PART 9

I was still running when, at the corner of a neighbouring street, I hit an obstacle and fell to the ground. I sat there, stunned, out of breath, for a few seconds, and then managed to painfully get up. My box had landed on one side, and my backpack on the other. Inside my bag, my brother was screeching a string of insults to give you goose bumps. Thankfully, there was no one around to hear him.

No one, except for the large, badly dressed lady leaning on a wall, massaging her thigh and grimacing. She painfully bent down to pick up a red pipe from the sidewalk, and put it between her rotten, yellow teeth. Then, she adjusted her woollen hat full of holes and looked at me from above, sniffed, and asked in a scratchy voice:

– So, duchess, don’t ya never look where ya goin'?

I realised that the large lady in question was a bag lady and that, in my escape, I had ran into her and a cargo of empty Pepsi cans. The rusty pram they had been in was on its side, and most of its contents were spread in the gutter. Red with embarrassment, I hurriedly picked everything up. I’m so sorry ma’am, I repeated at least fifteen times as I picked up the strewn cans.

When I was done, I picked up my magic box and nearly politely said goodbye, when an idea suddenly came to me and I asked:

– Say, ma’am, you wouldn’t know where the Doubleknot Cul-de-Sac is, by any chance?

The bag lady grunted:

–  I sher do! I been draggin' my stilettos around 'ere fer a long while. What would ya gimme in exchange fer info?

The question left me speechless. What could I possibly give her? I had no money, nor anything valuable. For a moment, the bag lady seemed to take an interest in my bag on the pavement (inside, my incensed brother was still screeching), then she brusquely pointed at my magic box:

– Wha' use is vat fing, duchess?

I instinctively held it tighter against my chest and warily answered:

– It’s… a box. To do magic. I got it for Christmas. 

The bag lady’s eyes lit up. They were emerald green, full of light, which made for an odd contrast with the rest of her appearance. She made herself comfortable on the bench behind her and took a deep puff of her pipe before declaring:

– Magic! I love magic. Show me a trick, and I’ll tell ya everyfing you wanna know.

I answered that it was out of the question, she insisted, I answered not to push it, this little game went on like this for a while until she said: as you wish, but you’ll never find the street without me, so, ignoring any common sense, I finally gave in and decided to use my magic box once more.

That said, I wasn’t going to try to accomplish a miracle this time. All I asked the  gimmick was to do its job, no more, no less. I was going to do an easy trick that I knew by heart, and I would do it well and quick. I chose without hesitation. It would be the scarf box, it fit my criteria perfectly.

Said box was decorated with hand-painted patterns and symbols. Once unfolded, it had the shape of a cube with edges about fifteen centimetres in length. I discreetly placed a scarf in the secret hiding spot, then allowed the accessory to be inspected by my audience’s penetrating gaze:

– Hum! Here is a box. It is totally normal and completely empty.

To prove my good faith, I opened the box’s two opposing sides (there is, as you probably know, a particular technique to follow). I then closed it before giving it a quarter of a turn, and opening the side that was now the lid. I didn’t really feel like making up new magic words, so I declared:

– And now, let there be magic!

I plunged my hand inside the box to reach the secret compartment and pulled on what I felt under my hand. And voilà! Finally, a successful trick! I triumphantly held what I thought was an innocent polka-dotted scarf for half a second before realising that I was holding a Rihanna T-shirt that looked a lot like mine! Also, tied to the sleeves, were two splendid red and green socks that looked shockingly familiar! When I felt the crisp cold penetrate my sweater and my boots, I realised what had happened, screamed, and ran to hide in the public toilets behind me. When I came back, with my clothes back where they belonged, I saw that the bag lady hadn’t moved. When she saw me, she applauded and shouted: Encore! Encore!

I muttered something that meant that I was getting sick of this all (but ruder), and went to get my bag with the intention of figuring things out myself. But when I picked it up: horror! It was completely empty! My brother had escaped!

(Go to PART 10)