"I'm not panicked," Wade said, "I'm worried."
"Fair enough, you're worried." The old man took off his cap and ran a hand across the top of his head, smoothing down hair that wasn't there. "No harm in worry, but I'll tell you a true fact. This place here, I've run it twenty-four straight years. Haven't lost one single paying customer. The factual truth. Not even one, except for a few dumbass fishermen, which I'm pissed to say wasn't permanent."
Wade shook his head. "Doesn't mean she's not in trouble."
"Right. It means we wait."
"Just sit?"
"Hell no, we don't just sit. Where's that knockout rum of yours?"
They moved out to the kitchen. Wade fixed a pair of drinks, passed one over to Claude, and looked up at the clock over the stove. Almost two in the morning. She'd been gone fifteen hours, maybe longer, and ugly pictures were beginning to form. Seaweed hair. A bottom-up boat.
Claude's voice seemed to come from Canada.
"I say, can she swim?'
"Swim?"
"Your wife."
Wade blinked and nodded. "Yes. Good swimmer."
"Well, there you are then, hey?"
"But it seems like—I don't know—like we should get out there and start looking."
"Look where?"
"Anywhere. Just look."
Claude was chewing on an ice cube. He squinted down at his drink, then sighed and swallowed. "Maybe you didn't notice," he said, "but it's dead dark out there. Black as sin—that's item one. Plus we got fog. Plus a couple thousand square miles of water, not to mention forest, not to mention God knows how many islands and sand bars and crap. Can't accomplish a damn thing."
"The police, then."
"What police? Vinny Pearson, he runs the Texaco station, Vinny's the police. Gets eighty bucks a month part-time—what's he gonna do? I'll tell you what. He's gonna say, 'Man, get your ass back to sleep,' which is pretty much what I say. Nothing we can do till morning, that's a fact. Worst it can be, your wife's beached up somewhere."
"No way," Wade said.
"You sound awful certain."
"A feeling. I know."
"You know?"
"That's right."
Claude removed his cap again. He was silent for a while, studying a spot at the center of Wade's forehead. "One thing I'm curious about. You two lovebirds didn't ... There wasn't like a fight or something?"
"No."
"A spat, I mean?"
"Of course not."
The old man frowned. "No big deal. Like with Ruth and me, sometimes we get itchy in the temper. She'll say something, I'll say something, pretty soon we're pitching hand grenades across the kitchen. It happens that way."
"Not with us," Wade said. "I woke up this morning, Kathy was gone."
"That's it?"
"Everything."
"Well, good. There we are." The old man leaned back in his chair. There was a question in his eyes, something that hadn't yet shaped itself. He gazed thoughtfully at a stack of empty flowerpots on the kitchen counter.
"No fight, no problem," he finally said. "I was you, Senator, I'd just give it time, see what Ruth comes up with."
"Let's dispense with the senator shit."
"Wasn't meant to offend."
"Just lay off. I'm no senator."
Claude smiled. "Got thumped pretty bad. Three to one, I guess."
"Close enough."
"Damn pity. Democrats, they're a tough bunch to please. Like with me, I'm what you call a real true-blue Minnesota DFLer. Hubert and Orville and Floyd B. Olson—that crew—the old kickass corn-farmer boys. Meat and potatoes, so to speak. Say what you mean, mean what you say. One thing I don't care for, it's pussyfoot politics."
There was silence while the old man refilled his glass.
"Anyhow," he said, "can't say I voted for you."
Wade shrugged. "Not many can."
"Nothing personal."
"No. It never is."
Claude gave him a sidelong glance, amused. "Other hand, I'm not saying I didn't. Maybe so, maybe not. What surprised me—the thing I don't get—you never once asked for help. Money-wise, I mean. You could've asked."
"And then what?"
"Hard to say. People claim I'm a sucker for lost causes." The old man hesitated. "Truth is, you didn't have a Chinaman's prayer, not after all that nasty shit hit the papers. Even so, I might've tossed in a few bucks."
"Well, good. The thought counts."
"A hatchet job. Made you look ... I guess it's not something you care to talk about?"
"I guess not."
The old man nodded. He glanced at the clock and pushed himself up. "Sit tight, I'll try Ruth again."
Wade's head was pounding. That fuzzy, seasick feeling had settled back over him; he couldn't make the ugly pictures go away. The debris was bobbing up all around him. Ghosts and algae and bits of bone.
He listened as Claude dialed. The old man spoke quietly for a few minutes, then sighed and hung up. "No luck. Ruth'll keep at it, plenty more names to call."
"The police," Wade said.
"Maybe."
"Not maybe. Kathy's out there, we need to get something started. Right now."
The old man stuffed his hands in his back pockets. Absently, frowning slightly, he looked at the stack of clay pots near the sink. "Well, see, I already explained, Vinny ain't no Kojak. All he can do is call down to the sheriff in Baudette. Put out some boats, line up a plane or two."
"That's a start," Wade said. "It's something."
"I guess."
"So let's move."
Claude was still evaluating the empty pots. He waited a moment, then crossed over to the kitchen sink. "Those flowers, man. What the fuck happened?"
