← Selected Shorts
Selected Shorts
Sleight of Hand
00:58:08
Meg Wolitzer presents stories that take the idea of “the magic of fiction” literally—or literarily. The British writer Penelope Lively offers up a tricky combination of love and real estate in “The Third Wife,” performed by real-life husband and wife Patricia Kalember and Daniel Gerroll. The only “trick” in our next story, “Tempo,” by R.O. Kwon, is the trick the mind plays when it wishes the present would restore a lost bit of the past. The reader is Hettienne Park. And Dave Eggers’ “The Alaska of Giants and Gods” includes a real magic act, but also the longing for some other kind of magic, misplaced on a rocky road, to be restored. Kate Burton reads.
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- [00:00]
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- [01:10]
Meg Wolitzer
I'm Meg Wolitzer and I have nothing up my sleeve. I know you can't see me or my sleeve, but trust me. This week on Selected Shorts, I bring you stories that indulge a little sleight of hand. An author can fool the ear as easily as a magician can trick the eye. Stick around, I'll show you how. You're listening to Selected Shorts, where our greatest actors transport us through the magic of fiction or one short story at a time, the magic of fiction. You know, I've said that phrase a lot over the past couple of years. I dutifully record it at the top of each and every show. But we don't talk about what that means exactly. When someone mentions magic in the real world, we usually think of wands and capes and scantily clad assistants sawed in half. Those big theatrical shows aren't what you think about when you sit down to read, say, Jane Austen. Still, as a writer, it's hard to imagine doing what I do without a little sleight of hand. Every storyteller understands the shape of their story, the characters, the conflict, the consequences. But only the really good storytellers understand how the contours of their stories measure up against their listeners expectations. Great storytellers know what it is we think is going to happen and shake up our expectations along the way. Either they fool us about how they arrive at an inevitable conclusion, or make that conclusion not so inevitable. In either case, they look to achieve maximum surprise. Yes, stories can be dramatic, like a breathless escape act by Harry Houdini, but perhaps writers can be most easily likened to Close up magicians, the illusionists who delight our senses and make believers out of us, if only only for a moment. So in this week's selected shorts, we'll cozy up to Close up magic masters like the late Ricky J. And hear stories that involve just a little bit of narrative trickery. In one story, a house hunting session becomes a hunt for something else altogether. In another time puts one over on a big sister, and in a third, a mother at a magic show entertains illusions about a new life. Our first story with a sly bit of trickery is by Penelope Lively. She's the author of novels including Moon Tiger, nonfiction works including Life in the Garden and children's books too. This piece is from her collection the Purple Swamp Hen and Other Stories. In order to let Lively work her magic on you, I'll just tell you that this story is about love and real estate. Because this story has multiple points of view, we wanted to hear different voices present their sides of the story. Patricia Kalimber is known for long running series including 30 Something and many recent shows including the HBO miniseries Olive Kitteridge. Daniel Jarrell has played on Broadway in plays including Plenty and appeared in films including The Amazing Spider Man 2. Now Calimar and Gerrell perform the Third Wife By Penelope Lively.
- [04:41]
Daniel Jarrell
The Third Wife.
- [04:44]
Patricia Kalimber
They were viewing this house she fancied he was quite happy with that. She'd be paying for it anyway, and if she wanted to upgrade, that was fine with him. Molly was his third wife and had plenty of dash, inherited from her parents, in her case. The other two had also been well bolstered. He'd always been careful to check that out. Sandra had had a business that was going great guns, designer children's clothes, and Louise had had a job in the city that paid a wad, annual bonuses and all that.
- [05:23]
Daniel Jarrell
Molly had already had a look at this house, came back enthusing. It was substantial, Edwardian, isolated down its own drive, no near neighbors.
- [05:36]
Patricia Kalimber
Fine, one doesn't want rampaging children within earshot. Plenty of rooms, secluded, one at the end of a passage which would do nicely for his office. Not that one was planning to be here for that long.
- [05:49]
Daniel Jarrell
What Molly didn't know was that her days were numbered as his wife.
- [05:54]
Patricia Kalimber
About a couple of months or so when he'd sorted out some stuff with bank accounts. Five years she'd had, and that was just about his limit. Much the same with the others. How do you dispose of a wife who is now surplus to requirements?
- [06:15]
Daniel Jarrell
Murder?
- [06:16]
Patricia Kalimber
Oh no. Oh dear me, no, no. Far too Untidy, far too open to repercussions, too banal, frankly. Only an idiot would take that risk. No, no, no.
- [06:25]
Daniel Jarrell
Divorce.
- [06:26]
Patricia Kalimber
Oh. Divorce is for the unimaginative. Divorce is for self destructive fools who want to lose half their house and half their income and half their capital and prop up the legal profession. Divorce is for those who haven't a clue how to look after themselves.
- [06:42]
Smokey Bear
Divorce.
- [06:42]
Patricia Kalimber
Divorce is for nerds. Oh, no, no, no. The simple thing is just to leave. Creativity is what is required.
- [06:54]
Daniel Jarrell
Molly, calling from some other part of the house. Here, come and see. The kitchen's fantastic.
