Houdini WHO?

MUMBO JUMBO

 

The huge magnificent chandelier, supposedly from Queen Elizabeth's summer home at Ballmer, quivers as it descends two meters from the dome in Queen Elizabeth and Prince Albert Hall. Our coach is driven by our two white stallions, liveried drivers bring us directly in front of the behemoth circular building. We ascend and join the long line of ladies and gentlemen hoping to, expecting to, be amazed and entertained by the famous Houdini. The vastness of the building takes my breath away. The stairs nearly do me in. Hard wooden seats, too small for my new dress without wrinkling it, annoy me, hurt my back. The stays in my dress dig into my bosom.

 

Startling new electric lights dazzle us. The last time Joseph and I attended a banquet here, we were told that all ten thousand gas lights were lit for the occasion. This alone is worth our visit. The flickering gas lights, the engulfing smell ruined many performances for actors and audiences.

 

Trumpets blow a tarantara. The audience stands as one. Queen Elizabeth II, accompanied by many, enters her box, looks around, nods, waves and sits down. The electric lights brighten as dozens of thin, delicate acrobats from the Far East start the first performance. They seem not to have bones inside of them as they twist, contort, jump, climb on each other, almost reach the rafters. The next performer is Rodney Hempstead who, standing under only one light, delivers the soliloquy from Macbeth. There is polite applause.

 

I can feel the tension, the excitement in the air. The audience gasps. Seemingly from nowhere, there he is, the man we came to see, the Great Houdini. His assistant immediately begins to chain Houdini's ankles together, does the same to his clenched fists behind him and locks them. Members of the audience come up to be sure this is not a trick. Houdini cannot move. All eyes are on him alone. He wiggles once, twice and is free. Non-stop he continues with great ease to escape no matter how he is confined. There is no challenging his agility.

 

Suddenly the hall goes dark, almost pitch. Neither Houdini nor the Queen can be seen. Houdini calls out, 'Do not be afraid. Please stay seated. From the right side of the stage there is a moan, a groan. It slowly fades into the darkness. A face appears, too high to be even that of a giant. It is a male face, wide open eyes blink. The mouth moves, speaks, 'Melanie, my beloved Melanie, I am here with you. Don't be afraid. Come, come to me.' The lights brighten a little. A woman across the vast hall gives a curdling scream. 'That's my Lawrence. I know his voice. He visits me when I am lonely. He died last Christmas, but see, hear him as I do.''

 

Houdini has the lights turned on, walks to the middle of the stage and addresses Lawrence's wife,' Madam, believe me, that was not Lawrence. It is a trick. The dead cannot return. All of you believers in the audience don't go to these fakers, stop. You are throwing your money away on wishes.  I offer $5000 to anyone, anywhere, who can prove to me that we can communicate with the dead. WE CANNOT.' Calls reach him from every direction, shouting that he is the faker, the trickster. Houdini stands erect, points his finger at the audience and raises his voice even louder, 'Show me, show me! You cannot but I can show you how the seers make tables move, how they make trumpets from heaven call you. Save your money. Don't visit these fakes.' He leaves the stage.

 

Queen Elizabeth stands as does her entourage and the audience. Those in the box seats follow her. It is said in the Mourning Journal that the Queen has granted Houdini a private audience. She has to reach her beloved Prince Albert and if it can be done, Houdini will do it.

 

Three days later the Morning Journal blares in large black letters, 'HOUDINI HAS DIED.' The tragic story of his sudden death ends with his promise to his wife to come back to her if it can be done. He has given her a secret code word to reach him. If he can hear her, he will appear.

 

Her oft cried times of calling him have amounted to silence. And still fools go to seances, swear they have seen their loved ones, even their pets.

 

What fools these mortals be.