Gambolini

The boys raced through the alley hollering like crazed hyenas after a small rabbit. Marcus Gabolini---The Great Gambolini---wasn’t so great and certainly wasn’t a rabbit though he was their prey. Every day after school, the bigger boys tormented the smaller one. They took his books and flung them into puddles, they took his glasses and stomped them, they even took his shoes once.

Marcus’s father was perpetually angry with his son. “Stand up for yourself!” he’d shout. “Put up yer fists for a change!” And just the night before he’d said, “I swear to God, if you lose one more pair of glasses…they don’t grow on trees y’know.”

His mother kept quiet…but the look on her face as she shook her head slowly was somehow worse. Pity, embarrassment, disdain.

This afternoon after school, Marcus’s friend, Paul, had been telling him about the basketball hoop his father had put up in his driveway. “And I got a brand-new ball too! You wanna come over and play?” Paul was six-inches shorter than Marcus, and scrawny with buck teeth, rust-colored hair, and a parade of freckles over his cheeks and nose.

Marcus said, “How about tomorrow?” Saturday. “I’ll show you the magic kit my Nana gave me too, it’s really cool, I’ve got a wand and ev---” His eyes got wide and he shouted, “Go Paully!”

Paul didn’t hesitate; he took off like a red streak down the road. Being so little, he was very fast. Marcus felt he was in slow motion in comparison, and indeed, the biggest of the three bullies ran up alongside him and shoved. Marcus went down; his glasses went flying, skittering and tumbling on the pavement like a slot car off its track. ‘…lose one more pair of glasses…’ He cried out, not at Whalen, but at the voice in his head. Whalen went for the glasses while the other two boys, Jeffrey and Ezra, howled their hyena laughter. As Whalen reached for the glasses, Marcus stuck out his foot. Not expecting any fight in the smaller boy, Whalen went down shrieking, “Hey!”

The laughter stopped. Marcus rolled to his side and snatched up the glasses. Whalen got to his feet wincing, his forehead was bleeding. Marcus didn’t hesitate; he jumped to his feet and took off running like the rabbit he felt like.

On the other side of the alley, he turned left and raced down the street through the suburbs. The boys were hot on his trail. He heard their pounding big boy feet and carnivorous breath. Past the last house on the street, he ducked under a fence in the yard and rolled to a stop underneath an old Ford pickup truck sitting low in the weeds on four flat tires. He heard the ragged breathing of the hyenas, and their laughter. “Over there…he went that way!” Ezra.

Marcus rolled out the other side of the truck and dove into a brambling mountain of kudzu vines and feathery soft stinging nettles. He’d worry about the pricks that felt like bee stings later. He came out the other side, raced down a dirt road, climbed over a small old wooden gate, and tumbled into a sprawling garden.

No pounding feet behind him---ragged breath, but no laughter or shouts.

He peeked out from under the broad leaves of some sort of plant…pumpkin…there was an enormous orange globe beside him. The boys had stopped at the little rickety gate. Their eyes were wide, their mouths agape. As one they began to back away. One step, two…after their third step, they turned and ran back the way they’d come. ‘Huh. Strange.’

He looked around at the garden. It was lush and green and…and…the only word that came to him was, magical. There were beans as long as his hand, the color of emeralds, carrots poked from the earth, the orangest orange. Fat ears of corn hung in leafy stalks in rows. He looked around in awe: radishes, turnips, broccoli, cabbage, lettuce, and colorful vegetables he’d never even heard of before. In the center was an apple tree, the apples, brilliant ruby red. He realized he could smell them. Beyond the apple tree, further down the path, was a small white cottage. A curtain in the window next to the door gently flapped shut and he realized he’d been spied upon. The stings on his arms prickled horribly, bringing him back from his reverie with a start as he realized with mounting horror where he was.

Old lady Ella Cobretta’s place. The kids all called her The Cobra. She was a witch.

All sorts of crazy stories were told and retold about The Cobra. Marcus recalled the one about the eighth grader who’d had a sleepover with some friends. Naturally, they played truth or dare as all 14-year-old girls did on such occasions. Simone had been dared to pick an apple from The Cobra’s tree. Her three friends had stood outside the gate. A couple of her friends begged her to come back…not to do it.

Simone had looked over at them and smiled, her hand on an apple. When she looked back at the apple, she found a black snake hanging from the branch just over her head. It had grinned at her, revealing a wide mouth full of long white needle-like teeth. Simone had screamed and ran back to her friends. The four of them ran back to Simone’s house and dove into their sleeping bags after making sure the window was tightly closed and locked. She’d told them what she’d seen and complained of a terrible headache. The next morning when she awoke, she was blind.

“Eek!” exclaimed Marcus when he realized his hand was resting upon a cucumber. He didn’t recall reaching out for it and pulled his hand back as if the fat green vegetable was that toothy black snake of schoolyard lore. Something rustled in the leafy vines behind him. “Eeeee!” He ran.

