An old friend who has come to visit is a magician. I didn’t know until last night, and it thrills me. I am the most gullible person when it comes to tricks. I want them to be real magic. I do not want to know the secret (please do not tell me). When his trick made it seem that he had guessed the exact card I had picked from the shuffled deck in my mind, I felt a pure thrill, a shiver up my spine—no joke. After we left, I couldn’t stop talking about it. “How did he do it?” I asked E. Then added, “No, don’t tell me.” Then, “But, really, HOW did he do it?” And on, and on. There should be nothing wrong in believing—hoping—wanting something to be entirely unexplainable. He saw the Ace of Hearts in my mind and pulled it out of thin air. That has to be it.