- [07:00]
Patricia Kalimber
He had left Sandra on a beach in Australia, quite literally a rather remote and deserted beach, frequented only by penguins.
- [07:08]
Daniel Jarrell
She had been interested in those, was dying to see them. They had driven there from the hotel where they were staying and to Podian holiday he had proposed. As a reward for all her hard work and to celebrate a particularly good year for her business, he had organized it all. The hotel, even this beach some way away, and the interesting wildlife.
- [07:29]
Patricia Kalimber
I say, darling, this is right up your street. We have to go there. He booked them in under one of his other names. It was sometimes quite a job to keep all his names sorted and the various bank accounts.
- [07:44]
Daniel Jarrell
So there was Sandra, happily stretched out in a towel, sunbathing, no penguins to be seen so far. And he got up and said, I've.
- [07:54]
Patricia Kalimber
Left my book in the car, I'll just wander back and get it.
- [07:58]
Daniel Jarrell
She had murmured something half asleep. And off he went, taking all his stuff, leaving her the sun cream and her dark glasses and her beach bag.
- [08:06]
Patricia Kalimber
There was no need to be malevolent.
- [08:11]
Daniel Jarrell
There had been a couple of other cars at the parking site, so somewhere on that beach there were others. And when eventually Sandra realized that she no longer had a husband to hand, someone would take her back to the hotel where the staff would be confronted by a hysterical woman in a bikini whose name was not on their screen, claiming that she was staying there. Molly, outside now. Oh, you're going to love this garden. Sandra had known, of course, that he'd cleared out much of the business before they left for the holiday.
- [08:45]
Patricia Kalimber
Just a matter of some creative accounting, he had said right at the start, when they were first married. Look, let me deal with the paperwork for you. I can see to the financial stuff, all that nitty gritty, and then you can get on with what you do so well. You shouldn't have to be bothered with the infrastructure. So the money had gone into a special account, one of his accounts. Except of course, that it would only be there until he needed it, by which time he wouldn't be there either.
- [09:17]
Daniel Jarrell
Sandra had been his first.
- [09:21]
Patricia Kalimber
He was the marrying sort. He respected marriage. He approved of marriage. If you like a woman, can you see yourself set up with her, then it's the proper thing to do, the decent thing. And there was the question of funding too, always an issue for him. The right woman can solve the funding problem. Call it venture capital.
- [09:48]
Daniel Jarrell
Molly going upstairs now. Four bedrooms stand two en suites. Louise he had left in Brent Cross Shopping center in Swarovski, to be precise, where they'd been choosing his Christmas present for her. A rather pretty necklace. She was just checking a call on a mobile and when she looked up, he wasn't there anymore. He hadn't yet paid for the necklace.
- [10:15]
Patricia Kalimber
He had done some interesting things with their joint bank account the day before. Really quite inventive for a woman who spent her days moving money around the world. It was surprising how little attention Louise paid to her own.
- [10:28]
Daniel Jarrell
She had never noticed the steady seepage from the joint account over time. The seepage was now a hemorrhage, though he had left her enough to get through until the next salary wad from her outfit.
- [10:39]
Patricia Kalimber
Again, no need to be malevolent.
- [10:43]
Daniel Jarrell
Molly down again. Her footsteps now somewhere at the back of the house. Would you believe it? There's a walk in safe. Come and see.
- [10:52]
Patricia Kalimber
There's still a bit of work to be done on the accounts. Where Molly was concerned, she was no slouch. Molly tended to be rather tiresomely attentive from time to time, wanting to take a look at the bank statements.
- [11:03]
Daniel Jarrell
You're so sweet to say you'll see to all that, but you mustn't feel I'm leaving it to you entirely. Money's so boring.
- [11:10]
Patricia Kalimber
No, it isn't. Money is the one thing that is not boring. It is entrancing. It invigorating. Motivating.
- [11:19]
Daniel Jarrell
Molly was quite smart, really, though she had never had a job. Not a proper job. Well, she didn't need to. Cushioned by that comfortable income from the parents who had died a while ago. She did various voluntary things now and had a network of friends, was much.
- [11:38]
Patricia Kalimber
On the phone, even more so than usual lately. He kept coming into the room where she was chatting away to someone who, giggling from time to time, would hang up as soon as he was there. Who was that, darling?
- [11:49]
Daniel Jarrell
Just a girlfriend.
- [11:50]
Patricia Kalimber
Susie or Janice or someone he couldn't keep track of her friends. They had stolid, tedious husbands who worked in local government and such like middle management Figures, who said breezily, what's your line, Stan? His reply was always the same, something vague about financial consultant. He had never been precise with his wives either. They knew that he needed his home office and had to spend a lot of time at the computer and occasionally go away for a day or two.
- [12:18]
Daniel Jarrell
Stan, do come and see this safe.
- [12:22]
Patricia Kalimber
He was Stan now and had been since he married Molly. Before that he'd been Peter and Mark. You did get a bit confused occasionally. And the bank accounts, of course, had many names. They were legion, impersonal. Coming, he said. Coming. He wasn't a big spender. No, of course not. The point of money is accumulation, not disposition. The piling up of figures, that lovely intangible hoard. His wives did the spending and that was fine because it meant you lived very well and it was their money anyway, not that you wanted them to be getting rid of too much of it because there was a sense also in which it was yours would be in due course. No, you didn't spend the money. You tendered it shifted it, made it grow. Every day he was at the computer for hours. Each wife had known not to disturb him. They tiptoed around his vaguely defined occupation.
