Mesmer’s Lot

by Jack Croughwell

Part 1 appears in this issue.

conclusion

There he went. The Confounding Cospers had worked the circuit as long as The Great Orland Babjack. The Cospers’ claim to fame was their aptitude for sleight-of-hand. Gemma had developed an act in which she and Casper invited a proudly married man on stage, had him select a card from the deck, memorize it, pocket it, and then vanish it. The card would then appear in the purse of a random woman in the front row.

The Cospers would then convince these strangers that they had not only known each other, but that they had once been great friends. “We had to stop,” Gemma revealed once to Sulloway, “because we forgot what the point of it all was.”

That infuriated Babjack. Gemma and Cosper were natural showmen, but they never developed anything more meaningful than paltry spectacle. Babjack was a visionary, even if no one saw it.

Sulloway tapped Casper’s leg with his foot. “Come now. If you’re going to judge you might as well play.” The couple shrugged. They pried themselves up.

“Can we borrow your watch?” Casper asked.

Sulloway replied, “I was going to do the watch.”

“You know,” Babjack intervened, “I think I’ll have another go. I think I can get it.”

“That’s alright, Orland. Here, Cas, you actually can borrow my watch.”

“No,” Babjack persisted, “I can try again. I mean it.”

Cutting through the bickering, Gemma stole the lamp away. She brought it to the billiard table, set it beside the triangle. “Cas, the lights,” she instructed. Casper dimmed the lights at the switch beside the stairs. She sighed at the lamp as the room darkened. “Fine,” she said to no one in particular.

Then, leaning in, Gemma whispered, “Ma’am, please listen to the sound of my voice.” Gemma’s voice cast an entrancing chill around the room and all that was once gold and red and copper, seemed blue.

Casper and Gemma sat on opposite sides of the lamp and joined their hands. They were unable to fathom that moments ago Gemma seemed detached from their little experiment. Now, the brassiness and commanding song of her speech filled the room as the light once had. “You have forgotten your way. Once you were a woman — an impossible woman — and you were deceived. We seek justice for what has been done to you, but we will need your help.”

Casper began to hum. “Join our ranks. Remember yourself. A human being, a performer, a wife. At times, an elephant, yes, but now you will come back to us. When we snap our fingers, you will be as you were intended: human once more.”

Gemma and Casper raised both their ungloved hands and, in an eerie unison, all four fingers snapped. Casper ceased his humming; Gemma eyed the lamp. Ten seconds passed. Thirty. A minute.

Sulloway switched the lights back on. Gemma dropped her grand persona and said, “Call me crazy, but I think it’s just a lamp.”

Babjack, hypnotized himself by the performance, offered, “Perhaps ‘woman’ or ‘human’ was too broad?”

“What would you have had her suggest?” Sulloway cut in. “A lemur?”

Babjack twitched. “Do you have something to say to me?”

“I just think Gemma was wise to say something at least. Who ever heard of a silent conjuring, or whatever the hell you were doing?” Sulloway spoke through a smile, as if to show that all criticism came from a place of good faith, whether or not it would be received poorly. And, well, if it was to be received poorly, than that wouldn’t be his problem. It could have been for sport, to see Babjack as easily riled as he was.

So easily riled, in fact, that he came around to Sulloway and clapped a hand on the masterful hypnotist’s shoulder which such force, and then squeezed, that though Babjack wanted to project camaraderie through his frustrations, the others all saw what this display was in plain terms: a threat.

They all shared an awkward laugh, and Babjack released Sulloway. Sulloway tried to play it off, though he felt a bruise blooming on his shoulder. With a wince, he tried to stretch it out when no one was looking. Though no one saw. His gloved hand had a shake to it that he balled into a fist.

“Suppose it’s my go, eh?” Sulloway asked.

“No, let me take another stab,” Babjack spoke quickly, worried what might happen if Sulloway got his turn with the lamp. He panicked, mutely, looking to overcome the embarrassment of his first attempt. “You can take the next one.”

Sulloway started, “Why, you’ve already—” but Babjack shot the man daggers. Sulloway raised his palm and stepped back.

