A few days later Dad came home with the most frightening machine
I’ve ever seen. He called it the Shear. At first glance it appeared to be a
three-ton pair of scissors, and this turned out to be exactly what it was.
The blades were made of dense iron, twelve inches thick and five feet
across. They cut not by sharpness but by force and mass. They bit
down, their great jaws propelled by a heavy piston attached to a large
iron wheel. The wheel was animated by a belt and motor, which meant
that if something got caught in the machine, it would take anywhere
from thirty seconds to a minute to stop the wheel and halt the blades.
Up and down they roared, louder than a passing train as they chewed
through iron as thick as a man’s arm. The iron wasn’t being cut so
much as snapped. Sometimes it would buck, propelling whoever was
holding it toward the dull, chomping blades.
Dad had dreamed up many dangerous schemes over the years, but
this was the first that really shocked me. Perhaps it was the obvious
lethality of it, the certainty that a wrong move would cost a limb. Or
maybe that it was utterly unnecessary. It was indulgent. Like a toy, if a
toy could take your head off.
Shawn called it a death machine and said Dad had lost what little
sense he’d ever had. “Are you trying to kill someone?” he said.
“Because I got a gun in my truck that will make a lot less mess.” Dad
couldn’t suppress his grin. I’d never seen him so enraptured.
Shawn lurched back to the shop, shaking his head. Dad began
feeding iron through the Shear. Each length bucked him forward and
twice he nearly pitched headfirst into the blades. I jammed my eyes
shut, knowing that if Dad’s head got caught, the blades wouldn’t even
slow, just hack through his neck and keep chomping.
Now that he was sure the machine worked, Dad motioned for Luke
to take over, and Luke, ever eager to please, stepped forward. Five
minutes later Luke’s arm was gashed to the bone and he was running
toward the house, blood spurting.
Dad scanned his crew. He motioned to Benjamin, but Benjamin
shook his head, saying he liked his fingers attached, thanks anyway.
Dad looked longingly at the house, and I imagined him wondering how
long it would take Mother to stop the bleeding. Then his eyes settled on
me.
“Come here, Tara.”