Joseph Voelbel

Down a certain alley way off an unlit street in an old borough of London there is a door with an inconspicuous awning that reads Magic Theatre. This theatre only conducts shows on equinoxes and solstices, its invitations are sent out a year prior; the list defined by esoteric accreditation; the house, on each of these propitious occasions, is packed. Tonights show consists of the transmogrification of a participatory audience by way of an alchemical recitation.

The man inside the coat roam sports a tuxedo. He takes raincoats, hats, umbrellas and isn’t permitted to show any sign of facial expression. His name is Sebastian. Sebastian is exceedingly pleased to have acquired the work as it was a nepotistic job and quite difficult to come by. He recognized several of the attendees that evening, but like he was paid to do, was wont to show any indication of this recognition. The job paid exceedingly well and he resolved to keep it, regardless of certain occupational oddities.

Lady Madeline Levine passed her coat to this man whom she didn’t notice. She quickly seized her date, Viscount Nicholas Coleridge’s left arm, and whispered, “Let’s get in and find our seats, I don’t want to be late Nicholas.” “Yes of course, dear.” He softly replied. The lights in the house went dark. The curtains began an enchantingly slow withdrawal.

A few chairs squeaked, a muffled cough from the back row.

The spotlight appeared center stage on a man with a top hat, cane, bow-tie and a handle bar mustache. “Ladies and Gentleman, I need not inform you of the auspicious considerations behind this clandestine performance and thus remind you to remain seated and attentive throughout the entire show. ”

The spotlight clips out. The room goes silent. The curtains draw shut once again and then re- open. From the back corner of the room a curious head peaks in to catch a glimpse of the action.

Sebastian had heard rumors of such plays but wished to see one for himself. Stage center a man dressed in a beaded blue robe knelt before another man, clad in all white, holding a white sword. A soft gasp ran through the crowd. Sebastian looked around to see if anybody noticed he’d poked his head in. The audience appeared rapt with attention, and unconcerned with his presence. Once knighted, the blue robed man rose, and turned to address the crowd.

“In the name of the great lineage, the holy beings and God beyond this world, in front of the planets, stars, moon and sun, I rise, anointed, by the almighty one.”

A billow of smoke covered the stage and seeped out onto the audience. Sebastian felt the floor quiver beneath him. When he stepped back into the lobby, the ground became solid. He felt dizzy in his stomach and had a hard time looking at the walls. Sebastian quickly returned to his duties.

Whiling serving drinks during intermission, he was not allowed to accept gratuity. “Thank you, but we don’t accept gratuity.” He would say politely, while thinking, “Just who are these people whom I am serving?”

After the show Sebastian passed back raincoats, top hats, furs, gloves and canes to the guests. They retrieved their articles without noticing him. Had they known he’d seen? Was he safe? When the last of them departed Sebastian stepped out into the brisk London night and lit his tobacco pipe. He blew a plume of smoke upward and it drifted across the sign depicting the name of the theatre as it dimmed. Sebastian took a few more steps and looked back to find the door had become a wall, and the city a memory.