by Ace Starry

The next day was one of those warm, humid, autumn days in Austin, the kind that makes Texans wish for a change of season boring, even monotonous weather, but nearly perfect for the Pecan Street Festival. Occurring twice a year, in both the spring and the fall, this outdoor festivity with all of its artsy-fartsy paintings and peculiar handicrafts was something I always welcomed. For the past six or seven years I had made a point of attending at least once each year. However, this fall, as I wandered through the street perusing the different vendors booths, I couldnt help noticing that many of the arts and crafts were the same as the last time I attended. The festival, like most of my life, was beginning to look a lot like the year before. I, too, found myself wishing for a change of season.

Then I heard a voice, like that of a Shakespearean actor, booming out into the wandering crowd of festival goers, "Ladies and gentlemen, children of all ages, step right up. The show is about to begin. Come see the incredible, amazing, astounding Maximillion as he attempts miracles beyond the concepts of human imagination!"

His words sent a chill up my spine, but not the kind that is a foretelling of something ominous, more the feeling you get when you're experiencing something extraordinary like goose bumps. I was intrigued by this deep and thundering voice of possibilities. Led by my own curiosity, I weaved my way through the crowd until finally coming to a clearing at the street corner.

There, standing on top of a rather large, dusty old theatrical trunk, projecting all the enthusiasm of a ringmaster on the opening night of the circus, was the magician. Waving a silver-tipped magic wand in the air while shouting his patter out to the crowd, this engaging street conjurer made quite a striking impression. He was attired in a classic black tuxedo with tails, including a red satin vest adorned with sequined lapels, which sparkled brightly in the afternoon sun. On top of his head, tilted just slightly to one side was the mandatory black top hat, the kind that pops open with the flick of the wrist. He also sported the standard, well-trimmed magicians beard and mustache.

From the streaks of silver-white at his temples, or the salt and pepper coloring of his facial hair, I would have guessed him to be in his late forties or maybe even fifty. But perhaps because of his physical condition, or from his youthful manner as he played to the crowd, he seemed to be much younger than the smile-wrinkles around his eyes, or the years of wisdom hidden behind them.

Indeed, he had all of the trappings of a truly magical man. Well, not really a man, more like a riddle, an enigma. Half of him seemed fairy-tale wizardry the other half, performer-reality. He looked as if he could really do magic not just tricks I mean real magic. I think it was his eyes; he certainly had the eyes of a magician. At times they sparkled more than his lapels. There was something about his smile, too. When he smiled, it was with a rather mischievous grin hinting that, behind those mystical blue eyes and that sly smile, he might be up to something devious.

One thing about his appearance, though, did strike me as peculiar kind of out of place. I noticed a small silver chain dangling around his neck. Where there should have been a medallion, or perhaps a crystal of some sort, attached to it, instead, pinned to the chain with a simple safety pin was a small square of tattered white cloth. The material looked to be nothing more than a small piece of an old rag or the corner of an old handkerchief. However, I concluded from observing the magicians interactions with the strange necklace that it was possibly much more.

At times, while he talked to his audience, the magician would rub this threadbare piece of cloth between his thumb and fingers, as if it were a good luck charm or magic amulet. Sometimes he would hold the piece of cloth and whisper to it. Perhaps this was just a nervous habit or (if I let my imagination get the better of me) perhaps the cloth contained his secret to some awesome powers over science and nature. Maybe this strange talisman contained his secret to the mysteries of life. Whatever it was, I knew that the cloth was important to him.

"Hurry, gather round, while the good seats are available," the magician proclaimed as he walked up to spectators who were intent on walking by and dragged them by the arm over to a predetermined spot. The magician was a true master at drawing himself a paying crowd. The unsuspecting onlookers would pause and sometimes laugh out loud, knowing that the fun was about to begin. Rarely did people seem unsure about joining in. But if they were, with a smile and a wink, the charming conjurer would always make them relax, kick back, and stay awhile.

"So, did you two call ahead for a reservation?" he quipped as he grasped a middle-aged woman and her son, adding them to the circle.

"Was that smoking or nonsmoking?" he asked, just for a laugh, of a little round-bellied boy who seemed more intent on eating his chocolate ice-cream cone than watching a magician.

He took one of the attractive young girls by the arm, asking, "Would you like to stand next to somebody famous?" Then he said in a rhyme, "You are, sweetheart ... me! The amazing, incredible, astounding ... Maximillion Vi!"

His resonant voice and cunning wit quickly attracted a sizable audience with two hundred or more people, young and old alike, now forming a circle around this unique street entertainer. I almost had to consider myself lucky; being one of the first to get there, I now stood at the front edge of his crowd.

