The Disappearing Child

You wouldn’t often associate children with black magic unless you have Bengali parents, in which case you would have been accused of much worse than that at multiple points of your life. My mother once called me satanic because I forgot to clear some crumbs off the floor. Reflecting back on that now, I think it may have been a tad dramatic and possibly shaped my adult life, whereby I am now mortified if I see crumbs anywhere. But at the time it didn’t mean anything. I’d just brush off those insults, sweep them under the rug (see what I did there?) and move on. However, every once in a while, you may come across a child who merits those accusations. This isn’t a story about a naughty kid who makes life hell for those around them. Those stories have already been covered profusely by parents all around the world. This story is different. As it is about a boy who was as well behaved as the best of them and as generous as any youngster could have been. Yet there was something dark about him, maybe even sinister.

Firstly let me just state that I have an excellent memory. Especially for trivial things that probably have no meaning to life or can be of any help to me. I can recall incidents and stories from early parts of my life with vivid clarity. Yet there is one vital piece of information that my mind has long ago omitted and I have since regretted it. I don’t remember the name of the boy who is central to the tale I’m about to tell you. If I did, then in this age of Facebook and social networking, I could have solved the mystery of what became of him. In any case, let us go back a few decades.

The year is 1994. Nelson Mandela is elected president, Israel signs a peace treaty with Palestine and all seems well in the world. I was six years old and we were living in Upton Park in east London. Prestbury Road was the name of the street that I lived on. It was a typical east London street, flanked either side by a row of early-20th century terraced homes. There were a few Bengali families on that road and they all looked out for one another. One such family had a kid my age called Zakir. Zakir was my friend and we would often go to each other’s houses to jump on beds and do other things six year olds find amusing. He had black untidy hair, much like mine. And also like me he talked a lot. One day as I was leaving Zakir’s house I had inadvertently walked out with a dinosaur toy in my hand. It was a green T-Rex. When I got home I realised that it was Zakir’s toy so I thought I’ll give it to him when I see him the next day. Later that evening there was a knock on our door. It was the boy with no name.

I have always been interested in magic. The ability of someone being able to perform tricks and illusions that couldn’t be explained fascinated me. From a young age whenever a trick was performed that wowed me, I always went out of my way to try and find out how it was done. My findings may have been totally wrong but I was satisfied in my head that it was just a trick and nothing supernatural. The boy with no name however was something I have not been able to explain to this day. He was Zakir’s older brother. He was about twelve years old at the time. His mum had sent him over with some food for us. A normal occurrence at the time, neighbours being friendly. When I saw him I immediately went and got the T-Rex toy and told him to give it to Zakir.
“Don’t worry about it,” he said. “You keep it.”
As I alluded to already, he had a generous nature about him. I insisted he take the toy back and wasn’t going to let him leave without it. In the end he gave in. I placed the toy in his hand; he walked out of the house, I then shut the door and walked into my living room. The last sentence is very important. I distinctly have a memory of doing each of those things, in that order. Whilst I was in the living room, I felt a gradual desire to lift up and throw the sofa seat cushions onto the floor. I wasn’t a naughty child so wouldn’t even think of messing up a room deliberately. In fact I hate messy rooms. I find it difficult to get a good night’s sleep without tidying up my bedroom. Some people may find that a bit much, but I like things to be in order. So this urge I felt back then has always been alien to me. Eventually I obliged to the madness. I knew that my mum was going to give me a severe beating because of it but I took the risk. Once all the seat cushions were off, I piled them all neatly in the centre of the living room…because even when I make a mess there has to be a structure to it. I looked at the now barren sofas and saw something that amazed me. In the space where the seat cushions would normally be, on one of the sofas, right in the middle, was the T-Rex toy.

“Your brother knows magic!” I told Zakir the next day.
Zakir looked at me baffled.
“No he doesn’t.”
After a lot of convincing, we both went and found his brother and asked him to show us a magic trick. His brother looked even more confused than Zakir initially did and claimed to know nothing. I asked him to explain the dinosaur toy that I knew I had handed over to him. He pretended he had never accepted the toy and told me to keep it. I pulled the T-Rex out of my pocket and gave it to Zakir.
“Your brother knows magic, I know it.”

