25 April 2007
THE DRESDEN FILES: MY FATHER'S MAGIC
My dad was a magician, a prestidigitator, and he was good. Not Harry Houdini good, but he made a nice living for himself, and for me.
We used to travel from town to town. I'd watch him do his shows. I'd help him practice his tricks. I didn't realize how handy that would be one day.
It was a rainy winter morning in Chicago. I was no longer the small boy awed by my father's magic. I had magic of my own. Some would call it 'real' magic. I just called it different.
I pulled out a deck of cards and began shuffling them, in all the fancy ways my dad had taught me. He'd taught me to look at a deck of cards not as some sort of toy to play with on a rainy day; I looked out the water streaked window "Sorry dad," but as a window into a world of magic and wonder.
Out of the corner of my eye I saw Bob approach. He had his usual smug expression. "Why aren't you practicing your new escape spell Harry?" He looked down at my hands, which were shifting cards quickly between them.
"Hey, wanna see a card trick?" I knew the answer would be no, so I started before he could stop me. Say what you want about Bob, at times he was a gentleman. He stood quietly and watched as I splayed all the cards out on the table. "Pick one."
"I can't." Bob stared at the cards contemptuously.
"Just point to one." I was feeling giddy, like a child. The memories of my father were flooding through my brain. Performing magic tricks, his kind of magic tricks always made me feel good inside, safe, loved.
Bob held one pale, slender finger toward a card near the center of the pile. I smiled. This was too easy. I flipped the card toward him so only he could see it then replaced it in the pile. "Don't tell me what it is," I instructed. I don't think Bob had ever seen a card trick before.
"As you wish, Harry." Sometimes Bob could say the simplest things and make them sound full of meanings I would never understand.
I picked up and shuffled the deck. As the cards fanned through my fingers I could hear my father's voice, his gentle laugh. I remembered a time when I was a boy, and he was teaching me this trick. The cards kept flying out of my hands, and my father laughed and laughed.
"Is this your card?" I flipped over the two of diamonds.
"I'm impressed." Bob was clearly lying. This was a man who once resurrected his lost love. I doubt he was terribly impressed by one of the oldest card tricks in the book, but I loved him for trying.
"Thanks Bob."
"No, really Harry," Bob looked down at me with a fathers eyes. He was the closest thing I'd had to a parent since my father died. I thought, for a while, that my uncle Justin would fill that roll, but I learned very quickly that blood was not always thicker than water. "Most wizards look their noses down at such trivialities, but this slight of hand is a good skill to have."
"Worked on my uncle," It had been so easy, getting that ring off his finger. It was all about the distraction. Keep the audience focused on one thing while working your magic just out of their line of sight.
I felt all the guilt of my uncle's murder come rushing back to me. I really hadn't intended to kill him. I just wanted answers.
"That it did." Bob sounded wistful. Not something I'm used to hearing in his voice.
I looked out the window, watching as the rain slipped through a crack in the glass that I'd meant to get fixed a week ago.
"Show me another trick." Bob could read my emotions like no one else. Sometimes I wondered if it was some residual magic from his former life. "Come on Harry, your father must have taught you more than one trick. Or are you too good for such things, being a big fancy wizard now?" Bob teased.
"Ha! You'll never figure this one out." I started shuffling excitedly. There was this one trick. I hadn't done it in years.
I glanced out the window as Bob contemplated which card he wanted to select. I thought I saw my fathers face smiling in at me through the glass. I smiled back. You never know. In my world, stranger things have happened.
3