Chapter 5 4

□□□ Now, honorable viewers, let's take a break. You must have loved The Lazy Hangman and look forward to more great performances to come. Please relax for a while. Our next show will start soon □□□ This man is walking down Broadway on Manhattan's Upper West Side.When he came to a street corner, he stopped suddenly, as if he had forgotten something, turned and walked into the shadow of a building.He took out the mobile phone hanging on his belt and raised it to his ear, just like how ordinary people would behave when answering the phone, and occasionally smiled slightly while talking.He also looked around cautiously from time to time, and this was also a habit of people answering mobile phones on the side of the road.

In fact, he wasn't on the phone at all, and was just using the gesture to cover up his looking around to make sure he wasn't being followed after leaving music school. Moorek's appearance at this time was very different from when he left that school half an hour ago.He's blond now, beardless, and wears a jogging outfit with a high collar.If a passer-by stopped to look at him carefully, he would notice several oddities: a hard scar protruding from the top of his collar, running up the neck; ) stuck together like melted rubber. However, no one on the street noticed him because his movements and expressions were very natural.As is well known to all illusionists, the more natural your movements, the more invisible you are.

After making sure that no one was following him, he continued to take careless steps, turned the corner, walked to the next side street, and walked along the sidewalk under the tree to his residence.There were only a few joggers in his neighborhood, a couple of locals who bought The New York Times and went home with their Sabas bags.On this Sunday morning, these people may drink a cup of coffee after returning home, read the newspaper leisurely, and even enjoy a leisurely sex. Morek walked up the stairs of the flat.It was a place he had rented a few months ago, a dark, quiet house with a very different atmosphere from where he lived and worked in Las Vegas.He climbed the stairs to the room in the back half of the apartment.

□□□ Please take it easy, our next performance is about to begin. Now, dear viewers, you can discuss the vision you just saw, chat with the people in the adjacent seats, and guess what our next program will be. The technical complexity of the second performance will be even higher, and it will be a severe test for our new performers.I assure you that the upcoming second show will be no less than The Lazy Hangman. □□□ The words babbled from Morrek's mind.Honorable Audience He speaks constantly to this imaginary group (he occasionally hears their applause, laughter, and even, their gasps in tense moments).It's verbal white noise, the dramatic tone of a heavily made-up circus master or an old illusionist.In jargon, this is called a jingle performer's monologue to the audience, which not only provides them with the information they need to know to watch the performance, but also establishes a relationship with them.

At the same time, it also achieves the purpose of disarming the audience and diverting their attention. After the fire broke out, Moorlake cut off all contact with his friends, and these imaginary spectators gradually replaced his friends and became people who were always by his side.Soon, the jingles filled his dreams and his waking thoughts, threatening him and driving him to the point of madness.But it also gave him strong comfort in knowing that he wasn't completely alone after the tragedy three years ago.Those venerable audiences always stood by him. The apartment was filled with cheap varnish from the floor and wallpaper and various complex smells, the living room was sparsely furnished: a cheap sofa and a few armchairs, a functional dining table with only one Chair.Instead, the bedrooms of the apartment were crammed with the tools an illusionist makes a living: stage props, juggling gear, rope, costumes, rubber casting tools, wigs, rolls of cloth, a Sewing machines, paint, firecrackers, cosmetics, circuit boards, wires, batteries, reflective paper and cotton, fuses, woodworking tools, and hundreds of other things.

He made a cup of herbal tea and sat down at the table, serving the hot tea with fruit and low-fat granola.Illusion is an art that consumes physical energy, and only a healthy body can have a good performance.Therefore, eating healthy and exercising properly are necessary conditions for the illusionist to be successful. He was very pleased with the performance this morning.He easily killed the first performer. At this time, he recalled the thrilling pleasure when he hid under the black silk cloth in the corner for half an hour, and then quietly appeared in the How she stiffened and pissed herself with fright as she put the noose around her neck behind her.The sudden intrusion of the police had been an impromptu accident, indeed, and it had really taken him by surprise.But like all good illusionists, Moorek had planned his escape, and executed it perfectly.

