There was suddenly a rocking and thumping from the wicker trunk. It shook on the trestles.
"What is this?" cried the ponderous fellow, turning about.
The trunk rocked back and forth.
"Master!" came from within the trunk. "Master, oh, beloved Master, help me. I beg of you to help me, Master! Please, Master, if you can hear me, help me! Help me!"
"Open it!" cried a man.
"Open it!" called another.
The ponderous fellow threw off the wicker, basketlike lid of the trunk and gazed within, then staggering back as though in astonishment.
"Show us! Show us!" cried men.
Swiftly, losing not a nonce, he undid the side latches and dropped the front panel of the trunk. There, in the trunk, framed by the sides and back, as men cried out in wonder and delight, was descried the slave, Litsia, now not only in the least of slave rags but in sirik.
She was excitingly curvaceous, a dream of pleasure, such a sight as might induce a strong man to howl with joy, to dance with triumph.
Those on the tiers rose to their feet, applauding.
Yes, the woman was well turned. No longer now could there be the least doubt as to the promises of her lineaments. Almost might she have been on the block so little did her brief, twisted, scanty rages leave to the imagination of lustful brutes. And well did she move upon that wicker surface, in helpless desirability, in the grasp of the sirik, the metal on her neck, and on her wrists and ankles, the whole impeccably joined by its linkage of gleaming chain. "The magician had returned her!" said a man.
"And she is in better condition than when he received her," laughed a man.
The ponderous fellow then, with a tug, tore away the bit of cloth which had provided its mockery of a shielding for her beauty and cast it aside.
Men cheered.
"It seems I have a new master," said the girl, squirming a little, naked, to the audience.
There was laughter.
She was then pulled from the trunk and flunk to her knees on the stage.
She, kneeling, in sirik, turned to the audience. "I now know I have a new master!" she said.
There was more laughter.
"Where have you been?" demanded the ponderous fellow.
"I was in my palanquin," she said. "Then, in the blinking of an eye, I was in the castle somewhere, stripped and in chains."
"In Anango, I wager," said the ponderous fellow.
"And at the feet of a magician!" she cried.
"That would be my old friend, Swaziloo," said the ponderous fellow.
"Yes," she said. "I think that is what he said his name was."
I was pleased that they had managed to get the name right the second time. I had known the ponderous fellow to slip up in such matters. The girl was not likely to make a mistake, of course. If she did so, she would probably be whipped. "And for what purpose were you transported to his castle?" asked the ponderous fellow.
"To be taught, Master!" she said.
"And were you taught?" he asked.
"Yes, Master!" she said.
Then, to the delight of the audience, she reached forth and, holding the fellow's leg, and pressing herself against it, kissed him humbly, timidly, lovingly, about the thigh.
"And I," said the ponderous fellow, "may have learned something, too, about how to be a master."
There was then applause and cheering, and bows were taken by the troupe, the assistants and the ponderous fellow, and the girl, for her part, performing obeisance to the audience, and then, to the delight of the audience, being conducted off, in her chains, with tiny, short steps, no more permitted her by the linkage on her ankle rings, in a common slave girl leading position, bent over at the waist, drawn along at the master's side by the hair. Marcus had been shaken by the performance.
Afterward we were walking outside. We would not attend any more performances that evening, as the shows, and the street, would be soon closed, due to the curfew. Also, I had discovered what I had been searching for, the fellow I wished to contact.
"I am puzzled by what I have seen," he said.
"In what way?" I asked.
"Is he truly a magician, or in league with magicians?" asked Marcus.
"Much depends on what you mean by "magician'," I said.
"You know what I mean," said Marcus.
"I do not think so," I said.
"One who can do magic," said Marcus, irritably.
"Oh," I said.
"I do not know if it is wise to use magic in such a way," said Marcus, "for pay, as a show, for an audience."
"I do not understand," I said.
"Magic seems too strange and wonderful," he said.
"Why don't they just make gold pieces appear instead?" I asked.
"Yes, why not?" he asked.
"Indeed, why not?" I said.
"I do not understand the audience," he said. "Some men laughed much, and did not seem to understand the momentousness of what was occurring. Some seemed to take it almost for granted. Others were more sensitive to the wonders they beheld."
"Dear Marcus," I said, "such things are tricks. They are done to give pleasure, and amusement."
"The magician, or the magician, or magicians, the showman was in league with," said Marcus, "obviously possess extraordinary powers."
"In a sense, yes," I said, "and I would be the last to underestimate or belittle them. They have unusual powers. But you, too, have unusual powers. For example, you have unusual powers with tempered blades, with the steels of war."
"Such things," said he, quickly, "are mere matters of blood, of instinct, of aptitude, of strength, of reflexes, of training, of practice. They are skills, skills."
"The magician, too," I said, "has his skills. Let them be remarked and celebrated. Life is the richer for us that he has them. Let us rejoice in his achievements."
"I do not think I understand you," said Marcus.
"Would you like to know how the tricks were done?" I asked.
"Tricks," he said.
"Yes," I said. "If I tell you, will you then value them less?"
" 'Done'?" he said.
"Surely you do not believe that a slave disappeared into thin air and then reappeared out of thin air in a wicker trunk, do you?"
"Certainly it is difficult to believe," said Marcus, "but surely I must believe it, it happened."
"Nonsense," I said.
"Did you not see what I saw?" he asked.
"I suppose that in one sense I saw what you saw," I said, "but in another sense I think it would be fair to say that I didn't. At the very least, we surely interpreted what we saw very differently."
"I know what I saw," said Marcus.
"You know what you think you saw," I said.
"There could be no tricks," said Marcus, angrily. "Not this time. Do not think I am naA?ve! I have heard of such things as trapdoors and secret panels! I have even heard of illusions done with mirrors! But those are not done by true magic. They are only tricks. I might even be able to do them. But this was different. Here, obviously, there could have been only true magic."
"Why do you say that?" I asked.
"I do not know that there is false magic, or only apparent magic, and false magicians, or only apparent magicians, but this was different."
"Why?" I asked.
"If there are so many false magicians," said Marcus, "then there must be at least one true magician."
"Have you reflected upon the logic of that?" I asked.
"Not carefully," he said.
"It might be well to do so," I said.
"Perhaps," he said, irritatedly.
"From the fact that most larls eat meat it does not follow that some larls do not," I said. "Rather, if one were to hazard an inference in such a matter, it would seem rational to suppose that they all eat meat."
"And from the fact that most magicians may not do real magic one should not infer that therefore some do?"
"That is it," I said.
"But some might!" he said, triumphantly.
"Perhaps," I said.
"I grant you the logic of matter," he said, "but in this case I must be granted the fact of the matter."
"What fact?" I asked.