What Wus Witnessed

  What Wus Witnessed

The weather was cooling, he could feel the chill through the window over the sink, the light too was changing it no longer made his steel shine when the sun shone on him. His full name was Wusthof Classic (TM) but his friends called him Wus, at least to his face. He was created in Germany but only when he was in use could you truly appreciate his eight inches of superiority.

He’d been spending most of his time lately standing at attention on the magnetized knife shelf with his siblings and a few knives of a more domestic nature. The owners of the house he lived in weren’t home very often and even more seldom at the same time. They used to spend hours in the kitchen cooking together, chatting and drinking wine. It had been wonderful to witness but something had changed when they decided to overhaul the house.

 His solid wood home for instance now rested on an Italian marble countertop that cost more than some people’s yearly wage. He only knew that because he’d overheard arguments about what the renovations were costing. The numbers themselves meant nothing to him of course but he could feel the heat of the discussion on his blade. She had spent the equivalent of many Wusthof knife sets on the project and He had to work more hours at what he called a crappy job to earn enough to pay the bastardly over-charging contractors. Wus didn’t understand the words but if they’d only asked he could have cut the tension for them.

The sounds of their arrival home tonight reached his tip, he and all the other implements, cutlery and appliances girded themselves at the thud of car doors slamming in the driveway. The front door opened and the couple’s argument permeated the hall. It was a discussion they’d all heard before as the man pointed out to his wife. He was heading towards the kitchen and the whole lot of them stilled. She followed but where he had veered to the center island she strode straight to the double-doored fridge and pulled out a bottle of the liquid that used to make her laugh and continued speaking at such a volume and pace that the China cabinet started to shake.

To be fair it didn’t take much, Tsao was kind of nervous regularly. She said it was because she was responsible for so many precious things, family treasures she called them. Wus understood but he still thought she took the whole job a bit too far. What was a couple of gilt-edged plates and tea cups anyway, they didn’t serve anybody in this day and age. The wife lifted a glass out of the cabinet to her right and poured a lot of the red liquid into it. She merely lifted an eyebrow at her husband when he questioned both her intake of what he called wine and the fact she hadn’t offered him any. She lifted another glass from the cabinet and poured a measure that was half the amount and slid it across the chopping block towards him. Lifting her goblet in a sarcastic salute she took a deep draught and stared at the round orange gourd between them.

She smirked and asked what he was planning on doing with the pumpkin. He was turning it around and around by its stem though no one in the kitchen could understand the point, there were no sides to a round object, and even the fridge knew that it noted with a humming. They all watched the two humans discussing whether it was necessary to have a Halloween decoration at all since they both worked until nearly six every night. She asked who was going to light the candle and who was going to carve the features in the first place. He replied with a smile that Wus knew was an indication of a childhood memory, that he would take care of everything and she should not bother her pretty head, she turned then to the drawer with the menus in it. The husband picked up his glass and took a sip savouring the taste, his eyes went to her back and traced her form from blonde hair to high-heeled shoes. The glare he shot toward her had every blade in the block gasp as one, the humans didn’t hear it of course because they never acknowledged that they might not be the only sentient souls on the planet.

She turned with a small handful of flyers and asked him what kind of dinner he’d like and as he was already in a pissy mood he asked her why she couldn’t just make something herself, she shot back that she’d like to make reservations but that he was too cheap for that. After that, verbal warfare raged again.

The negative energy that was formed in the house left the kitchen and swirled unseen through the rooms, it touched matching throw pillows and wound itself around the blue glass vase collection on the dining room table covered in dust. The upstairs was next, it climbed the oak staircase and roamed into the master bedroom noting the latest decorative touches there while experiencing the chill coming from the king-sized mattress. The energy flowed into the en-suite and as most of us do, it snuck a look into the five-foot-long glass cabinet. On her side sat the usual antacids and cover-up cream along with a box of birth control pills and anti-depressants. Drifting to the man’s side was disappointing as it was just a toothbrush some paste and his shaving things. The energy was waning now, almost sapped but as it reached the hall again it entered a room across the way, the door was locked tight but energy can go anywhere, everyone knows that. It stood and gazed sadly at a crib, change table and mobile all covered in dust. It dropped through the floor back to the main floor pondering the human race.