After he finished his breakfast, he took the empty glass into the kitchen, washed it carefully, and put it on a rack to dry.He has always been so meticulous about things, and it's a personality trait forged by his gruff, harsh, and humorless illusion master. Now, the man walks into the largest bedroom and plays a pre-filmed video of his next performance venue.He has seen this tape no less than a dozen times. Although he has already remembered everything on the scene, he still studies it again tirelessly (this important one-hundred-to-one concept was also given to him by his strict teacher, sometimes He even ordered a hundred rehearsals off stage, just for the one on stage).

While he was watching the video, he pulled up a performance table covered with velvet.Instead of staring at his hands, Morek began to practice some simple poker tricks on the table: dovetail false shuffle, triple stack false cut.Then, he practiced several more technical skills, such as skating and forced card selection.Afterwards, he began to do some more difficult and more complex movements, such as the ghost cards in Stanley's palm, Mado's famous six mysterious cards, and the world-renowned card magic master and actor Ricky.Jay (Annotation: Ricky Jay, born in a magic family in Brooklyn in 1948, began to perform on stage at the age of four, and appeared on the TV screen at the age of seven, and is still walking in stage magic shows, Film and television industry. He is proficient in playing cards. He once played a card at a speed of 145 kilometers per hour for a distance of 60 meters and set a record for the Guinness World Record.) He has performed several tricks, and also Practiced several kinds of Cardini (Annotation: Cardini, 1894︱1973 British magic master, who invented many magic tricks, such as one ball into four and various card tricks, which are still used by later performers.) Self-created hand skills .

In addition, Moorlake also practiced some Harry.Early card tricks used by Houdini.Most people think of Houdini as an escape expert, but in fact, the entertainer was also a well-known magician, performing large-scale stage illusions that made assistants and even an elephant disappear, as well as performing indoor magic tricks .For Moreck, Houdini was an important figure who influenced his life.He began performing on stage as a teenager, under the stage name Houdini Jr.The name he now uses, Malerick, can be cut into two parts, Erick representing his past life (the life before that fire), and his personal reverence for Houdini (because Houdini Dini was born in the town of Rekwitz, Hungary).As for the word Mal in front of it, people who have studied magic may guess that it is taken from the world-famous magic master Max.Max Breit, because he performed under the stage name Malvini.But in fact, Moorek chose these three English letters simply because they are the roots of the Latin word for evil, which reflects the dark nature of his illusionistic style.

He continued to do research based on the videotape, measuring various angles, memorizing the possible locations of windows and witnesses, just like those good performers draw up the location map of the stage performance in advance.When he was watching the video, the playing cards in his hand kept shuffling and flipping, making a slight hissing sound like snakes.Kings, knights, queens, jesters, and other cards flowed toward the black flannel like a tide, and then, as if defying gravity, bounced back into his thick hands and disappeared in an instant.If anyone saw his impromptu performance at this time, they would shake their heads desperately, thinking that magic had invaded real life in disbelief, because it is absolutely impossible for human beings to create what they just saw with their own eyes.

