A spellbound Liane Arno doesn’t need to know how magic happens. By Liane Arno
CATHERINE, politely I have to say, suggested that I was a stooge. But no – I was as flabbergasted as she was. I joined a group of people who were being tricked by the magician we had organised for the children at a party of ours. The children were following the magician as though he was the Pied Piper and the adults were peering over the children’s heads eager to catch the magician out. Apparently there are two types of people who watch magic. There are the children (and many adults like me) who want to be carried away into a world of make believe and wonder, and the others who are trying to work out how the hell they do it.
CATHERINE, politely I have to say, suggested that I was a stooge. But no – I was as flabbergasted as she was. I joined a group of people who were being tricked by the magician we had organised for the children at a party of ours. The children were following the magician as though he was the Pied Piper and the adults were peering over the children’s heads eager to catch the magician out. Apparently there are two types of people who watch magic. There are the children (and many adults like me) who want to be carried away into a world of make believe and wonder, and the others who are trying to work out how the hell they do it.
As I arrived the magician was asking someone to cover the card he had written on and not share it with anyone. The ‘someone’ was Trevor – a fellow I hadn’t seen for years and who had only turned up when he visited a mutual friend who had an invitation who told him Liane and Matt would be happy to have him turn up. Not quite a gatecrasher – but someone I wasn’t expecting.
Anyway, I hadn’t seen Trevor writing on the card as I arrived after the trick had started. The magician asked Trevor to identify who in the audience was the most psychic. “Oh that will be Liane.” I was asked to put my hand on the overturned card and start going through the alphabet until I arrived at the first letter of the word that Trevor had written. I closed my eyes and in the anticipatory silence went through the alphabet until I got to ‘P’.
“What was the first letter of the word you wrote?” the magician asked Trevor.
“P,” replied Trevor. Well my eyes soon shot open and were out on stalks. I couldn’t believe it. There were no prompts, no touches, nothing that could have happened to make me know that it was the letter P.
The magician asked me to once again go through the alphabet for the second letter. I got to E.
“When you wrote the letter O,” the magician asked Trevor, “did you have a loop on it that Liane might have mistaken it for an E?” Trevor said he thought that must be right.
Onto to the third and fourth letters which were both S. Now for those who are thinking that the word must be possum (by the way, I didn’t know it was a six letter word) and that I would guess the next letter to be a U you would be wrong. Despite knowing how to spell – I stopped at the letter O, with the final letter being an M. Trevor had misspelled possum and had a dodgy O looking like an E and I got it – with my eyes closed.
In these days where I alternate between not wanting to watch the news because of the horrors that are reported and wanting to watch the news because I am obsessed with finding out what lunacy is coming out of the White House, I am drawn towards the make believe.
I don’t need to know how the magician does his tricks. I will close my eyes and be transported to a land where kindred spirits gather to be enchanted, share stories, to comfort, to laugh and to cajole as they drink wine and sample antipasto beside a babbling water source surrounded by a magical garden under a gentle sun surrounded by the art work of friends. And when I open my eyes I realise I am home.
Anyway, I hadn’t seen Trevor writing on the card as I arrived after the trick had started. The magician asked Trevor to identify who in the audience was the most psychic. “Oh that will be Liane.” I was asked to put my hand on the overturned card and start going through the alphabet until I arrived at the first letter of the word that Trevor had written. I closed my eyes and in the anticipatory silence went through the alphabet until I got to ‘P’.
“What was the first letter of the word you wrote?” the magician asked Trevor.
“P,” replied Trevor. Well my eyes soon shot open and were out on stalks. I couldn’t believe it. There were no prompts, no touches, nothing that could have happened to make me know that it was the letter P.
The magician asked me to once again go through the alphabet for the second letter. I got to E.
“When you wrote the letter O,” the magician asked Trevor, “did you have a loop on it that Liane might have mistaken it for an E?” Trevor said he thought that must be right.
Onto to the third and fourth letters which were both S. Now for those who are thinking that the word must be possum (by the way, I didn’t know it was a six letter word) and that I would guess the next letter to be a U you would be wrong. Despite knowing how to spell – I stopped at the letter O, with the final letter being an M. Trevor had misspelled possum and had a dodgy O looking like an E and I got it – with my eyes closed.
In these days where I alternate between not wanting to watch the news because of the horrors that are reported and wanting to watch the news because I am obsessed with finding out what lunacy is coming out of the White House, I am drawn towards the make believe.
I don’t need to know how the magician does his tricks. I will close my eyes and be transported to a land where kindred spirits gather to be enchanted, share stories, to comfort, to laugh and to cajole as they drink wine and sample antipasto beside a babbling water source surrounded by a magical garden under a gentle sun surrounded by the art work of friends. And when I open my eyes I realise I am home.