Christmas was round the corner in 1965. Instead of the traditional Christmas tree function for children who were home for the holidays, a magic show had been arranged in the recreation club of the tea estate near Munnar where I worked.
The honorary secretary had scouted around for a magician and finally found a small-time one whose fee approxima-ted the club’s very modest budget. The conjuror and his two male assistants arrived in the afternoon in a van with all their paraphernalia.
The show was an unqualified success. Both children and adults alike were left wide-eyed and baffled time and again by the magician’s sleight of hand. He expertly produced table tennis balls, pens and pencils, fresh flowers and even a squawking parrot out of an apparently empty hat. Then he arranged several items on a table, covered them with a black cape and made one by one disappear each time he waved his wand and removed the cape. Many other perplexing tricks followed.
The piece de resistance was a Houdini-like act that saw the magician’s assistants tightly bind his hands and feet with thick cord and put him in a large trunk that was then securely bound with chains and padlocked. The key was given to one of the members of the audience who carefully inspected the trunk for any ‘loopholes’. The trussed-up trunk was then placed behind a dark screen and, lo and behold, within three minutes the conjuror reappeared on the stage, unruffled and beaming, to loud applause. A club member was so awed that he exclaimed, “This guy’s a real wizard—he can make things appear or disappear.” His words were to prove prophetic soon.
The evening, however, ended on a rather sour note. I learnt that the tight-fisted secretary, keeping in mind the club’s precarious finances, had driven a hard bargain by whittling down the magician’s fee agreed upon earlier. After a heated argument he had reluctantly accepted the reduced amount.
The weather being very foggy, the conjuror and his team stayed overnight at the club. Next morning the secretary, feeling apologetic, turned up early to see him off, hoping to dispel any ill-feeling. He found the trio and their van gone—along with the club’s costly six-foot brocade curtains, gifted to it by a retiring British planter. The crafty magician had made good his loss!
George N Netto
Email: gnettomunnar@rediffmail.com