Syrup

The metallic, clanging noise coming from the briefcase was drawing more than a little attention the way Frank swung it around. It was the same one he received for twenty-five solid years of dedication to a company he hated. Walking up to the house, the smell of pancakes and maple syrup wafted under the door and reminded him that he hadn’t eaten breakfast again for the third day in a row. Judging by the arc of his swing, it looked like he was aiming the case towards the roof as he strode up to Eleanor’s bright pink house, but the hesitation of a single finger kept the briefcase and the vein pulsing from his forehead under control.

The cracked cement in the driveway snaking its way towards the lilting fence boards were concerning for the rest of the neighborhood. Eleanor would get plenty of visits from her neighbors, most of them offering to help just to keep the property value from sinking. Realtors bringing clients would purposely take the long route away from her house in favor of one of the dozens of other uniform, stuccoed homes with lawns that looked like they were finely scissor-cut. Sometimes it felt like Eleanor had a sixth sense for these house hunters the way she sat on her porch, smiling, calling out to them from a dilapidated rocking chair covered in soot and cobwebs.

Peering at Frank from the corner of her window, Eleanor began rehearsing the big smile she always gave to company and the best lines to refuse their help. At the sound of a rhythmic knock, she paused for a moment to see if he would try again. A minute passed and there was nothing, but when she looked through the peephole, she could make out a slender young man wearing a dress shirt, khakis, and a loose necktie. His briefcase in hand completed the look of a businessman, albeit one with more wrinkles and stress lines than a man his age should have.

The door creaked open slowly and Frank instinctually placed his foot halfway in the door as a strategy he learned a long time ago. He could always get the last word in to a potential customer at the risk of breaking a toe. Often, that would make all the difference.

“Hello Ma’am, my name is Frank and I’m with Iron Works here to see if you were interested in a demonstration of our products,” he said with an outstretched hand.

“I see. Well, I don’t get too many salesmen coming to my house. What is it you said you were selling, again?” Eleanor replied, extending a hand closer to her. Frank stretched his hand out further to meet hers and imagined that this might have been a purposeful move on her part. He mirrored her wide smile with his own.

“Ah good catch, I didn’t even mention it yet. It might be easier for me to show you if I may just come inside. I promise you’ll be very impressed by our fine line of merchandise once you’ve taken a good look.”

“By all means then, please come in.” Eleanor wondered if she should feel anxious about inviting in a stranger, but the look of the young man in front of her convinced her there wasn’t any danger. At the same time, she was resolved not to buy anything, no matter the product.

        The pair slowly made their way to the dining room kitchen, with Frank confidently leading the way this time. Countless pitches prepared him for the tough clients he believed Eleanor was bound to be. But that was part of the thrill. He hadn’t stopped at any other houses that day, ignoring all the others when the bright pink one caught his eye. He made a beeline straight toward it while creating the condition that he would have to close the deal or miss out on breakfast the next day. Frank loved making bets with himself, it was the attitude that awarded him Salesman of the Year for the last two years in a row.

        “Oh don’t mind the table, I made pancakes for myself this morning,” Eleanor said as she whisked away the dishes.

        “That’s not a problem at all. They must’ve been delicious. Actually, I could smell them coming up the doorstep,” Frank replied as he gently laid the briefcase on the table.

        When Eleanor came back, Frank undid the latches and lifted the upper half of the case to obscure the product until the grand reveal.

        “As I’m sure you know Ma’am, Iron Works harnesses the finest quality of iron with zero impurities to make our products. That’s what makes them the best, and what I’m about to show you is no exception. We’re the leading brand for iron-related goods for a reason.”

        As Frank spoke, he slowly rotated the briefcase towards Eleanor, analyzing the look on her face as she turned her head to take a closer look. Light reflected across the smooth, glassy surface of the products and the inside of the briefcase looked like soft, red velvet. The glint of a shiny handle became clearer and on completion of the rotation, Frank was happy to see the smile wiped from Eleanor's face. The briefcase was filled with an assortment of knives.

