Play dead

1979

Karl Swann glanced at his image in the gold-veined cheval mirror. They were in a shabby hotel, in a small town in Bell County, Texas.

"Watch," Karl commanded.

He turned with a great flourish of his cape, extended his right hand, and in an instant produced a seemingly endless number of cards, dropping them into a silk hat on a nearby table.

"What did you see, Joseph?"

The ten-year-old Joseph stood at rigid attention. "Nothing, sir." It was a lie. His father had flashed, a term in magic meaning the illusionist had accidentally revealed part of the method. Karl Swann had begun to do it quite a bit of late.

"No flash?"

"No sir."

"Are you certain?"

Joseph hesitated, and thus sealed his fate. "Yes, sir," he said. But it was too late. There came into his father's eyes a tempest of disapproval. Joseph knew this would mean a night of terror.

For his punishment, his father brought him into the bathroom, where he strapped him into a straightjacket. It was an adult straight- jacket, and within minutes of his father leaving the room for the hotel bar, Joseph was able to maneuver his arms to the front. He could have easily worked the buckles free, but he dared not.

And thus he sat.

At midnight his father returned and, without a word, unlaced the straightjacket, and carried the sleeping Joseph to his bed. He kissed the boy on the top of the head.

In their tours of Texas, Oklahoma, and Louisiana they would often encounter the young people who drifted along the fringes of the shows, which were mostly county fairs. These were the strays, the unwanted, children who were not missed at home. These runaways, most often girls, became Joseph's playmates during the long hours when his father was drunk, or searching for the local brothel.

Molly Proffitt was twelve years old when she escaped her abusive home in Stillwater, Oklahoma. Slight and agile, a tomboy with cornflower eyes and sandy hair, she joined the Great Cygne's traveling show at a stop in Chickasha, having been on the road herself for more than a month. Karl Swann introduced her to everyone as his niece, and Molly soon became a vital part of the show, helping to dress Odette, cleaning and polishing cabinets, even passing the hat after impromptu performances on town squares.

Karl lavished attention on the girl, as if she were his own. She began to replace Joseph not only in his father's act, but also his life.

Within weeks Molly lobbied for Joseph's spot onstage in a particularly complex illusion called the Sea Horse, an escape trick featuring a large water tank. Every evening, before dinner, she would get on and off the platform hundreds of times, even going so far as to practice her curtsy at the end.

One evening Joseph spied on the girl. He watched her walk up the stairs to the top of the tank, pose, and walk down again. Over and over she practiced her moves. At 7:00 PM she went to dinner-a meager bill of fare consisting of beans and salt pork, eaten in the step van-then returned. She climbed the stairs again. This time, when she reached the top, the platform collapsed.

Molly fell into the tank. On the way down, she hit her head on the sharp edge of the glass, opening a huge gash on her forehead, knocking her unconscious. As she slowly descended to the bottom, Joseph approached the tank, bringing his face to within inches. The sight fascinated him, especially the plait of blood that floated above the girl's head, the undulating scarlet shape that, to Joseph's eye, did not look unlike a sea horse.

Later, long after the air bubbles ceased rising to the surface, long after the water turned a crystalline pink, Joseph climbed the stairs and replaced the four bolts that originally held the platform in place.

At just after midnight he peered out of the hotel window. In the dim streetlight he saw his father and Odette carry a large canvas bag out the back door. They placed it in the trunk of a black sedan, then sped off into the night.

It was the first of many times this scenario was to be repeated. For Joseph there were yet to come myriad rivals to his place in the Great Cygne's show, as well as his father's heart. One by one Joseph saw to it that no one replaced him. BY 1980, when magic was relegated to television specials and big Las Vegas acts, the Great Cygne had become a relic, a man reduced to roadhouse comedy routines. Karl Swann was drinking heavily, embarrassing himself and Odette onstage, sometimes missing performances altogether.

Then came "The Singing Boy."