The Limits Of Magic

The Limits Of Magic; If It Could Always Be Like This

“I’ve been studying magic,” Jack told me enthusiastically. We were at a coffeehouse where we sometimes hang out.

“Excellent,” I said. “Life has cruel realities. We need all the magic we can get.”

“It can enable us to be rational. It can help us imagine. We can use it to be high-spirited. But that’s all it’s good for, in terms of our human capabilities. There aren’t any reliable formulas to send luck our way. Nor can magic help us win other people’s love and affection, although I wish it could. And it can’t keep avalanches from burying us or comets from hitting us.”

“It’s too bad magic is so limited.”

“That’s in our best interests. We have to make the best efforts we can, rather than rely on something which would allow us to be lazy.”

“If you say so. But it would be nice if the universe were to watch over us protectively. Is there a mother ship in the sky? Is there some way to make requests to it?”

“People pray.”

“Is there a magical way to pray?”

He looked thoughtful. “I’ll tell you my speculations, Paul. There is, in fact, a spaceship, and the beings on it have what we would consider magic available to them. Perhaps they can send us to alternate universes. Let’s hope if they can do that they can bring us back. They can communicate with us telepathically, albeit on a rudimentary level because of our feeble human brains. They might decide to use their technology on our behalf.”

“How would we know if they did that?”

He didn’t reply immediately. “If you hear an owl screeching in your mind, it might be them telling you they’re using their magic on you.” He smiled mischievously. “Don’t sue me if you go crazy after learning this.”

“I won’t. But please tell me: did you use magic when you beat me in the chess tournament?”

“I beat you because you didn’t play well enough. No magic was necessary.”

I chuckled. “Thanks for your honesty.”

It was getting time for supper. We parted company. While I was driving home I thought about some of the things he’d said. I’d heard owls in real life, of course, but I hadn’t heard them screeching. I made an attempt to imagine that sound, but was unsuccessful. Should I pray to be able to imagine that screech? Would imagining that screech bring me the related magic? Suddenly I saw an image in my mind of an owl’s large eyes, fierce and penetrating and also, oddly, compassionate. Then I heard in my mind what might have been a faint, far-off screeching. Or instead it might have been a fluttering of wings. How strange.

I decided to focus on my driving. I didn’t want to have an accident. When I got home Dad was there. He greeted me. Then he said, “You have your taekwondo class in a little while. Are you looking forward to it?”

“Yes, as always.”

“Will there be contact sparring tonight?”

“Yes.”

He started to raise his hands as if praying, then clasped them together and looked at me with a mixture of pride and concern. Presumably, most fathers have looked at their sons in that manner at one point or another. “If you don’t mind my advice, Paul, try to protect your head.”

“I’ll do that, Dad.”

“Tony has told me how quick and agile you are. But your mother and I worry about you.”

“I’ll be fine. Unless someone new shows up, I’ll just be sparring with Carl and Julie. I can handle Carl’s moves.”

He made an attempt at smiling. “If you come home unharmed, I’ll let you have the Mercedes for Saturday night. Well, you can have it anyway.”

“Thank you, sir.”

Any cares I had fell away when I walked into Tony’s dojo. I’d been in the class 10 months now, and it was a second home. I changed into my dobok and then went into the large room lined with mirrors. Others were already there, including Julie. She came over. “Paul,” she said.

“Hello, Julie.”

“I’ve been thinking about you.”

“I hope you haven’t decided to cancel our date on Saturday.”

“Of course not, silly.”

“I’m so glad.”

Tony came into the room. “Line up,” he called. We lined up. I was next to Tony’s wife, Roberta, who had a black belt. Carl had a green belt with a blue stripe, the same as me, and he was on my left. Julie with her green belt was next to him. A yellow belt and several white belts were in the back row.

Tony led us through the punching in. Then, “Right foot back,” he called. We did 10 leg lifts. “Left foot back,” he called. We did 10 more. Then we commenced on the kicks. It was exhilarating. To leap up, twisting your body and kicking with speed, accuracy, and power at an imaginary opponent—it’s a game which is reality itself, enhanced far beyond the daily routines which so often are unexciting. At the same time I was keeping track of how high I could kick. How did that compare with my performance in last week’s training? I thought I was making progress. I can’t kick straight up over my head yet, but there’s hope.