“Sorry, I know it must be shocking! There aren’t many door-to-door knife salesmen but I do stand behind our products and had to show you first. Most people don’t take a look before answering but I always tell them you’ll change your mind once you see them.”

        The knives were different types and the handles were of all different colors. Some were strapped to the upper half of the case by leather buckles and others were neatly lined up on the bed of the briefcase below. They shined brilliantly under the light, refracting bright colors to make a rainbow effect on the glasses nearby. Eleanor realized after a moment that her mouth was hanging open, but she quickly replaced it with her normal smile to Frank’s annoyance. For a moment, she could almost see the vein on his forehead pop out.

        “So what do you think? They’re each only $180 but we can come to a deal if you’d like to buy multiple as a set.”

“I don’t think I’m in any need of knives at the moment actually. The ones I have are just fine.”

Frank’s face lit up at her reply. It was standard to hear as a salesman. When he started at Iron Works, he clawed his way up from selling spoons to forks and now knives, realizing along the way that the more dangerous the product, the harder it was going to be to make a sale.

“Ma’am I assure you that these knives can blow the others out of the water. Especially when they’re under the control of a precise hand, you can expect amazing results. Can I show you what they’re capable of?”

Before he even got a reply, Frank started to pull a thin cloth and the largest knife out of the collection. From the sheer length and cut, it looked like a butcher knife that could slice through the whole table like butter, let alone the cloth.

“You see, our knives have the smallest edge in the industry, making them incredibly sharp and impenetrable to wear over time. Even if you cut straight down, pointing with the edge, it’ll still do the job.”

The smile on Eleanor’s face began to fade at the sight of the cleaver. Meanwhile, Frank set up the demonstration with ease, folding the cloth over to create a thick layer. He picked up the knife and gently brought it down edge-first on the cloth and it pierced through to the bottom with ease.

“I’m sure you must not think that’s impressive enough, but I can do you one better.”

At that, Frank pulled out another cloth. This one was woven with thick strands like rope and again, Frank carefully folded it over a few times. But when he was done setting up the demonstration, he placed his hand on the folded pile and the knife in the other hand.

“Now I’m not sure what you’re about to do, but I really don’t think that’s necessary.”

“Not to worry ma’am, I’ve done this thousands of times. It’s just to show you what the knife can do when used efficiently.”

Frank wasn’t lying when he said he had performed the next demonstration thousands of times. It was his favorite pitch: give the audience a show. It rarely failed to impress and Frank found that every time he did it, he could grasp more excitement out of a living selling knives door-to-door.

He began by spreading out his fingers over the cloth and loosening his grip over the knife to create fluid strokes. Like the games children used to dare each other to do, Frank slowly lifted the knife and pierced the space between two fingers before placing it back in the starting position and repeating the process between the next two fingers.

“See, there’s nothing to it.”

After five slow strikes, the cloth was torn between each finger but Frank was looking intently at the size of the tears. He increased the tempo for the second round as Eleanor watched him barely miss his fingers. Strangely, he was able to increase the size of the tears by hitting the exact spot as before with incredible precision.

Frank turned to look at her face and noticed the smile was practically gone. In exchange, his smile grew a bit wider as he continued to increase the tempo until the hand wielding the knife became automated in its attack.

“In a practiced hand, the knife can slice through anything. I’ve had lots of practice, its actually very fun for me. And I don’t miss either - no injuries on the job, not even a scratch.” Frank was attempting to ease Eleanor’s fear - too much and the demonstration would be counterproductive. He recalled making a client nearly faint the last time he had tried the trick.

“Okay, well I think that may be enough. I understand that the quality is very high but I still don’t think I need any of them.”

The vein on Frank’s head began to descend near his eyebrow. Interpreting Eleanor’s refusal as a challenge to go faster, he increased the tempo to a fever pitch as the knife became a blur. The cloth by this point was littered with holes and the imprecisions were becoming more noticeable. Still, there were no grazes on his hand and no tears close to his fingers as the vein on Frank’s head grew to match the smile on his face. Besides, failing now meant no pancakes for breakfast tomorrow.