On Saturday, Marcus and Paul played one-on-one in Paul’s driveway until lunchtime. After lunch they went over to Marcus’s house.

“Woah! That is so cool,” Paul said, picking up the ‘magic’ wand reverently. “Can you do tricks with it yet?”

“Well…sort of. I’ve mastered pick-a-card and the joining rings…”

“That’s boring.”

“I know, I know. I’m still trying the other tricks.”

“Hm. So it’s not real magic…just tricks…illusions.”

“Well, yeah. But if I keep practicing, the illusions look like real magic.”

“Like that Copperfield guy.”

Marcus snapped his fingers, “Yes! David Copperfield. My Dad saw him in the seventies. That’s why he got me this kit.”

Paul nodded. “Hey, can I be like, your assistant or something?”

“Hahaha! Only if you wear a sequined dress.”

Paul punched his friend’s arm.

Six months later, three weeks before school let out for the summer, the principle announced over the loudspeaker that sign-ups for the annual talent show would start that day, ”…speak to your teacher if you’d like to enter. This year will be super-duper far out!”

The kids in Marcus’s class rolled their eyes and giggled, some guffawed out loud. At the back of the classroom, Ezra said loudly to Whalen, “What a dork!”

Mr. Sampson said, “Ezra. How about it? First to sign up? I’m sure you’ve got some sort of talent besides class clown.”

The students laughed at this. Ezra flapped a hand in a ‘whatever’ motion.

Whalen said, “I’ll bet The Great Gambolini will do something a-MAY-zing with that toy wand of his.”

Marcus blushed. Whalen had taken to poking fun at him ever since Marcus had begun practicing his card tricks in the cafeteria during lunch hour.

The bell rang and the kids popped up like a herd of whack-a-moles, many were excitedly talking about singing or dancing or playing some sort of musical instrument.

As Paul and Marcus headed down the hall with their backpacks, Paul said, “You’ve got some good tricks now. You’re signing up right?”

“Awww, I dunno.” He really wanted to but his life as a nerd was hard enough. What if he failed at bending the spoon or the disappearing coin falls to the ground? He’d be a laughingstock…again.

Outside the school, they made it to the street when Whalen popped out from behind the maple tree by the curb. “Hiya loosers!”

“Aaaagh!” both smaller boys said in unison.

Whalen laughed and grabbed at Marcus’s backpack strap. “Whatchoo got in here Gambolini? The Great. Maaagic stuff?”

“Paully run!” Marcus cried as he wrenched his pack away. Paul stood his ground until Ezra and Jeffrey showed up. It was always just so unfair. Jeffrey shoved Paul aside. He stumbled then took off running.

Whalen had the backpack in his hands again, rifling through it, tossing books on the ground. He took the cards and tossed them to Ezra. He snapped the wand in half and dropped it onto the pile of colored silk scarves and fake feather flowers. “C’mon guys, lets go play some cards.” They turned to leave.

Marcus silently packed the books back into the pack. The colorful pile poufed up when he kicked it. He left the stuff there but on a whim picked up a fist-sized rock and hurled it at Whalen’s back.

‘Whack!’

Marcus was never good at any sports at school. He especially sucked at baseball. Instead of hitting Whalen’s back, the rock got him right in the back of his head. Whalen went down to one knee. He shook his head, dazed. Before he could stand, Marcus hooked the backpack over his arm and took off running.

“No no no no…” ‘I am so dead meat’, he thought, running like his heels were on fire. Trees and cars and signposts blurred into a miasma of colors on each side of his head like a smeared Jackson Pollock painting. He dodged left and right like a pinball down an alley crammed with bins and cans. The thumping footsteps behind him echoed off the brick walls. He had no destination, just blind panic. ‘Bad…this is bad…’

Outside the alley he raced through an intersection.

“WHOOOOONK!” A bus! He felt the whoosh of warm air against his back as it screeched to a stop. Instead of heading straight back into town, he veered left down the next alley.

The three boys cursed at the bus and again when it passed and they saw their prey had taken on a strong lead.

Marcus found himself on a dirt road and realization of where he was dawned on him. Just ahead another block was The Cobra’s house. They would not follow him there. But did he dare? Did he have a choice? At the gate he glanced back. The three boys were close behind him. He ambled over the gate and dove in between the rows of corn. His pursuers halted at the gate; clouds of dust billowed around their sneakers.

“I see you Gambolini!” Whalen breathed in some of the dust and started coughing. Tears streamed down his beet red face. His buddies looked alarmed and then started backing away. Whalen shouted again, pointing, “Cobra’s gonna git you sucker! She’s comin for ya!”