But this is not the case after all: the card tricks Moorek performed carelessly on the thick black flannelette are neither illusions nor miracles, but the result of practice makes perfect after repeated hard work, completely still in the physical rules of the real world under the rule of □□□ Oh yes, dear viewers, what you have just seen and what you are about to see is completely true. As real as burning skin. It's as real as putting a knot into a girl's snow-white neck. It's like a clock ticking slowly towards the moment of horror that our next performer is about to experience. □□□ Hey, here I come. The young woman came and sat down by her mother's bed.Out of the window in the manicured courtyard she saw a tall oak tree with ivy growing on its trunk.Sitting in this position for the past few months, she has imagined the shape of the vines as various things.But today, that tangled vine is not a dragon, nor is it a group of soldiers, but a simple plant that grows in the city and strives for survival. How are you feeling today, Your Majesty?Carla asked. Every time their family goes on vacation, Kara will give everyone some nicknames, and the nickname she mentioned just now was taken in England last time.Carla called her parents His Majesty the King and Her Majesty the Queen, and called herself a loyal child. very good dear.How about you, how are you doing? Better than some and worse than some.Look, do you like it?Carla held up her hands, showing her short, filed nails to her mother.These nails were painted as black as a grand piano. Very cute, my dear.I'm getting a little tired of pink, and now everywhere I go I see that color, it's horribly kitschy. Carla stood up, adjusted the position of the pillow for her mother, and then sat down again, holding a large Starbucks coffee and sipping coffee. Coffee is the only thing that makes her addicted. Although the price is not cheap, it can't stop her addiction.This is her third cup of coffee this morning. Her hair, boyishly cropped, is currently dyed ochre-purple, and she's dyed almost every color she's had in the years she's lived in New York City.Some people call her style a pixie, but she doesn't like that term, Kara herself only refers to it as easy, because she can walk out the door to a man within a minute of getting out of the shower. For those who don't want to go to bed until three in the morning and refuse to get up early, this hairstyle is really convenient. Today she was wearing a pair of black stretch pants. Even though she was only over 150 centimeters tall, she only wore a pair of flat shoes. The dark purple blouse was sleeveless, revealing the well-trained muscles of her arms.The school Kara attended was Sarah Lawrence College, which is good at art and political science, and has never had the concept of physique worship, but she joined the gold medal gym after graduation, and now she regularly does weight training and treadmill exercise.One might think that a man in his twenties or thirties who lived in bohemian Greenwich Village for eight years would have tried body art like tattoos, or at least had a hole or two in his body Add a hoop or spikes to show off.But Kara's skin was very fair, and she had neither tattoos nor any piercings. Mom, let me tell you, I have a performance tomorrow.You know, in M. Balzac's shop. I remember. But this time it was different, he decided to let me perform alone, and I would be in charge of the whole show. Really, sweetheart? of course it's true. In the corridor, Mr. Geldert passed the door.Hello, both of you. Carla nodded to him.She recalled, when her mother first entered the Stuyvesant Sanitarium, the best sanitarium in the city, there had been some commotion with the widower. They thought we lived together at night.she whispered to her daughter. Do you have any?Carla asked.She thought that her mother had been a widow for five years, and it was time for her to date another man. of course not!Her mother snorted, really upset.What kind of nonsense is this. (This incident perfectly demonstrates this woman's attitude: It's okay to play a little obscene innuendo on her, but she has a clear line beyond which you become an enemy, even if it's your own The same goes for your own flesh and blood.) Carla went on, shaking with excitement, telling her mother about tomorrow's performance in an energetic tone.As she spoke, she looked at her mother carefully.She found that although her mother was over seventy years old, her skin was extremely smooth, and her color was as healthy and rosy as a baby in a swaddle; although most of her hair was gray, there were still many black hairs that refused to be tamed Silk.The beautician pulled her hair up in a trendy bun today.Mom, anyway, I'm going to have some friends come to see me perform.It would be even better if you could come too. I'll try it out. Carla, who was sitting on the armchair beside the bed, suddenly found her fists clenched, her body tensed up, and her breathing became shallow and rapid. I'll try it Carla closed her eyes, feeling two streams of tears streaming down her face.Oh shit! I'll try it No, no, no, all wrong, she thought angrily.Her mother wouldn't say: I'll try it.It wasn't something she was used to saying.She should say: I will definitely go, honey, I will sit in