Eleanor watched wide-eyed at the tremendous fury Frank used to attack the cloth, only half-listening to his praise of the knife. Her attention instead focused on the ripping fabric as it came closer to his fingers. She watched as the cloth transformed into a printout of his hand, yet it looked like it was moving across the table.

To Eleanor, who was watching the demonstration with a mix of anxiety and awe, the cloth had shuffled across the table approximately a centimeter from where it started. Frank hadn’t been moving his hand across the cloth though, and the only motions were coming from his other hand. And yet, she could swear the cloth was slithering across the table like it had a mind of its own.

Frank was already past his fastest speed when he took one last look at Eleanor’s face, contorted in shock, and willed his hand to respond even faster. The table began to shake under the intensity of shifting body weight as Frank mustered more energy for each slice. His strokes were beginning to get sloppier and the tears were approaching his fingers, but he wouldn’t have to keep it up for long. The sweat starting to pool on Eleanor's face meant she was close to the breaking point already and one last swing ought to settle it. On the fourth swing between his middle and ring finger, he smelled the pungent aroma of maple syrup.

With his hand coming down faster than ever, the cloth was waiting for the last strike and teased him to finish the sale. Once this last tear was placed, he could practically see her signature on the documents closing the deal. At the last moment, Frank closed his eyes, having already aimed for the perfect spot with ample distance between both fingers.

The smell of maple syrup and fabric mixed together as the cloth made a minute leftward shift. Eleanor watched in subdued horror, her mouth etching the beginnings of a scream as the cloth slipped over, revealing leftover maple syrup underneath, but by then it was too late. Frank’s last swing missed the cloth completely and severed bone from bone as it took his middle finger clean off.

Eleanor screamed while Frank looked at the spot his middle finger was meant to be. Blood and syrup in a new mixture dripped off the table. Likely under the effect of adrenaline, Frank wasted no time scrambling to his feet to retrieve his finger while Eleanor’s face grew pale watching the sight. She looked at the red velvet briefcase and couldn't help but imagine that the blood found its way in there too.

“Ma- Ma’am, I really n-n-need you to call someone right now.”

Eleanor raced to grab the phone and immediately dialed for an ambulance to take Frank. The cloth left on the table resembled an outline of Frank’s complete hand, the pattern of tears around the middle finger mocking him.

The ambulance arrived soon after and the paramedics were reasonably confused by the scene. Eleanor was waiting in another room refusing to look while Frank was clutching and trying to jam his finger back. She couldn’t fathom how to explain the whole thing. They took Frank away quickly before the two could say anything to each other. On the stretcher leaving the house, they did manage one final glance at each other, no sign of a smile left on either of their faces.

Eleanor made her way back to the kitchen and attempted to clean up. She lasted four minutes before becoming nauseous and confining herself to a chair in the living room. In all the confusion, the knives and red velvet briefcase were left in the kitchen along with the cloth.

The phone rang a few moments later and Eleanor hesitated before picking it up, having no desire to talk to any new strangers. As she picked up, the soft voice of a customer service agent greeted her and immediately apologized for the mayhem that occurred.

“I’m sorry, are you from Iron Works?”

“Sorry! I should have started with that,” the voice on the phone responded. “I am with Iron Works and we are truly, deeply sorry about your experience. That was never meant to happen of course and the demonstration you saw was not a part of any training we had conducted. We never expected something like that from one of our best employees.”

“Thank you, that’s alright.” Eleanor was about to hang up the phone before the voice interrupted again.

“I’m sorry ma’am, but would it actually be possible for us to send an agent over to collect the products. We are sincerely sorry for the issue and we wish to collect the merchandise, seeing as how it may be distressing for you to keep.”

Eleanor was quiet for a moment before she replied.

 “Actually, I’d like to buy them. All of them. The knives and the briefcase too.”