For his opening Maximillion Vi performed silent magic that truly was wonderful to watch. Like an elaborate dance, he pulled cards and silver coins out of thin air. Objects that he borrowed from the audience would vanish, only to reappear under his hat or in a spectator's pocket or purse.

The younger children enjoyed the show most of all the kids, who had pushed their way through the crowd to the front row and now knelt or sat on the asphalt, pointing and poking one another, their eyes wide open in amazement. Most were hypnotized by the bewildering magician, as if he were a Pied Piper ready to lead them off to a better world.

I, too, more than enjoyed his clever deceptions, the wonder and mystery of not knowing all the answers. In those mystical moments I became a child again, lost deep in the wonders of magic, trying to take it all in: the magician, the crowd, the sunshine. I recalled when I was the little boy, watching my first magician, clinging tightly to my father's hand. Just like the children kneeling in the street, I would have also pushed my way up to the front of the circle; because, when I was a little boy, I wanted nothing more out of life than to become a famous magician. Of course, those were just the dreams of a little boy.

Watching the magician perform, recalling those memories, I flashed back to my own childhood, in Springfield, Missouri, back to the time when I first decided to be, or perhaps discovered that I was going to be, a magician.

My father had taken me with him to the smelly old junkyard, to help him dump a load of garbage. Dad loved to visit the junkyard; I never could understand why. The smell alone could almost kill a small boy like me. But Dad was always on the lookout for something of value. "One mans trash is another mans treasure," hed say. That particular day, while we were unloading the trash from the pickup, my nose held with one hand, Dad spotted a potential treasure, a dilapidated old trunk lying in amongst the junk. With a little luck and a few hundred hours of sanding, he said that stinky old trunk could eventually become a coffee table, one with a new avocado-green imitation-antique finish.

The trunk was padlocked shut so he couldnt open it, but Dad picked up one end and gave it at shake. We could hear something inside, but couldn't tell what from the sound. The mystery alone made the trunk irresistible to Dad, and even caused me to forget the junkyard stench for a while. Dad used to say, "Curiosity is a sap running deep in the Carpenters family wood." After offering the junk dealer five dollars for it and the dealer countering with ten, eventually they settled at seven. The dealer didn't know it, but Dad would have paid a lot more than seven dollars just to find out what was hidden inside. Mom often said that that was the "sap" he was referring to. We endeavored to open the trunk right then and there, but the lock was rusted solid. Dad decided, after beating on it with a tire iron for a short while, that even though both of our imaginations were working overtime, wed simply have to wait until we got home.

Upon returning home, my father immediately dug a hacksaw out of his trusty toolbox and hacked off the rusted semblance of a lock. Opening the trunk, we were greeted by a puff of musty air. What we found inside may have been a little disappointing to my father, but was certainly a treasure to a seven-year-old boy. There inside, in almost mint condition, were several old magic tricks, an old bouquet of feather flowers, and three books on magic.

"Well, look at that. I guess destiny wants one of us to become a magician," Dad said as he tossed me one of the books. At that moment, I truly believed that fate had placed those objects into my hands, almost commanding me to learn the art of legerdemain.

For some time after that, I remained enthralled with the art of magic, mastering the three tricks in the trunk: the linking rings, color-changing scarves, and vanishing billiard ball. I read those three books until the pages practically fell out and went on to read several more books from the library about famous magicians like Houdini, Thurston, and Blackstone. But I never really became much of a magician. Frozen in time for just a moment, I wondered, "When did I give up that childhood fantasy? If I hadn't become an accountant, could I would I have ever become that famous, astounding magician of my childhood dreams?"

As soon as I began questioning myself, my positive energy dwindled away, my thoughts drifting elsewhere. I couldnt help thinking about my job, "Should I be wasting time playing games at the festival? Back at the office, I had unfinished work and Id feel guilty Monday if I didnt get it done over the weekend. Maybe I should just forget about spending the day."

The magician began examining the crowd saying, "I will need another sucker ... uh volunteer a gentleman, a strong man." He turned and looked squarely at me, almost as if he were reading my mind. "You will have to do," he said, and before I could disagree, he grasped my arm and briskly walked me into the center of his circle. Somehow I knew that I would end up being the butt of the joke, making a fool of myself in front of the crowd, but I just couldn't find it within myself to say no.

"Allow me to introduce myself, sir," Maximillion said as he reached out and graciously shook my hand. "I am the amazing, incredible, and astounding Maximillion Vi rhymes with "free" which unfortunately is also what you work for as my assistant today. You may call me simply 'Amazing' for short. Your name is?"

