Jinkets242

Short story- The magician
As a boy I once knew a man, the wise fool they called him, trickster of London, enchanter, magician, wizard even.  He made me laugh and cry, dance and sing, he tickled me with laughter; he was both a poet, a musician and a man. His laugh was course and cheeky but gentle, his breath; foggy with the thick fragrance of tobacco and in his eye, one could detect a slight sparkle of pixie mischief. His rounded figure was both slight and bulbous but his voice although gruff, resembled the sweet melody of angels. Anyway...this is his story.
It all began when the circus came to town. The spicy scents of fairy floss and popcorn mixed with the fresh flavours of animal dung into a combination of aromatic sensations.  Whimsical accordion notations drifted through the London smog whilst the booming voice of the mega-phone echoed through the cobbled streets. The small town was pulsing with a magical anticipation.
At first mention, mother was rather apprehensive about the circus, according to her, carnivals lived upon fictitious fantasies, exempt from the real world, but after father died she'd forgotten how to dream, how to live again. Yet as I led her through the bustling crowd, tugging urgently on her withered hand, her eyes seemed to light up again, a hint of colour was added to her usually pale complexion and a sense of buoyancy was quickened to her step.  
As we settled ourselves upon dusty the hay-bales, a box of overflowing popcorn in each hand we listened to the plump little ring keeper in his patchwork top-hat introduce the upcoming performances. Announcements rolled of his tongue in his thick cockney accent accompanied by a vast complexity of slurs and flourishes.
"WeellCOome, Weellcome...One and All to tonight's spectacular performances" he cried, he seemed to spit out each word as if they were bitter upon his pallet "Toooonight we have a Vaariety of MArve'ous displays for all youse lovely members of de audience" ," We has' Tina the tightightrope walker, Barnebus' the Strong man, THeee acrobats, the Lion tamer and Ofcourrseee.."He glared at us menacingly; one of his eyeballs bulging from his strained, sweaty forehead. A quiet hush befell us all; I pulled at mother's skirt with an uncontrollable sense of juvenile excitement and curiosity.
"..The magician"
OOo's and Ahhh's echoed through the stands as the dusty crimson curtain was slowly lifted revealing a vibrant mindscape filled with twirling twisting acrobats, roaring beastly lions, rings of scarlet fire, precarious unicycles and polka dot pantaloons. I was completely enthralled with a childlike fascination.
But then came on the magician, his whiskers wiggled and twitched under the golden glare of the circus lamplights as he readjusted his crescent-moon spectacles in preparation. And then the show truly began. He started off with simple tricks and speculations in order to amuse and entertain, but then the intensity grew. He wove enchantments out of his very finger tips; illusions teased, tricked and flirted with the audience. He summoned blossoming bouquets of scarlet roses from his patchwork trouser pockets. Lightning sparks burst as he fiddled with strange paranormal devices. Gravity was not just defied but turned completely upside-down.

After the show i just had to meet this marvellous magician; my newly found source of inspiration, imagination and personal celebrity. I pulled mother impatiently through the labyrinth of candy stripped tents. And then..I saw him, casually chatting to a freakishly tall, bearded man, in a velvet green pinstriped suit. I raced towards his presence, like an enraged Spanish bull and hurled a flurry of pestilent childish questions at him whilst he winked and flirted with mother, she giggled with girlish delight, her cheeks as red as rose buds.
I saw the magician a lot over the next few weeks, he taught me how to trick, prank, deceive and persuade. How to create illusions, weave enchantments and sing the sweet melody of nightingales. How to read upside down, how to think big and how make silly spotty sock puppets that resembled the stiff, snobby faces of my school teachers. A bad influence, if there ever was one. We climbed trees together and sang songs whilst we whiled away the hours discussing dragons, chocolate cake and literature. He taught me how to live, How to dream and how to see the world in a true, more beautiful way...
I think mother enjoyed his company too; she laughed more, played more, and sang with utter joy for the first time in 3 years.
But all blessings, however marvellous, must eventually come to an end. It was time for the circus to move along. He begged me and mother to come along with him, to join the circus as he talked of roads yet travelled, battles yet won and lands yet explored but mother was vigilant as she shook head, hopeless tears staining her pale complexion.  Oh, but how I raged in opposition. I kicked, batted, and stomped my feet in hopeless frustration. I threw myself about the walls and shouted abuses in all various directions but to no prevail as we watched the tunnel of coloured caravans disappear into the smog.
And so that is his tale, in loving memory of a man who blessed my childhood.