The illusionist

On her way home after a long day working outside, a woman noticed a stage had been set up in the main square of her village. You have to understand nothing ever happened here, so it struck her as very odd.

On the edge of it stood a tall and handsome man, a splash of color in an otherwise grey world. He appeared quite desperate to catch the gaze of any passerby, gesticulating in a way she couldn’t bother to make sense of; she was frankly quite tired and used to keep to herself. Before his honey brown eyes could hold onto her too tightly, she quickly looked away and resumed her walk back to her house.

The next day, around the same time, the man was still there. The only difference was that it seemed like he’d managed to grab the attention of two people. Ah, he was one of those. A shadow caster, a trickster, a master of smoke and mirrors. A charlatan. A magician, if you felt generous. She assumed the couple was simply indulging him, but they looked positively delighted. She scoffed, shook her head and once again continued to walk.

From then on, each evening, while she dragged her feet home, she noticed more and more people gathering in front of that stage. Hook, line and sinker. His voice sounded more confident than before, drawing strength from all those eyes watching his every move with bated breath.

A week had passed and his pervasive presence was becoming harder and harder to ignore, his intriguing novelty spreading in every corner of the village. “Where did he come from ? Why did he choose to come here, of all places ? Who is he ? How does he do it ? Maybe magic is real after all.”

She didn’t know what it was in particular that made her relent. Maybe it was the child giggling on top of his father’s shoulders. Maybe it was the widow who usually never smiled, whose eyes always looked inward, suddenly staring ahead and wearing something close to a smile on her face. The tricks of this liar even made her look younger in her soft amusement. What harm could a small detour do ?

Discreet as a mouse, she hoped to blend in with the rest of the crowd, but it was without counting on the excentric illusionist, who turned her ripple into a wave simply because he could. He’d noticed her resistance and that couldn’t go unpunished. The woman took the charming teasing and the looks of her peers as gracefully as she could, cheeks burning as she remained in the safety of her silence, hoping he would carry on as before. Perhaps she had it coming : after all, what kind of person closed their heart so tightly to something that brought so much joy to her neighbors ?

To her relief he eventually did… until the next show. Her quiet attendance turned into another part of his performance, but she told herself it was all games and fun. Besides, it made her feel a little special, like she was in on it somehow. As strange as it sounds and as suspicious as she initially felt, her icy shell slowly started to thaw. Her routine changed, like the rest of the village changed. A detour turned into a habit, and she let herself become another flower following his light, feeling warmer and more alive than she had in years.
She had to admit he was actually very talented, and all the questions that sprouted in her mind remained stubbornly unanswered, no matter how attentive she was to his mysterious act. She was surprised to realize it didn’t bother her as much as she would have thought : after all, was it wrong to simply want to believe in magic too ?

But around this time, something strange started to happen : people around her all mysteriously… “lost” things. First, it was a coin or two. Then, it was a full purse. The woman thought they’d all grow more alarmed, especially when the widow misplaced her wedding ring. It was all she had left of her late husband, and surely that was enough for the small fire to spread and turn into a frightening word that made more sense : theft. There was thief among them.

Old habits die hard, and the woman slipped back into her distrustful nature with ease. Once again, she was not known for her mouth, so when she tried to discuss it with a few people, she was only met with frowns and cold shoulders. The trickster had also made it impossible for them to forget how long it had taken her to finally be part of their merry throng, and to them her accusations were an admission of guilt more than anything else.
But hadn’t these people known her her entire life ? It was a harsh but necessary wake-up call, and the veil in front of her eyes lifted, the culprit revealing himself to her so obviously it didn’t make sense that no one else saw what she did. Perfectly deceptive, down to the bone.

When she was younger, she remembered sitting around a campfire with her grandpa and listening to his wondrous tales. He’d ask her to stare at the wall and try to make out the shapes in the shadows : here was a wolf, here was a bird. She was all too happy not to look at his hands, until she decided she was too old for these childish plays.
It was time to look at the illusionist’s hands.

How could she let herself be fooled when she knew better ? She knew ! Anyone could be a shadow caster. From now on, his distractions wouldn’t work on her anymore, and she’d see beyond what he wanted her to see, proving to all that their troubles had only started when he showed up.
During one of his next shows, his voice carrying as far as ever, she finally caught him hiding a prop in his sleeve. However, she was aware she’d have to find more than that if she wanted her fellow villagers to take her side. The unfairness of the situation wasn’t lost on her, but she’d do what needed to be done : she’d bide her time, gather evidence and expose him as the fraud and criminal he was. She’d make them see reason.

It took her a while, but tonight the treasures she’d retrieved from the robber rested safely in her pockets, giving her courage. But nothing went as planned. Where she expected relief, support and outrage, she was only met with mockery, judgment and insults. Her voice was nowhere near as powerful as his, and it seemed like the truth only resided in decibels. Her apparent culpability made no doubt to them, as if carved deep into her skin, to the point where she even started to doubt her own story. He was more influential than she thought, and maybe there was magic to him if he could bend reality to his will.

Now sitting behind bars, she was awaiting trial and the odds weren’t in her favor. Testimonies were piling up, her introversion a sign of something more sinister. She was such a convenient scapegoat it was laughable, and everything she was, or at least thought she was, became so malleable in their mouths. Suddenly, every awful thing that had ever happened here was somehow connected to her, from the bad harvest last year to the death of the old woman’s husband.

One evening not unlike others, the father and his child walked to the main square to see what the illusionist had prepared for them this time. They were struggling to make ends meet, but at least they had magic to look forward to. Imagine their shock when they found the place… empty, as if no one had ever occupied it.
The woman heard of the magician’s departure, feeling somewhat vindicted : clearly, they could not dispute this clear evidence of his guilt. But they blamed her for his disappearance too.

Her arguments seemed weightless, no matter how reasonable. Even if the magician had done something wrong, he’d brought a rainbow to a town that once looked like a graveyard. What had she done, except try to sow discord and ruin the one good thing that ever happened to them ?
She wrestled against the lies, tried and tried again to appeal to their logic and their hearts. She’d led an honest, simple life and never hurt anyone before.

But what good was the truth to her in a prison cell ?

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