When we lived in California John belonged to the Magic Castle. He would slip over to Hollywood where he could rub elbows with the slickest sleight of handers in LA. There were multiples shows each night, some in a large auditorium where big apparatus could be hidden behind a curtain, while others happened in a room so intimate you could sneeze on the cards. Iris was the invisible piano player who would razzle dazzle any tune you requested without a pause long enough to riffle the pages behind a drape. This was of course before Siri, so perhaps people under thirty are less impressed.

 

Sometimes John took me and I gasped with the rest of the crowd. There was a show by all women performers. One lady changed her dress on stage from red to blue. Just like that. She tossed a ball into the audience to distract us, and when we looked back we had a suspicion that something was different, though we might not have been cognizant of the color she was wearing until it swapped. As a seamstress I had complicated theories about elastic on one side releasing in a snap to reveal a new shade of sparkle underneath. But I never found out. 

 

John was a prestigiator in his own right, and wowed our kids' friends at birthday parties with coins and ropes. We even kept doves for awhile who worked for peanuts, and later white Silkie chicks made their debut. 

 

The other day Benjamin woke up howling. I got up with him, and made a few lame stabs at calming him down. Then Zack came in and discreetly began to drop clues about the character game they play. At first Ben didn't bite, but Zack kept at it. In a couple of minutes Ben snapped from furious to curious. 

 

It struck me as magic. With nothing more than words he had brought his brother back from distress. Zack is still under thirty, and I am definitely impressed.