SUDDEN FICTION, A-TO-Z: THE MAGICIAN

[Because I am bored. And because I want to send that "Masturbation" post down the 'pike, a bit.]

"And now," spat the magician, "the rodent shall return from the dark depths of Hades, perfectly intact...not a whisker harmed." Bristling with hubris, the greasy-haired 60s-ish magician swept the threadbare satin away from the hat and beamed out towards us, his straggling "audience."

"Cool," mumbled Betty, staring at the empty hat, obviously bored out of her mind. "Do you think we could, uh, get going, now?" she asked me, pinching at my love handles. Empathy was not Betty's strong suit. Frankly, if she couldn't care less about something, she had absolutely no problem letting that fact be known.

"Girl," I stage-whispered, "this guy's life has got to suck ass; the least we could do is give him a fiver or something and be polite about his show, hon."

He looked into his top hat and, frowning slightly, pulled it closer to his face. "I seemed to have lost Ricardo," he mumbled.

Jiggling the change in my pocket, I held Betty's arm close to my side and waited.

"Killer show, old man!" some teenaged wit hissed to the scattered laughter of his peers.

Let me just say here that I have never seen a more forlorn expression: the old man's eyes glistened with unspent tears, his gray eyebrows furrowed, casting his sky-blue eyes into darkness, and his chin trembled as his lips quivered. My guess was that the old man--"Xerxes the Great"--was going to break down and weep right there, on the corner of Thirteenth and Grant.

Not a very pleasant memory to retain from a vacation, you know? Our original intent--Betty's and my--was to walk the streets of New York and soak in the manic frenetic energy of the city, do some window shopping, maybe enjoy a couple of under-prepared and over-priced deli sandwiches and some beer...you know, just take in the atmosphere. Plopped right in front of the deli had been this Xerxes fellow, resplendent in his tattered magician's cape (that he'd probably found in a Dumpster behind a costume shop) and his dirty blue jeans that were unraveling at the cuff. Quixotic image, that: a street magician practicing his "craft." Really, though, the problem was that this dude sucked, he had no talent for Illusion, and this wasn't 19th-century Paris. Sadly, he was just a bum, down on his luck, hawking for money, making a fool out of himself and it hurt me to see him degrade himself as such, so I tightened my grip on Betty's arm and turned to go.

"Try again, Xerxes," she said softly, boring her beautiful brown eyes into the old man's blue. Usually, Betty had little patience, so this was a welcome (and somewhat heartwarming) about-face for her.

"Very well, young miss," said Xerxes, straightening himself to his full height and regaining what dignity he could. "Watch very closely as I bring Ricardo back from"--he cleared his throat with a rattle--"the darkest depths of Hell."

Xerxes the Great replaced the satin over the mouth of the top hat and, with murmury incantations, swirled his free hand above the whole shebang, his long delicate and dirty fingers plucking imaginary cherubs from the air and gesturing them towards the hat.

Yes, the rodent returned; yes, Ricardo the rat emerged from the hat, gray-brown and whiskery, his black eyes beady, little front paws up on the brim of the hat, his long fat pink tail curling out over the edge; and yes, Xerxes the Great tasted Redemption--the real magic that day, though, was the way in which Betty had been imbued with the all-encompassing warmth of empathy, the way in which she opened her heart to someone less fortunate.

Zonked with the happy chemicals of Altrusim, sex that night was the best ever...and, yes, it always comes back to the sex.