The Magic Man

I thought I'd post a story I wrote as a young man, at the height of my agnosticism. At this time, I entertained an unyielding apathy toward God and religion. It was an odd time as far as belief for me. I tried my best to completely ignore God, but harbored an anger that He was the sort of God that would not be ignored. I suppose I wrote this story more as a spiritual catharsis than anything else. About 3000 words.

The Magic Man

by

John Oberon

It was a beautiful spring day of twenty-four years ago when I sat impatiently bearing the cross of education with the other members of my third grade class. My eyes were fastened upon the clock, and my ears alert for the least tinkling of the bell that signaled the weekend and freedom.

The bell rang, and a shout went up as we rushed outdoors to play in the warm sun. In minutes, we killed nations of Indians, spied on the enemy, and in general, saved the world from perishing.

On one of my “missions”, I spied from behind some bushes a gray-haired man sitting contentedly on a park bench. He wasn’t just any old man though; he was a half-crazed tyrant plotting world conquest. It was my job to sneak up behind him without his knowledge, learn of his plans, and warn the world. I crawled silently toward the bench, my eyes riveted on the back of his head. If he should see me before I reached the bench, it meant certain death. I slithered toward the bench. Ten feet, five, two, inches more and...I had it! I grasped the bench leg in my hand, and he suspected nothing! I was exhilarated by my accomplishment. No better spy existed!

But all my pride shattered when the old man turned around and spoke down to me behind the bench.

“Ho, young man! What are you doing down there?”

My body convulsed with those words, and I burned with fear and embarrassment as I lay there with the bench leg clenched in my hand. I rose to my feet, red-faced and tongue-tied.

The old man repeated his question. “You needn’t fear. What were you doing?”

I stuttered, “I-I-I don’t know.”

“Sure you do,” said the man.

I was afraid. I thought he might think I was a pick-pocket and call the police. My throat tightened as I answered, “I don’t know. I was spying. It was just a stupid game.”

Understanding lit the old man’s face. “Ahhhh,” he said, “spying. An honorable pastime. I used to do it myself.” Then looking me in the eyes, he said, “At any rate, you did a first-class job of sneaking. I had no idea you were there until just a few seconds ago.”

My fear faded, and my pride returned. I thanked him and stood straighter. He might just as well have pinned a medal on me.

He took a pipe from beneath his jacket and as he lit it, he said, “Care to see some magic?”

Immediately my attention focused on the man. “Like what?” I asked. At that age, I was intensely interested in magic.

He smiled and said, “Watch this.” He crossed himself as the Catholics do, then inhaled deeply from the pipe, and put his finger up as a signal to wait for the magic. Then his lips formed an “O”, like a fish, and three thick, fluffy smoke rings rolled out of his mouth and floated in the air.

This miracle amazed me. I tried to grab the rings, but they dissolved with my touch. “Do it again!” I begged.

For the rest of the afternoon, the man magically formed hotdogs, chains, tubes, and rings from smoke. No sooner had one figure dissipated, than I asked for another. This man’s magic enchanted me.

All too soon, however, I heard my mother calling me for dinner. I didn’t leave, though, until the man promised to meet me the next day earlier in the afternoon. Receiving his solemn promise, I ran home thinking of tomorrow.

I walked quietly through the front door of my house. My mother did not seem pleased to see me. “Where have you been, young man? Didn’t you hear me calling? You know I’m going out with Vince tonight.”

I looked down at the floor. Vince was the first man she’d dated after my father left the year before. She’d dated him for about three months.

“Yeah, well, I was with this...”

“I don’t want to hear it. Now get in there and get washed. Your dinner’s cold.”

I washed and ate my meal. After I finished, I went into the living room where my mother sat. “Mom,” I said, “guess what I did today?”

She stared at the newspaper. “You didn’t go swimming in Mr. Milner’s pond, did you? I don’t want you down there. The water’s too deep. It’s dangerous, and you might drown.”

For an instant, I considered telling her that I had gone swimming at Milner’s. “No, Mom. I didn’t go swimming.” I put my hand on the newspaper in an effort to make her put it down. “I met this man and...”

She shook the newpaper. “Don’t, honey. Mommy’s trying to read.” Then she looked at me and said, “What man did you meet? Where?” Her voice raised slightly.

“In the park,” I answered cautiously. “I was playing spy-man, and I saw this man, and he made...”

“I don’t care what he made! How many times have I told you not to go near strangers? That man could have killed you, and then what would I have?”

“He wasn’t a bad man, Mom. He was nice, and he...”

“You don’t know that! He could have killed you! Don’t go near strangers! Do you understand? Now go up to your room and think about that for a while.”

I was hurt as I walked up the stairs to my room. My mother never listened to me, but always told me to listen to her.