- [13:22]
Daniel Jarrell
Financial analyst, they said to friends. It's something like that. He's terribly clever with money.
- [13:29]
Patricia Kalimber
Too right, darling.
- [13:31]
Daniel Jarrell
Molly was the only one who spent time on a computer herself. The other two never did. Louise said she had enough of it at the office. Molly would be checking out clothes and stuff, no doubt consumer research. She was quite dressy, was Molly, and always looked good.
- [13:48]
Patricia Kalimber
She was fun too, but he was getting itchy feet. It was time to move on. There was a woman he'd come across at an event in London, a presentation by some fund people. Sounded as though she had a nice portfolio. He needed to get to know her better. Brian. He was to her. Coming, coming. Where are you? He made his way to the rear of the house. Warren of little rooms back here. And there was Molly in the passage beside a hefty looking steel door. She seemed to be on a high today and had done herself up in a red outfit he'd never seen before and was waiting for him there. Small, sparkly, really pretty, that cap of dark hair, great legs. He'd miss her, no question. But there you go.
- [14:48]
Daniel Jarrell
Look, she said she heaving open the door.
- [14:52]
Patricia Kalimber
Small room, windowless, with shelves. What on earth's it for?
- [14:59]
Daniel Jarrell
It's a strong room, she said. Sort of a walk in. Safe for silver probably. Oh, what fun. You can keep your gold ingots in there. Laughing.
- [15:09]
Patricia Kalimber
Oh you know perfectly well I haven't got any gold ingots. He put his arm around her. A quick hug. So, are we buying this place?
- [15:18]
Daniel Jarrell
Shall we? What do you think? She peered forward into the room, switched on a light. What's that on the shelf at the back?
- [15:26]
Patricia Kalimber
He stepped down into the room, reached forward and saw in his hand an envelope with his name on it. At the same moment as the steel door clanged behind him and he heard the click of a lock.
- [15:45]
Daniel Jarrell
Laughter again, barely audible.
- [15:51]
Patricia Kalimber
And he knew, began to know, remembered that she'd been keen to drive, had the car keys.
- [16:00]
Daniel Jarrell
I know how to find it. I told the agent there was no need for him to come with us.
- [16:05]
Patricia Kalimber
He stood there for a moment. He opened the letter.
- [16:10]
Daniel Jarrell
This is for Sandra. And for Louise. And for me. I can't tell you how long it's taken to find a house with a strong room. They've been champing at the bit, Sandra and Louise, Phoning and phoning. Incidentally, we are such good friends. I have that to thank you for. Two really lovely friendships. Elegant, isn't it? Like your own departures. That's the idea. Took us a while to come up with it. I wonder what you had in mind for me. Don't worry, you're not there forever. Depends when the estate agent turns up with another viewer. I did make a point of asking this evening, I think he said. Or was it tomorrow? And you've maybe already found out there's no mobile signal. I checked that out last week when I had a first look. Bit of a worry that had been. I wonder what you'll say. Not my wife slammed the door and did a runner. Oh, no. They might start asking questions. And you'll have thought of that? No, you'll bluff it out and be charming. That blasted door shut itself. And apparently locked too. Thank God you've come. If only my wife hadn't had to cry off because she had a dental crisis and needed the car. And of course, my minicab driver just dropped me off. I'd said, don't wait. I'll probably walk back to the bus stop when I'm through. You'll be out in a while. You won't come home, of course. Go wherever you like. They'll find you sooner or later. The police.
- [18:17]
Meg Wolitzer
That was the Third Third Wife by Penelope Lively read by Patricia Callimber and Daniel Jarrell. If you felt a certain intimacy between the players there, well, there's a subtle bit of trickery there too. Calimber and Gerrell are a long time married. Couple who, to my knowledge, have never had the occasion to lock one another in a walk in safe. Next, let's hear a piece by Aro Kwon Kwan is the author of the novel the Incendiaries and the co editor of the story collection Kink. Unlike the other stories in today's show, this piece is a quiet consideration of a relationship between a brother and sister. Performing the story is Haecein Park. She is an actor who makes excellent contributions to projects including series such as Hannibal and the film Don't Look Up. And now park performs Tempo by Ro Kwon.
- [19:18]
Haecein Park
Tempo since it had been so long since his last flight, I let Paul have the window seat I'd have preferred I was in college, a sophomore. I'd already flown enough that I disliked flying as the hassle it was. But Paul was in high school, five years younger than I was. That's always how I figured out my little brother's age is mine less five, and it's still how I do it, though this sibling math no longer applies. And he kept the porthole window open. He stared out, marveling. The plane lifted. He rested his forehead on the transparent plastic, his thick, childish cowlick curling up. I'd have liked to level it with my palm, gently, but I didn't. While I was away at school, he'd gotten old enough to balk at being touched. It was late spring. It had started raining, but only here and there, as Paul pointed out, with parts of the sky unclouded blue from his airborne perspective, positioned like a bird or God, the rained upon portions of the city looked stained. He pitied the people chilled beneath a wet gray sky, limited by their point of view, not knowing that a good day with sunlight could be had just a few hills away. I laughed at him, my spendthrift brother, spilling pity on total strangers. Paul, lately I've watched a lot of live opera. You'd love it. The opera. It's an art form intent on eliciting pity. But I find that what I crave are the preludial minutes. With the lights still on, the audience talking, the players in the orchestra pit tuning up instruments, the violins, the harp, piccolos, each playing as they like, without thought of harmony, that discord, the ear trying to pick out a pattern in time, order prevails. Music like this is set to a tempo which provides the form of what happens next. Give me a couple of measures and.