"James, James Carpenter, you can call me Jim for short," I said, giving him a firm handshake along with my feeble attempt at wit.

Smiling a curious smile, he pulled his eyebrows down as if he were going to ask me a question. His expression gave me a strange feeling, as though he knew me from somewhere before, or as if hed wanted to meet me for some time. Then something magical really did happen. While we were shaking hands, the magician reached up to the chain dangling around his neck, took the small piece of ragged white cloth between his thumb and fingers and began to rub it briskly. "James, James Carpenter?" he said with a slight question.

Suddenly, a tingling sensation came over me, "chills" just as I had when I first heard his voice. Only this was much stronger: a positive energy, a feeling of excitement, a zest for life. This fantastic insight that life was truly magical, exhilarated me. At that moment I became acutely aware of my surroundings: the sun, the smiles, the magician. My vision even seemed to sharpen. Faces became brighter and clearer as I surveyed the audience: majorities and minorities, young and old, fat and thin, all laughing and smiling, all enjoying this unique moment. The magic was universal and in that magical moment (regardless of age, race, or background) they all became children again fun loving and carefree, freeing themselves from their pasts, and suspending their disbelief to enjoy the illusions.

Why should I feel guilty about taking a day off? Everyone else was having fun. Why couldnt I? Somehow, I knew I was being given this opportunity to experience some of life's real magic. I deserved a little magic in my life, too. Right then I decided, for the next few moments at least, to just put away troublesome thoughts about my job, close the accounting books, and simply enjoy the magic. Amazingly, all of this went through my mind in that one short moment when the magician touched my hand and rubbed the small white piece of cloth.

As abruptly as I had entered into this heightened state of awareness, I was pulled back into the present. Lost for just a second, I suddenly realized what Max was saying.

"Would you please act as the official timer for this act, Jim?" Max asked.

"Sure," I replied.

"Does your watch have a sweeping second hand?" he inquired, pointing to his wrist.

The question made me glance at my wrist only to discover that I was no longer wearing my watch. "I could have sworn that I was..."

"Here, I guess I could let you borrow mine," Max said as he reached into his pocket and pulled out a watch my watch!

My chin almost dropped to the pavement. The crowd also realized that he was now holding my watch and they laughed aloud. I couldnt help chuckling too, awestruck that this man had taken off my watch without my having a clue. Deciding that maybe I should check for my wallet, I reached for my back pocket...

"I was possibly going to pay you for helping me out, but all you have in here is a couple of bucks," Max said, grinning. Again the artful pickpocket had duped me. He stuck my own billfold into my hand, then asked politely if he could borrow a one-dollar bill.

"Folks, let me demonstrate how easy it is to drop a dollar into the hat." Saying that, Max tilted his head forward. With a quick snap from his neck, his top hat, like a gymnast scoring a perfect ten, did one complete revolution and landed open end up on the street in front of him. He held the dollar two feet above the hat and released it, the bill slowly drifted down like a feather into the hat. "See how easy money goes into the hat," he said. "Well, it comes out a lot quicker." With a snap of his fingers and a wave of his wand, the money defied gravity, shooting out of the hat and back into my wallet!

I did a double take. "You know Max, you could make a heck of a living doing that," I said, under my breath.

"I do make a heck of a living doing this," he whispered as he stuck his foot into his hat. With a kick up, the hat made an aerial flip and landed perfectly back on top of his head. "Magic, I mean," he said, not missing a beat.

"The trick," he whispered to me, "is not to make a living out of magic. The trick is to make magic out of living." He then winked and grinned, letting me know that I could trust him. It worked. For some reason, I did trust him, the same way a child might trust Peter Pan.

"Well, Jim, have you ever seen one of these?" Max asked assuming an air of importance as he turned around dramatically pulling a white canvas straitjacket out of the trunk.

"Yes, I have," I answered, not considering that I hadnt actually seen a real straitjacket only pictures of them.

"It makes me very nervous when volunteers answer yes," Max said as he looked all around the audience with this wide-eyed worried look.

They laughed.

"Of course, Jim, you mean that you have seen them in pictures not up close right? Please agree, or I get really nervous."

"Well, yes," I agreed, but somehow I had a strange feeling that I actually had seen one before.

"We are now going to test your strength," Max said. "I asked you when you volunteered so graciously if you were indeed a man of constitutional fortitude and resolute dedication, did I not? ... Oh, I didn't? Oh well, you'll just have to do since you are standing here in the middle of my circle."

With that he placed his hands on my shoulders and whispered a few strange words to himself, which sounded Latin or ancient that is, what I could hear of them. Placing one of his hands over my head, he gazed intently into my eyes. Next he pressed his index finger to the middle of my forehead, and began rubbing the small white piece of cloth with his other hand.

