“TEN MINUTES!”
The loud voice boomed on the other side of the closed dressing room door.
The magician’s assistant sighed. She was almost ready. Just lipstick left. But somehow it felt like there was a lot more to do.
Hali wasn’t her real name, it was her stage name. She was told it had Greek origins meaning “the sea”.
The lore that she and the Magician had crafted over the years had her descending from the Atlanteans — the people of the lost underwater city of Atlantis.
According to the Magician, it was a name that suggested mystery and allure. It inspired stories of adventure and romance.
So, Hali she became.
And Hali she was.
She looked at herself in the mirror and adjusted her headpiece. She was decked out in yellow and white feathers and sequins, from head to tail feather. She felt like it made her look like a cockatoo. What would the Atlanteans think?
She stood up and fluffed her feathers where they had flattened when she was seated. They were excessive decoration, but they served an important purpose — the purpose of distraction.
Any slight-of-hand the Magician performed could never be achieved without Hali’s artful misdirection. She could bend light away from the trick, he used to tell her.
Tonight she wondered, shouldn’t that make her the real trickster? The real magic maker?
The elaborate final trick of their award-winning act had her completely submerged in water, blindfolded and in shackles, in a tank of water that was padlocked shut and raised on a platform.
It was all an illusion, of course, but one that still required her to hold her breath underwater for almost 11 minutes. Around which point, she would feign drowning, and thrash around wildly, taking the crowd from intrigued to horrified.
She was very convincing at escalating her movements as the Magician’s spells became more frenzied and desperate.
“Why isn’t this working?” he would scream dramatically, on cue. “Does anyone have an axe?”
She would then abruptly disappear amidst a flurry of bubbles and feathers, just as the Magician valiantly broke the glass with a heroic thrash of an axe he just luckily “found” after a failed incantation.
A collective exhale from the relieved crowd and then when she reappeared at the back of the theatre, there was immediate, thunderous standing ovation. He called it, “the sound of money”.
The truth was, she could hold her breath for up to 17 minutes. That was no trick.
Atlantean indeed.
And yet, when the crowd applauded, they applauded for him, the Magician.
It was he who “saved” her at the last minute, after all.
But even then, did no one see that it was more difficult being the one in the tank, rather than the one looking for the axe?
Or the one sawed in half rather than the one doing the sawing?
Or the one contorting into the hidden compartment of the Ancient Mystical Box of Alcazar?
Or balancing on 4-inch stilettos during a knife throw?
She used to love being part of the act, and being in on so many secrets with him, just him.
Together, they had built his name and travelled across countries and oceans, entertaining and inspiring wonder in an unprecedented travelling show. Audiences knew his name worldwide.
It was always his name, and never hers.
What was her name, again?
Hali.
She wasn’t sure when the resentment started.
Hali was always meant to be the distraction, the silly little thing in yellow and white feathers and sequins.
Somehow, he possessed the magic.
But you get paid well, he would quip. And he was right. They stayed in the finest hotels and ate at the grandest restaurants. So, she pretended it didn’t matter.
She could ignore that it was his name in lights and newsprint.
She could ignore that she returned to her dressing room soaking wet every night while he signed autographs.
She could even ignore his nonchalant remarks about how he almost didn’t get to the axe on time. And what an accident that would be, if she were to really drown in front of a full house! It would be a scandal! A tragedy! Why, it would make all the papers. But the publicity would be insane. She’d be dead of course, but they’d sell more tickets than ever, he’d bet. He’d be bigger than ever, and the show must go on!
She especially ignored his expectant little laugh at the end of that strange tangent.
Yet somehow, she couldn’t ignore that one dark-haired woman who showed up every night and sat in the same seat of the magician’s theatre, three weeks in a row now.
She couldn’t ignore that he was taking longer every night to return to the hotel after signing autographs.
She couldn’t ignore the fine lined crease under her eyes when she fixed her feathers in the harshly lit mirror.
And she certainly couldn’t ignore that it took over 12 minutes for him to get to the axe last night. And almost 13 the night before.
“TWO MINUTES!” Thundered the urgent voice on the other side of the dressing room door.
“I know,” she whispered, as she took in a long, cold breath.
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