The Atheist’s Last Test of Faith
by Steve Murray

About Steve Murray, from the guy that knows him best, Steve Murray: "Steve Murray works hard as a heart doctor in North East England. He wishes he could keep himself in the manner to which he has become accustomed by performing magic & mentalism, but his patients love him too much, albeit through a process of psychology, misdirection, and showmanship. Occasionally, some them even get better. He is a member of the Middlesbrough Circle of Magicians whom he describes as the down-right friendliest bunch of magi anyone could wish to meet and dedicates this piece to them."

The problem with being a serious, and perhaps solemn, mentalist is that you miss out on a lot of the fun stuff in magic. How often do we hear “Don’t make a move of it…” when actually, doing the moves was the very thing that first attracted us to this bizarre obsession of deceiving our fellow human beings?

The classic ‘Signed bill in lemon/kiwi/etc’ is a great piece of magic, but let’s face it, what’s the point? If on one’s CV the ability to make paper currency appear inside citrus fruits was highlighted, then I doubt the appointment would be made. Indeed, if ‘Pointless talents’ warranted an entire sub-section on job applications, then I’d rather employ someone capable of chewing up a yard of tin foil despite a mouthful of mercury-amalgam fillings. And yet…

And yet, the whimsy of it all. The fun of it. I confess, I miss it.

So I decided to steal it, and bastardise it and warp it. And in doing so, we’ll tip a wise old nod to the intellectuals in the crowd. We’ll unsettle a few folk. And some people – and I’m thinking of you, my mid-west American brethren – some people might just get into a little spot of bother over this one. But this effect has given me most fun this Winter, and I do like to share…

The bare-bones of the Effect:

A self confessed atheist offers to sell his soul.

The contract is burned, but only after that does the ‘Agent of Beelzebub’ realise he’s out of receipts and the contract is returned within the universal symbol of the soul – a boiled egg.

Performance & Method:

The silent script I use for this is a wily fox of a salesman; you’re selling this to a guy as ‘Hey – you’ve got nothing to lose here buddy! You don’t believe. You know better than all us superstitious types’ Think Robert deNiro in the film ‘Angel Heart’, which incidentally inspired the whole thing about the egg…which leads me to this:

The magician displays a large white egg (duck, since you ask, but more of that later in the notes).

“The egg is often used in symbology to represent the soul. It is one of those symbols that transcends many cultures and belief systems, cropping up in Ancient cultures all the way to modern day Christianity and the feast of Easter. Yes, I know you all thought it was about rabbits and chocolate, but it really symbolises the birth and rebirth of the soul, or spirit…if you believe in such things, of course. One of my favourite movie scenes is Robert DeNiro playing the Devil in ‘Angel Heart’; he explains about the egg and soul symbology to a sceptical Mickey Rourke, before peeling off the shell with dark pointed finger nails and popping the whole egg into his mouth in such a manner that is greedy and hungry and slightly shocking!”

The egg is placed onto the table away from the magician’s immediate reach.

“Do we have any atheists with us tonight? Anyone willing to stand by their convictions and stand up and say

“Steve, you can keep your mumbo-jumbo about souls and symbols and Easter eggs! I’m a rational human being, an organism of flesh and bone and blood and nerves!”

“Well, do we have anyone willing to raise their hand and stand up for rationality? For biology?”

(Hopefully!) Someone will take the bait. Be careful to choose someone who will not ruin things out of spite; by definition almost, you’re selecting a Challenger, but look for the quietly confident intellectual type. If you don’t have quiet confident intellectual types in your audience, then leave this effect out, and accept my pity, you poor, poor creature, and go on to produce lit cigarettes from your bodily orifices.

“Aha! Sir! Well met! A fellow rationalist! Free-thinking and independent, not shackled by prescribed thoughts and beliefs. Please sir, would therefore be prepared to sell me you soul? You’ve really nothing to lose.”

NB if he is reluctant, or wary, then ask to borrow the soul for a few minutes – remember be playful yet cunning. Don’t take yourself too seriously, yet…there’s something about you…tempting, daring the volunteer to prove himself and his beliefs.

“I have a contract right here…”

The magician takes out a pen and cheque book from his pocket. On mine I have a false cover with ‘Agent of Beelzebub’ printed on it, and the moment is played for a laugh. A single cheque/’contract’ is torn out and the volunteer is asked to sign it.