I was panting when Tony switched from doing the kicks to rehearsing the forms. So was Roberta. Carl was too, although he was trying to disguise it. I like him, but his personality might be a bit off. There’s something missing which should be there.

Tony led the class through the basic form, calling out each turn, blocking maneuver, and punch. That was for the white belts who hadn’t mastered it yet. Then Roberta took the white belts and the yellow belt, and Tony worked with the three of us higher belts on the intermediate and advanced forms. He had us do several more rounds of kicking as well. Then he said, “It’s time for the sparring.” I was confident, and yet I felt adrenaline coursing through my nerves.

Carl and I had a conversation in the men’s room while we were putting on our gear. “I like sparring,” he said. “I rehearse it a lot. I’ll be the best in the state.”

“You have some cool moves.”

“My mind controls my actions, and then it doesn’t. When it’s no longer in charge, I get flawed. It feels good to be a berserker, though.”

I was glad Dad wasn’t here to hear Carl say that. I said, “There are many variables in sparring. We need our minds.”

He tied my chest protector for me. I did the same for him. I put on my helmet. We went into the class area. Roberta and Julie were still in the women’s room. I was so excited I couldn’t stand still, and I hopped and danced around until the two women showed up. Carl didn’t react. He’s used to that from me.

Tony said, “Roberta and Julie, would you like to start?”

The two women faced each other, touched knuckles, and shook hands. “Fighting stance,” Tony called. They assumed the position. “Begin.”

Roberta was perhaps 20 years older than Julie, but she had vastly more training. She stalked Julie and made a quick feint with her feet as if she were starting to attack. Julie shifted her position quickly, facing Roberta more directly. It looked as if Julie was going to try a front kick, but that left her vulnerable. Roberta leaped forward, executing a jump kick. Julie backed away, but Roberta’s foot caught her in the center of her chest protector. The contact was diminished because Julie was moving away from it, yet still it would have been a point for Roberta if judges were keeping score. Then there was a split second where Julie could have counterattacked. She didn’t, though.

30 seconds can seem almost like an eternity. That’s how long each sparring bout lasts before Tony calls time. By then the score was approximately four to one in Roberta’s favor. Julie had tried, though. I felt proud of her. I walked up to her and gripped her hand.

Tony said, “Carl, do you want to spar with me?”

“Yes,” Carl said.

Tony put on a chest protector and a helmet. He’s displayed confidence about his reflexes, including responding defensively to moves, and he didn’t put on arm or leg pads. Roberta tied his chest protector. She kept time for them. “Begin,” she said. Tony let Carl approach him. Then they made simultaneous moves. Carl tried a roundhouse kick, and Tony lifted his front leg, bent sideways, and kicked at Carl. Carl’s kick missed. Tony’s connected. It was a powerful kick, and despite the chest protector Carl looked momentarily stunned. Tony waited a few seconds. Then they were at each other again. There was no punching, so I didn’t worry about the safety of either of them. A kick with a bare foot against a padded area can hurt, of course, but there aren’t likely to be any long-term consequences. Strangely, nevertheless, I said a silent prayer for the two of them as they battled.

“Time,” Roberta said.

Tony took a few seconds to regain his breath. “Julie,” he asked, “would you like to spar with Paul?”

“Yes,” she said.

She smiled at me as we shook hands prior to the sparring.

You could say I fought defensively. When Tony called time, the unofficial score was one to nothing, her favor. I’d slipped once while I was moving backward, and her foot had made contact with my chest.

Tony said, “Paul, take a minute to rest. Then you and Carl can spar.”

I walked around. I saw in one of the mirrors that Julie was looking at me protectively. I returned to where Tony and Carl were waiting. Carl and I shook hands. “Begin,” Tony said.

I jumped backwards. He advanced toward me. I pretended I was going to jump backwards again. Then I brought my knee up quickly, snapped a kick upward, and made contact with his helmet. I saw rage on his face. I knew he was going to try to reciprocate by kicking me in the head, and I brought my hands up protectively. He tried, and he was quick, but he had problems kicking that high. He fell down. I backed up. He got to his feet and came toward me. The same thing happened. He aimed a kick at my head and fell again. He got up and we circled each other. He tried for a third kick and it almost touched my helmet. I landed a kick on his chest. He was off balance and he fell.

“Time,” Tony said, although our match hadn’t lasted the full 30 seconds. “That’s enough sparring for tonight.”

Afterwards, in the locker room, I said to Carl. “Your third kick came pretty close,” I said. “Your accuracy was improving.”

