The Carpenter, who had made this lopsided table at which they sat. She tried to comprehend, but her husband was irritated by the very notion of her incomprehension. 

“The Carpenter,” she said, disbelievingly, “who made this table.” 

“Yes.” 

“This table which wobbles.” 

“Is the man’s philosophy to be incriminated by the works of his hands?” 

She shrank from the subject at once, knowing her husband’s temper. But a magician whose illusions defied rational explanation, and yet his craftsmanship—! She had stuffed rags beneath one side, but it was as if the table were built like the keel of a boat, and it rocked despite support. Refused support, even. 

The most prominent intellectuals failed to account for the source of The Carpenter’s miracles, and so they merely scoffed, making fools of themselves. Her husband used to laugh with her about it over supper. The guy couldn’t tell his boxes from his dovetails, ass from elbow! That was when there was laughter. Because before the carpenter was The Carpenter, a silence was drawn tight between the spouses and rarely slackened.  

“I am sorry,” he said, calmly now, “but I am decided on the matter. All that is left, then, is to make you understand.” 

“Then make me understand.” 

He huffed. Had he not been expecting this? Had he thought he would simply be allowed to leave? That she would assent without question? 

“And the children?” 

“You have said that once already.” 

“What will you tell them?” 

His gaze speared downward. Would he tell them nothing? Not even goodbye? 

“These past months, I have thought often of the story of Job,” he sighed. “There once was a man from Uz. That beginning, so like the silly fairytales we were told as children. Do you think it is true? I wonder. I have found some truth in it, and some fiction. Contradictions, too. But these are not what I have been dwelling on. Is it very conceited of me to try to understand the mind of God?” 

If this was meant to somehow elucidate the issue, she felt at a loss. “I don’t know,” she replied truthfully. 

“Everything was taken from Job in a gamble between God and the devil. It is a very childish thing about our religion, that we tell each other stories we both know well. In the hopes of what? Of finding new secrets? Perhaps I have found one after all.”