The Last Illusion

“He was? How?”


“Sawing a girl in half? I mean, really! The act has never been tried, at least not in living memory although they claim an illusionist in France had performed it long ago. They will keep taking greater and greater risks to impress the public. And the horrid thing is that the public has come to expect greater and greater risk. It’s Houdini, you know. He’s setting the bar too high—putting his life in jeopardy every night. They all try to compete, but they can’t, can they? I, with my doves and my gentle sleight of hand, am no longer anything more than a warm-up act, however good I am. Now please be a good girl and buzz off.”

I retreated as instructed and found a chair tucked between two of the side curtains that gave me an excellent view of the stage, also the occasional sneaking glance at Marvo the Magnificent. I was especially interested to see how and where he managed to secrete his doves, but no birds were in evidence as he wheeled out his props table and placed it in the center of the stage.

I heard sounds of the orchestra warming up beyond the curtains and picked up the tension that is always evident just before a show is due to start. Stagehands scurried around, steering well clear of the magician’s props, I noticed. I was just wondering whether Bess would put in an appearance before the show started when she came toward me, arms open.

“Molly!” she exclaimed. I remembered that it had been “Miss Murphy” when we were discussing business at my house, but then it came to me that she was giving the impression of dear friends meeting.

I stood up and extended my own arms. “Bess. How good of you to invite me. I’m so thrilled.”

We embraced and while our heads were together she whispered, “I haven’t said a word to Harry. He’s not in a good mood, tonight. Something’s upset him particularly. So we’ll have to tread carefully. Somehow I’ll have to convince him that you need to take my place for a while.”

“Could I not be your dresser or something?” I asked. “I really can’t picture myself onstage in tights and spangles like you. I’m not graceful, for one thing, and I’m not decorative. And it must take years to be able to do all the things you do.”

“But my dresser would stay up in our room,” she said. “I need you beside him, onstage.”

“Beginners, please. Five minutes to curtain,” the callboy announced, crossing the stage. Marvo the Magnificent ran a comb through his hair, patted it into place, then strode out onto the stage. Bess vanished and I was left alone, surrounded by curtains in my own little world. The orchestra struck up a lively tune and I felt that thrill of excitement that one always gets when the curtain goes up on a show.

The theater manager came out onto the stage and the music became softer. “Ladies and gentlemen,” he said. “Welcome to Miner’s Theatre and an evening of illusion starring an assembly of the greatest illusionists the world has ever known. We begin with a performance of prestidigitation that will take your breath away. Direct from his triumphant tour of the West Coast, it’s Marvo the Magnificent!”

Marvo strode out, his hands outstretched to the audience. He produced a handkerchief from his pocket, crumpled it up, threw it into the air, and it turned into a dove that fluttered and wheeled before coming to rest on his shoulder. Even sitting a few feet away and watching him in side view I couldn’t see how it was done. The audience clapped. More feats of sleight of hand followed, culminating in the disappearance of a cage full of doves from under a velvet drape. The audience clapped, without much enthusiasm. Marvo took as many bows as the applause would allow, then made his exit right past me.

“Good audience tonight,” he said. I couldn’t tell if it was to me or someone I couldn’t see standing in the wings.