They waited to see what Babjack was going to do. He stood before the Tiffany lamp, eyeing the intricate glasswork, with his arms hugged tightly to his sides. Through gritted teeth, he asked, “Sully, might I use your watch?”

“What? No, I told Cas I’m doing the watch.”

“Does anyone have a pen? A sheaf of paper, or a journal with a blank page?”

Gemma asked, “Whatever for?”

A sweat broke on Babjack’s brow. “I thought I could make a spiral.” Did he believe the lamp was a woman? He didn’t know; that was not what he found important. He thought about Sulloway, standing there, pre-empting his own triumph.

Sulloway would walk out of the Canary Hotel not long from now and prepare for his next three shows in Boston, his one in Providence, one in Newport, Bridgeport, Stamford, two in Greenwich, one in Times Square, two in Philadelphia, his two weeks off, one week of travel, two shows in San Francisco, one in Oakland, Reno, then a double-act at the Orpheum, and he would know that the lamp was probably just a lamp and had been the whole time and why should that matter to him?

Or to the Cospers for that matter who, as long as Sulloway puttered around New England, had four or five shows, they were always welcome to open. Babjack pulled at his collar, patted himself down for a pen. There was a pad of cocktail napkins at the bar on which he could render a spiral. He needed a pen. A pen. Why was it so hard to find a goddamn pen?

“Even if you draw a perfect spiral,” Sulloway chided, “how would you spin it? By hand? And that’s smooth enough to enthrall her?”

“What would you have me do?”

“I would have you give me my turn.”

Gemma added, “Why not, Babs? Let him have his go.”

Right, he figured. It’s in good fun. That’s what all this was. He looked down at the cocktail napkin. He’d held it so tight, it had begun the rip through the center. He swabbed the sweat from his forehead and, dispatching another awkward chuckle, Babjack stepped aside for Sulloway to have his turn. With erratic rhythm, he tapped his middle finger against his thigh, observing the over-acting in Sulloway’s private performance.

The great hypnotist, with such care, produced the silver pocket-watch at last. He pulled the glittering chain tight between his hands, and let the fob drop, and sway, glittering in the basement’s half-light just as the setting sun dances on the sea. What joy, Sulloway thought, to perform for such a tough crowd, an interminable crowd. It almost doesn’t matter that his audience is a lamp.

“The hour is late,” Babjack said. “Perhaps we call it a night. You’ll want to be in top form for your next show. When is it again?” He asked as though he didn’t know. He was frustratingly available for it.

“Nonsense,” Sulloway said. Through a side smile, he boasted: “Who wants to see the greatest hypnotist in America work?” Babjack and Gemma rolled their eyes. Casper let out a clap, earnest enough to embarrass the whole lot. One couldn’t fault Casper for being a fan. It was how he had met his wife.

With a wave of his linen-gloved hand, Sulloway drew the attention back to himself. The brass of his voice, the confidence and fluidity of his movement had taken him from Humphrey Sulloway the man, to Humphrey Sulloway the show, all with the flick of his wrist.

The silver watch hung before the willowy lampshade. In an elegant drop, he set its pendulum in motion. “Ma’am, you are among friends here.”

Babjack leered over Sulloway’s shoulder.

“It is true what they have said.”

Babjack crept ever closer to Sulloway’s back.

“You have forgotten yourself.” Where Gemma had to bring herself to see the lamp as a woman, Sulloway displayed no doubt. “You were once a great beauty.”

He believes she’s real.

“A great talent.”

Babjack sneered.

“Some in this room may even relate.”

What a schmuck.

“I want you to follow the sway of my watch.”

It’s so contrived.

“And I want you to let the dreaminess wash over you.”

How could it make him special?

“This likeness of a lamp, it isn’t you.”

Any old hypnotist could do this.

“You were meant to walk.”

What made him special?

“You were meant to fly.”

Nothing... nothing made him special.