Then Max spoke to me. "You are now hypnotized," he said. "Your arms," Max pulled my hands straight out in front of my body, "they are steel!" Again he rubbed the cloth pinned to the chain about his neck. "They are beams of solid steel and cannot be bent steel, Jim!"

As he said this, I indeed felt my arms become rigid and stiff.

Could I actually be hypnotized? I attempted to discreetly move my arms. Not wanting to say anything out loud, so as to ruin his act, I just wanted to see if I really couldnt move them. I could not. I tried harder; still I couldnt move. Realizing that I was no longer in control, I started to panic.

As if sensing my pending hysteria, Max again placed a hand on my shoulder, winked, and in a steady reassuring voice said, "Don't worry; you are always in control always. Nothing will happen unless you make it happen." He had read my mind. Immediately, I was comforted and relaxed. After all, what choice did I have? I had just started to enjoy myself, when I discovered how I was to become the butt of the joke.

"Your arms are frozen in front of you," he said, as Max proceeded to place the straitjacket on me!

The straitjacket was a coarse white canvas contraption covered with frayed leather straps and scratched steel buckles. The jacket showed years of wear and tear. Looking it over, I was sure it had been escaped from many times. I could also tell that it was highly improbable no, make that totally impossible that once strapped in, I would ever be able to escape.

After he had my arms strapped around my back, he gave the straps a couple of tugs and asked, "Does that feel like a real straitjacket?"

Once again, without thinking, I answered, "Yes."

Max rolled his eyes, raised one eyebrow, and made a face at the crowd asking, "How do you know what one feels like?" Once again they laughed and I laughed along with them; however, I really didnt feel like laughing. For some reason unknown to me, I was overcome with a feeling of deja vu like Id been in this predicament before. The feeling wasnt pleasant at all; in fact, it was disturbing.

I know I must have looked somewhat ridiculous, but one little boy was laughing so hard that the crowd began to laugh at him. He kept pointing and laughing, almost falling over. The boys laughter became infectious. Before long everyone in the crowd was enjoying the laugh-fest, everyone but me. Max had me totally strapped into the jacket all except for one strap the strap that buckles up underneath the crotch. Suddenly we all realized why the little boy had been laughing so hard.

"There is one strap left, ladies and gentlemen, and we call that strap everybody say 'Oooohhhhh,'" said Max.

Everybody went, "Oooooooohhhhhhhh."

"... the strap of death," Max said as he pulled the strap way up between my legs. There I was, standing with my arms crossed and strapped behind me, struggling to move an inch, probably looking like some deranged lunatic, getting a strap-of-death wedgie. The crowd went wild.

Max walked over to an attractive woman in the crowd and asked if she would assist us. She was a little bit anxious about the whole thing, saying that she didn't want to end up looking like me. Who could blame her?

Max reassured her that she wouldnt be put in the jacket, then snapped his fingers as if to un-hypnotize me. Stepping behind me, he unbuckled the straps to free me from the jacket. As I was pulling off the jacket, Max walked the beautiful woman by the hand to the center of the circle and introduced her to the audience. "Kristin, this is everyone," he said. "Everyone, this is Kristin." Then handing the jacket over to Kristin, he stated, "Just for the fun, I think that you two should put the jacket on me."

With that he pulled off his tuxedo coat and satin vest, tossing them into the trunk. He placed his hands and arms into the straitjacket, which Kristin held open for him, and instructed me to step behind him and strap him in as tight as was humanly possible.

"With pleasure," I responded.

Pulling the back straps taut, I could tell that Max was holding a deep breath, expanding his chest. All he had to do was release his breath and the jacket would be loose.

"Come on James, you can make it tighter than that, can't you?" Max yelled to the crowd.

"If you weren't holding your breath I could," I replied, trying not to sound too arrogant. With that comment Max let loose a puff of air that allowed me to tighten the jacket an extra two inches, as tight as his rib cage would allow.

Then Max asked me to pull the arm straps around his body and also tighten them as far as they would go. Practically hearing the compression in his voice, as if it were now even difficult for him to take a breath, I wondered if he would, in fact, be able to escape. So, feeling a touch sympathetic, I pulled the arm straps secure, but not too tight.

"Is that all the strength that you have?" Max lectured. "Put some muscle into it, James. Besides, don't you think the show will be better if I dont get out?"

"Okay, if thats the way you want it," I responded, now pulling with all the force I could muster.

Then in a comedy falsetto voice, Max said, "Yes, by George, I think hes got it."

