Could it be Magic

I don’t know how, but husband actually talked me into going through with this charade of a performance at God’s waiting Room. I balked at the sequined leotard, Diamonique tiara and Vaudevillian peacock feathers sticking out from my behind. Agreeing to instead wear black trousers white blouse, glittery top hat and occasionally wave my hands in his direction at certain junctures, implement applause when necessary and generally look amazed and agog at the miracles being played out before my very eyes.
Husband had worked his act around several card tricks, a comedy saw and a finale in which a white dove would be produced from under my top hat, the bird would then be placed in a magical “bird box” that husband had recently purchased on Ebay, with its head protruding from the hole. Husband would then chop the bird’s head off with a cheese wire, except it would not really chop its head off and the bird would live to fly another day, or so we hoped.
Much practice over the preceding few days as I and the unfortunate bird acquainted ourselves with the nuances of the act, that the programme promised to Astound, Rouse, Stupefy and Excite, the capital letter of each word aptly picked out in Gold underneath my husband’s magical moniker “The Great Bonzonov”
And so the day dawned, we were to perform at 3.00pm. All of the incumbents of God’s Waiting Room would be awake then and keen to be entertained before Deal or No Deal. After parking the car and struggling into the reception area we were greeted by the last person I would choose to see me shake my thing on stage, Brandi. Dressed in what can only be described as a thigh length white lab coat with not enough buttons, she was arm in arm with a male octogenarian who could not believe his luck.
“Just doin my bit for the old guys”
She exclaimed,
“Actually its just like bein back at Hef’s, randy old dudes in dressing gowns in the afternoon with ideas way beyond their station”
She whispered to us as she dragged the slavering gent into the lounge for his half hour of magic.

After a brief warm up by the Camp Commandant we were on. Husband diving straight into his card and gentle comedy routine that had them rolling in the aisles. Three ladies at the front, who were the Beverly sisters in appearance but the antithesis in mind, disgruntled at the use of cards for trickery when they could have been having a game of Whist or Newmarket. Card tricks complete we moved onto the sawing of off limbs routine. Volunteer number 1 proved to be a bit of handful, husband going for his leg and the sprightly man pulled away saying,
“You don’t need a saw for that one lad, it screws off”
As he lay back against the table, screwed off his prosthetic limb and waved it in the air. The Bad mood Beverleys muttering about the one legged comedian always showing off with his bloody leg.
Volunteer number two couldn’t get her leg up on the Black and Decker Work Mate, so my husband abandoned the comedy saw routine and moved on to the finale. Dave the Dove was in position A under my hat, and after a few alacazams from The Great Bonzonov his whereabouts were revealed. Drawing gasps from the Sour faced sisters at the front,
“Enid………………… that’s Enid that is!”

It became apparent that old friend Enid had died recently and on her descent into the earth a white Dove had landed on Enid’s tombstone and remained for several minutes, the spirit of Enid lived on through this Dove or so the three witches told everyone Dave the Dove who had just been removed from my head and placed on the Great Arse-enov’s arm was proclaimed by the 3 soothsayers to be the spirit of Enid.
Husband was visibly affected by the tortured trio, to him it was Dave the Dove and if the act went wrong bring on Dave II, but now it was personal.
The finale music began,
“Spirit move me, high up on a hillside, whirling like a Cyclone in my mind”
Crikey! Barry Manilow, Could it be Magic, the disco version, this brings back some memories; abandoning my series of magical-assistant poses for some freestyle salsa to distract the crowd from Enid’s possible demise. Hips swaying and arms rocking the eyes that were open were on me; even drawing a “Go Girlfriend” from Brandi perched on the lap of a dozing veteran. Husband was also agog, and I gave him the eyes to keep his mind on the task in hand.
Dave was now in the box with his head protruding from the hole, I upped the ante and threw some Rumba shapes. The Bad Mood Beverleys distressed at Enid’s parlous position clung to each other for comfort. The Cheese wire came down; I completed a few quick Chasses and the Witches screamed!
Enid/Dave was slumped in his box head down, a pool of blood was forming on the magical tablecloth and The Great Bonzonov looked aghast.
“He’s done for Enid……………. that bloody pillock has finished off all we had left of Enid”
Much intense wailing followed for thirty seconds before my husband, obviously distressed held up his thumb,
“I’ve cut me bloody thumb, Eni.. I mean the Dove is not dead!”
Prodding the avian entertainer with his wand.
“See, See………. he’s asleep”
Dave, who obviously had a feel for comedy, opened an eye
“I gave him a pill from a tray at reception, the security man said they were general issue and kept most situations under control around here, I thought it would make him behave while he was under that hat, he’s alright, and he’s not Enid”
The tremulous trio, composure regained, shuffled out of the room, muttering
“That were never Enid, you could never wake her up in the afternoon when she’d had one of her pills”