Before I entered my room, I thought that perhaps I could show my mother what I saw that afternoon. I would create the same floating shapes as the Magic Man! Of course, it was the right thing to do.

I ran to my mother’s room and searched her dresser where I knew she kept Vince’s cigarettes and a lighter. I took the lighter and two packs of cigarettes. I took two because I thought it might take some practice to get the shapes just right. I ran back to my room, opened a pack, and took out a cigarette. Anticipation shuddered through me as the tongue of fire licked the end of the cigarette. I crossed myself, held the cigarette just as I had seen Vince many times before, took a long drag, just like the Magic Man, and...I nearly choked to death. I coughed and sputtered, choked and wheezed, and finally vomited.

At that moment, my mother opened the door to my room.

She immediately loosed a torrent of screaming. She wailed about my naughty, rebellious nature, and how much I was like my father. I didn’t hear it all; I was too worried about whether I’d ever breathe again. Eventually my lungs squeezed the smoke out of my body, and I was almost back to normal.

When I was in bed, my mother told me never to touch a cigarette again. They were bad. Bad. I agreed heartily. She said I would get no dinner for a week, then she went downstairs with Vince. It was a long night. I spent it wondering how such wonderful miracles came from such a choking, wretching horror.

It turned out that I received dinner again on the third day. I knew how to assume the proper air of subjection and persecution to soften my mother’s heart. But I didn’t stop seeing the Magic Man, though I didn’t tell my mother or my friends. However, some of my friends eventually saw me in the park with him and asked who he was. I said he was a good friend of my mother’s, but nothing else. I just didn’t want to share him with anyone right away. I saw him nearly everyday for the next month, and he became my hero. He told me wonderful stories of adventure and mystery. He dispensed advice when I was having trouble with my friends or my mother, and told me stories about his own childhood. He became a father to me, laughing with me, hugging me, and of course, making the wonderful figures out of smoke. I loved that man, that spinner of stories and smoke, the man I knew simply as Magic Man.

I remember one story in particular. It was on a Saturday. My friends teased me about not having a father, and I came to the Magic Man feeling sad.

“Oh, my young man! What’s befallen you?”

“My friends called me a bastard”.

“Goodness...who needs enemies? And why would they say that?”

“They said a bastard is someone who doesn’t have a father. I told them I had a father, and they asked me where he was. When I said I didn’t know, they just kept teasing and calling me a bastard.”

He beckoned me to his lap. “Oh, that’s terrible, Peter. Perhaps a story about someone in a similar situation might cheer you up. Would you like to hear it?”

“Yes!” I loved the Magic Man’s stories.

“Well, many years ago, there was a man named Jesus who everyone called a bastard because they didn’t know his father. Do you know what Jesus said when they asked him to show them his father?”

“What?”

“He said, ‘Anyone who has seen me, has seen my father.’”

“What does that mean?”

“Well, has your mother ever said that you look or act like your father?”

“Sure, all the time.”

“Well, that’s because part of your father is inside you. When people see you, they see some of what your father is, and your mother too. That’s kind of what Jesus meant.”

“What happened when Jesus said that?”

“They became angry with him because he said his father was God. Even though Jesus acted like his father -- he healed the sick and even brought the dead back to life -- they still wouldn’t believe God was his father.”

“That’s just like me! I told them Peter Harrison was my father, but they still called me a bastard because he’s not with me. And my mother tells me I look and act like my father all the time. Why do they still call me a bastard?”

“Because they’re stupid and cruel, Peter. You shouldn’t be upset with what they say. After all, you know you have a father, don’t you?”

I smiled at him. “Yes, I know that.” I sat contentedly on his lap with his arms around me. Then I said, “Did Jesus ever convince them God was his father?”

“Some he did, but most he didn’t. Even one of his closest friends, a man named Judas, didn’t believe him. For thirty pieces of silver, Judas turned Jesus over to his enemies to be killed.”

“If Judas was his friend, why did he do that to Jesus?”

“No one really knows, but don’t let it worry you. You’re still young. The day will come when you understand the things I’ve told you.” And so, I spent the rest of the day talking and playing with him.

After a couple more weeks, I asked him if I could bring some of my friends the next day. I remember him looking strange that day. He looked at me with half-closed eyes and slurred out the words “Friends? Why, certainly. A man can use all the friends he can get.”

“Great!” I said. I waved good-bye to him and started to climb down off the bench, but before my foot touched the ground, he caught my arm and said, “A hug for magic man?” I climbed back up and hugged him. He held me much longer than usual, but I didn’t mind.

Then he put his hands on my shoulders and said, “Please don’t forget to visit me tomorrow.” I promised. I’d never forgotten before, had I? I climbed down and ran toward home with his usual “See you tomorrow!” ringing in the air.

