And I will call you Sveta, if that is permissible to you?
Oh yes, very good. Her voice fluttered and she did not open her eyes.
There, that all seems correct. He made a vague rum-pum-pum sound in his cheeks and stood up tall, towering over her. Where were we? He scratched his head, the silver hair ruffling as his fingers played a trill against his skull. He appeared more fuddled than she had expected.
She pursed her lips, unknowingly pushing her red lipstick further along the crevices that radiated from her mouth, out into the soft, doughy pallor of her face. Suddenly, she brightened.
You ask me to wiggle my toes? she asked hopefully, arching one heavy brown eyebrow.
No, not yet. Its far too soon for that. We have a little way to go. Just He positioned her hand higher, pulling on her fingers, and paused to observe the effect. How do you feel?
Um, fairly normal. Not magical, at the moment, I have to say.
He turned away tutting to himself, hands on hips, shaking his head.
Is something wrong?
He did not reply, but turned slowly this way and that, scanning the room.
Gor?
The saw his voice came from between tight lips.
He turned back towards her and his eyes, large as the moon and dark as night, rolled slowly from one side of their sockets to the other, and back again. She felt a sweat break out on the palms of her hands and a fluttering in her stomach: he really was a fright to look at. The saw, Mister er, Gor?
Is something wrong?
He did not reply, but turned slowly this way and that, scanning the room.
Gor?
The saw his voice came from between tight lips.
He turned back towards her and his eyes, large as the moon and dark as night, rolled slowly from one side of their sockets to the other, and back again. She felt a sweat break out on the palms of her hands and a fluttering in her stomach: he really was a fright to look at. The saw, Mister er, Gor?
Gor spun away. He was annoyed with himself and what he considered the rather slow-witted woman before him. He took in the windowpanes, the rain behind them threatening to dissolve the sky and the land and bring everything to a smudgy, dripping halt. He took in his living room, bathed in the brown, honest glow of the books and sheet music that lined its walls, exuding a scent of permanence. He took in his baby-grand piano, dark and shiny as polished jet, perfectly tuned to be played at any moment. He took in the fluffy white cat reclining over its lid, one claw-prickled paw raised as if to strike at the polished perfection of the wood. And there, in the middle of it all, he took in the corpulent middle-aged woman, in a box.
He sighed, and removed his eyes from her: she upset him. The lipstick was too sticky, the hair too blonde, her understanding of magic zero and and the rasping sighs that plumed and flowed from her like lava would have singed his tired nerves at the best of times. This afternoon was definitely not the best of times, despite the comforting rain. And now he couldnt find the bloody saw!
Its on the table, by the door, said Sveta quietly. He started at the words, coughed and refocused his eyes. They came to rest on the small table by the door. He shook his head.
Ah, I see, madam, I see. My eyes are tired. He crossed to collect it, hips and ankles clicking as he went. He examined the blade in the puny light of the lamp.
Yes. The saw: good! Wed better move on, before I forget something else. Do you feel stable?
She considered briefly, and nodded carefully. Gor did not respond. He was stroking his chin and staring through her. She swallowed.
It wasnt that his face was old: no, any face can make you wonder how it once belonged to a baby. But this it was a face that was so mournful, so haggard and frayed, with such huge eyes, it could make a priest cry. Sveta shuddered, and the box rattled softly. On top of the piano, the white cat lay in abandonment, upside-down, and eyed her with mild interest.
Svetlana Mikhailovna, hold fast. All will be well. I have to pause to think I am an old man you may have noticed. We take our time, in all things. As he spoke, he waved a large, thin hand in the air, and then let it flap down again, the gesture both artistic and defeated. He did not smile. In fact, he looked exceedingly morose. Strange, you may think, as time is against us, but there it is.
Again Sveta pursed her lips, and tried not to look at Gor or the cat, which now seemed to be winking at her with its sapphire eyes.
I am holding fast. You may have noticed I have no choice. She eyed the window and the rain swirling against the murky sky. The light was fading, and it made her anxious: she had a hair appointment at six. Do please hurry.
The old man stood beside her, the top of his head not far from the ceiling above.
You may feel some vibration, I fear. But there should be no more than that. It is a long time since I have attempted this action, so I have had the saw cleaned and sharpened. There will be no rust. My last assistant, God rest her soul, was quite against rust. She had an allergy. Gor shrugged.
Sveta offered him a tight-lipped smile. I am not against vibration. Her chin rose. And I have no known allergies.
