It was an odd scene for sure. There were five of us seated at one of those street-side picnic tables in NYC. The ones put up due to the Covid pandemic. In front of me was my friend Chris, to his left was the Russian Woman from Belarus. Left of her was Aleksandr, a Russian immigrant. And to my right was Mohammed, he was Islamic and from Saudi Arabia as I recall.
We sat around talking for a long time. We were all drinking draft brews, but the conversation was drunker. Aleksandr was rolling a joint. Some people were smoking other types of cigarettes.
At one point, I was writing something in my notebook. The Russian Woman from Belarus asked if she could see it. I passed it over and she complimented my handwriting. Aleksandr also wanted to take a look. He wrote down something in Russian. He said,”if you show this to a Russian woman she will sleep with you.”
I thought to myself “it’s either true, or I’ll just get slapped.”
Then I turned to the Russian Woman from Belarus. I said, “you’re Russian, you read it. Translate it for me.”
Aleksandr told her not to, said I had to try it on someone else. But she did read it and smiled. I had no way of knowing what the smile meant. She also wrote a few notes of her own, also in Russian.
Conversation found its way from foreign policy to real-estate and everything in between. At some point someone asked me to do a trick.
I pulled out my coins. Walking liberty half-dollars given to me by a really good friend of mine Joao. I thought about what trick might be the best to do in the specific situation I was in. I ended up performing a trick of mine called “The Immigrant from ICE.” It’s a story with a twist, based on a real man, and something that really happened. The script ends on a question, one about immigrants and their place in society. After I finished performing, the whole table shot into conversation fueled by the magic trick. They were trying to answer the question I asked.
Aleksandr was still rolling his joint. All the conversation was on refugees, immigrants, and immigration policies.
I thought it was a good trick to do because everyone at the table other than Chris and myself were immigrants. I learned more from myself and the reaction to the trick in that moment than in years of studying magic. I felt like my scripting was onto something. Each script of mine just needed the right place, the right time.
In years of doing close up magic, this was the best I’d ever done. There was no showoff quality. No one had any clue how I did the trick. But the focus was on what the trick meant. I was no longer a typical-magician saying “look at me, I know something you don’t.” I was a magician using my knowledge to raise questions, to fuel conversations, and to get my own point of view across. I was using it like an artform.
Aleksandr finished rolling his joint. I’d never seen anyone take longer to roll. Not everyone smoked it, but it went around. They all complimented me on being an artist and for doing something they did not expect at all. They said they never thought magic could be used in the way I used it.
It felt rare. There were five of us seated street-side in NYC. All from different backgrounds, with different stories, and different beliefs. All engaging in serious conversations about serious topics. Not everyone agreed, but everyone got along and had a great time. Everyone laughed. And I, the magician, not only left the mystery of “The Immigrant from ICE,” but left with my own little mystery I’ve still yet to solve. What the hell did Aleksandr write in my notebook and will it actually get a Russian woman in bed!?
As an immigrant I liked that. I read your post s in between my three jobs , that I have taken from you yanks.