick?”
He shuffles a new deck of cards and says these bits of paper are the poetry of conjuring. Stories to be read, incidentally. Or just shapes and numbers. Always in the middle of an unopened pack, two kings kiss, bringing 52 cards into perfect order. Seven shuffles and the kingdom is in anarchy. Shuffle them again, chaos, and again and the chance of picking the same card twice almost disappears. Although he cuts to an Ace for the third time. He explains standard card mechanic tactics: painting, palming, stacking, marking. The simplest tricks are the most difficult – like the Dead Cut. And neatly opens the deck onto the last Ace – of Hearts, leading us deeper into betrayal.
“The cheat. Seems a nice fellow. He will smile. And wink. And leave you with nothing.” But, he says, it takes a long time to become an Expert Cheat. A lot of practise, until it seems like there is absolutely nothing going on. Fifteen years at least to get an inkling of what might cut it. And even then, it is rare to find a mucker who perfects more than one technique. And with just one technique you are done once you get found out. You need more tricks. And each must be invisible. To be a really good liar, you must be a Master. Mastery may not be Art, but it is something.
Words to live by. But this person up on the stage, is not a liar, nor card sharp, trickster, nor cheat. He is a Magician. Much much rarer.
Not unlike his dishonest relatives, he moves on effortlessly. On to Cheryl, a woman he chooses at random. They play. She tries to keep her cards a secret. But he finds them. Stored covertly in her head. And sometimes in his shirt pocket. The audience reel between disbelief and amazement. And Thea whispers: “I think I know how he does it.” I say she must Never Tell. Or the Magic will be gone.
He moves on again. To another five strangers. And then he chooses me. He says: “I want you all to draw a picture. Anything. Do it quite fast, in about a minute. I won’t watch. Once you have finished I will tell you who has done which picture.” In fact that is not all he will tell us. We draw and pass our pictures to the man furthest from the magician, and then he hands them over.
The magician holds up my drawing of a cat. I try not to smile, perhaps I glance at the floor and then up. A perfidious look to the right, or to the left? Unfaithful standing, frowning, smiling, speaking. Just easy psychology I think. But the magician isn’t looking at me. And anyway all the others on the stage are doing it too. Smiling, or deliberately not smiling, blinking or not blinking. A pause and you could be lying, a lack of pause.
“This is a very cute cat,” says the magician, “It has lovely big eyes and wonderful triangular ears. I wonder who drew this cat? Let’s see. It is the kind of cat a child might draw, with one circle for the body and then one circle for the head.” Yikes. I have been called a child more than once in my forties. And now from a man I do not know.
“Two circles on top of each other. Kind of like an eight. Kind of like an infinity symbol? A magic symbol. A symbol of the limitless potential of human thought. I think the person who drew this cat, has come to this show more than once.” Guilty, once again. But I didn’t know he knew I’d come back. “Perhaps the magic has influenced this person, more than say a person who might only come to a Magic Show once. And that is why she drew this cat.”
Really no use pretending. With all this invisible knowing passing between us. Me to him and back again. He sees the unseen and matches up each drawing to its creator and says: “The magic is where we meet. It can’t be possible if it is me alone and you alone”.
Then he walks over to the big jar of secrets.
But I think I’ll leave this one, this the most enchanting, for you to enjoy for yourself. Although there is a Part 3 coming soon. Because since writing this, I’ve been out and had dinner with the magician. I took him my theories about Children and Liars and Psychics and Magicians and realised I hadn’t even scratched the surface. But I understand a little bit more. Go and see for yourself. Write down a secret for the magician. Go very soon, as soon as he puts on another show.
The show’s very last trick is one we have all seen. “Is it still magical if you know how it is done?” he says again.
And leads us into a new reality, and a new story. Which is how Magic gets in. “The linking rings trick is very old. A classic. We all know it. Three solid rings passing through one another, like shadows. How they pass is beyond secrets. How they pass is very beautiful. Pure Magic.”
Russell Comrie is a Magician. He lives in Durban, South Africa. He is inspired by the world’s greatest magicians: Lavand, Vernon, Tamariz, Williamson, and others. Russell has multiple degrees ranging from modern physics to medieval literature. HIs work and performances aim to explore and perfect magic as art. He says he wants to draw people into the strange and marvellous world he prefers to inhabit: a world in which magic and reality blur and beauty is revealed behind the mundane.