From that day on, every time I bumped into Zakir’s brother I pleaded with him to show me a magic trick. Each time he laughed it off and said he knows nothing. I know I was only six years old and kids can be dumb sometimes, but nothing was going to convince me that the sofa trick did not happen. So the next time I was in Zakir’s house playing. I stole his small Batman car (Batmobile) and brought it home. I knew Zakir’s mum would send over food as it was a regular thing all of the mums on the street did every weekend. So when Zakir’s brother turned up that evening with food, I handed him the car. He acted exactly like last time.
“Don’t worry, you keep it.”
“But I stole it this time, so I can’t keep it.”
He reluctantly took it. As soon as I shut the door behind him, I locked it, ran into the living room and started pulling off all of the seat cushions. But I was disappointed to find no Batmobile anywhere. In my excitement I had forgotten to put everything back in its place straight away so when Mum walked in several minutes later and saw the mess, I knew what was coming. After suffering a tame few smacks, I put everything back and sat on the floor to watch TV. I don’t know what it is about kids today but they don’t watch TV like we used to. We would sit on the floor, right next to the TV to watch it even if the sofas were available. Kids these days are strange, they actually sit where they are supposed to. As I sat on the floor staring at the TV, I noticed a glint out of the corner of my eye. I turned to look and spotted something under the sofa…it was Batman.

My obsession grew tenfold after that and the next time Zakir’s brother came round I trapped him. I wouldn’t let him leave the house and blocked his way out of the front door. I wanted him to admit it; I wanted him to show me another trick. He was too nice to go and complain to Mum at being imprisoned like this so he just waited patiently until I gave up. But I wasn’t going to give in, I stood firm.
“Okay,” he said. “I will show you one trick.”
My eyes lit up, at least now the six-year-old me wasn’t being crazy. He did admit to knowing magic.
“But,” he continued. “After this trick you have to promise to never ask me about magic tricks again.”
For some reason kids take promises seriously. They are much better humans than adults in that respect. There is no deception there. Promises are important and have to be kept in a child’s mind.
Well at least it was back then. The deal was struck. He took me to our staircase and told me to stand there. From where I was standing, the stairs were to my right and directly in front of me was the kitchen where Mum was cooking. Behind my mum was a small passageway that led from our kitchen to the garden. It was night time, the sky was black outside. I knew our garden door was locked shut at this time.
“Okay watch,” he said.
He started clapping his hands. I can still imagine the clapping to this day. I can replicate the exact tempo even now from memory. As he clapped he ran full speed into the kitchen, passed Mum and into the passageway that led to the garden. From where I was standing, once he entered that passageway my view of him was blocked. But in an instant, as in less than a second later, I heard the clapping above me and he came running down the stairs with a smile on his face. Everything I have written here is not exaggerated one bit. This twelve year old kid actually did this. And here is where his generosity came into play. I asked him if he would show me again and he agreed. The time between him disappearing behind my mum and come running down the stairs to my right was a split second. The whole trick was over in less than 10 seconds. He showed me again and again and again. His only condition was that I don’t enter the kitchen with him, as long as I stood outside of the kitchen and didn’t go upstairs, he would keep showing me the trick. And every time, Mum was completely oblivious to what was going on behind her. This was a tiny two bedroom house, not a country manor with secret passageways. The garden door was locked, there was nowhere for him to go. There were no one upstairs at the time, the lights were all out and it was pitch black. And from that darkness he would always descend with a grin on his face. This child was twelve years old. Who could have taught him that and even if they did, how could someone that age be able to pull it off?

For the last twenty years, every Zakir I have met my age, I have asked if they have an older brother. But I have yet to get an answer which has satisfied me. After we left Prestbury Road, I never met that boy again. That boy who is now a man. Even if it was just an illusion, even if he had just managed to trick a gullible six-year-old (and I wasn’t), even if the claps were some form of distraction tool, it doesn’t matter. It happened. The audacity of the child was impressive in itself. If my mother could call me satanic, I wonder what his mother called him.