The next day was Saturday. I woke up early in anticipation of my friends meeting the Magic Man. I ran down into the kitchen for some breakfast, and I saw my mother with Vince. She sat on his lap, and he wrapped his arms around her and kissed her neck. I ran out the door with my mother calling after me to come back. I didn’t.

It wasn’t long before I met some of my friends. They asked me to swim at Milner’s. At first, I thought of how I promised to visit the Magic Man with my friends, but then I thought of Vince kissing my mother, and for some reason, I decided swimming at Milner’s was better. The Magic Man could wait until tomorrow. He’d understand.

The pond was beautiful. The sun glinted off of the waters, making it silvery and shiny like a basin full of money. Delighted, I raced down the hill and leapt in, imagining that I was jumping into a pile of silver coins. The water was almost painfully cold, but I got used to it and spent the whole day with my friends, who brought several sandwiches along. It was a wonderful day.

At dinner time, we all decided to take one final leap into the water to make the biggest splash ever. We ran down the hill, clenching each other’s hands, and vaulted into the water together. As I went under the shimmering water, the cold, dark depths of the pond seemed to suck me in, smothering me. Frantically, I paddled to reach the bright, sunlit surface, but the darkness grabbed me, and I lost consciousness just before I reached the surface.

I awoke on the hill with my friends surrounding me, looking down at me. I coughed and sputtered and vomited water. I was okay, and we all agreed not to tell our parents; they might make some law against swimming there. We all went home.

I walked into the front door of my house and was immediately accosted by my mother, who was walking down the stairs in a bathrobe.

“Where have you been all this time?” Vince came down the stairs and stood behind my mother. He wore a bathrobe too.

I looked at Vince defiantly. “I was swimming at Milner’s.”

My mother went berserk. “MILNER’S!? How many times have I told you not to swim there?” She kneeled, grabbed me by the shoulders, and shook me. “You could drown there! That water is deep!”

Vince came up behind my mother and touched her on the shoulder. “Calm down, honey. Cut the kid some slack.” He lifted her to her feet with his touch and put his arms around her from behind and began to kiss her neck just like that morning. “He didn’t mean any harm. He was just having some fun. Come on. You know you’re not in-vince-ible,” he chuckled.

My mother softened visibly. “Well, I guess you’re okay, huh, Peter? Promise you won’t do it again?”

“Okay,” I said.

Vince winked at me, and I hated him.

The next day, I headed for the park with some friends, and for the first time, I told them all about the Magic Man. Most scoffed and ridiculed me, but I insisted we meet him. We arrived at the park, but he wasn’t there. I showed them the bench where I met him, describing the fluffy, floating figures of smoke. I convinced them, and we spent the next half-hour playing in the park waiting for him. Perplexed and disappointed, I finally said he wasn’t around today and maybe we should try again tomorrow. They laughed at me and said he was probably drunk somewhere, maybe at my mother’s. I told them I knew he wasn’t at my mother’s. Then someone suggested a swim at Milner’s. I said no, my mother wouldn’t let me, which broke the dam for a river of ridicule.

“His mommy won’t let him! S’matter? Scared of your mom? What a sissy!”

“I’m not scared of her. It’s just that...she yelled at me for going yesterday and...she won’t let me watch TV for a week. I don’t wanna get her mad at me again for a while.”

They laughed and jeered and playfully punched and pushed, and I was left alone as they went for a cool swim at Milner’s. I was angry. I should have brought them yesterday as I promised. Then he would have been in the park. Still...where was he? He was always there. Even when I visited aunt Mary for a weekend without telling him, he was there when I returned. Just when I depended on him most, he let me down. Anyway, I thought I would find out what happened tomorrow. I’d see him and ask, and maybe he’d tell me a story. He’d be there tomorrow. I walked home thinking of him.

I picked up the newspaper as I went into the house. “Mom?” I called. “I got the paper.” My eyes glanced over the front page as I walked up the stairs, and I saw the picture.

It was the Magic Man!

My heart stopped when I read the title under his picture: Retired Area Priest Found Dead.

Found last evening...lying on a bench...extended illness...the disease had spread...

Oh no. Oh no. Oh no no no no...

“NO!”

I flung the paper from me as if it were a serpent. I ran to my room and threw myself on the bed. I cried with deep sobs which choked me as much as the cigarette and the pond. I felt sick.

Why? I believed in him. I cried. It hurt. It hurts.

The Magic Man was dead.

I had no lunch or dinner that day, and I didn’t go out to play the next. I cried. It hurt.

The Magic Man was dead.

On the third day, my mother told me she planned to remarry. I cried.

The Magic Man is dead.