The crowd laughed. Looking at him now, there was no way in the world hed ever get out of that straitjacket. He didnt even have room to sweat.

Max walked to the center of the crowd and in a loud deep voice said, "Now, ladies and gentlemen, as you can see, I am truly strapped in the confines of a regulation straitjacket. There is virtually no humanly possible way for me to escape."

"Uh uh," came the voice of the little boy who had been laughing so heartily earlier in the performance. He was pointing at what Max had so eloquently referred to as "the strap of death," hanging precariously between the magician's legs, still unbuckled.

"Son," Max quipped in his theatrical voice, "didn't anyone ever tell you that its not polite to point especially in that direction." The crowd roared. Max, smiling that devious smile of his, turned his head slowly in the direction of the young woman, Kristin.

"Kristin?" Max asked with a sheepish grin. "You are probably wondering why I asked you to come here?" he said, swaying back and forth to make the strap swing. "Don't be shy. Just reach down between my legs and grab whatever you find dangling there." Again a chuckle from the crowd and Max continued, "This strap doesn't have to be as tight as the others."

Tears formed in my eyes from holding back the laughs, at this farcical scene. Kristin, bending down behind him, reluctantly reached between his legs; Max would squirm just as she reached for the strap, swinging it out of her reach. After several failed attempts she grabbed it and began buckling the crotch strap together.

"You sure are taking your sweet time, Kristin. Youre enjoying this way too much!" Max teased.

The crowd began yelling, "Tighter, make it tighter!"

"Go ahead and pull it tight," Max said and then whooped, "Waaaaaaiiiit, not that tight!" Kristin ignored his antics and buckled the strap tightly. After which she stood straight up signifying that she had indeed strapped the escape artist in firmly. Max then acknowledged, "Lets give Kristin a big Texas round of applause. Thank you for being such a good sport, Kristin, and helping us make the world a little happier, and certainly a safer, place. I want you all to know that yall are enjoying this a lot more than I am."

The crowd applauded for Kristin as she smiled and took her place back amongst them. Max moved back into the center of the circle, calling to the audience, "Ladies and gentlemen, does anyone happen to know the world record for the escape from a straitjacket? Houdini could escape in less than one minute. The incredible Loren Micheals could escape in less than forty seconds, The Amazing Randi in less than thirty. However, the world record for the fastest escape from a regulation straitjacket happens to be ... eighteen seconds. And do you know who happens to hold that record? I dont know either.

"Today, however I the incredible, amazing, astounding Maximillion Vi will attempt, for the first time in Austin, Texas for your sheer and utter enjoyment NO SUCH THING!"

Then Max remarked in exaggerated Jewish accent, "I can't get out of here in that short of time. This is really tight! What do you think ... I can do miracles?"

Strange that he would ask such a thing. He could do them; miracles, yes, that was exactly what the audience expected exactly what I expected. Only moments ago Max had seemed omniscient, capable of miracles. Now in the straitjacket, he appeared to be a mere mortal like the rest of us. However, I had the distinct feeling that his distressed-mortal look might be just that for appearances.

Max continued, losing the accent this time, "How about if I escape in a reasonable amount of time? Is there a reasonable person among us, who could suggest a reasonable amount of time for my liberation from these bonds the likes of which, even the great Houdini never felt?"

A few persons in the crowd started to shout out times.

"Fifteen seconds."

"Ten seconds."

"I said reasonable," Max grumbled.

"Thirty seconds," I said, thinking it was reasonable.

With that he turned back to me and asked, "What time did you suggest?"

"Thirty seconds," I repeated.

"What's that again? Louder, for everyone's benefit, Jim," Max said, leaning closer to me as if I had stumbled upon the proper time.

"Thirty seconds!" I shouted out.

At the same time Max yelled, "TWO MINUTES!" overpowering my voice, ignoring my suggested time. "The man says I should attempt to escape in TWO MINUTES!"

As the crowd laughed, I was beginning to understand the real magic that Max Vi held. People loved him that was the magic.

Max continued, "Very well ... I will attempt to escape from this straitjacket within the constraints of a two-minute time limit even though such a release may appear to be a virtual impossibility.

"Ladies and gentleman, I have to ask you to trust my official timer, Jim. Jim, you are going to have to keep me posted. When one minute has passed I want you to yell out ... One minute! Got that? At one minute and thirty seconds I want you to yell out..." He made a motion for me to fill in the blank.

"One minute and thirty seconds!" I shouted.

"And at one minute and forty-five seconds, James, I want you to yell out..."

I took the bait and yelled out, "One minute forty-five seconds?"

