Phenakism

What did Phenakism inspire?

adjective; meaning "deception, trickery.”

Joelle Saveliev

Noël Coleman

Joelle Saveliev

They lure them out, 

      To sea,
           To sail,
                To search for pelts,

Hidden along the shore.

With stories told,
     With tails,
         With trails,
             With tales and legends,
Mystery and lore.

Oh seek us out,
       In waves,
            In weeks,

                In waking hours,
We women of the sea.

And steal the pelts,
       You seek,
            You snatch,
                 You steal from us,
So we can never flee.

And should you catch,
       In traps,
            In trade,
                 In traditions binding,
A fine sea maiden fair.

Then you shall know,
      The love,

            The loss,
                  The lies we hide,
Our phenakism bare.

For in your sleep,
     Your dreams,
          Your death,
              Your disappearance,
Out amongst the waves.

We are the seafolk,
     So strong,
         So sly,
            So silently luring,
These men to watery graves.

Noël Coleman

“You know I was supposed to kill you, right?”

I sighed, as if I could have been unaware when he’d said hello with a knife against my throat. “Yeah, I sort of caught that.”

“So. Why haven’t I?”                                                                                      

I debated lying. My options were wide open still: change of heart, love at first sight, sudden development of a moral compass in an otherwise perfectly groomed assassin? “Phenakism,” I said, deciding a lie would just confuse him.

“What?”

‘Him’ was Albert Corophail. Also known as Jamie Green, Scott Watters, and Two-Toed Tony. Or so he had chosen to introduce himself, after the bit with the knife. What I really wanted to know was what had brought the third name into the mix. My mouth had already opened to ask when I’d realized it might involve a demonstration in lieu of explanation. Not something I was interested in. He thought he was a brilliant assassin, a rather less brilliant person.

“Phenakism,” I repeated.

Albert held my gaze. My eyes only fell away when a sharp pssnck cut through the air, and I realized he had drawn the knife from his pocket again. “Why dontcha elaborate a bit?”

Albert was trying to catch the upper hand.

He thought he was still in charge here. With the slip of sharpened steel and silver into the air, as if there was something in the way it was held that should give me fear. Been there. Done that. Not even quite well, to be honest.

“Albert, put the knife away.”

“I’d rather you start tellin me what’s goin on here.” He was becoming agitated, the tip of the knife moving without the precision it had first had.

“Of course, Albert.”

“And how do you know my name?” His eyes were too wide. Heart pounding against his chest in a way that made him uncomfortable, if the twitch of his arm was anything to go by.

“Phenakism.”

“STOP SAYING THAT!” His face was too red, veins too pronounced.

“It means I deceived you… tricked you, one could say.”

“How?” The knife was back against my face, hovering below my eye. With every shake of his hand, I could feel the tip of it prickling against my cheek. His hand was very shaky.

“It was simple. I gave you a knife, and called you an assassin.”

“What?” He said, the knife going still against my cheek.

“Look to your left, Albert.” He did, his eyes widening in what would have been comical, had he not been holding a knife and looking desperate. “Do you see the audience, Albert?” He nodded.

There were four hundred people in fold-out chairs. It would have been hard to miss the audience.

“You’re a gym teacher, Albert. You volunteered to be a part of this demonstration.”

“Demonstration?” He whimpered, almost. His gaze was still on the hundreds of students and teachers, watching him in a horrified silence.

“Yes, Albert. We were showing the children how easily one could be… persuaded.”

“Persuaded?” He said, his grasp on the knife loosening enough for me to lean over and capture it. His voice was sounding less lost, less covered by the haze of barely-there it had been muffled by during the performance.

There was a titter of laughter in the audience. Quickly hushed by a teacher’s silent glare.

“Do you remember who you are now, Albert?”

“Ye- Uh, Yes.”

“Do you remember why we did this?”

“Yes.”

“Do you have anything else to say?”

Albert turned fully towards me, drawing himself to full height. He was much more threatening than he had ever managed with a knife in his hand. For a split second, I felt a pang of empathy for anyone caught under that stare during gym class.

“I would have to say this had been wildly inappropriate, Miss Sanders. Certainly not the performance I approved for the talent show.”

“Phenakism,” I said, with a smirk.