"About A Nutcracker"
By Nicholas Barnes
It’s crucial.
“You don’t even have to do anything. It’s…let’s say…magic.”
“Let me get this straight,” said Jill, a compulsive HSN-er, eyeing the man in her doorway suspiciously. “I don’t have to do anything. Anything at all. Just put it in there? The nut?”
“Oh no,” said the salesman. “You don’t put it in here. Not at all.” He held it close to her face. A small, spherical object, about the size of a walnut, but having no discernable color, characteristic, depth, or honor. Indeed, every other time Jill beheld it, it seemed not to be there at all. The telephone rang.
“Why don’t you come in for a bit,” said Jill. “I’ll make tea and we can talk.”
She picked up the receiver: It’s crucial. You’d better do something.
The salesman said nothing, did not agree or disagree, but he was sitting there, now, at the table. There was something in his hand. His briefcase was too small for anything important, Jill noted. His suit was, well, one click off zoot. Jill was a lucky woman. Things just seemed to fall into her lap.
“Who do you work for?” Jill asked. “Oh, and I’m Jill. You are?”
“My name is Gene. It’s short for Generous. My parents were hippies.”
“Precious!” said Jill. “And your company?”
“About our nutcracker,” said Gene. “You see-“
“See what?”
“Why, this.” Gene held out the nutcracker. It resembled a transistor radio, but had no dial or antenna. And no speaker. But it was aqua-green, which was the color of the only transistor radio Jill had ever owned. She smiled and remembered listening to Marty Brenneman and Joe Nuxhall with her father while he shingled the roof. She kept the scorebook on the ground and shouted up play-by-play.
“The nut goes where?” she said.
“Relax, now. Just sit back, watch.” Gene placed the nutcracker on the table. “Do you have any nuts?”
“I think I do, in fact.”
“Just kidding, Mrs. Biddle. We won’t be needing any.”
“I haven’t been called that in so long. Thank you.”
“It’s a beautiful name. So crucial.”
“I’m sorry for the interruptions,” said Jill. She picked up the phone. It’s crucial. You’d better do something different.
“…and you haven’t seen a device like this; ever, I imagine.” Gene cupped the thing in his hands – it looked like a tiny garlic press. “The nut, please.”
Jill grinned and produced the most beautiful hickory nut Gene had ever seen. “Brilliant,” he said. “Simply perfect. Now, I want you to close your eyes and count to three.” Jill complied. Her lids fell; then here’s Christmas. Oh, the silver jingle bells. Such a clear night! Why do the stars shine so brightly in the dead cold coffin of winter like this? It’s like they know. They know, and they’re saying We’re Your Night Suns; All Quadrillion Of Us. We’ll Do Our Best. If You Let Us.
“I’ll let you,” whispered Jill. It’s crucial. She whispered again – “crucial.”
“Three!” said Gene. Jill opened her eyes. She looked the salesman standing in her doorway suspiciously
“What was your name again?”
“Jimmy,” said the salesman.
Jill gave him the stink-eye. “Are you sure this is any better than the one I have? It cost me two hundred dollars and, well, look at my carpet. It’s spotless.”
“I’m telling you, darling, you’ve not seen a one like this. You can kiss dirt goodbye. If after thirty days, you don’t agree, you can-“
“Come inside. I will put on a pot of coffee.” As Jimmy followed her down the hall, “So who do you work for,” asked Jill.
“Triway.”
Jill worked on coffee. She added nutmeg because she knew he would like it. She brought three cups to the table. “Sounds familiar, but I don’t think I’ve heard of them.”
“Three easy payments of $59.95.”
“Can I see it again? Can I see it? Really, it’s crucial.”
Jimmy retrieved the item from his pocket. It was indistinguishable from the design of his sport coat and appeared to have no cleaning properties at all. “Oh,” said the salesman, smiling. “That really doesn’t have anything to do with its capabilities.” He handed it to her.
“It’s beautiful,” she said. It had a red crest and indigo wings. She’d never seen anything like it. “It’s just…beautiful. Thank you.”
Please think of something different. Really, it’s crucial. Your presence is required.
“I’m so sorry for all these phone calls, really,” said Jill, returning to the table with four cups of wassail.
“Think nothing of it,” said Sheila. Her pantsuit was too tight, but maybe that was the point. “Now, about our citronella…”
“Those things have never really worked for me. And they’re so ugly. Like giant torches in the yard.”
Sheila invited Jill outside. “Here,” she said. “Watch.” Sheila bent over and speared one into the ground. Jill imagined this bending-over thing worked on her male targets. “Do you have a lighter?”
“I think I do.”
“See?”
Jill tilted her head; her eyes became moist; then running.
“Oh my word,” she breathed.
The most beautiful craftsmanship she had ever seen. Cherry-stained wicker; Longaberger would choke on jealousy. “Sheila, it’s just perfect.”
“Now look,” said Sheila, lifting the top of the basket.
“Oh…my favorite.”
“Look more closely.”
“Oh…it’s all there.” Jill wept openly. “All there. Reuben, turkey club. Oh, the cream soda! It’s all so…”
…crucial.
Jill bolted upright and opened her eyes. The water was up to her neck. The car doors were jammed. She could not move. Hypothermia. “They’re dying!” she screamed. “Please! Please let me go in!”
“They’re not dying!” said the fireman, holding her like a bear. “They’re not dying! They’re dead!”
“You’re terrible!” she screamed. “Terrible terrible terrible you will rot in hell!”
Falling to the ground in a clump. Digging her hands into frozen ground. Fingernails gone now. Bleeding.
It’s crucial. You’d better think of something different. Your presence is required. Pick your eternity. THAT’S HOW IT WORKS. WE ARE HERE WAITING FOR YOU IN THIS FIELD. WE ARE EATING REUB-
The freezing water sloshed against the inner roof of Jill’s Impala. She began the slow sink into nothingness. It was a beautiful day. Such wonderful sons. Such a talented, humble, adoring husband. Toasting nature with pop, making fun of themselves. Hold on, Jill. Good. Hold on to that. That’s how it works. They’re waiting for you.
Jill returned to the table with five glasses of eggnog.
“This is the first kerosene heater that can safely be used indoors,” said Marino Garret. His parents were huge Miami Dolphin fans.
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