"Wrong!" Max said, making a loud obnoxious sound like a buzzer on a game show. "GZZZZZZ... No James, when I reach one minute and forty-five seconds, I want you to start counting down. Fifteen ... fourteen... thirteen... Got it?"

"Got it." I replied.

Max announced loudly to the crowd, "And everyone will start counting down with Jim, right?"

A few of the more vocal ones shouted back the answer, "Right." But the response was not overwhelming and certainly not satisfactory to Max Vi.

He repeated, "And everyone will start counting down, right?" almost reprimanding the crowd.

"Right!" the crowd yelled.

"And should I escape in those last few seconds counting down four, three, two, one, everyone will burst into a thunderous round of applause! Right?"

"Right!" The crowd screamed back like a cheerleading squad.

"Screaming and cheering RIGHT?" Max yelled back even louder.

"RIGHT!" was the crowd's overwhelming response.

" REACHING FOR YOUR WALLETS!" Max yelled, raised one eyebrow, paused for effect, breaking the rhythm. Some started to respond, but after they realized theyd been led down this path, the crowd laughed.

Max then became serious, almost solemn, stating, "If I do escape and indeed you do appreciate the show, please show your appreciation by placing your spare change, ones, fives, tens, twenties, municipal bonds, stock certificates, car titles, expensive jewelry, or deeds of property inside of my hat." He paused. His eyes took on a steel gray concentration and he inhaled a deep breath. Turning to me, he stated that he was ready to start.

"On your mark Get set..." I paused to let the second hand sweep to the start position. Max stood poised. "GO!"

The incredible Max Vi shrugged his shoulders, grimaced, clenching his teeth while twisting violently back and forth. I looked at my watch; time was passing quickly. Thirty seconds and the magician's struggle didnt reveal so much as an inch of slack. The straitjacket held firm.

"The first order of the day is," Max announced already half out of breath, "the strap of death."

With that announcement, Max, still secure in the jacket, sat down on the street and kicked off his shoes and socks. He quickly worked his way into a kneeling position and reached for the crotch strap between his legs with the back of his feet. Slowly, like a contortionist, he pulled the strap up with his toes and unbuckled it. To watch him stretch his body to the very limit, almost made me hurt. Amazing!

Glancing again at my watch, I saw that one minute had already expired.

"One minute!" I yelled out just as he had instructed earlier.

"Not yet! Wouldn't you know I would have to find the one person with the Quartz Acutron watch," Max grumbled for a laugh. With that remark, the incredible Max Vi stood up in his bare feet, breathing deeply to regain his strength.

His face remained tense and contorted, until with one long slow breath he suddenly relaxed. All of the jerking and struggling stopped. His face became poker-playing deadpan. Determined, painstakingly he lowered one of his shoulders. He stared straight ahead with intense concentration. I checked my watch. He was still a far cry from freedom.

"One minute thirty seconds!" I yelled.

His hand barely moved under the jacket. Sweat dripped from his forehead. The seconds ticked by. Max concentrated all of his efforts into moving just one hand.

"Fifteen ... fourteen ... thirteen..." I shouted, and the crowd joined in.

"Twelve... eleven ... ten..."

I couldn't see any movement at all on the part of Max. My heart began to pound. He was not going to get out.

"Nine ... eight ... seven..."

I heard a popping from his shoulders that caused him to wince in pain and groan aloud.

"Six ... five ... FOUR..."

His arms flung free from his body and over his head.

"THREE ... TWO..."

A quick strong jerk and the straitjacket burst up high into the air.

"ONE."

Max Vi was free!

The crowd exploded into an ovation. With a quick sigh of relief, I began to applaud and cheer with them. Max waved the straitjacket in the air with one hand, reached over and grabbed his hat with the other. Turning in a circle, he exclaimed, "If you appreciated the show, please show your appreciation!" The crowd responded in kind, with people digging out money from pockets, purses, and wallets. Parents entrusted their children with the change or dollars, instructing them to place it inside the magicians hat. I observed one grandpa, so pleased with the show that he presented his grandson a crisp ten-dollar bill to add to the pot.

Having completely regained his breath and now showing no signs of his momentary struggle, Max said, "I would like to thank you all of you by leaving you with one last miracle."

Then he turned to me, instructing, "Jim, if you would please, collect the rest of the money. When you are finished just place the hat and money inside this old trunk." He walked over to the trunk full of props and pulled out a large red satin sheet, closed the trunk and returned to the center. Holding the sheet behind him and above his head, turning around in a circle, he called to the audience, "Ladies and gentlemen, please take this one small bit of magic into your lives. Learn that life itself is the magic! Every second conceals within it a lifetime, every minute an eternity. Learn to live each moment of life as if it could suddenly disappear."