He made eye contact. “I’m glad Tony ended the sparring. Neither of us got hurt.”

“What’s important now is that we both learned from it.”

He looked down at the clothes he was changing into. “Yes, we did.” He put on his shirt. “You and Julie are friends. That’s another reason I’m glad you survived me.”

“Do you have a girlfriend? Maybe the four of us could go out sometime.”

“I’ve got several prospects. Actually, I don’t. They don’t like me well enough to go out with me.”

“I could ask Julie if she has a friend.”

I saw gratitude in his eyes.

A few minutes later I walked with Julie to her car. She was bubbling with enthusiasm. “I’ve been learning the forms, Paul. I think I’ll test for my blue stripe.”

“Excellent.” I wanted to say more which could fit in with her mood. “The kicking in taekwondo can be like dancing. And maybe the dancing we’ll do Saturday night will be like the best part of taekwondo.”

She smiled at me before she drove away.

At home Dad scanned my face and appeared relieved. “Hungry, Paul?” he asked.

The four of us sat down to dinner together.

“How are you doing in your English class, Paul?” Mother asked.

“Mrs. Holloway said we have to write a story. It’s due next week.”

“You could write it about me,” Amy said.

“I could, pipsqueak. But what should I say about you in that story?”

She didn’t answer. Dad and Mother appeared trusting, as if they expected me to say something she’d appreciate hearing. I was at a momentary loss for words, and then I had an inspiration. “I could write about how you have more potential than people realize, perhaps more than anyone else in the world.”

She looked unsurprised, as if what I’d said not only was accurate but was something she’d known all along.

“I see Natalie in my bridge club,” Mother said. “She’ll inform me how she likes your story.”

It creates complications when a high school teacher is a friend of your mother’s. “I’ll work hard at it,” I said. I took a couple of bites of stew and then glanced up. Dad was looking at me proudly. “I like that class. I also like my biology class.”

He smiled.

“Pass the ketchup,” Amy said.

Dad said the nightly prayer after we’d finished eating. It’s different from other people’s routine of praying before a meal. I like it, though. It somehow reminds me to be unique and special.

In my room I did homework. The sound of Amy practicing the clarinet was a distraction at times, but it may have helped me finish the algebra assignment. It’s hard to explain. Then I wondered about the story I’d write for Mrs. Holloway’s class. What should it be? I’d include Amy in it, but what should be the principal theme, the reflection of true reality which every story needs? I remembered the conversation with Jack. If magic has limits, what should those limits be? You only have so much magic to begin with, and every time you use some of it the remaining magic dwindles? Is that why adulthood reportedly often doesn’t seem magical? I realized I didn’t like that theme, though. Magic used in a good cause shouldn’t become depleted. It should increase, instead, if it’s used in the best ways. What were they?

Well, I had a week to figure out the story. I took out a biology book I’d checked out from the library. I’d noticed during the second week of the biology class that something in my mind seemed to come alive as I listened to Mr. Stephens explain the intricacies of DNA and cell division. The library book was about ecological issues. I read the introduction. It was about the ethical relationship which should exist between people and their natural environment. Plants and animals should have a status equal to those of us humans. I agreed with that. I turned at random to a chapter halfway through the book and began reading.

The chapter looked at forest productivity. The stability of the dominant tree species plays an essential role in the community’s productivity. A dominant species occupies a larger ecological niche and accordingly is more adaptable to environmental changes, including extreme weather. The presence of diverse plants in the forest tends to reduce that dominance.

That seemed unfortunate. I wondered whether some diverse plants could be noncompetitive with the main tree species. Forests should be interesting. They should have a lot of different plants in them.

I let my mind wander. The hero’s stability must be maintained even if the environment turns wretched. The hero ideally should be able to preserve that stability no matter what happens. It certainly would help to have allies, of course. I was glad I had Julie, and Jack, and Tony and Roberta, and even Carl, plus all my other friends. And I was utterly thankful for my family. I knew I could cope with whatever might happen.

In my mind I heard the faint sound of fluttering wings. There was the owl again, vivid and unforgettable. This time it seemed to speak. “More of the same lies ahead, unless our magic can’t protect you.” It disappeared.

I felt a brief tinge of anxiety. What were the limits of its magic? But then I realized it was pointless to worry. I turned back to the biology book. And in a corner of my mind I was thinking about the story I would write.

END