The Man Who Built His House Upon a Rock CH 5 pt1

Ch. 5

The Man Who Built His House Upon A Rock

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James Hoffmann was beside himself with frustration. The large purple and gold envelope had arrived for his son Willard the previous day and he still did not know what it contained. His son had merely snatched it away and run for the privacy of his room. Mr. Hoffmann was the type of man who could account for the miles on his car, stamps in his drawer and pennies in the cushions. For anything of importance to escape his attention was simply unimaginable. That letter was obviously from the Magic Castle; Willard had spoken of little else for the last week.

“The boy may be 18”, he growled, “but he is not going to throw his life away on this foolishness. I will see to that!”

His wife Agnes, an emotionally brittle woman, was also deeply affected but in a far different way. She had never forgotten that Willard once desired to run away and become a magician’s apprentice. Now that he was an adult she feared he might follow that dream and leave her here, forever.

“Willard!” bellowed his father, “I want to have a word with you! Are you listening to me? Willard!!”

But for all his humphing and galumphing, James knew his words were empty. He no longer had the right to order his son’s obedience. He had long ago surrendered any right of appealing to the boy’s love. In realizing his own impotence, James Hoffmann fell silent.

Darkness lived in the small upstairs bedroom at the back of the Hoffmann home. It so filled the room that some leaked out under the door and rolled like a noisome fog down the hall; forming a black waterfall washing down the stairs. Inside, the ether suffocated any sense of day which might intrude past the deep curtains. It was a patch of Midnight which could not be chased away by dawn’s jubilant beams. Nachton liked it that way. He felt more comfortable in the dark as it complimented his lack of joy over the past years. Below his feet echoed the last faint reverberations of his father’s ranting. Nachton smiled in pleasure at the man’s anger.

For 18 years Willard had cowered and scraped. He had obeyed every whim of his domineering father save one: he’d never forsaken the love of magic. Never again would he have to bow before that scowling face or listen to his mother absently parrot James’ cruel words. She may have given up her will, her freedom, her ability to think for herself, but he would not. No, not now that he held a new life in his hands. Once he was gone they would feel the keen sting of indifference. They would finally understand how alone he felt. Now he had his chance. Now was the time for his revenge.

The few possessions he valued were already packed into his small suitcase.  Nachton looked down at the open parchment in his hand. In bold green ink was written:

Dear Mr. Hoffmann,

The Magic Castle thanks you for your audition of Saturday last. We find great pleasure in discovering new magicians and fostering their efforts at improvement. After due consideration however, and in light of the limited number of appointments available, we cannot accept you into the Junior Society at this time.

We heartily encourage you to work on your stage presence. Your illusionary skills are well up to scratch.

Please reapply soon.

Sincerely

The Magic Castle

The polite rejection had come as a shock when he first opened the letter. Certainly his technical skills were enough to earn him a place in the MCJS. Not that it really mattered now. For tucked into the envelope, as if an afterthought, was a neatly penned note:

Nachton,

It was with great regret that I found you were not to be inducted into the Junior Society on the strength of your thoroughly enjoyable audition. Rest assured that I argued long and hard on your behalf but, alas, was overruled.

There is still a possibility though. The Castle’s by-laws recognize the unique place enjoyed by young magicians who have been apprenticed to members in good standing. I would gladly offer you this honor that you may partake in every resource available to improve your craft.

Further, I would like you to consider a proposal.

I am getting old. In a very few years I must end my career and disappear into a well-earned retirement. Yet what Master seeks to take his secrets to the grave? It is incumbent upon the learned to pass on their knowledge for the betterment of all. Therefore, join me and I shall formalize you as my apprentice. We shall travel the world together, amusing and amazing millions. I shall teach you all that I know and you shall be my legacy.

If this arrangement is pleasing to you, a return letter addressed to Antonio Leonardo DePraeco at the Magic Castle will find your humble Master.

Yours truly,

Leonardo

This was too good to be true. Here in this hastily scribbled note was the answer to every prayer and dream he had ever had. He was going to become a real magician. Master DePraeco was world renowned, revered by the greatest performers. And he, Nachton the Young, Nachton the Simple, Nachton the Nobody was going to learn at the feet of DePraeco. For the first time he could say, “Life is good.”