- [21:56]
Meg Wolitzer
I'll have the beat.
- [21:58]
Haecein Park
Until then, chaos. So perhaps our lives, which look so patternless, aren't random, disordered, shot through with haphazard pain? Maybe, Paul, I just don't see the full measure. It's possible we're part of a longer song. Or so I tell myself. At least until the opera ends. That spring, you visited me at school. Then you left on your own. I didn't fly with you again. I can't recall the rest of that last flight. I should have noticed more. Stashed away what memories I could. There's a lot I didn't know back then. I'd have thought that losing someone I loved might be like quitting an addiction. Like alcohol. It'd be terrible, especially at first. But in time, I'd mind the loss a little less. That's not how it is, though. It's not like that at all, Paul. It's like giving up water. The longer I go without, the more I thirst.
- [23:37]
Meg Wolitzer
That was Hetien park reading Ro Kwan's story Tempo. No, there's no overt trickery there, but what happens is subtler and more profound than making the jack of spades disappear. When we return, writer Dave Eggers, a cruise ship and the jaw dropping power of zip codes. I'm Meg Wolitzer. You're listening to selected shorts recorded live in performance at Symphony Space in New York City and at other venues nationwide.
- [24:04]
T-Mobile Representative
Introducing Family Freedom from T Mobile. We'll pay off four phones up to $3200 and give you four free phones, all on America's largest 5G network. Visit t mobile.com familyfreedom. Up to $800 per line via virtual prepaid card typically takes 15 days. Free phone via 24 monthly bill credits with finance agreement. Example Apple iPhone 16128 gigs $829.99 Eligible trade in example iPhone 11 Pro for well qualified credits end and balance due if you pay off early or cancel. Contact us.
- [24:36]
Patricia Kalimber
Smokey the bear.
- [24:38]
Smokey Bear
After 80 years of learning his wildfire.
- [24:40]
Meg Wolitzer
Prevention tips, Smokey Bear lives within us all.
- [24:42]
Smokey Bear
Learn more@smokeybear.com and remember, only you can prevent wildfires brought to you by the USDA Forest Service, your state forester and the Ad Council.
- [25:11]
Meg Wolitzer
Welcome back. This is Selected Shorts, where our greatest actors transport us through the magic of fiction, one short story at a time.
- [25:19]
Smokey Bear
Meg.
- [25:19]
Meg Wolitzer
I'm Meg Wolitzer.
- [25:21]
Matthew Love
Did you hear that? It's an audience preparing to see live theater at Symphony Space in New York. One of my favorite sounds. Why? It means anticipation. It means no turning back. It means that for the next two hours, I get to live alongside that audience in a world of literature brought to life right in front of me. I'm Matthew Love, a writer and producer at Selected Shorts. While my job includes reading stories and creating scripts for our hosts, the reason I Love My job involves standing in the wings to hear a pin drop while someone like Ellen Burstyn is reading a Margaret Atwood piece. Stories, performance, and community are the lifeblood of Selected Shorts. If you feel the same, please consider going to selectedshorts.org and donating to the show.
- [26:13]
Meg Wolitzer
In this hour, we're hearing stories that involve a magic trick, either in the story or the telling itself. Our final story this hour is by Dave Eggers, the author and founder of McSweeney's Publishing. He's written a number of novels, including what Is the what? The Circle and its recent sequel, the Every while our previous stories have toyed with ideas about magic, this Eggers piece deals with it directly. The story is read by Kate Burton. Burton is a longtime performer of stage and screen, known for series including Scandal and Grey's Anatomy. She also appeared in not one but two recent Ripped from the Headlines shows about profit and Prevarication, the Dropout and Inventing Anna. Now she reads Dave Eggers the Alaska of Giants and Gods.