"Nothing," Wade said. "An accident."
"Yeah?"
"Claude, we're wasting time."
A little vein wobbled at the old man's forehead. He picked up one of the pots and turned it in his hands. "Accident," he said. "Some accident."
12. Evidence
It has been said that a miracle is the result of causes with which we are unacquainted. Once these causes are discovered we no longer have a miracle, but natural law ... In a way, all of us dislike the laws of nature. We should prefer to make things happen in the more direct in which savage people imagine them to happen, through our own invocation.22
—Robert Parrish (The Magician's Handbook)
He actually thought of himself as Sorcerer, that's how it seemed to me, and Kathy was his main audience. I can't see how she put up with it. Maybe she hoped he'd pull off a real miracle or something. For her own life, I mean. I guess sometimes my sister thought of him as Sorcerer too.
—Patricia S. Hood
For the spectator there is the complementary pleasure of yielding passively to an omnipotent and mysterious force, of submitting helplessly to mounting swells of excitement where reason is overthrown and judgment scuttled.23
—Bernard C. Meyer (Houdini: A Mind in Chains)
He was a charmer. Literally. Wrap you up in charms till you couldn't fucking move.
—Anthony L. (Tony) Carbo
A nice, polite man, if you ask me.
—Ruth Rasmussen
Kathy knew he had these secrets, things he wouldn't talk about. She knew about the spying. Maybe I'm wrong but it was like she needed to be part of it. That whole sick act of his.
—Bethany Kee (Associate Admissions Director, University of Minnesota)
... you may find yourself crying in corners and vowing that his buddies may have died on him in Vietnam, the brass may have turned its collective back on him, but you will never desert him. He needs you. Whether he can say it or not, whether he can act like it or not, he needs you.24
—Patience H. C. Mason (Recovering from the War)
I guess Kathy loved him so much she couldn't see what was happening all around her. Like this pixie dust. Sprinkle on the love, you end up fooling yourself.
—Patricia S. Hood
Audiences
want to believe what they see a magician do, and yet at the same time they know better and do not believe. Therein lies the fascination of magic to modern people. It is a paradox, a riddle, a half-fulfillment of an ancient desire, a puzzle, a torment, a cheat and a truth.25
—Robert Parrish (The Magician's Handbook)
Exhibit Eight: John Wade's Box of Tricks, Partial List
Chinese Rings
Lota Bowl
Sponge balls
Stripper deck
Magician's wax
Postcard from father (dated July 19, 1956, photograph of unidentified granite building, handwriting largely illegible, "... out of here soon ... can't wait to ... Dad")
Magician's milk (2 cans)
Silk load
Book: Time Telepathy
Book: Tarbell Course in Magic, Vol. I
Assorted catalogs, Karra's Studio of Magic
That summer when John was eleven it got to where I didn't have any choice. The drinking just got worse and worse. His father would be down at the American Legion all afternoon and half the night. Finally I got up the nerve to check him into the state treatment center up north. I hate to say it, but it was a relief to have him out of the house. John and I, we both adored the man, but suddenly all the tension was gone and we could have supper without sitting there on the edge of our seats ... A couple of times John and I drove up to visit him on weekends. We'd go out on this grassy lawn and eat picnic lunches and Well it was nice I remember one time—we were getting ready to leave—I remember his father walked us over to the car and put his arms around me and kissed me and almost cried and said he loved me and he was sorry and everything would be better now It wasn't though It never got much better.
—Eleanor K. Wade
In every trick there are two carefully thought out lines—the way it looks and the way it is. The success of your work depends upon your understanding the relationship of these lines.26
—Robert Parrish (The Magician's Handbook)
I'm no psychiatrist, but if you ask me, politicians in general are pretty insecure people. Look at me—fat as a pig. Love-starved. [Laughter] So we go public. We're performers. We get up on stage and sing and dance and do our little show, anything to please folks, anything for applause. Like children. Just suck up the love.
—Anthony L. (Tony) Carbo
John used to come into the store a lot. Ten, eleven years old. At first he seemed frightened, but after a while he started spending almost every Saturday there. A nice kid, I thought. I'd show him the new effects that came in—effects, that's what we call tricks—and we'd practice them together ... He always called me the Carrot Lady, even when he got older. I doubt if he even knew my real name.27
—Sandra Karra (Karra's Studio of Magic)
If you want to find help for your vet, avoid churches that ascribe evil to outside forces, the devil tempting or taking over people. One reason for this is that maintaining an external locus of control ("the devil made me do it") precludes adult responses such as growing and profiting from experience.28
—Patience H. C. Mason (Recovering from the War)
Millions of them. Big mean fuckers. These were some very pissed-off flies.
—Richard Thinbill
The fact that a person acted pursuant to order of his Government or of a superior does not relieve him from responsibility under international law ... 29
—The Nuremberg Principles
GLOSSARY
Load: A hidden packet or bundle of objects to be magically produced.
Lota Bowl: A piece of magical apparatus which appears to be empty or filled with liquid, at the magician's whim.
