“A handkerchief?” inquired Donald.
“No,” said Mactavish, giving a glance at his audience of villagers. “I think something a little more spectacular. Mrs Durrell, would you be kind enough to lend me your hat?”
Mother, during the summer months, used to wear a large straw hat that, in view of her minuteness, made her look somewhat like an animated mushroom.
“I don’t want egg all over it,” she said.
“No, no, I assure you,” said Mactavish, “there’s no danger.”
Reluctantly, Mother removed her straw hat and handed it to Mactavish. With a great flourish he placed it on the table in front of him, glanced up to make sure the villagers were watching, took an egg and placed it carefully in the hat. Then he squeezed the brim together and gave it a resounding blow on the side of the table.
“If we save all the bits,” said Larry, “I suppose we could have an omelette.”
Mactavish, however, unfurled the hat and displayed it to us in such a way that the villagers could see that it was completely empty and egg-less. He then took a second egg and did precisely the same thing and again the hat was empty and egg-less. As he did the same again with the third egg I saw animation starting to creep into the eyes of our village audience, and after the fourth egg one or two of the men were actually exchanging whispered remarks. Then, with great flamboyance, Mactavish showed us all the completely empty and egg-less hat and showed it also to the villagers. He then placed it on the table and folded up the brim once more, then opened it and with perfect timing took out four absolutely intact eggs and placed them on the plate.
Even Larry was impressed. Of course, it was a simple job of what conjurers call palming; that is to say, you appear to put a thing into something, whereas in actual fact it is in your hand and you conceal it on some part of your anatomy. I had seen it done with watches and other objects but I had never seen it done quite so skilfully with four eggs, which are, after all difficult to conceal and are the easiest things to break during such a trick, thus spoiling the whole effect.
Mactavish bowed to our solemn clapping and, to our great astonishment, there were even a few desultory claps from the villagers. Some of the older men, in fact, who had slightly defective eyesight switched tables with the younger ones so that they were closer to us.
“You see what I mean?” said Mactavish proudly. “Little bit of magic works wonders.”
He then produced from his pocket a pack of cards and proceeded to go through the normal routine that conjurers use with cards, flourishing them up in the air so that they landed on his hand and spread out along his arm without a single card failing. The villagers were now really excited and from sitting on the opposite side of the square from us, they had now converged on us. The old men with defective eyesight had in fact become so intrigued that they had moved their chairs forward until they were almost sitting at our table.
It was obvious that Mactavish was enjoying himself immensely. He put an egg into his mouth, scrunched it up and then opened his mouth wide to show that there was no egg there and produced it from his shirt pocket. Now there came a hearty round of applause from the villagers.
“Isn’t he clever!” said Margo.
“I told you he was alright,” said Leslie, “and he’s a damned good pistol shot, too.”
“I must ask him how he does these, um..., illusions,” said Theodore.
“I wonder if he knows how to saw a woman in half,” said Larry thoughtfully, “I mean, so that you could get the half that functions but doesn’t talk.”
“Larry dear,” said Mother, “I do wish you wouldn’t say things like that in front of Gerry.”
Now came Mactavish’s big moment. The front row of the village audience consisted entirely of old men with long white beards, and the younger men were standing in the background craning their necks to watch his tricks. Mactavish strode forward to the oldest of the old men, who must surely have been the mayor of the village since we had noticed he had been given a special place of honour so that he could see the tricks more clearly. Mactavish stood there for a moment with his hands up, fingers spread wide, and said in Greek,
“I will now show you another trick.”
Swiftly, he reached down and produced from the old man’s beard a drachma and threw the silver-coloured coin on the ground. There was a gasp of astonishment from the assembled company. Then, having raised his arms and spread his fingers wide once more, he reached into the other side of the old man’s beard and produced a five-drachma piece, which he again, with a flourish, threw on the ground.
“Now,” said Mactavish in Greek, holding up his hands once more, you ye seen how I have produced by magic this money from the mayor’s beard...”
“Can you produce more?” inquired the mayor in a quavering voice.
“Yes, yes,” came a chorus of villagers, “can you produce more?”
“I will see what my magic can do,” said Mactavish, by now completely carried away.
In rapid succession he produced from the mayor’s beard a whole series of ten-drachma coins, which he threw on the mounting pile on the ground. In those days Greece was so poverty stricken that the shower of silver Mactavish was producing out of the mayor’s beard represented a small fortune.
It was at that point that Mactavish over-reached himself He produced from the mayor’s beard a fifty-drachma note. The “ah’s” of excitement were almost deafening. Encouraged by this, Mactavish produced four more fifty-drachma notes. The mayor sat there entranced. Periodically he would whisper a blessing to one or another of the many saints who he felt were producing this miracle.
“I think, you know,” said Theodore in a tentative tone of voice, “it would be perhaps advisable not to produce any more.”
But Mactavish was too flushed with enthusiasm to realise the danger. He produced several one hundred-drachma notes from the mayor’s beard and the applause was deafening.
“Now,” he said, “for my final trick,” and he held up his hands once more to show that they were empty. He bent down and plucked from the mayor’s beard a bunch of 500-drachma notes.
The amount of money that was now lying at the mayor’s feet represented something like ten or fifteen pounds which, to the average peasant anywhere in Greece, was a fortune beyond the dreams of avarice.
“There,” said Mactavish, turning and smiling at us proudly, “it never fails.”
“You certainly have got them in a very good mood,” said Mother, who was by now completely relaxed.
“I told you not to worry, Mrs Durrell,” said Mactavish.
Then he made his fatal mistake. He bent down, picked up all the money lying on the ground and put it in his pocket.
Immediate uproar broke out.
“I, um..., I had a sort of feeling this might happen,” said Theodore.
The mayor had risen shakily to his feet and was shaking his fist in Mactavish’s face. Everybody else was shouting as indignantly as a disturbed rookery.
“But what’s the matter?” asked Mactavish.
“You’re stealing my money,” said the mayor.
“I think,” said Larry to Mother, “that now is the time for you, Leonora and Margo to get back to the boat.”
They left the table with alacrity and disappeared down the main street at a dignified trot.
“But what do you mean, your money?” Mactavish was saying earnestly to the mayor, “It was my money.”
“How could it be your money if you found it in my beard?” asked the mayor.
Once again, Mactavish was defeated by the illogicality of the Greeks.
“But don’t you see,” he said painfully, “it was only magic? It was really my money.”
“NO!” came a chorus from the entire village, “If you found the money in his beard it’s his money.”
“But can’t you see,” said Mactavish desperately, “that I was doing tricks? It’s all tricks.”