Incidents in the Life of a Magician's Assistant:
First Time


by Vaughan

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I've been a magician's assistant since I was nine years old.
This is not quite true, I have been assisting in a magic show since
I was six, but I only handed my dad things and tried to look
pretty in those days.

I first got initiated into being a proper magician's assistant
on my ninth birthday, three days before Christmas. All my school
friends and the neighbors were invited to my birthday party. We
had had some party games and eaten the party food, then we were
all seated in dad's practice room/workshop, which had been
cleared for the occasion. Dad put on a show while mum got things
ready and handed him stuff. I was muttering the words under my
breath as he performed each effect, I knew the patter so well.

When it came time for the climax of the act. which was usually
dad sawing my mum in half, I was surprised when they brought on a
box that was obviously too small for mum to fit in. I wondered
what was going to happen.

Dad announced, "For my final and greatest illusion, I
shall need a volunteer from the audience."


Like everyone else I looked round to see who was going to
volunteer.

After some moments of deathly hush, when no-one dared speak in
case they got volunteered, Dad called, "Come on Carol, You've
been nagging me all year about doing this. Now's your chance."

It was true, I had been asking all year if I could been sawn
in half just like mum and dad had kept saying, "When you are
older." The prospect of having it happen for real was
somewhat daunting and in front of my friends was doubly so. There
was also the thrill of being considered old enough.

I stood up, even though I felt a bit weak at knees, and
crossed what seemed the enormous gulf between audience and stage,
which in fact was about three feet. I climbed on to the stage,
which was about one foot, but not having a set of steps, it
seemed like a six feet. As I stood there, on stage, my nerves
were telling me to run away, my intellect was telling that dad
would never hurt me, my pride was telling me that I was now
old enough and, finally, some dispassionate part of me wondering
at the illogicality of it all. Beside me was the box. It was on
short legs so that the table top was about level with my knees.
Mum had open the lid on each half of the box and I could see
inside, it was lined with beautifully soft gray velvet, It did
not look dangerous at all. My father came up behind me and lifted
me by my arm-pits, so I stood in the box, then mother came and
smoothed my new birthday clothes which was a short blouse and a
skirt so my belly was bare; now I knew why. Mum helped me lie
down in the box, while dad open panels in the sides to show I was
really in the box. The neck stock went in after the foot stocks.
I waved at my friends through the still open lid, to show I had
courage, which I did not feel. Mother closed the lids and father
shut the panels and whispered that I should keep my hands in the
top section of the box. They then rotated the box so that the
audience could see all round and I could get comfortable.

Dad took out a long sharp sword, which he tested on a strand
of my long dark hair. He seemed satisfied and stood behind the
box and placed the sword on top of the box. I was about to ask
what I should do next, but mother put her finger to lips,
indicating that I should be silent. She slipped my shoes off of
my feet and ran a finger up the sole of my left foot. I tried,
unsuccessfully, to stifle a giggle, which instead of seeming to
result from tickling, appeared to indicate the nervousness I was
feeling. I blushed, ashamed at not being able to conceal my
nervousness. I tried to pull my feet into the box, but the foot
stocks were so narrow the knobbly bits of my ankles would not
come through. I was stuck.

Dad picked up the sword and held it pointing down in front of
the box with the sharp edge away from the watchers. With practiced
ease he located it in the edge of the box. I watched in
dumbstruck horror as he drew the terrifying weapon through the
box. When the sword first touched my flesh, I felt the cold sharp
edge, but then the skin went numb from the point of first contact
in a stripe across my belly and across my back, until the two
stripes of numbness met on the other side of my body. At this
point dad had nearly finished dragging the blade through the box.
He drew it the last inch and handed it to mum in exchange for a
pair of sheet metal blades, which he carefully insert through the
gap between the box lids. I did not feel the blades enter, except
for a little pressure in the numb region on the front of my belly,
as each blade was pushed through my numbed belly.

Dad leaned over the box and opened the panels and undid a
catch on the front half of the table. As he moved to the head of
the box, he undid the catch behind the box. Mum still stood at
the foot of the box. They leaned down and pulled the two halves
apart. I did not feel a thing. They turned my halves so the my
head, feet and the sides of my upper and lower halves were easily
visible to the onlookers. Mother tickled my feet again and I
giggled. This time I giggled from relief that it did not hurt.

"Is anyone brave enough to come and see what we have done?"
invited father.

The only one who moved was Sarah, my best-friend at the time,
who climbed onto the stage with a horror stricken face. I put out
a hand for her to hold and she grabbed it as if her life depended
on it. She looked inside the top half of the box and saw that my
upper body ended where the blade was. She burst into tears and
rushed to her parents who were at the back of the hall.

Mum and dad swiftly re-aligned the two parts of me, re-clipped
the catches and pulled out the blades. I still felt numb across
my middle, until dad kissed my forehead and mum kissed my big
toes. As the numbness faded I felt warm inside. In quick
succession, the lids were opened and the stocks at ankle and neck
were removed. I sat up and then stood up and felt my belly and
back to check I was not scarred.

There were scattered applause and a few whistles from the boys,
but the reception was a bit muted. I did not care that I had lost
Sarah as a friend, or that all my friends now viewed me with
suspicion, because I had been sawn in two, like mum, and made it
through.

In retrospect, if I had a child I would not consider sawing
him/her in half until they reach the age of fourteen. The body
and psyche of a young child can be permanently damaged, by such
drastic magic. Also, I know that was when I decided that I wanted
to be a magician's assistant.

Since that day I have been sawn in half over two thousand
times. Most of those have been in the thin model sawing box, but
I also been sawn in big boxes and not covered in a box at all. I
have also been cut in half by just about every implement you can
imagine, mostly hand-saws and cross-cut saws, but also jig-saws,
buzz-saws, chain-saws and even in rehearsal by a band-saw. I have
always had a preference for being cut in two using a good sharp
sword. My least favorite division method is plain insertion of
the separation blades, because they never make the cutting edge
of those blades sharp enough to cut cleanly and smoothly.

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To be continued ...