Wus perceived the return of the energy force in his steel. He was laying next to the gourd while the husband drew on it with a pen, mapping out a design he’d told his wife. The argument had ended just a minute ago and they’d agreed on Chinese which pleased Tsao for some reason. They were both still angry inside as the energy could attest to and did but they were faking resolution for some reason. She had finished her wine and was pouring out another glass, her credit card had been fetched from her wallet in the hall awaiting the food delivery. The square of silver plastic told Wus that he was feeling just as hollow as the energy force and hoped he’d be able to cover the meal today as he’d seen how viciously she’d cut up one of his cousins that couldn’t bear the load she’d tried to put on him.

The man was asking about her credit balance while he sketched a scary face, he didn’t want to look into her eyes when she gave her answer because he knew it would be a lie, another one and he was tired of them. Wus knew that the husband had a slew of self-defence or self-delusion if we’re honest, methods of dealing with her. Not looking into her eyes was just one of them, going somewhere else in his mind was another. She was snapping at him about minding his own business, guzzling the wine between verbal shots. Wus could do nothing to help the man, he could feel the frustration and anger building again and wanted to escape. However, he could only recline there between the two of them and while he was a beautiful, durable blade that chefs on Television used, he was incapable of facilitating marital issues for humans.

The wife’s mouth was still moving as she strode towards the man, he was holding the pumpkin that they’d all learned was named Ian. His left hand reached for Wus to start carving. He’d only made two cuts into the orange flesh and she was shrieking about getting some newspaper to put the innards onto. This was a statement that put Ian in a right state as he had no idea what his purpose in life was up to that point. The husband tried to move around her as she was now standing in front of him, he told her to please move as he needed to go to the recycle bin for newspapers since she was so stubborn about her precious worktop. She sneered and moved a half inch to her left.

Shaking his head, he strode to the laundry room that was just off the kitchen, while he was gone she picked up Wus and swung him by this handle this way and that like Luke with his lightsaber. She was cackling as the kitchen lights flashed off his blade, all the appliances and knives were holding their collective breaths. They knew as most intelligent and sober people did, that swinging a knife around could only lead to tragedy. When her husband returned to the kitchen, a bundle of newsprint in his fist he stood at the doorway and watched her. She had her back to the fridge now, still tottering around in her pumps and imagining herself on the Bounty or something. He spoke from a distance, telling her to please put down the knife, he wasn’t going anywhere near her when she was armed not in the mood she was in.

Wus was past dizzy by this point, the kitchen he called home was shown to him in flashes, and his handle was feeling distinctly damp with her sweat. He heard the husband try to cajole his wife into putting the blade down and was wishing with every ounce of steel in him that she’d listen. She turned on her stiletto heels, the irony of them being named after a knife wasn’t lost on Wus either. Only this whacko could wear knives while swinging one. The husband entered the kitchen and walked around the other side of the island workspace, put the pile of paper on top, then lay Ian on it. He continued walking until he was face-to-face with his wife. He again asked her to put the knife down. She had it in both hands now and the tip was aimed at his belly. Wus was anxious more than scared, he’d never been involved in a human’s fate before. He couldn’t say he’d never hurt anyone before, he was a blade and accidents happen, this was different, he could just feel it.

The wife stood still, just a foot from her husband. She spoke in a low tone so that all the appliances had to gear down their fans to hear her properly. She was telling him how sad she’d become at their fights and his coldness towards her. He nodded and apologized then told her he felt the same about her attitude toward him. Her head snapped up, and her eyes flashed with anger, again. He reached out his hand, it was large and long fingered, a trait she’d once admired but was now alarmed by. He brought her close to him and brought his other hand up to grasp Wus by the handle. She struggled, of course, that’s just what she did, nothing was ever simple living with her. In her jerky movements, her elbow knocked over her wine glass spilling the red liquid on the tiles. Her heels slipped in the puddle and the knife slipped into her belly.

