The Spirit Cabinet by Paul Quarrington Read Free Book Online Page A

over newels for months, sweaters languished on the floor and hats grew like buds on the furniture. This particular hat had been purchased by Jurgen’s brother Oscar, who originally thought that it made him look like an American gangster, before realizing that it was far too large and made him look like the thing he least wanted to be, a country bumpkin. Jurgen, even at a very young age, had a head so large and blocklike that he had to take hold of the brim of this hat and tug it down over his brow. The hat made Jurgen look like an American gangster, and he could never understand the looks of mistrust he received when he’d tramp into restaurants for a cup of coffee.
    Jurgen would sometimes hike from dawn until well past dusk, consulting his compass dutifully and recording his route in a small notebook. He would record landmarks and town names; sometimes he’d jot down his impressions of the same:
nett
, he would write,
sehr nett
. When he returned home, Jurgen was often surprised—not
really
surprised, not after the first few times—to find that no one had noticed his absence.
    It was a day of no particular distinction, neither sunny nor cloudy, hot nor cold, when Jurgen came across
Houdini on Magic
. It was lying in a pile of dead and dried leaves the same colour as the cheap parchment used to bind the book. He would never have noticed it except for the light hitting the tarnished gilt ofthe cover’s lettering, sending up a reflection that crackled with something like electricity. Jurgen hurried over, imagining that he’d stumbled upon a cache of gold or gemstones. Instead, he found the little book, the paper burned by time. As soon as he lifted it, the sunlight ceased to play upon the leaf, and the lettering, although ornate and curlicued, looked very plain indeed.
Houdini on Magic
. He almost tossed the book away. His arm actually moved, his wrist cocked and then snapped. Jurgen was never sure why his fingers never let go. The fingers themselves decided they wanted to hold on to the book, so Jurgen pulled it back in and opened it, mildly curious.
    He’d heard of Houdini before, of course, but realized at that moment that he had no idea what Houdini actually did. This struck him as wondrous, that this man could be so famous, almost without reason. He was simply
famous
. Jurgen’s heart began to ache for fame, for elevation above all the people, a thousand times higher than the shitty little hills that surrounded Bremen. Here, apparently, was how Houdini had accomplished it:
by magic
.
    He took the book home and hid it in his drawer. He waited until, one afternoon, there were no cousins or brothers, either natural or in-law, hanging about the bedroom. Then he opened the book and read:
    T HE P APER B AG E SCAPE
    An escape from a paper bag, as from the pasteboard box, is convincing because the item used is too simple and easily examined to be faked in any way
.
    This man escaped from paper bags?
    Jurgen reread the words, confident that he’d misread, been misled, but Houdini was clear on the point: he climbed inside apaper bag seven and a half feet long and then freed himself. Where did they have such bags, wondered Jurgen, and why?
    He flipped more pages.
    C ARD IN E GG
    Jurgen read on, if for no other reason than he liked eggs.
    Oh, this was more like it. Houdini described an effect whereby a chosen card is torn up and then found, miraculously restored, inside a fresh chicken egg.
    This would make them take notice, thought Jurgen, this would surely silence the riotous breakfast table.
    The card selected must be forced; that is, you compel the party selecting a card virtually to select the card that you almost push into his hand
.
    Jurgen could compel the members of the Schubert household to do absolutely nothing. He turned more pages.
    L IFTING A H UMAN B EING WITH P OWER FROM E YES (
A Rare Trick of the Cingalese
)
    Jurgen read on.
    One stormy evening, Jurgen Schubert assembled his family in the parlour. He