Story 6

Sunsets on the Far Side of the World

By Matt Carroll

 

People mistake my magic as illusion.

            I stood on stage, the audience darkened to me as the light blared in my face, as I floated inside the clear water tank. If I could hear through the water tank I would assume they were beginning to be panicked since I’d been in the tank for so long now. The chains were heavy on my hands and I started to pick at the locks.

            I was eighteen when I met the gypsy woman on the side of a dirt road when her carriage kicked up dust. She had two modest horses that came to a sudden halt once the carriage passed me.

            The tulips were in my hand broken off from the long walk, my clothes dirty, the letter still in my hand that I didn’t give her, and my heart some ways back in pieces on the side of the road. I think the gypsy woman was going to pass me before she saw my face and the sadness it held. I had nowhere to go and no one to go to. She sensed this and that was why the door to her carriage opened and she demanded I enter.

            I complied, but I don’t know why. I sighed and sat inside the carriage.

            Her nose was long and wrinkled, cheeks with thick wrinkles, crow’s feet that extended to her ears, but her eyes were deep blue like how I imagined the ocean to be.

            “I am dying. Do you wish to take my gift?” She coughed. Her eyes were slowly starting to fade to a darker color.

            I thought I would have to make my decision at a literal crossroads further down the dirt road where the sign would read Boston in one direction or New York in the other direction. I sighed again. What could an old gypsy have to offer me?

            “Yes.” I answered.

            Her frail and pale hand reached across to hold my hand. She pulled the sleeves of my shirt up my arm and she clasped my wrists lightly with her hands. She leaned towards me and kissed my forehead.

            The carriage was filled with light. I closed my eyes from the brightness and when I opened them she was a young woman, beautiful, and someone I could see myself interested in if she hadn’t dissolved in front of my eyes. The gypsy was now swirling as dust inside the cabin when the door flew open and she went with the spring breeze.

            I stepped out of the cabin and outside. As soon as my feet hit the ground day turned to night. My clothes were new. My shoes perfectly black and shining, my shirt bright white like I bought if fresh from the store, a long black jacket draped me, and my pants clean. I felt something in my pocket. I pulled money from my pocket, a roll of twenty dollar bills and it was so much money my heart started to race faster and faster. I pulled a pocket watch out and saw the time. It was midnight, but when I stepped inside the carriage it was day. On the back of the golden pocket watch it read Time is of the essence. The horses were no longer modest, but instead two white stallions. The driver was gone, so I climbed the side of the carriage.

            A folded piece of parchment sat in the seat on top of the reins.

            The gift is yours. The note read. No longer was I poor son of a retired merchant.

            I always dreamed of watching the sun over the ocean. I always thought I wanted to see it rise over the ocean, but at that moment I decided I’d rather see it set over the ocean.

            I saw the broken tulips sitting on the side of the road, scattered. I knelt down and reached for them, but I stopped my hand when they suddenly lifted from the ground, levitated, and planted themselves on the edge of the dirt road as a perfectly formed set of white tulips beautifully in bloom.

            I headed back the same dirt road where I left my heart in pieces, picked them up, and decided I’d glue it back together haphazardly someday. I was headed west.

            So here I am, on my journey, in a tank of freezing cold water in a mining town in some town near Reno. The people were hidden behind the veil of darkness when all the spotlights were on me.

            I tried picking the lock manually. The pick they gave me was bent and made of metal that bent easily against the lock. The pick slipped through my fingers.

            People often mistake my magic as illusion, and sometimes it was all illusion. I reached my hand out and sent the locks crashing to the bottom of the tank. My lungs were screaming for air now as I pulled my hand forward and shattered the glass of the tank sending the water crashing into the audience.

            Silence ensued as I stood on the stage looking out into the darkness of the crowd. It felt like they were all gone, bored with my illusions when I heard quiet applause from the front row followed by the roar of cheers. I bowed to the crowd and the curtain came crashing down right in front of me.

            Water dripped as I turned and headed backstage.

            “You were in there for nearly five minutes, Edmond!” My assistant said in awe. He pushed his glasses further up on his nose and followed me with paperwork cradled in his hand.

            “Someone gave me a bad pick!” I didn’t like to use my powers unless necessary and I could see the aging occurring on my hands already.

            My assistant collected the money from the owner of the theater and we walked outside. A few people remained from the audience as I still dripped water.

            “Excuse me, Mr. Edmond! Can you please cure my son?” An old woman asked with a baby in her arms. She held the baby out at me and I could see his face. His teeth sharp like a wolf’s, his top lip missing, his nose had no nostrils.

            “I’m sorry Madame, but I am a magician, not a savior.” I answered her. With a disappointed face she turned and walked down the alleyway shaking her head crying. It saddened my heart.

            More people asked me to help them with their riches, or they asked for another trick. I walked towards the carriage as the old woman wrapped her baby up.

            “I was wondering if I could have a job?” A young woman asked me. She was beautiful and looked like someone I would buy tulips for years ago. The old woman was still shuffling away when I reached my hand out towards her. My hand seemed to age five years. “I hate this godforsaken town and I’ll work nearly for free as long as I can eat. I’m only twenty and I won’t be a problem. I’ll work hard.” The old woman stopped in her tracks in the alleyway.

            “Yes, talk to my assistant in the carriage.” I opened the door and the young woman got inside. I reached for the handle on the door, the people surrounded me wanting to be entertained, and I watched as the old woman unwrapped the blanket looking down at the child. She turned towards me, eyes wide in amazement, and I closed the door behind me in the carriage pounding the ceiling to signal the driver. The horses pulled the carriage away disbursing the crowd.

            “Where are we going, Sir?” My assistant asked me.

            “The Pacific, finally.” I answered.