"R. A. Lafferty - Stories 3" - читать интересную книгу автора (Lafferty R A)

The Great Boffo, however, could not duplicate the trick. Nor could the
Great Thaumaturgos, nor the Great Zebdo.
All of them could make girls disappear from boxes, of course, and could
do it in more showy fashion. But, though it was the same thing to the
audiences, it was not the same thing to themselves. Their tricks were known to
each other and were obvious to any magic man. The special trick of
Zambesi-Chartel was not understood and this gave him stature. The only men in
the world who do not secretly believe in magic are the magicians, but there
was something about the doings of the Great Zambesi that sowed doubt in them.
The Great Vespo, indeed, claimed that he knew how it was done. But Vespo,
though brilliant, was an old man and was given to extravagant claims.
The explanation that Charles (the Great Zambesi) Chartel gave to his
audiences will not be given here. Should we repeat it, we would not be
believed; we would be laughed at -- and we are sensitive. We have not the
magnetism of Zambesi to carry off such an outlandish claim as his even though
it should be true -- and it was. (Actually he said that he sent Veronica down
into the Ocean and that he called her back again from that Ocean.)
However, this isn't about the disappearance of Veronica; it is about a
matter quite the opposite. And the opposite of the disappearance of Veronica
was the appearance of someone who differed from her as much as possible.

This came about at the Tri-State Fair when the New Arena was quite new.
The crowd was spirited and the Great Zambesi was in full form. The lighting
was perfect and Veronica shone like a jewel set in gold as she stepped into
the box that was set up on blocks, clear of the stage. Zambesi closed the box
and the crowd had the true feeling of magic about to happen.
And then, with perfect timing, Zambesi-Chartel threw back the front
cover as to reveal the box -- empty.
We will be hornswitched if that box was empty!
But what rolled out of the box was not Veronica. It was the most
woebegone scarecrow of a clown ever seen, the saddest looking man who ever
stumbled over his own two feet.
"Holy hamadryads, cramoise, where did you come from?" Zambesi-Chartel
breathed without understanding his own words.
The man out of the box was a hobo from a hundred years ago. He wept and
wiped his nose with his hand. He had trouble with falling pants and broken
shoes and a coat whose sleeve avoided arm. The little clown was good and there
was real pathos in his silent humor.
"You've got to get out of here, cnaufer," Chartel hissed at the little
man again and again. "Who are you and how did you get here? Off with you now,
cathexis, you're fouling up the act." But the little man avoided Chartel who
would have killed him in all sincerity.
Finally Chartel in his despair closed the box loudly, then opened it
again and brought Veronica out of it. But that didn't get and of the little
tramp. He was still cavorting about the stage and he was good. Listen, he was
dressed in old black pants and a torn undershirt and one suspender and he
walked about the stage.
Then he had on a red sweater and a burglar's cap and black glasses. He
still walked about the stage and suddenly he was splendid in evening clothes
and monocle. Nobody had done that before.