Sorcery

His arms wave wildly in the late afternoon sunlight. I can’t hear what he’s saying from where I stand, half-hidden by the heavy curtain in this second-story window. I can’t hear him this time, but then, there really is no need. I’ve heard him many times before.

Birds swoop down upon those few insects foolhardy enough to venture out into the expanding pools of shadow that surround my sanctuary. I imagine those birds chirping in the trees, chattering excitedly to their neighbors about today’s catch, completely oblivious to the small crowd gathering below them.

A fat bumblebee floats lazily past my window, lured to this height by the flowering vine that has climbed its way artfully up the red brick face of the building. It visits a few of the brightly colored blossoms, never staying long. After a moment or two, it drifts back down toward the tiny garden beneath my window. I watch as long as I can, but it is quickly lost from my sight.

The bee now gone, my attention returns to the crowd and the spectacle they have gathered to observe. He faces a fountain that murmurs softly as a thousand minute waterfalls cascade downward from its many tiers. It is around this fountain that his crowd stands, a number of its members stepping up onto the wall around the fountain in order to better see him over the heads of their comrades. They listen raptly for a while, occasionally asking questions that inevitably cause another bout of wild arm waving and red-faced arguing. Still they watch and listen.

A runaway frisbee breaks the spell, and the crowd disperses as the frisbee is recaptured with a chorus of triumphant shouts from a laughing band of youths. The group moves on, content to continue the game, ignorant of the scene upon which it has just intruded.

The crowd has mostly gone now. Only a trio of young scholars remains, seated on the edge of the fountain, dangling fingers and feet in its cool waters. He lectures on, only slightly deterred by the apathy of his audience. My mind wanders as he continues to talk. I imagine the frisbee game winding its way across the lawn on the other side of the building, the group moving into and out of other scenes like it had passed through this one, altering them but failing to notice.

Suddenly, one of the three is standing, moving closer to him. Something has captured this young scholar’s interest. The scholar listens raptly to his sermon as the others look on, laughing. Neither he nor the scholar pays them any attention. The two stand there, one speaking, one listening, neither moving. His arms have ceased their frantic waving and are now held closer to his chest, only his hands participating now in the gesturing, his face no longer red. I try to imagine what he might be saying, but I can’t. This is new.

A young woman enters the courtyard, apparently planning to walk around behind him, but like mine, his attention is caught. His arm shoots out to point at her accusingly. It is as if he has bewitched her with this single, simple motion. She stops, then is drawn closer by something he says. She is within an arm’s length of him now, closer even than the scholar is.

No sooner has he started speaking again, still with the subdued gestures, than a second woman enters the scene from the other direction. He repeats that simple motion, and she too is instantly ensnared. She moves even closer than either of the other two and takes his hand in hers by way of introduction.

I watch the group below me, transfixed by the strangeness of it. Perhaps I am ensnared as well. A lifetime could have passed, or only a few moments, as I watch them, no longer sure who is speaking and who is listening. It now seems unimportant.

Though nothing seems to have changed, the meeting is suddenly over. He picks up his bag, several books, a shabby trumpet case, and his jacket. He nods to the scholar, to the two women, and begins walking across the courtyard. He passes the fountain and the tiny garden, and just before he passes out of sight around the corner of the building, I notice that the women are walking along to either side of him.

As I glance down one last time from my perch, the scholar looks up, and his eyes meet mine. Does he know?