Wus was horrified, there was no other word for it in English or German. He felt his tip, then his edge slide through her blouse and then her skin. He blanked out the rest, the organs he slid past and nicked, the rush of blood that poured out when he was pulled from inside.

He was in the hands of his master now and thought he should feel safe, but the negative energy had renewed itself and was pouring itself through the husband’s soul. Eyes looked down at his wife, laying with her legs splayed, hands weakly trying to staunch the flow of blood, her blonde hair pinking from the wine river beneath her. The husband considered another stab but realized that once could be explained as a tragic accident, two was life in prison. He stood up and placed Wus on the counter noting his blade covered in blood. He supposed he should call the police and so went to find his cell phone.

Wus lay still, he was hurting and stressed out. He called out to his God, Tew was the Germanic God of Battle and his hero. He didn’t know whether Tew would consider this an actual battle but it was an attack all the same. He lay motionless and heard the husband call 911 explaining the situation. He hung up and dropped onto the staircase. The doorbell sounded minutes later and just as Wus was thinking the police were awfully fast in this neighbourhood, Tsao cheered from the corner. “The Chinese food is here.” The appliances and cutlery all chastised her for her insensitivity but she squatted happily regardless.

When the police arrived, the kitchen turned from a showplace in a magazine to an episode of CSI in hours. Some people in white coveralls loaded a now-deceased wife onto a stretcher and rolled her out the door. Two uniformed officers took the husband away for questioning while the rest of the group cleaned up the kitchen. A female officer with gloves on picked up Wus gently examined him from all angles and smiled.

“Hey Brian” She called to a man in the corner, “This is a Wusthof, it’s the perfect knife for a stabbing!”

The man responded first with a grunt but then asked “why is that Janice”

“Well, all you have to do is read the promo literature. It reads if I recall correctly that a Wusthof is durable, sharp, comfy to use and best of all easy to clean!” She snorted at her own humour while Brian and Wus just groaned internally.

Ian had been deserted in the aftermath, he hadn’t been given eyes or a mouth, and the man had had just enough time to carve a couple of elaborate eyebrows before the innards hit the fan. They were quite well done, at least that was what Amana had told him, but then what does a microwave know about eyebrows? As he sat there sensing the crime scene techs moving around him he pondered his immediate future, ready to acknowledge a compost pile was to be his future he was surprised when the woman Janice lifted him by his stem and carried him out of the house under her arm. It turns out she hadn’t had time to pick one up.

A few days later the man returned to his kitchen, it had been turned upside down in the investigation and no longer resembled the plans and pictures that they were still forking out for. His gaze dropped to the tiles where he’d last seen his wife and the mental pictures reminded him that he had the blade in a bag. The lab had released it to him only that morning cleaned to within an inch of its life, navigating around the slight pink stain on the floor he inserted Wus back into his spot and then turned to leave the kitchen.

Wus lay in the reduced warmth of the October sun, exhausted from the last couple of days. He was happy to be back with his family as the lab had been inhabited by a scary collection of items. The kitchen appliances had welcomed him home, and Tsao had offered him space within her if he was afraid of the outside now. He politely refused, he was a knife and needed to be handy not put away for ‘some day’ he noted wearily in her direction. Before he went to sleep he asked the fridge what had happened to Ian and was happy to hear he’d be loved by a family, if only for a brief time.

Ian, not knowing he was being wished well sat proudly on front step a few blocks away, he felt the heat coming from the candle within him, and he saw the ghosts and black cats through new triangular eyes. He was coming to grips with what he’d been part of two nights before and hoped that the friends he made that night would all do the same and manage a Happy Halloween.