- [27:17]
Smokey Bear
The Alaska of giants and Gods. There is proud happiness, happiness born of doing admirable things in the light of day, years of good work and afterward being tired and content and surrounded by family and friends, enjoying a sumptuous meal, ready for a deserved rest. Sleep or death, it would not matter. Then there is the happiness of one's personal slum, the happiness of being alone and tipsy on red wine in the passenger seat of an ancient recreational vehicle, or parked in a campground outside Seward, Alaska, staring into a scribble of black trees, unable to go to sleep for fear that at any moment someone will get past the toy lock on the RV door and murder you and your two small children sleeping in the alcove above. This was Josie's situation. They'd landed in Anchorage yesterday on a gray day, without promise or beauty, but the moment she'd stepped off the plane, she'd found herself inspired. Okay, guys, she said to her exhausted, unhappy children. They had never expressed any interest in Alaska, and now here they were. Here we are, she'd said, and she'd done a celebratory little march. Neither child had smiled. She piled them into this rented RV and driven off, no plan in mind. The manufacturers had named the vehicle to the Chateau, but that was 30 years ago, and now it was falling apart and dangerous to its passengers and to all who shared the highway with it. But After a day on the road, her kids seemed fine. With the crumbling machine, the close quarters, the chaos. Her kids were strange but good. There was Paul, 7 years old, a gentle, slow moving boy with with the cold, caring eyes of an ice priest. He was far more reasonable and kind and wise than his mother. But then there was Anna, only 4, a constant threat to the social contract. She was a black eyed animal with a burst of irrationally red hair and a knack for assessing the most breakable object in any room and then breaking it. The lower 48 was full of cowards and thieves and it was time for mountains and people of truth and courage. So Alaska. She had been a dentist and was no longer a dentist. She'd been sued by a desperate woman who claimed that Josie should have seen the tumor on her tongue during a routine cleaning. Unwilling to fight a dying woman, Josie surrendered. Take it all, she'd said. And the dying woman had done just that. And then the father of Josie's children, her ex husband, a spineless, loose, boweled man, had improbably found a new second woman to marry him. He wanted the kids there. But Josie, who'd got nothing from him for years, thought, well, no. And what could be better grant her invisibility than this? A rolling home? A white RV in a state with a million other white RVs. He could never find her. But she had yet to see the Alaska of giants and gods. What she had seen so far did not feel like the frontier. It felt like Kentucky, only colder and far more expensive. Where was the Alaska of magic and clarity and pure air? This place was choked with the haze of some far off forest fire. And it was not majestic. No, it was cluttered and tough. And where were the heroes? Find me someone bold? She asked the dark trees before her. Find me someone of substance? She asked the mountains beyond. She had been born a blank. Her parents were blanks. All her relatives were blanks, though many were addicts and she had a cousin who identified as an anarchist. But otherwise, Josie's people were blanks. They were from nowhere. To be American is to be blank. And a true American is truly blank. So Josie was a truly great American. Still, she'd heard occasional and vague references to Denmark. Once or twice she heard her parents mention some connection to Finland. Her parents knew nothing about these nationalities, these cultures. They cooked no national dishes, they taught Josie no customs, and they had no relatives who cooked national dishes or had customs. They had no clothes, no flags, no banners, no sayings, no ancestral lands or villages or folk tales. When she was 32 and had wanted to visit some village somewhere where her people had come from. None of her relatives had any idea at all where to go. One uncle thought he could be helpful. Everyone in our family speaks English, he said. Maybe you should go to England. The next day was nothing, nothing at all, only the bright sun and the cold wind coming desperately over the obsidian water. They slept in and walked around. They discovered a train car set up by the shore, which the kids wanted to explore but found was closed. They went into town, into Seward, a mix of actual fishermen and fish and souvenir shops selling shirts bearing cartoons of moose. They meandered down the boardwalk and for a time watched a happy little tugboat chugging to and fro across Resurrection Ocean Bay. Josie was drawn to it and wasn't sure why. Look out, Paul said. Her son was speaking to otters. The bay was full of otters and Paul was worried the tug would run them over. But the animals moved themselves effortlessly out of the path of the tug and then reformed, six of them floating like furry detritus amid amidst of chartreuse seaweed. The otters were absurdly cute, stupidly cute, swimming on their backs, holding actual rocks on their bellies, using these rocks to break open shellfish, and then enjoying their meals like mustachioed men. Such an animal couldn't only be conceived by any self respecting creator. Only a God made in our image could go for that level of animal kitsch. Now an older man sitting on a bench was looking at Josie's children. You kids like magic? The man asked. He seemed to be leering. These lonely old men, Josie thought, with their wet lips and small eyes, their necks barely holding up, their heavy heads full of their many mistakes and the funerals of friends. Josie nudged Paul, answered the nice man. I guess, paul said to the mountains beyond the man. Now the old man was delighted his face came alive. He lost 20 years. Forgot all the funerals. Well, I happen to know there's a magic show tonight on our ship. You own a ship? Josie asked. No, no, I'm just a passenger. I'm Charlie, he said and extended his hand, a pink and purple tangle of bones and veins. Haven't you seen the Princess docked here? It's hard to miss. Josie came to understand that this stranger was inviting them, her and her two kids, all of them unknown to this man, onto the cruise ship docked in Seward, where that evening there would be an elaborate magic show featuring a half dozen acts, including, the old