Word: Thaumaturge

              

thaumaturge

\ THAW-muh-turj \  , noun;

1. a worker of wonders or miracles; magician.

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                “So, what do you guys think?”  Adam asked.

                “No way.  There’s no way he’s a magician.”  Peter said.

                “Yeah, definitely not.”  Roger agreed.

                The three young boys looked at the man laying on the bench.  He was covered in rags, sported a large, bushy beard with more than a bit of dirt in it, and was ultimately, nothing but a standard homeless man.

                “He is too.”  Adam said.  “I know he is.”

                “How?”  Roger asked.

                “Jack told me so.”

                Peter and Roger looked from Adam to the homeless man, and then to each other.  That was more than enough proof for them.  After all, Adam’s older brother was the authority on just about everything as far as the three of them knew.  If Jack said the man was a magician, then he was a magician.

                “Are you sure about that?”  Peter asked, just to be on the safe side.

                “Yup.”  Adam said confidently. “Well, said the guy’s a thaum…something.  He said it was the same thing as a magician though.”

                A big word that Adam couldn’t quite pronounce was proof enough for them.  When it was Jack who said it, that was irrefutable, undeniable information that simply could not be false.

                “So what should we do?”  Roger asked.

                None of the boys answered.  They were looking at a real life magician.  It was understandable that they didn’t know how to approach him, especially when he looked like some other, less magical, homeless people.

                Adam was the first to take action.  He simply started walking and his friends feel in line behind him.  The stopped when they got closer to the man.  Then, they simply stopped and waited.  The homeless man did not react to the presence of the boys for quite some time.  Eventually though, he started stirring and even sat up.

                “What d’ya want?”  He asked.  He seemed more annoyed than anything else.

                “Is it true you’re a magician?”  Adam asked.

                “Huh?  A magician?  Who told you that?”  The man asked though his bushy beard.

                “My big brother, Jack.”

                “Jack? Jack who?”

                “Jack Franklin.”

                “Is’at so?  You’re his little brother, eh?”  The man asked, doing his best to run his fingers though his tangled beard.  He didn’t get very far and stopped before his fingers got stuck.  Adam nodded in response.  “Huh.  He did tell me he had a kid brother.  What about you two?”

                “They’re my friends.”  Adam said.

                “Let them talk, boy.  Unless they can’t.”

                “No, sir, we can talk just fine.”  Peter said.

                “Well, alright then.  You never know who can and can’t talk in this life.  Remember that, boys.”

                None of them knew what to make of that advice, or if it even was advice at all.  They just nodded slowly, which seemed to satisfy the man.

                “So, then, what did you want again?”

                “Are you really a magician?” Roger asked.

                “Oh, right.  That.”  The man said.  He leaned back on the bench and thought.  “Well, yes and no.  I guess I’m a kind of magician.  Real word for is thaumaturge though.”

                “What’s that mean?”  Peter asked.

                “It’s…well…it’s a special kind of magician, I suppose.  A bit different, but similar enough.”  The man replied.

                The boys looked at each other excitedly.  They had found a magician, a real one.  Not like the ones of TV or that came to little kid birthday parties or anything.

                “Can you show us some magic?”  Adam asked.

                “Nope.”  The man said.

                “How come?”

                “Listen, kid, thaumaturgy isn’t like the magic you see in movies or TV.  It’s real and it’s powerful.  This is the kind of stuff that can change the world.  I can’t just go firing it off willy-nilly you know.  There’s rules on when I can use it and when I can’t.  Even a little bit can have a big effect someone else.  I need a real good reason to do anything.  I mean really, if I could use my power whenever I wanted, you think I be sleeping on a park bench?”

“No?”

“Damn right I wouldn’t.  I’d be on a nice beach somewhere sipping drinks out of fruit with a fine lady on my arms.  That’s what I’d be doing if I could use it whenever I wanted.  Sorry, but it’s just not the right time now.”

“Well, when is?”  Roger asked.

“Hm, let me think.”  The man closed his eyes.  His eyes closed and his forehead wrinkled in concentration.

              “Ah, looks like you’re in luck.”  The man said.  “Ideal conditions for some nice thaumaturgy will be coming up in six months.”

              “S-six months?”  Roger exclaimed.  The other three were equally shocked at what was to them, a huge amount of time.

              “Yup, six months.  Of course, that’s a rough estimate.  I’ll be able to tell more precisely when it’s closer to time.  Come by then if you want to see something real good.”

              “Why so long?”  Peter asked.

              “Long?  Boy, six months isn’t long.  You three are lucky.  Usually I gotta wait a few years before I can do anything of any value.  So you’d better be thankful it isn’t six years.”

              “Ok.”  The three boys said in unison, and with equal disappointment in their voices. 

              “Good.  Now, unless any of you three have anything else to say, you’d better get going.  I’ve got places to be, you know.  Oh, and uh, kid, make sure to tell your brother to come by some time.  The two of us have a lot to talk about.”

              “Ok.”  Adam said.  He wanted to ask why the man knew Jack, but he figured that was a question for his brother.  Anyway, the man was getting up from the bench, and seemed like he wouldn’t be answering any more questions at that time.

              The three boys watched the dirty, homeless magician walk down the park path, heading towards the city streets.  They had no idea what the man was talking about, but they all knew where they’d be in six months.

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So, is this homeless man really a thaumaturge?  Can he really work magic?  Or is he just an old homeless guy with delusions of grandeur and a vivid imagination?  I have no idea.  Could go either way, really.  Maybe someday we'll find out though.  Maybe.