He nodded, and rolled up his sleeves. When we attempt this action on the stage, of course, you will not be balanced in the box between two chairs. I will have my whole magical cabinet at my disposal. It is just our misfortune we cannot use it today.
Thats a relief. But why cant we use the cabinet today? I think I would feel a lot more in character if I were in a magical cabinet rather than balanced on two chairs. It was a lot of fuss getting into this box. And it seems quite unprofessional, to me.
Sveta did not feel in character, or professional, or magical, at all. In truth, she did not know what the character of a magicians assistant should be, but she was fairly certain that it should be more glamorous than this. What was the point in her lipstick and her impending hair appointment if she were just to be packaged up in a musty apartment in the suburbs, laughed at by cats and repeatedly observed by an off-putting old man with a face like death? She chewed her lip.
Since you ask so directly we cannot use the cabinet, dear Sveta, because Dasha, my queen cat, had a litter of kittens in it, and they cannot be moved for a few days yet. She would tear you to pieces if you tried. She is a very protective mother.
Sveta felt the blood drain from her face.
How unhygienic!
It was a safe place for her, I suppose. I dont worry about these things. We have bigger things to worry about, you and I. He flicked a switch and the room was bathed in an acid lemon light. Thats better! Now I can see! He engaged the saw into the metal groove at the centre of the box and Sveta gritted her teeth. The light reflected off the blade and stabbed at her eyes as the saws angle sharpened, and it made her angry, like a blow to the head.
Youre not she couldnt get her words out.
Gor began with a few experimental swipes of the blade. It made a noise like hell. She persisted.
you arent seriously expecting me
Metal on metal rang out across the apartment; sharp and piercing. She gulped in air.
to engage in magical expositions in a cabinet
The saw twanged and Gor muttered under his breath.
in which a cat has had kittens? Sveta shouted, voice yodelling with the effort. The sawing stopped.
Oh yes, Sveta. I expect that: most definitely, he said softly. He examined his handiwork and the blade, and added, But do not fret. I will sweep it out, and administer some disinfectant. All will be well.
Svetas eyes bulged. He took up the saw and again worked its blade forwards and backwards, beads of sweat gathering on his forehead. It screeched and sang into Svetas ears.
This was not what she had envisaged when she answered the advert on the lamp post. There was no glamour here, only vibration and screeching, dark eyes and cats: on and on it went. She began to feel ill, stomach clenching, like that time she had rashly decided to take the ferry across the Kerch Straits to Crimea shortly after lunching on a basket of cherries and a litre of kvas. So long ago She began to pant.
Be still, Sveta. Dont wriggle.
Oh, but the noise! The vibrations they are going straight through my Svetas face turned pale olive.
Sveta? He ceased sawing. Is everything? She groaned and waved her hands weakly in the holes at the side of the box. No, not hands at the moment, Sveta, move your feet: its your feet everyone will be interested in.
She groaned and made vague twitching movements with her big toes.
Yes, thats it! Waggle away! Keep it going. Is everything else normal? His tone suggested concern, but his face remained unchanged, intent on the saw.
Ugh yes no I dont know! She gritted her teeth and smiled, her expression manic. Am I cut in half yet? Thats the main thing! Colour, of a sort, was returning to her cheeks.
Erm, more or less. You require quite a good deal of sawing.
She did not know whether this was a compliment or not. I see.
I think that will suffice for the moment. He drew out his handkerchief with a slightly trembling hand and mopped his brow.
Oh! Thats all? But you havent drawn the two halves apart.
No. To be frank, I dont think we have sufficient stability to draw the two halves apart. And, again to be frank, I am not sure I have the strength. Its been a long time since Well, would you be distraught if, on this occasion, we just assume that you have been bisected? After all, there is no audience here to please, apart from Pericles.
Gor reached up a hand to fondle the cat and it puffed into his palm, a translucent globule of spit rolling from its open jaw onto the parquet below in an expression of feline ecstasy. Sveta shuddered.
She was disappointed by the whole experience, and felt an odd urge to cry. She had been cut in half, and it had been most unpleasant, but he couldnt even be bothered to draw the two halves apart! This mysterious magician, this person about whom she had heard so much gossip and legend, was turning out to be a disappointment. His apartment was clogged with books and cats and pianos, his demeanour was morose, and as for the rumours of wealth and fortune and gold in the cistern: well, frayed shirt collars and darned trousers told their own story. She found no evidence of treasure, of any sort.