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The Nutcracker’s Overbiteby Peter Moore ('84) Bertold, the Nutcracker originally from Erzgebirge wore Baby Rib cut-off tee shirts while pumping iron at the local Gold’s gym in Redondo Beach. Mostly he worked his lateral pterygoids to give his mandibles that extra masticulating endurance needed in regional nut cracking competitions. Last year he even qualified for the Jaws of Steel Nationals in Kahului but was disqualified early on for mashing the macadamia nuts housed inside shells the size of bocce balls. The judges noticed he had managed to de-shell 233 macadamia nuts in twelve minutes, well on his way to qualify for the semi-finals. He’d never come up against such a fierce opponent. For months after the competition his maxillaries were in traction, the wooden grain of his wisdom teeth severely splintered. One maxillofacial surgeon said he would never compete again. Another said he’d have to wear a mouth guard for the rest of his life. He’d rallied many times before. He thought back to the early days when he first stumbled upon the sport. How initially he began to work out in Venice Beach to compensate for the promontory of his overbite. How when he was invited to train in an indoor gym he was inspired to exert himself just by staring down the malocclusion in the mirrors. Once his overbite was considered a liability, now by professional standards, a unique nut cracking vantage… Brazilian nuts came naturally to Bertold. But in the hard-to-husk category, he often floundered when coming up against something like Shagbark Hickory. Well aware of his strengths he would often travel to compete in neighboring states where the regionals often used stonier endocarps devoid of any fibrous outer husks. The competitions through the years had only become more complex. Where once he was familiar with the simple hard shells of common nuts, now surprise categories were added. New unusually viscous soft pods with hard inner shells even made their way into the qualifiers. The sport seemed unrecognizable from its humble beginnings. Somewhere it had lost its luster. He would battle back no less, as he sat in the oral surgeon’s chair, breathing in sedatives. Deep asleep under the inhalation anesthetic he dreamed of running naked through a lush forest of soap nut trees, the loam soil easily supporting his pattering feet. The clay soon gave way to sand until the underbrush opened to a clearing of dunes. He climbed the highest sandy ridge to get his bearings, only to trip and tumble toward the ocean side. At the dune’s landing, he found himself transported to a tabletop at The Pirate’s Nest. He realized then he was more than just naked but a skeletal bare-ass of his former self. A metallic taste invaded his mouth. Yet, a strength he had never felt before engulfed his whole being--as if he were all teeth and fulcrum. Lying prostrate next to a ramekin of drawn butter, he stared up at a plastic bib. A lobster cracker caught somewhere between the devil’s hammer and the anvil’s deep blue sea. Originally published in the Massachusetts Review, Spring 2010 |
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