The Lesson

The Escape Artist

— Menduus, said the man, who was suddenly sitting beside them, has played for the audiences of every great city. His deeds are a part of the unfailing lore of magicians. He is an old man, a very old man. Why then does he let this theater, why then does he print up bulletins, why then does he decide: I will again perform, for one season, and most often to an empty room.

Loring and Stan dared not reply. The man went on, rising and walking up the steps onto the stage.

— Because, I have come up with a new effect, and I was given the choice therefore, by my having come up with it, to either gift it to another magician, who would thereby make his name, or to enact it myself. I chose the latter. Now, I must tell you, I do not always attempt the effect. During some performances, it proves impossible. Then I must be rescued.

Menduus gestured to his left. There the doorman stood to the right of the stage, holding an enormous pair of scissors.

— You see.

Menduus gestured again, and the doorman began to crank a long box. A brass band struck up its tune from within the box, mechanically bidden. Bellows heaved, horns blew, a drum beat. When the din had subsided, Menduus bowed.

— There will be, he said, only one feat today.

He pulled a lever in the wall, and section of the ceiling opened. A gallows descended and took up the entire stage. I am going to be hanged by the neck until I am unconscious. Then, I will free myself with the aid of birds and music. At the end of the performance, I will remain alive.

He snapped his fingers.

The doorman hurried over and handed Loring and Stan a couple handbills.

They read:

1. Hanged by the neck

2. Freed by divine intervention

3. Remains, therefore, Alive

— First, said Menduus, I am going to meditate. My assistant will tie my hands at some point, and the show will begin in truth.

He sat down on the stage with his back to them. The import of his costume was suddenly clear — it was the garb of a convict. The assistant had donned executioner’s robes. The lights dimmed.

Stan grabbed Loring’s hand.

— I am so excited, he said. Do you think he will do it?

— I haven’t the slightest idea, said Loring, what on earth will happen.

She looked down at Stan and thought, wrap your arms tightly around yourself and rock back and forth. Do this the whole performance.

Stan, beside her, he wrapped his arms around himself. He began to rock back forth.

The bell rang again. The executioner dragged Menduus to his feet, and pulled him up the stairs of the gallows. At the top, they reached the rope, which lay flat on the trapdoor. The executioner bound Menduus’s hands behind his back with a smaller rope. He lifted the noose and set it around the old man’s neck, then tightened it until it stood on its own, stiff in a line, back and up towards the window.

He stepped away from Menduus, who stood with eyes shut, muttering to himself.

— He isn’t ready, said Stan. He doesn’t look ready.

The executioner knelt and took hold of the trapdoor switch. He looked to Menduus, then out into the audience.

— It is earned and it is given, he intoned, and he pulled the switch.

Out dropped the floor, down fell Menduus. The rope jerked tight, and he hung there, hanged, before them, feet jerking back and forth, body taut as a rictus grin. A spasm of the body, another, and then it was still.

One moment, then another.

Stan gasped. He was crying. He was holding his body with his arms and rocking back and forth, and crying.

Loring could scarcely look at him. Her eyes were on the stage.

For of a sudden, the hanged man’s arms had come unbound. His arms came around, one from the left and one from the right, and in his right hand he held a flute.

He hung by the rope and with the flute he began to play. It was a light melody, a song of fields and dew, of starlight — something like the bubbling of a creek, or the patter of rain. The song swelled, and it was darker now, more insistent. The color was that of courts, of troubadors. He was calling now. What was he calling for?

A fluttering of wings behind them. A powerful stirring of wings, and then two birds, overhead. They circled the room, they circled the room and they dove. Between them was a line of metal, a wire of sorts. It was razor sharp and they dove, holding it between them, they dove beneath the gallows, one on each side of Menduus, and severed the hanging rope.

The magician dropped to the ground, landing nimbly on his feet. He blew a last salute to the pair, who disappeared into the darkness, and bowed to his awestruck audience.

Loring jumped to her feet, and Stan as well. They were both clapping and clapping. Loring called out,

— You are a prince among men!

— I have been told that, said Menduus, bowing once more.

He called his assistant on stage, and they bowed together. Then he went away and out a door in the back. The assistant stood watching them.

— It’s over, he said. You can go. But you mustn’t speak of it.

— Oh, I won’t, said Loring.

— I didn’t mean you.

— I know, said Stan. Not a word.

The assistant let them out the front door, which was much nearer the bus station. It was only four-thirty, but the bus was already waiting for them.

— I was about to leave, said the driver, but then I saw you coming.