Short Short Story

SHARING WALNUTS

by

Victor Zorman
 

Nick's grandfather preferred using a hammer for opening walnuts. It was just one reason the seven-year-old was more than a little afraid of him. Nick had never seen him eat one of the nuts; the old man just sat there and opened them. It didn't help that his grandfather rarely spoke, or refused to wear socks even on the coldest day in winter. The stooped old man was weird, and smelled of musty basements.

He was also spending the afternoon baby-sitting his only grandson. Sitting on the floor in the family room, Nick watched him split open one walnut after another. The T.V. was on, but Nick couldn't concentrate on the show. Not with the bang of the hammer every few seconds behind him. His grandfather had taken an old cutting board and was smashing open the walnuts on it; the bang of the hammer echoed even more on the wood.

It was raining too hard to go outside and Sam, his best friend, was away for the weekend. His mother and father had taken Grandma out shopping, leaving him behind for the day with his grandfather.

Grandfather brought his own bag of nuts, and the only thing he said to his grandson upon walking into the house was, "Boy, go get me a hammer."

Nick had done as the slow, deep voice asked, and watched as his grandfather sat down and began to crack open the nuts. Each walnut was examined for a moment and then positioned on its end. With a sharp blow the hammer came down and the walnut split in two. Each nut would split exactly down the seam. Nick didn't ask how this was done; how each nut split so perfectly in two. He doubted Grandpa would tell him anyway. It was rare when the old man said anything to anybody. After the nut was opened, his grandfather would dig out the meat with his thick fingers and place it in another pile. Three piles sat on the table--nuts, shells and the nuts still waiting to be opened. Nick knew the shelled nuts would be put in a jar which eventually Nick's mother or grandmother would use for baking.

Nick watched one walnut after another being split in two. He wondered how long his parents would be; he wished it would stop raining; he thought he might as well go up to his room. His grandfather had just opened a very large walnut but instead of going onto the next the old man paused and put down the hammer.

"Well, well, well," his grandfather said. "Nick, go get the jar of honey and a little bit of milk, quick."

Confused, Nick did as he was asked. Bringing both milk and honey to the table he looked at the walnut lying open before his grandfather. Instead of a nut, a little figure lay in the remains of the shell. Nick almost spilled the milk. The figure lay unmoving.

"Watch him, Nick."

The young boy looked up at his grandfather.

"Watch him? Isn't it dead?" The old man took the milk back to the kitchen area, and took a small pan out of a cabinet.

"I hope not."

He began to heat the milk. Nick pulled a chair closer to the table and peered at the little figure. He looked so close that he could see the tiny chest slowly rising and falling. Its skin was as pale as chalk, and what Nick thought to be hair was actually a pair of wings covering the figure like a silk robe.

"It doesn't look very healthy, Grandpa."

"You wouldn't either if you lived in that walnut for a few months."

Nick wanted to touch the figure, give it a poke. With his grandfather now standing behind him, he didn't dare.

"You gonna help it, Grandpa?"

"Hope so," replied the old man, walking back to the kitchen and adding a spoon of honey to the milk in the pan.

"What is it?"

"A fairy."

"Doesn't much look like a fairy," Nick answered.

"Have you ever seen one?"

"Nope, but I've seen pictures of them in books."

"Doubt the people that drew those pictures ever saw a fairy either."

Nick thought it looked more like a funny bug than a fairy. Its arms were long, almost reaching past its knees, and it didn't have a nose at all.

"Don't lean so close, Nick."

Nick turned to his grandfather and asked "Why?"

"They don't like people breathing on them."

"Oh. Have you seen them before?"

"Couple of times."

"Where did it come from?"

"Damned if I know."

The old man had removed the saucepan from the stove and left it on the counter to cool. Nick looked at his grandfather, confusion etched into his face.

"I think they find a hole in the shell. Crawl inside and eat the nut. By the time they're done eating, they're too big to get out."

Nick looked back at the little figure and was startled to discover it had opened its eyes.

"Look, Grandpa, it's awake!"

The man sat down next to his grandson with the pan of milk and honey, and pulled from his shirt pocket an eyedropper. He leaned over the little figure and began to whistle, softly, like a bird. Nick looked at his grandfather in disbelief. He had never heard anything like that from a person before. The old man sounded exactly like the birds did in the morning.

"It reassures them," the old man said. He passed the eyedropper to Nick. "Here, fill it up."

Nick filled and handed the eyedropper back to his grandfather. Very carefully, the old man placed a drop of the mixture next to the little fairy. It sat on the wood like a drop of dew. With a few more whistles of encouragement, they watched the little figure lean over and begin to drink.

It didn't take long for the drop to disappear. Three more times the old man placed drops next to the figure. Each time the little figure bent its head and drank. Once the last drop was gone, the fairy slowly got to its feet and began to stretch. The arms first and then the legs, the wings were last. Unfurled, they were gossamer thin with fine veins networking the surface. The wings fluttered once or twice like a butterfly just out of its cocoon and then began to beat so rapidly they became a blur. Slowly the fairy rose into the air.

"Nick, open the window."

The boy couldn't do anything but stare, his mouth wide open.

"The window, boy, get it open now!"

With his eyes never leaving the fairy who hovered before his Grandfather's face, Nick opened the kitchen window above the sink. Before flying out, the fairy paused before Nick and seemed to study him. Then as quick as a thought, the fairy was gone.

"Close the window, boy, don't want to be catching a draft."

Nick looked out on the empty street and pulled the window shut against the rain. His mouth hung open, and questions bubbled inside him.

"How'd you know what to do?"

"My Grandfather taught me."

"He found them too?"

"Yep!"

"How come you use a hammer?"

"One of those nut crackers would probably squish them."

The old man selected another walnut and examined the seam.

"Boy, do you have another hammer?"

"Guess so. Why, Grandpa?"

"Dunno, thought you might want to open one."

Nick couldn't move as fast as the fairy, but he did his best, fairly flying on his feet. When he returned from the garage, carrying the tool, the old man's wrinkles spread into a smile.

They spent the remainder of the afternoon searching for more trapped fairies.