Max then lifted the sheet above his head, covering his entire body. Pausing for a moment of silence, he then just simply vanished. There is no other way to explain it. He faded into nothingness, the satin sheet casually drifting to the street below as though he had slowly evaporated.

The crowd was silent. We all gawked at each other, expecting that he would somehow appear in the next instant, but after an awkward minute he still did not. A few people started a rather weak round of applause, but the illusion had been too astounding, too real, too stunning, almost to the point of being surreal. He had been standing in the middle of the street, surrounded by a crowd of people! There was just no way his disappearance could have happened beyond black magic or witchcraft.

An aging white-haired woman walked forward, and placing a dollar into the hat she broke the silence, saying, "You two fellows put on one heck of a show." Her gesture of good faith started a new round of applause and brought a new stream of money flowing into the hat. Somewhat confused, I couldnt resist a quick bow to the crowd. Even though I knew it was wrong, I couldn't help wondering what would happen if I just took his props, money, and straitjacket and became the magician of my childhood dreams. Where was Max Vi anyhow? Maybe he had vanished for good.

The crowd slowly disintegrated, just like the magician, soon transforming into a constant flow of people wandering through the busy festival thoroughfare. Only one other person remained standing in the same place after the crowd had dwindled. Standing alone at the back of the walkways was Kristin, the beautiful woman who had assisted in the show. She strolled up to me, smiling.

"You are part of the act, aren't you?" she asked.

"No, I really wasn't. I was just a volunteer, like you, that he pulled out of the crowd," I replied.

"Well, where is he?"

Knowing that I didnt have an answer, I just laughed, "I suppose he'll show up for his money sometime."

"Why don't you and I just take off with it?" she joked, taking me by the arm. "Come on, buy a lonely girl a drink."

Even though it was the best offer Id had in ages, I just couldn't leave before seeing that the magician had his money. "That is tempting, but I think that we can manage without taking away his hard-earned cash," remembering just then what I was supposed to do with the money, "Wait just a minute," I said. Then I walked over to the magician's old trunk, unlatching it to place both the money and hat inside as Id been instructed.

Startled, I jumped back, as up out of the trunk popped Max, "Congratulations, you've found me! I was beginning to think that youd never open this darn thing."

Right in front of me stood the amazing Max Vi truly a magician's magician. "How on Earth did you get into the trunk?" I asked.

"What makes you think it was on Earth, James?" Max asked rhetorically, "Sometimes the questions aren't as obvious as the answers. Thats why I suggest that people don't dwell too much upon questions. You see, its more often the questions themselves that keep you from seeing the answers. Just concentrate on the reality, not the illusion, and you will see that the answers are always right in front of you. Your life will give you the answers. That is, if you stop confusing yourself with too many questions."

"I don't understand what you mean," I said.

Max answered, "Well, isn't it amazing that I am here, in the trunk? Isn't it amazing that you were here today, and the only one who found me. There is a meaning in it, James theres meaning in any amazing coincidence. The question itself is the answer. Its magic! And, Jim, its only magic if you have a question."

I just stared at him mouth open, perplexed and maybe even slightly flustered by his strange double-talk. Then I asked, "Is it real magic, or is there some sort of a trick to it?"

"One man's trick is another man's treasure," he replied. "If you really have to know, I'll tell you. I always tell my good assistants. But, before I tell you, I must warn you that by telling you the secret, the magic itself will disappear. Once it does, then only real magic can bring it back." He paused, looking at me for some semblance of understanding.

Although I didn't understand most of what he had said, I realized in my heart that I really didn't want to know the secret. He was right. Knowing would spoil the fun, so I shook my head no-thanks.

"Good choice, Jim," Max continued, "a lot of the time, people come up to me and demand to know how I do these amazing things. I wonder to myself, Why do they have to ask? Isn't it enough to see it happen? If we enjoy the magic then what is the purpose of asking how? If we were all magicians, then where on earth would we find magic? When the sun rises, sometimes isn't it just enough to feel the warmth to see the sunlight spilling over the countryside? Do we have to know that it is a fusion reactor, spewing photon particles across space? Sure it's nice to have a weather forecast. But sometimes an unexpected shower can be revitalizing dont you think? Imagine just how boring life would be if you and I did know all of the answers. Too many of us spend too much time looking for the secret, the how, when the answer is the magic itself, the why."

Kristin approached, breaking Max's spell by saying, "Jim, I'm afraid you've gotten more than you bargained for. Two things that I have learned in this life are: one, that you never ask a magician how he does his tricks; and two, you never, never, ever ask why." With that she threw her arms around Max, and they embraced with a short, but affectionate, kiss and hug.