the first row.Otherwise, she will say coldly: No, I can't go tomorrow, you should have informed me earlier. No matter what her mother said, it would never be me who tried it.Either she says yes or she refuses. Except now!After all, this woman is no longer a healthy person, at best she can only be said to be like a baby, who can only sleep with her eyes open all day long. The conversation between Kara and this woman just now was actually all from her own imagination.Well, it should be said that what Carla said was true, only her mother's part was imaginary, from very well, dear.How about you, how are you doing?At the beginning, when I made a mistake in the end, I tried it out, and all the answers were made up by Carla herself. True, her mother hadn't said a word today, nor had she visited yesterday, or even since earlier.She was lying like this by the ivy-covered window outside, in a sort of waking-sleep mode.Sometimes she would sleep like this for days on end; other times she might wake up suddenly, only to mutter meaningless horrible noises, proving that there seemed to be an invisible army in her mind. The march passed, mercilessly torturing her memory and sanity. But there was a deadlier part to this tragedy.Although fairly rare, her mother had brief moments of sobriety.Although her waking time was short, it completely broke Kara's already hopeless thoughts.Just when she was mentally prepared and accepted the worst fact, knowing that the mother she was familiar with had left her forever, her mother woke up again, as normal as before the cerebral hemorrhage.In doing so, Carla's safety net is broken.She was like an abused woman who completely forgave her husband because of a little remorse.At the moment when her mother was awake, Carla immediately convinced herself that her mother's condition would gradually improve. Although doctors said her mother was awake for a while, it didn't help her condition.However, when the mother woke up a few months ago, the doctor was not at the mother's bedside.At that time, her mother woke up suddenly, turned to Kara and said: Hi, honey, I ate all the cookies you brought yesterday.You know I like it, so I added a lot of walnuts, whatever the calories.She gave a girlish smile.Ha, glad you're here, I can't wait to tell you what a wonderful thing Mr. Brandon did with the remote last night. Carla couldn't help but blinked violently, surprised.For she did bring nut biscuits to mother the day before, and she did have a lot of extra nuts in them.Besides, what my mother said was absolutely right, the crazy Mr. Brandon on the fifth floor really stole a remote control yesterday, and used the reflection of the glass window to send the signal into the nurse's lounge next door, constantly changing the TV channel and volume , confused the people inside for half an hour, thinking that the building was haunted. This is the best evidence!Her vibrant mother, her truest mother, might indeed one day escape from that damaged shell, out of Ward 492 where she had been imprisoned for so long. But when Kara came back the next day, she found that the woman only looked at her suspiciously and asked her why she came here?What exactly do you want to do here?If she had come to collect an electric bill of twenty-two and fifteen cents, she had paid it and had a receipt to prove it.In this ward, there was no reenactment of pecan crackers and remote controls. Now, as Kara gently touched her mother's warm, unwrinkled, baby-pink arm, she felt again the feeling she always felt when she came here, a trilogy already numb to her wish that her mother could be euthanized, Hope again that she will suddenly turn around and go back to her old energetic life.In the end, Kara hopes that she can get rid of the above two irreconcilable choices as soon as possible, and get rid of this terrible burden as soon as possible. She glanced at her watch.As usual, he was going to be late for work again, and Mr. Balzac must be upset again.She drank the coffee in her cup, threw the empty cup into the trash can, got up and walked outside to the promenade. A fat black woman in a white uniform raised her hand in greeting.Carla!How long have you been here?A wide smile spread across her broad face. Twenty minutes. I should have come over sooner, said Jenny: Is she still awake? No, she fell asleep again when I came. Oh, what a pity. Has she spoken before?Carla asked. Yes, but she didn't say much, and it's hard to tell whether she is talking to us.Looks a lot like maybe she had a brighter days in her past?If she wakes up later, Sophie and I will take her for a walk in the courtyard.She likes it.Her condition always improved a little after each walk. I have to go to work, Carla said to the nurse: By the way, I have a show tomorrow, in the shop.Do you remember where that place is? of course I remember.when? Four o'clock, will you come over then? I leave work early tomorrow, so I'll be there by then.After the show, we can have some punch cocktails, just like last time. No problem, Carla replied, by the way, bring Peter too. Jenny frowned.Ma'am, no offense to you, but want this guy to come out and see you on Sunday unless you're doing a halftime show at a Jets or Steelers game and it has to be on TV. Maybe one day it will come true.Carla said.