The Carpenter
Once there was a ceiling in love with a floor. The ceiling, after years of admiration, began to drop molecules of itself as if these were tears released finally upon what seemed to him ages of passive failure. Since the floor was a darkly stained oak polished to a sheen, the ceiling could see his own reflection if he looked intently, as one lover might look into another’s eyes and see himself captured there upon the wet surface of one beloved lens. In this case, there wasn’t much to see in the reflection. The ceiling was pure white. Instead, he usually focused upon the dark patterns of the grains in the floor’s nature, the many years of wear on the floor boards. However, he knew himself to be far more vulnerable in comparison with the floor.
This was proven one night when a violent earthquake shook the city, leveling entire neighborhoods. Although mortal damage was done and the ceiling fallen, the house stood. When the last aftershock was over, this marriage between the floor and ceiling, this consummation, like most modern marriages, was a complete surprise and not a little disappointing. The ceiling lay upon the floor, his shattered plaster strewn with lath and a few framing boards and the contents of the attic — various boxes of holiday decorations and old clothing that had been held there like trivial memories of days gone by. Now, this ceiling who had so longed to touch the floor was in contact with her wherever there were no rugs or furniture come between them. It could have been worse — a violent wind might have ripped him away and left him jettisoned into some cow pasture and the beautiful floor exposed to the elements. But the roof held firm, and the wreckage within was contained like a difficult family who are spiritually committed to each other.
(Before the earthquake, an actual family had lived here and stood, walked, danced, and even lain upon this floor. If anyone were to lie on the floor, they might look up at the ceiling and meditate for a while. Or listen to some sound such as a rat chewing on a box beyond the ceiling in the attic. Otherwise, the ceiling was always ignored.)
A door, three days after the earthquake, was battered open, and in walked a carpenter. His was the task of restoring the ceiling to its original state. Even the repair of the broken furniture was entrusted to him due to his extraordinary reputation for fine craftsmanship. After a month, the carpenter had finished his work. The family returned once again to inhabit their rooms. They were most impressed with the restoration of the ceiling in the living room. Since such a large volume of plaster had fallen and a gaping hole had opened up over their entire lives, they were astonished at the pure expanse that once again covered them with the assurance of a pristine sheet.
The ceiling loved the floor as much as he always had, but now he held an affection for the family within the house whom he rarely used to notice. The family stood, walked, and lay about the house as they had done before. Except for the little girl named Lucy who had died in the earthquake. And despite her death, in the years following, there would be a healthy forgetting and even occasional dancing. The floor would tremble. And the ceiling.
* * * * *
The Man and the Woman
I love you, said the woman. Same, said the man. It’s not the same, said the woman, because you didn’t say you love me. It is the same, said the man, because with the same creative force in which you said you love me I said, Same. You can’t measure my creative force, said the woman. And love can never be equal; that’s the awful thing about love. But you’ve had my children, said the man, and I have with these hands measured our children with pencils in the white doorframes of our house, and I love you. When you say it now, in this way, it’s a cliché, said the woman. I can’t win, said the man. Aha! said the woman, in love you’re supposed to lose! Then it’s obvious I love you, said the man.
* * * * *
Teeth
Pain in the head is always worse, I think, because it only takes an inch or so for the pain message to travel to the brain. Not long ago, I suffered such a torment that I thought I would pass out. A root canal, the dentist instructed. (If you are a young person, don’t put this story down just yet, as you probably don’t want anything to do with root canals, but this story will go elsewhere. Old people will keep reading because they have already had a root canal or two, and a pathos has been established.)
Horror of horrors, the root canal did not work, and the pain came back two weeks later. The dentist told me that sometimes there are not two or even three roots to a tooth, but possibly four, and he might not have gotten the infection cleaned out of those extra roots, which are small yet still alive with feeling. Each root has its own life somehow. It took not only that extra visit, but one beyond it before the matter was settled.
But the matter was not settled, because my tooth still hurt. Apparently, I had a fifth root or some other problem that only an endodontist could discover with his expertise in microscopic care. So I was sent along to him, and he solved the problem. It was a horrible month, and I am still complaining. A man I know with beautiful teeth said a similar thing happened to him. You would never know by looking at him.
Recently, I was hiking in the woods chewing on a piece of candy, and the crown that was on this tooth came off. I felt a strange sense of relief and comic effect even though I knew I had every right to be angry. I was determined to have the whole tooth just ripped out like I should have done in the first place, but the dentist told me not to do it. My teeth would shift. So I got it repaired.
I was lying in bed the other night, reading a book, and my wife paid me a compliment. She said that one thing she liked best about me was my teeth. Sometimes your teeth seem like nothing, but if you are taking a tally of discomfort and pain and beauty, they are everything. Even if you are in a jungle prison, fashion yourself a toothpick from a stem off a branch and keep your teeth clean.