“You—” he cut himself off. Babjack was practically standing on Sulloway’s back now. The Cospers were rapt with the man’s performance. “You—” and the all leaned in a touch further. Sulloway glanced back, as if to wish Babjack would give him some space. “You... are a lemur.”

Sulloway shot a smirk behind him as the Cospers burst into a sharp laughter, though the percussion of their joy was cut off in a near-instant.

Babjack’s eyes were red with rage. The humiliation, he couldn’t stomach it a moment longer. They always thought him the laughingstock and now, of course now, at the other end of another successful night, what more could they need but mock a man for his profession.

Babjack took the back of Sulloway’s head in his fist and slammed him against the edge of the billiard table. Casper let out a scream but, as he caught Babjack’s attention, Gemma clasped a hand over her husband’s mouth. Sulloway grunted. A gash bloomed across his forehead. He wasn’t any more or less superior in strength to Babjack, but the shock had him off his footing.

Babjack dragged the man across the checkered floor, a drop and a smear of blood along the tiles. Babjack kicked open Sulloway’s dressing room door and threw him into the wicker chair. The lightbulbs around the vanity cast the men in gold.

Blood painted Sulloway’s cheek. His surprise betrayed any sense of propriety. “Good God, Babs — what, what are you doing to me?”

Babjack glowered over the bleeding man. He looked down at his own hands, painted in browning blood and clumps of hair like down feathers.

“Shut up! Shut up!” Babjack heard his voice say. “Or I’ll strike you again!”

“What do you think you’re doing? What are you going to do, Orland? Kill me?”

“You think you’re better—” Out the corner of his eye, Babjack saw the Cospers inching towards the stairs. He barked, “Here! Come here!” And they were compelled. From then, the Cospers stood at the aperture of Sulloway’s dressing room, transfixed on the rival hypnotists. Babjack took Sulloway’s tie in his grasp.

Sulloway’s chest heaved. He asked, “Now what?”

That was enough to unravel the Great Orland Babjack. Babjack tightened his grip on Sulloway’s throat until the color of the captive’s face began to pale. Though Babjack’s own confidence faltered, no, disintegrated when he caught sight of himself in the vanity mirror, bloodied and enraged and overcome with incredible shame.

“Your watch,” Babjack spoke just barely above a whisper. “Give me your watch.”

Sulloway complied without argument. Fingerprints of blood stained its silver sheen. Babjack steadied his hand and swung the pendulum before Sulloway’s gaze. Babjack stammered, “Li-listen to the sound of my voice.”

Sulloway went to protest, but a merciful sense of wisdom overcame him then. Rather than roll his eyes, he allowed them to follow the motions of the pocket watch.

“In a moment, I will snap my hands — my fingers — and you, you will forget about this night. You will wake up in your hotel. You will wonder how you got home.”

“Babs—”

Babjack rested his free hand on the man’s shoulder to silence him. He turned to the Cospers, then, and told them the same. “You will wonder how you got home. You will blame it on drinking. And... and you will recognize me as a great hypnotist from now until forever.”

Gemma took Casper’s hand and squeezed it. She gave a nod so slight and imperceptible, it would only be Casper who would have noticed it. So, the Cospers assented, overwhelmed no more by fear so much as by pity.

Sulloway said, “Of course... of course, Babs, we always knew you were, no, are a talented and capable hypnotist.”

Already, this emboldened Babjack. It was working. Already, it was working! “One of the best,” Babjack insisted.

“One of the best,” Sulloway confirmed. “Right?” He shot a pleading glance to the Cospers, who agreed at once. “You... you should join us. Join us in Boston, are you free?”

“I am,” Babjack grinned. “I am.” Proof, he knew it, of his talent.

All four of them jumped.

“Hello?” A new voice rang out in the basement. This voice was hoarse, brittle. It was a woman’s voice. “Hello?” she called out again.

Neither Sulloway, the Cospers, nor Babjack himself brought themselves to look, for they knew there was a voice coming from the billiard table, and a new sense of wonder overtook them.

“Excuse me?” came the woman’s voice. “Are you alright?”

Babjack dropped Sulloway’s watch. The hinge broke, and the face shattered.