man was thrilled to convey, a magician from Luxembourg. Luxembourg, he said. Can you imagine? I want to go, anna said. Josie didn't think it mattered much that Anna wanted to go. She had no intention of following this man onto a magic show ship. But when Anna said those words, Charlie's face took on a glow so powerful Josie thought he might ignite. Josie didn't want to disappoint this man and her daughter, who continued to talk about the show and who were virtually floating upward with joy and inspiration. But was she really about to follow an old man onto a cruise ship in Seward, Alaska, to see a Luxembourgian magic show? We're allowed to have guests, I think, the man said. As they walked up the gang plant. The kids were astounded, stepping slowly, carefully, as if they were walking on the moon, holding the ropes on either side. But now their host, this man in his 70s or 80s, was suddenly unsure if he could have friends over. He stopped in the middle of the gangplank. A few dozen elderly passengers and windbreakers went around them, carrying their small bags of Seward souvenirs. Let me talk to this man, charlie said, and motioned to them to hang a few yards back. So Josie stopped, and her kids peered down into the black water between the dock and the gleaming white ship. Josie watched as Charlie approached a man in uniform. Charlie and the man swung around a few times to inspect Josie and her children. Finally Charlie turned back, waving to them, a relieved smile overtaking his face. He called them to come aboard. The ship was garish and loud and crowded, full of glass and screens. The decor was casino crossed with Red Lobster crossed with the court of Louis xiv. The kids were loving it. Anna was running everywhere, touching delicate things, bumping into people, making elderly women and men gasp and reach for war walls. I think it starts in 20 minutes, Charlie said, and then again looked lost. Let me see if we need tickets. He wandered off, and Josie knew she was a fool. Parenting was chiefly about keeping one's children away from unnecessary dangers, avoidable traumas and disappointments. And here she had dragged them to Alaska and had driven them and and their feces. The RV's bathroom meant convenience but also the transportation of human waste around the worst parts of the state, and then to Seward, where no one had recommended they go. And now she had them following a lonely old man onto a ship designed, it seemed, by the insane, all to see Magic. Luxembourgian magic. Josie paged through the years of her life, trying to remember a decision she had made that she was proud of, and found nothing. Finally Charlie returned, holding the tickets in his hand like a bouquet Are we ready? There was an escalator, an escalator inside a ship. Charlie was ahead of them and rode upward while looking forward back at them, smiling but nervous, as if worried they might flee. The theater seated at least 500, and all within was burgundy. It was like being inside someone's liver. They sat in a half moon booth near the back, Paul next to Charlie. A waitress in bright red hurried by, but Charlie made no move move to order anything. Josie asked for lemonades for the kids and a glass of Pinot noir for herself. The drinks arrived and the lights went down. Josie relaxed, anticipating a few hours of not having to do anything but sit and watch in silence. Charlie had a different plan. The show started and Josie realized that Charlie intended to talk throughout. And the words he most wanted to say were see that. Charlie would see something that every member of the audience had seen and then would ask Josie and her kids if they'd seen it too. Anna would say, see what? And Charlie would then explain what he had seen, talking through the next five minutes of the show. They made a beautiful pair. The first magician, a pretty man in a tight silk shirt, had, it seemed, been told to make his act more personal. So his monologue returned again and again to the theme of how he had always welcomed magic into his life. He'd opened the door to magic, said hello to magic. He'd learned to appreciate magic in his life. Did he say he was married to magic? Maybe he did. It all made little sense and the audience seemed lost. Life is full of magic if you look for it, the magician noted breathlessly, because he was moving around the stage in a thousand tiny steps as a woman in a sparkly one piece bathing suit vamped behind him with long strides. The pretty magician produced some kind of flower from behind a curtain, and Josie struggled to see this as magical. She and Charlie clapped, but few members of the audience joined them. Her children didn't clap. They never clapped unless she told them to. Were they not taught clapping in school? The magician was not impressing this audience, though who could be easier to impress than 500 elderly people in windbreakers? But they were waiting for something better than carnations produced from behind curtains. Josie began to feel for this man. He'd been a magician in grade school. No doubt he'd been pretty then, too, with lashes so long she could see them now, 50ft away and as an adolescent, apart from his peers. But not concerned about this. He had driven with his mother 40 miles to the nearest city to get the right equipment for his shows, the right Boxes with wheels, the velvet bags, the collapsing canes. He'd loved his mother then and had never known how to say so with conviction, perhaps with a flourish. And his unguarded love for her had made his friendlessness unimportant to him and to her. And now she was so proud that he had made it was a professional magician traveling the world, making magic, welcoming magic into his life. And after all that, Josie thought, these elderly assholes won't clap for him. Josie downed half her pinot and gave the pretty magician a whoop. If no one else appreciated him, she would. Every time he asked for applause, which was often, she yelled and whooped and clapped. She found the waitress, ordered again and downed a second glass. She cheered louder and whooped again. Her children looked at her, unsure if she was being funny. Charlie turned to her and said, smiled nervously. Now the long legged woman was helping the pretty magician into a big red box. Now she was turning it around and around. It was on wheels. Everything in the act had to be on wheels so it could be turned around. It was a rule of magic that all boxes must be turned around and around to prove there were no strings, that