It is then folded up into quarters by the spectator and handed back, along with the pen, to the magician.

The bill or billet switch

There must be a hundred ways of doing this, but the Hundred Dollar Bill switch is fine. Or how about Cassidy’s variation on Al Baker’s switch, with the ‘thumb-tip’ actually on the middle finger. Or how about picking up the billet with the pen, with a dummy finger-palmed, and switching as you dump the pen in your right outer jacket pocket?

The version I started with, and still prefer, is the $100 switch. My motivation for folding up the bill tight is so I can pop it a little 35mm film canister, which I refer to as a ‘receptacle’. I thought about jazzing it up with evil looking hexes on the outside, but I decided the little black canister was devilish enough.

So, the volunteer’s bill is folded once more again, and switched, as I say,

“This needs to fit neatly into the receptacle – that should do it.”

The dummy billet is identical to the 1st, except scrawled across it is the word “Thanks!!” written in red (naturally) and in the devil’s handwriting (obviously).

You now stand back, grin and pause, creating a slightly uncomfortable silence.

“That’s it – all done!” And in doing so, you right thumb drags out the bill and stuffs into the end of a cored-out hard-boiled duck egg in your right jacket outer pocket.

“Oh, I know you don’t feel any different or anything, but what do you think? Do you believe that your holy immortal soul has been sold to the devil? Do you believe or are you still confident in your rationality?” Magician is grinning, almost leering now. Whatever the response the volunteer is invited to open the canister and show what has happened to his contract. Again, should get a laugh, possibly uneasy in some quarters!

“OK, OK!” says the magician, holding up his hands, “You just need a receipt.” A battered receipt book is removed from the left pocket – again it may be branded ‘Agent of Beelzebub’ for comic-kitsch effect – and the magician means to write a receipt. However, the book is empty, and a sudden look of panic grips the magician.

“The rules say you’ve got to have a receipt! If there’s one thing the devil insists on, it tight accounting! In fact he invented the Inland Revenue/IRA! Arghh! The deal’s off! We’ve got to get your soul back!”

After a quick glance round, the magician asks the spectator to pass him the egg, and simultaneously the loaded, hollow egg is stolen in the right hand, which then hangs by the right side. As the volunteer hands the egg, you step forward with the left leg and take it in the left hand. Almost immediately you ask:

“Do you have a knife I can borrow? Oh of course not – I’m not in that kind of town tonight am I?”

When saying you do a kind of shuttle pass, basically turning left hand palm down, and right hand palm up, and then, in one continuous movement, reach into the right inner jacket pocket and retrieve a knife, dumping the real egg as you go. I learned this bold move from Martin Sanderson’s excellent ‘Corporate close-up’ DVD from his Bill in Kiwi routine. It’s the kind of move that makes you smile inside, and just flies by everyone, honestly.

The knife is then brought down onto the egg resting on your right palm; use your fingers then destroy the egg, and get plenty of congealed yolk to cover the bill. Ask the volunteer to pull it out himself, and turn and dump the shattered, messy egg into a bin, with force to further break it up. Confirm that the signature on the contract is his, and milk, milk, milk!

Egg Preparation:

I suggest duck eggs as they are larger and a highly visible white. In fact they look fake, and thus when the insides are smeared out over the bill, it adds to the surprise.

They need at least 7 minutes to get hardened inside, and give them 10 to be sure. Start with cold water and heat gradually to avoid cracking in the pan.

To core out the egg, I use a sharp, fine needle in the apex to crack off little pieces of shell, until it’s big enough to get a fruit-corer into the egg-white. Don’t use the corer on the shell – it just send cracks running through the whole side. Having said that, it doesn’t matter if there are small cracks, as the egg is not in view for long. Finally, smear a little petroleum jelly in the hole to lubricate and add to the sliminess of the bill at the end.

Final notes & credits

This is a routine one has to be careful with – you’d be surprised how sensitive people can be about this stuff, even when it’s played tongue-in-cheek. The main inspiration for this was Martin Sanderson’s ‘Signed bill in kiwi’ which I fell in love with about 2 years ago when he released his superb ‘Corporate close-up’ DVD; I hope he can forgive me for bastardising his routine!

Steve Murray