Misdirection: Any technique used by a magician to divert the audience's attention from noticing some secret maneuver.30
Dear Kath,
This letter will be short because there's not much to say right now. All I can think about is hopping on that freedom bird and heading home and getting married and spending the next ten years in bed. (Horny, horny!) Basically, things have been pretty tense lately. We keep taking casualties, mostly booby traps and stuff, but we can't ever find old Victor Charlie. It gets frustrating and I guess everybody's kind of woundup. Hard to describe. Like this weird infection or something. Sometimes you can almost smell it, or taste it, like there's something wrong with the air. Anyhow, I've made it this far, so I guess I'll be okay. I love you. Just like those two weirdo snakes I mentioned. One plus one equals zero!
Eternally horny,
"Sorcerer"
—John Wade (Letter, January 13, 1968)
The point of greatest danger for an individual confronted with a crisis is not during the period of preparation for the battle, nor fighting the battle itself, but in the period immediately after the battle is over. Then, completely exhausted and drained emotionally, he must watch his decisions most carefully. There is an increased possibility of error because he may lack the necessary cushion of emotional and mental reserve which is essential for good judgment.31
—Richard M. Nixon
[After his 1941 defeat] Johnson's frustration and rage erupted over hapless aides... [He was] screaming and hollering, and throwing his arms... 32
—Robert A Caro (The Years of Lyndon Johnson)
We knew it was coming, sure, but I guess John hoped he had one more miracle up his sleeve. Didn't pan out. That last night, when the returns started coming in, he had this blank expression on his face. I can't pin it down exactly. Just empty. Like a walking dead man. Defeat does things to people.
—Anthony L. (Tony) Carbo
He drank some, that's true. Clobbered like that—who wouldn't?33
—Ruth Rasmussen
A candidate who has lost an election for the presidency, after all he has gone through in the campaign, is literally in a state of shock for at least a month after the election.34
—Thomas E. Dewey
John called me that night. He sounded almost asleep. I guess the emotion came later—a delayed shock or something. He was always the type to stew, just like his father.
—Eleanor K. Wade
The cruel circumstances attending [Al Smith's] defeat caused the memory of it to rankle in him for a long time ... Like everyone else, he wanted to be loved.35
—Matthew and Hannah Josephson (Al Smith: Hero of the Cities)
Exhibit Nine: Primary Election Results, Democratic Farmer Labor Party, State of Minnesota, September 9, 1986
Durkee—73%
Wade—21%
Other—6%36
13. The Nature of the Beast
The war was aimless. No targets, no visible enemy. There was nothing to shoot back at. Men were hurt and then more men were hurt and nothing was ever gained by it. The ambushes never worked. The patrols turned up nothing but women and kids and old men.
"Like that bullshit kid's game," Rusty Calley said one evening. "They hide, we seek, except we're chasin' a bunch of gookish fucking ghosts."
In the dark someone did witch imitations. Someone else laughed. For Sorcerer, who sat listening at his foxhole, the war had become a state of mind. Not bedlam exactly, but the din was nearby.
"Eyeballs for eyeballs," Calley said. "One of your famous Bible regulations."
All through February they worked an AO called Pinkville, a chain of dark, sullen hamlets tucked up against the South China Sea. The men hated the place, and feared it. On their maps the sector was shaded a bright shimmering pink to signify a "built-up area," with many hamlets and paddy dikes and fields of rice. But for Charlie Company there was nothing bright about Pinkville. It was spook country. The geography of evil: tunnels and bamboo thickets and mud huts and graves.
On February 25, 1968, they stumbled into a minefield near a village called Lac Son.
"I'm killed," someone said, and he was.
A steady gray rain was falling. Thunder advanced from the mountains to the west. After an hour a pair of dustoff choppers settled in. The casualties were piled aboard and the helicopters rose into the rain with thr
ee more dead, twelve more wounded.
"Don't mean zip," Calley said. His face was childlike and flaccid. He turned to one of the medics. "What's up, doc?"
Three weeks later, on March 14, a booby-trapped 155 round blew Sergeant George Cox into several large wet pieces. Dyson lost both legs. Hendrixson lost an arm and a leg.
Two or three men were crying.
Others couldn't remember how.
"Kill Nam," said Lieutenant Calley. He pointed his weapon at the earth, burned twenty quick rounds. "Kill it," he said. He reloaded and shot the grass and a palm tree and then the earth again. "Grease the place," he said. "Kill it."
In the late afternoon of March 15 John Wade received a short letter from Kathy. It was composed on light blue stationery with a strip of embossed gold running along the top margin. Her handwriting was dark and confident.
"What I hope," she wrote him, "is that someday you'll understand that I need things for myself. I need a productive future—a real life. When you get home, John, you'll have to treat me like the human being I am. I've grown up. I'm different now, and you are too, and we'll both have to make adjustments. We have to be looser with each other, not so wound up or something—you can't squeeze me so much—I need to feel like I'm not a puppet or something. Anyway, just so you know, I've been going out with a couple of guys. It's nothing serious. Repeat: nothing serious. I love you, and I think we can be wonderful together."