no one was hiding, just behind. But if something wasn't turned around, would the audience revolt? Did they ever ask, excuse me, why hasn't someone turned the box around? Turn the box around. My God, turn that box around. Now. The sparkly assistant opened the box. The pretty man was not in the box. Josie whooped again, clapping over her head. Where had he gone? The suspense was fantastic. And now he was next to them. Suddenly a spotlight was on their table, or near it, because the pretty man was next to them. Holy shit, Josie said loud enough that the pretty man, whose hands were outstretched again asking for applause, heard her. He smiled. Josie clapped louder, but again the rest of the audience didn't seem to care. He was up there. She wanted to yell to them. Now he's here, you fuckers. Up close she saw that the magician was wearing a tremendous amount of makeup, eyeliner, blush, maybe even lipstick, all seemingly applied by a child. Then the spotlight went dark and he stayed for a moment next to their table, hands up, while a second magician appeared on stage. Josie wanted to say something to the pretty man, to his heaving silken silhouette a few feet away. But by the time she arrived at the right words, we loved you, he was gone. She turned to the stage. The new magician was less pretty. This is the one from Luxembourg, charlie whispered. Hello, everyone. The new magician roared and explained he was from Michigan, Charlie said, sighing. The Michigan magician in a white shirt and stretchy black pants, was soon in a straight jacket, hanging upside down 20ft above the stage. With his breath labored and his arms crossed like a chrysalis, he told the audience that if he did not escape from the straitjacket in a certain amount of time, something unfortunate would happen to him. Josie, trying to get the attention of the waitress, had not caught exactly what that consequence was. She ordered a third pinot, and soon some part of the contraption holding the magician was on fire. Was that intentional? It seemed intentional. Then he was struggling in an inelegant way, ramming his shoulders against the canvas jacket. And then, aha. He was free and was standing on the ground. An explosion flowered above him, but he was safe and not on fire. Josie thought this trick pretty good and clapped heartily, but again the crowd was not impressed. What were they waiting for? She wondered. The bastards? Then she knew they were waiting for the magician from Luxembourg. They did not want domestic magic. They wanted magic from abroad. The man from Michigan stood at the edge of the stage, bowing again and again as the applause dissipated, until he was bowing in silence. Josie thought of his poor mother and hoped she was not on this cruise. But she knew there was a very good chance that the Michigan magician's mother was on this cruise. Like the pretty magician's mother, she was proud. She was retired. She traveled the world clapping for her son. How could she not be on this cruise? Now a new magician appeared. He had a high head of gleaming yellow hair, and his pants were somehow tighter than the pants of his predecessors. Josie had not thought this possible. I hope this guy's from Luxembourg, charlie said, too loudly. Hallo, Hallo, the magician said, and Josie was fairly sure he was was from somewhere else, perhaps Luxembourg. The magician explained that he spoke six languages and had been everywhere. He asked if anyone in the audience had been to Luxembourg, and a smattering of applause surprised him. Josie decided to clap too, and did so loudly. Yes. She yelled. I've been there. Her children were horrified. Yes. She yelled again, and it was quite great. Lots of visitors to Luxembourg. I am pleased, the magician said, though he didn't seem to believe those who had applauded, least of all Josie. But by now, her spirit dancing in the glorious light of her third glass of wine, Josie believed she had been to Luxembourg. In her youth she'd backpacked through Europe for three months, and wasn't Luxembourg right there in the middle of the continent? Surely she'd been there. Did that one train, the main train, go to Luxembourg? Of course it did. She pictured a beer garden in a castle on a hill by the sea.
- [48:35]
Daniel Jarrell
What sea?
- [48:37]
Smokey Bear
Some sea. The magician from Luxembourg did his tricks, which seemed more sophisticated than those of his predecessors. Maybe because they involved roses. Before him, they had been merely carnations. The roses. This was a step up. Women holding roses appeared in boxes, boxes on wheels, and the man from Luxembourg turned these boxes around and around. Then he opened the boxes and the women were not there. They were somewhere else, behind screens in the audience. Josie clapped and hollered. He was wonderful. The wine was wonderful. What a good world this was with magic like this on she. What an impressive species they were. Humans. Who could build a ship like this? Who could do magic like this? Who could clap listlessly even for the magician from Luxembourg? These fucking assholes, Josie thought, trying to single handedly make up for their sickening lack of enthusiasm. Why come to a magic show if you don't want to be entertained? Clap, you criminals. Even Charlie wasn't clapping enough. She leaned over to him. Not good enough for you. She snarled, but he didn't hear. Now Luxembourg was gone and another man was making his way onto the stage. He was rumpled, his hair reaching upward in seven different directions, and he was easily 20 years older than the others. Another man. Where were the women? Were women not capable of magic? Josie tried to remember having seen or heard of any female magician and couldn't. My God, she thought, how can that be? What about lady magic? Why do we accept all these men? All these silken, heavy breathing men. And now this one, this crumpled one. He made no effort at all to be pretty like the others. He had no lovely assistant, and it soon became clear he didn't intend to do any magic. She looked for the waitress. Where was the waitress? There was only the rumpled man standing at the edge of the stage. He was telling the audience that he'd worked for some time at a post office and had memorized most zip codes. He'll get murdered, Josie thought. What kind of world is this when a man from the post office follows Luxembourgian magic? And why were they, she and her kids, on this ship in the first place? With incredible clarity, she knew then that the answer to her