"Lisa Goldstein - Dark Rooms" - читать интересную книгу автора (Goldstein Lisa)

knew that, but perhaps he was not good enough.

Sometimes, when his work was going well, he thought he might be
wrong, that he was brilliant, every bit the artist his aunt had seen.
Sometimes, though, he would come up against his limitations, and then he
would feel resentful. Why had someone else been given this talent and not
him? He worked just as hard, he wanted it just as much. He could have
painted that dancer, that lake, if only ... well, if only he’d thought of it.

The day faded into evening. He stopped at a restaurant for dinner and
then, feeling restless, he wandered the streets, his mind still busy with the
train, the forge, the garden. One of the films had shown a parent feeding a
child, infusing even that simple act with magic.

As if the world around him was echoing his thoughts he saw the word
“magic” shining out into the street, lit by the new electricity. He came closer
and saw that it was part of a sign: “Théatre Robert-Houdin—Magic Conjured
Within.” An old woman sat in a box outside, separated from him by
elaborate wrought-iron bars, and so befuddled was he by the day’s events
that at first he thought she was a magic trick herself, that any moment she
would disappear or turn to smoke.

“One franc,” she said, holding out her palm. He paid and went inside.

The theatre was dim, lit only by gaslamps turned down low. From
somewhere a piano played. At first he could barely make out his
surroundings; then rows of chairs swam out of the darkness. He found an
empty seat on the aisle and sat down.

A man stood on the stage with his back to the audience. He wore
black formal clothing; the tails of his coat reached nearly to his knees. A
woman in a shockingly small skirt stepped out from the wings. The man
ushered her into a box and closed a door that covered her from the neck
down, so that only her face was visible. He made a few passes with his
hands and the woman’s head floated out onto the stage, her eyes blinking,
her mouth moving in a smile.

The head started back to the box, flew past it, returned and missed it
again. It swung back and forth across the stage in panic, trying in vain to
rejoin its body, and the audience, too, seemed to panic, a few even crying
out in alarm.

The magician made another pass. The head went toward the box
again and this time managed to glide smoothly inside. At first, horribly, it
faced away from the audience; then it turned around and the woman smiled.

The magician opened the box and the woman stepped out, whole and
safe. He turned toward the audience and held her hand, and they bowed
and straightened. It was only then that Stevens recognized him; it was the
man he had followed from the Grand Café.