Wizard of Washington Square Read Free Page B

said the Wizard. “Wizards prefer high towers with vast views. Now, my tutor, the great Greywether, had an imposing tower on the Welsh Pembroke coast. His weather spells were world-famous. But wizardry fell on bad times for a while in the British Isles. He was forced to rent his tower to the Crown for a lighthouse. Since the war, though, he’s made a comeback. He even has the support of a local coven.”
    “Coven?” the children asked together.
    “Witches.”
    “Oh,” said David, nudging Leilah. But Leilah seemed to believe it all. And it did seem a bit odd, the table and tapestry and all. Perhaps, David thought, it would be a good idea to find out more about this wizardry business before dismissing it. Just in case.
    “What do wizards do?” asked David. “I mean, besides taking handkerchiefs out of the air?”
    “I’m supposed to help people with their problems. You know—find lost sheep, make love potions, break spells. That sort of thing. But in America, no one wants to consult a wizard. They write to the papers instead. I was put in the small towns first but people just thought I was a beatnik. Then I tried San Francisco. Chicago. Detroit. I was put in jail while passing through Georgia. Now I’m in New York, the biggest, most crowded city in America. And it’s my last chance. If I can’t help someone soon and prove my worth as a wizard, I’m liable to be demoted to an elf. Or a troll. Or simply dematerialized.” He put his head on the table and started crying again. The two ends of his beard were soon dripping tears onto the floor.
    Leilah turned to David urgently. “We can’t let him go on like this,” she said. “What can we do?”
    “I’m not a wizard. How should I know?” said David. But Leilah looked at him so sharply that he added, “Help him help someone.”
    “You’re right,” said Leilah. “Isn’t he?” she asked the Wizard.
    “Yes,” the Wizard answered in a voice that was more of a sigh than anything else. Then he snuffled and wiped his eyes with his long white beard. The beard sparkled with stars for an instant and then was dry.
    “You should use your handkerchief,” scolded Leilah.
    “I don’t have one,” complained the Wizard.
    “You took one from the air last time,” David said.
    “So I did,” said the Wizard. “So I did. I forgot.”
    “Then the problem is,” said Leilah, “to help him to help someone so that he can be sent back to the Old Country.”
    “Or fix his memory,” added David.
    “Or both,” said the Wizard quietly.
    “Whichever is easier,” said Leilah.
    “I would imagine,” David said, “since his memory seems to be full of more holes than a butterfly net, and since I can’t think of anyone who needs help, that we should just concentrate on getting him back to the Old Country. Buy him a ticket, I suppose.”
    “No money,” said Leilah.
    “If he were a good wizard, he could make his own money,” said David. “And then give it to the poor. That way he’d be helping people and also financing his trip home.”
    The Wizard looked up from the table. He shook his head and the last of the tears twinkled off his beard. “I can’t just go back to the Old Country. I have to be recalled. For helping someone. And that someone has to need me. I can’t just give away my magic, or money made by magic. It’s part of being a wizard. It’s called the Rule of Need. And as for my memory, it’s no use. I’ve forgotten so much, I forget how much I’ve forgotten.”
    “Well, since you’re here in America, they can’t object to things being done the American way, can they?” asked Leilah.
    “What do you mean?” asked the Wizard.
    “Well, it’s a kind of custom, at least in the Village, when there is a need, to have people sign a petition. So, we could get up a petition saying we need the Wizard to go home.”
    “A petition?” said David. “You mean with names?”
    “I’ve never heard of one without names,” Leilah said.
    “But who on