"Jim, allow me to introduce my assistant and wife the incredible, loving, tolerant, Kristin," Max said with a wink.

Now, I truly felt like the fool. "I should have guessed when she offered to run away with me," I said.

"She always does that. Its part of the test," Max said nonchalantly as he pulled on an old football jersey, the number "zero," over his tux shirt and began to pack up his tricks.

"Test?" I asked with more than a touch of that Carpenter curiosity.

Before he could answer, a couple of youngsters who had watched his act reappeared, asking Max for his autograph. The magician cordially responded by digging in his trunk for some of his black and white promotional photographs. After getting his signature on them, the kids ran down the street ecstatic with their new treasure. Max then lifted the hat full of money; weighing it in his hands for a second, he announced, "One-hundred-seventeen dollars and forty-seven cents. Would you check that for me? You are an accountant aren't you?" Max asked. "You account and I'll tell you about the test."

The sun was just setting; the festival was winding down and many of the booths were closing shop. At Maxs request, I started doing what I was supposed to be good at, counting money.

"James," Max began, "every year I perform the escape and vanish seven-hundred seventy-seven times. Sounds amazing doesnt it? Actually I use that number just to make the story interesting. Really, I have no idea how may times I do that particular act each year, probably somewhere around fifteen, I suppose. Well, anyway, I have been doing that act since I was about a year older than you are now. How old are you anyway?"

"Twenty-eight," I replied. He laughed and pointed to my handful of bills, knowing I was in the middle of counting and that his questioning would prove to confuse me. It did; I lost count. But I just chuckled and started over. "Well, I will actually turn twenty-nine in a couple of days," I added.

"Exactly," Max stated, "I started the escape act at thirty years of age. Anyway, I have been performing around the world, in twelve languages for about twenty years. Each and every time, I have a volunteer, like yourself, assist. In all of those shows, in all that time, I have met only three other people who demonstrated the same qualities you possess. But unfortunately all three failed the test.

"Meeting you here today was no accident. Fate threw you into my circle for a reason." He then placed his hands on top of mine to make me stop counting the money and said, "You can feel it too, cant you? Ive been looking for you for a long time James," he said, "you are the one."

Pulling his eyebrows down into a serious look right at me, he stated, "I want you to take this money home with you and count it. Bring the money back to me next spring, if and when you decide to come to the festival. If you can't come, or don't wish to, then you keep the money for yourself. I know it isn't very much to a yuppie guy like you, but you might have some fun with it, just the same. Maybe youll take a good-looking girl out for dinner."

Why would he give me the money and ask me to return it the next year? What did he mean by the qualities that I had? I was curious to say the least.

"I've got everything put away. Should we disappear?" Kristin asked.

"Wait a minute," I said. "What do you mean? What do you want with me?"

"One second, sweetheart I think that James is truly the one," Max said, pushing both the money and hat back into my hand. "James, if you want to learn the true secrets of lifes magic, then you must first accomplish a great feat."

"What feat? What do you mean?" I asked.

"James, you must be patient and observant. If you are patient, in time, life will reveal its greatest secrets. If you are observant, you will learn to recognize them. James, always be on the lookout for the magical opportunities in your life. The magic life will be yours only if you explore them. This could be one of those magical opportunities. Every second conceals within it, a lifetime every minute, an eternity."

"Great for you," Kristin called to me, "I look forward to seeing you next year." She then walked over to me, reached out and took my hand in hers. Standing directly in front of me, smiling her nearly angelic smile, she gazed up at me and said, "Thank you, Jim, for participating in my life."

With that she rose up on her toes and leaned her face forward to kiss me. Naturally, I closed my eyes as I felt her warm lips softly press against my own. The moment was very fleeting. Kissing her softly, I felt her warm touch slowly vanishing. Her hands seemed to vaporize in my grasp, leaving me holding nothing but air. Suddenly, I was aware of the cool wind and the empty streets as I opened my eyes to discover that I was standing at the curb, alone not a trace of Kristin or Max. The sun was now below the horizon and the evening breeze whispered around me. I stood there for several minutes staring down at my watch in disbelief it was late evening. I wouldn't have believed that any of it had ever happened, but, like an experience out of the Twilight Zone, there in my left hand was the magician's top hat filled with dollars and coins.

As I made my way back across town, to the parking garage, I played the strange scene over in my mind. I could visualize Kristin and myself strapping Max into the jacket; I could see the agony on his face as he pulled himself free. I could see him vanish under the cloth. But I couldn't see how it was possible. It all seemed like a dream: the feelings, the small white piece of cloth, the test.

What did he mean when he said I was "the one?"