Marcus spared a quick peek at the cottage behind him. The curtain in the window flapped shut. He shuddered and then watched the three boys until they were out of sight. He didn’t dare come out of the garden yet though. He was scared of the old witch, but she was a myth, and Whalen was fact. After twenty minutes, he studied the cottage. The white curtain wafted again, and he realized it was just a breeze and the window was open. He relaxed a little bit. He looked around at the lush and colorful crop. It was even more lovely than before, for now it was late spring, and flowers bloomed in abundance like a fairy princess’s enchanted garden. The warm breeze transported a heavenly sweet perfume with it.

He headed home at last, taking the long way around and through the town, knowing he’d be in trouble for being late but not caring. He was alive, he was not cursed---as far as he knew---and he had his eyeglasses.

“It’s after five young man.” His father sat in his armchair in front of the tv, the remote in one hand, a Molsen’s Light in the other. He studied Marcus up and down, surveying for signs of conflict. “Well, I’m glad you’re okay and safe at home.”

Marcus was shocked by his words. “Uh yeah Dad.”

“You practicing your magic tricks for the big show?”

“Uh, yeah.”

“Okay then, looking forward to it.”

Marcus was cool as a watermelon on the outside but inside he was cringing like the crusty old raisin at the bottom of the grape bag. He went to his room. At his desk, he put his hand in his head and moaned, “Oh what am I gonna do?” Maybe he could salvage something from his magic kit. He opened his backpack…

…and a small rabbit hopped out onto his bed.

“What the…? Hi little guy, where’d you---oh---the garden.”

The soft brown bunny stood on its hind legs and sniffed the air, its white whiskers quivering curiously. It was smiling.

“You sure are a cute little thing. Every great magician needs a…” Sparks lit up in Marcus’s widened eyes. He got up and left his room. A couple of minutes later he was back with a top hat. “This is my dad’s so don’t poop in it, okay?” The rabbit bobbed up and down as if nodding.

Marcus began pacing the floor, waggling his hands excitedly. “A new wand will be easy. We’ve got plenty of playing cards. That other foofy stuff was just junk. I’ve got the instruction booklet…The Great Gambolini is back!”

On the eve of the talent show, Marcus stood in his room practicing his finale. He’d named the bunny Freddy Furball. “Okay Freddy, into the hat.”

Freddy hopped into it. Marcus waved the cape his mother had made for him over the hat then picked it up and turned it upside down, showing an empty hat to the audience of Curious George, GI Joe, and Buzz Lightyear. He then put it on his head, waved his wand---a large chopstick he’d painted black---around his head. He waved his caped arm with a flourish over his head and took the hat off. On his desk, Freddy hopped out and stood facing the audience.

“I don’t know how you do that, but I am stoked that you do!”

Over the last three weeks, he’d had plenty of conversations with the rabbit and Freddy performed the disappearing act flawlessly, happy to please. He had eventually deduced that the witch’s magic had rubbed off on the rabbit because it had lived in the enchanted garden, eating enchanted vegetables.

“I’ll be respected. I will wow the audience with real magic. I, The Great Gambolini, won’t be a nerd anymore.” He glowed with daydream clouds in his eyes.

He peeked from behind the heavy deep red curtain. It was a full house. He’d asked permission to go on last, promising the principle a grand finale like no other and was granted that request. He saw his folks in the middle row, his dad gave him a double thumbs up. Marcus beamed. He was nervous but had faith in his magic rabbit.

Every trick was perfectly executed: The joining rings, the disappearing coin, the rising queen and other card tricks. His confidence was strengthening but he detected a yawn or two in the audience. It was time for the grand finale, the real magic.

He performed flawlessly and with a flourish that amused the audience; their faces were curious again as he placed the hat down on the little table. Freddy hopped out of the hat and the entire room went “AAAAHHHH!” They began clapping. Some stood up.

But apparently, the show was not over…

Freddy hopped from the table and stood again. He grew to two feet, then four. The audience was confused now and silent, with huge eyes. Freddy grew another two feet and towered over Marcus, who stood frozen and staring. The rabbit’s eyes glowed red and he grinned, revealing a mouthful of long white wolf’s teeth. He roared like a lion and flames sprouted from his fingertips. He raised his scruffy arms and the flames shot out from his fingers as if from some sort of war machines.

The curtains caught immediately. Black smoke swirled down from the scaffolding and appeared to be leviathan snakes writhing to the ground. A dozen or more rose up like cobras, the crazed rabbit was conducting a symphony from hell…and laughing like Satan himself.

The snakes’ eyes glowed brilliant green, they hissed like the demons they were and wove through the now empty seats and over the bloody bodies that had been trampled. Sprinklers came on and torrents rained down upon the scene that was truly Hell.

Marcus sat on the stage, numb, as the snakes dissipated into mere smoke again. Freddy the small cute brown rabbit hopped to his side and then hopped into his lap looking very pleased with himself.