life was that at every opportunity she'd made precisely the wrong choice. She had been a dentist for a decade, but for most of that time had not wanted to be a dentist. What could she do now? Then it came to her. She was sure at that moment that she was meant to be a tugboat captain. My God, she thought. My God. At 38, she finally knew she would lead the ships to safety. That was why she'd come to Seward. There had been a tugboat school in town. It all made sense. She could do that, and her days would be varied, but always heroic. She looked at her children and saw that Paul was now leaning against Charlie, asleep. Her son was asleep against this strange old man. And they were in Seward, Alaska. For the first time, she realized that Seward had sounded like sewer and thought this an unfortunate thing, given that Seward as a place was very dramatic and very clean. And she thought it very beautiful, maybe the most beautiful place she'd ever been. It was here that she would stay and train to become a tugboat captain at the school that she would find tomorrow. All was aligned. All was right. And now, looking at her son sleeping against this man, this old man who was leaning forward, listening to this other man talk about the post office, she felt her eyes welling up. She took a final sip from her third pinot and wondered if she'd ever been happier. No, never. Impossible. This old man had found them, and it could not be coincidence. This town was now their home, the site of this ordained and holy reunion. And all the people around them were congregants, all of them exalted and now part of her life, her new life, the life she was meant for. Tugboat captain. Oh, yes. It had all been worth it. She sat back, knowing she'd arrived at her destiny. On stage, the post office man was telling the audience that for any of them who gave him a postal code, he could tell them what town they were from. Josie assumed that this was some sort of a comedy bit, that he was kidding about the postal job. But immediately someone stood up and yelled. 59715. Bozeman. Bozeman, Montana, he said. West side of town. The crowd erupted. The cheers were deafening. None of the magicians had elicited this kind of enthusiasm. Nothing close. Now 10 people were standing up, shouting out their zip codes. Josie, despairing of the waitress's return, downed half a glass of water. And that act, the dilution of the holy wine within her, took her away from the golden light of grace she'd felt moments before. And now she was sober. Or something like it. Tugboat captain. A voice was now speaking to her. What kind of imbecile are you? She didn't like this new voice. This was the voice that had told her to become a dentist, that had told her to marry that man, the loose boy, the voice that every month told her to pay her water bill. She was being pulled back from the light like an almost angel now being led back to the mundanity of earthly existence. The light was shrinking to a pinhole and the world around her was darkening to an everywhere burgundy. She was back inside the liver colored room and a man was talking about zip codes. Okay, you now, the postal man said and pointed to a white haired woman in a patterned muumu. 62914. She squealed. Cairo, Illinois, he said, explaining that though it was spelled like the city in Egypt, it was pronounced Cairo the Illinois way. Nice town, he said. The audience screamed, hooted. It was a travesty. Now Paul was awake, groggy and wondering what all the noise was about. Josie couldn't bear it. The noise was not about fire and magic and tugboats. It was about zip codes. 33950. Someone yelled. Pantagorda, Florida, the man said. The crowd roared again. Anna looked around, unable to figure out what was happening. What was happening? Postal codes were making these people lose their minds. They all wanted to have their town named by the rumpled man with the microphone. They yelled their five digits and he guessed Shoshone, Idaho, New Paltz, New York and Gary, Indiana. It was a melee. Josie feared that people would storm the stage and rip his clothes off. Go back to sleep, Paul, Josie wanted to say. She wanted to flee. Everything about all this was wrong. But she couldn't leave because now Charlie was standing up. 6300. He called out. The spotlight found him and he repeated the numbers. 63005. Chesterfield, Missouri, the postal man said. Charlie's mouth dropped open. The spotlight stayed on him for a few seconds and Charlie's mouth remained agape, a black cave in the white light. Finally the light moved on. He was in darkness again, and as if a spirit had held him aloft and suddenly let go, he sat down. Hear that? He said to Paul. He turned to Josie and Anna, his eyes wet and his hands trembling. Hear that? That man knows where I come from.
- [57:45]
Meg Wolitzer
That was Kate Burton with Dave Eggers story the Alaska of Giants and Gods. Yes, that story was overtly about magic, but but there's also an unforeseen turn in there. Dave Eggers is all about what we might call the big reveal. But I don't only mean the big reveal at the end of a story or a trick. His reveals are big all the way through. He exposes the inner worlds of his characters for what they are, leaving us in a state of astonishment long before the story's over. Now, when we say selected shorts is about the magic of fiction. We do not mean that they all have to take place aboard a cruise ship with a Luxembourgian conjurer. It's just a figure of speech. I know, I know. A literary radio show and podcast playing with words. The implication of it was hiding in plain sight all along. I'm Meg Wolitzer. Thanks for joining me for Selected Shorts. Selected Shorts is produced by Jennifer Brennan and Sarah Montague. Our team includes Matthew Love, Drew Richardson, Mary Shimkin, Vivienne Woodward, and Magdalene Robleski. The readings are recorded by Myles B. Smith. Our programs, presented at the Getty center in Los Angeles are recorded by Phil Richards. Our mix engineer for this episode was Jennifer Nolson. Our theme music is David Peterson's the that's the Deal, performed by the Deardorf Petersen Group. Selected Shorts is supported by the Dungannon Foundation. This program is also made possible with public funds from the New York State Council on the Arts with the support of Governor Kathy Hochul and the New York State Legislature. Selected Shorts is produced and distributed by Symphony Space.
- [59:59]
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- [60:14]
Smokey Bear
Com.