The House That Jack Built

May I ask you something?

I can't promise I'll answer.

R... right, that's exactly what I meant.

Um, are you allowed to speak along the way?

I was thinking there might be rules.

Let me put it this way

very few make it all the way without uttering a word.

People are overcome with a strange and sudden need

to confess on these trips.

And not all of it can be said to be

of great rhetorical quality

but do carry on merrily

just don't believe you're going to tell me something

I haven't heard before.

I will tentatively divide my tale

into five randomly chosen incidents

over a twelve-year period.

So I'm standing here holding this jack

crap's not working.

Do you, uh, do you have a jack I could borrow?

No, I'm sorry.

- No? - No

- No? - No

That's odd, I thought everyone had a jack.

I don't.

Perhaps you could have a look at my car?

Well, I don't have to have a look at your car.

The issue with your jack is it's broken.

There.

So, uh, what's a person like me supposed to do?

Well, I suppose

I could, uh, drive over to Sonny's repair shop

and call for roadside assistance.

It's about, uh, five miles from here.

What kind of repair shop is it?

It's... it's.. Sonny's a blacksmith, very good one.

Blacksmith.

Well, maybe this Sonny can repair the jack?

You'd have to talk to Sonny about that.

Perhaps, I could entice you to drive me there?

- Please. - Um..

Oops, that was a mistake.

Mistake?

Me getting in this car with you.

What was it one's mother used to say

about not getting into cars with strangers?

Well..

I wouldn't know what your mother said.

You might as well be a serial killer.

I'm sorry but you do kind of look like one.

You'd like me to drive you back to your car?

No, no. I can take care of myself.

I'm sorry, were you offended

that I called you a serial killer?

No.

It's of absolutely no importance to me.

Maybe it's just the van.

It's the kind one might expect to be kidnapped in

or used to transport corpses.

But if you really were a serial killer

I guess the easiest thing would be just

to bury my body back up there by those trees

but you'd have to remember to dig six feet down

so the foxes couldn't dig up my grave.

What would I do?

What would I do to keep you from getting away with it?

Of course, I'd just

pick up that jack and hit you over the head with it.

A jack like that can do quite a bit of damage

don't you think?

I'm not a medical examiner.

It'd do quite a lot of damage.

Don't forget this. Good luck with Sonny.

Um, would it be too much to ask for you to drive me back?

If this Sonny is as fast as you say he is?

I'm sure Sonny is perfectly capable of giving you

a lift back to your..

As... as I told you before, I don't like

driving with strangers.

Well, I'm just as much of a stranger as Sonny is.

Oh, getting along just fine.

I'll just go speak to Sonny, just take a moment.

Sonny.

Hi, Jack.

How's it going?

Well, I was working on Miller's tractor

but this lady is being really persistent.

You don't say.

Big mistake.

The reason serial killers can roam around free in our country

is that they have no connection between themselves

and their victims.

So, you just made a big mistake

letting Sonny see the two of us together.

You know..

...honestly, I have more important things

to be doing with my life

than messing around with this crap.

You... you said he was really good.

Yeah, well, I'm sure Sonny was just

distracted by your goddamned blabbering.

Now I have to go, I have an appointment.

Appointment, what appointment?

That's none of your goddamn business now, is it?

You're not just gonna leave me here.

In fact, yes, that is kind of what I was thinking.

I'm sure there will be another serial killer passing by

who can give you a lift back to Sonny's.

That is, unless he decides to kill you first.

Even if I was to beg you to drive me back?

Just a last time?

Pretty please.

You know, I take it all back

what I said earlier about you looking like a serial killer.

No, no, no, you don't have the disposition

for that sort of thing.

You're way too much of a wimp to murder anyone.

Oh, dear, you are a dangerous man

smacked her with a jack, did you?

Honestly, I've heard of more murders

than I can count.

And by the way, what does this ridiculous man

have to do with anything?

It's Glenn Gould

one of the greatest piano players of our time.

He represents art.

So a jack in the face of

an admittedly unbearable lady was great art.

Is that what I'm to make of it?

Dear Mr. Verge, please give me a chance

to cast some supplemental light on the story of the jack.

The old cathedrals often have sublime artworks hidden away

in the darkest corners for only God to see

or whatever one feels like calling

the great architect behind it all.

The same goes for murder.

When I say cathedrals

it is first and foremost the gothic buildings we admire.

Here elegant, pointed arches have replaced the earlier

more primitive rounded arches.

The art of engineering is first and foremost about statics

that is so things remain standing in spite of

the various forces that impact the buildings.

In this way, the pointed arch created a possibility to build

much higher and with much more light

but most importantly with less use of material.

I often say that the material does the work.

In other words it has a kind of will of its own

and by following it, the result will be

the most exquisite.

So the material was the jack

and it jumped into the lady's face on its own.

Art is many things.

Very convenient and unusual

in the pile of bad excuses.

But all of that is of no interest whatsoever

unless you're an engineer.

I am an engineer.

My mother was of the opinion that becoming an engineer

was the more financially viable choice

but my really big dream was to become an architect.

Right before the lady and the jack

I purchased a building lot

and since I was my own developer

due to a substantial inheritance

no one could keep me from drawing up

my own plans for my own house.

Engineer or architect

what I see is an OCD patient in full bloom.

Ordnungszwang Jack

to use a good German word.

Yes, perhaps, it is in any case true

that I suffered from compulsions as a child.

I was completely hysterical about cleaning

and could never leave a room that wasn't

perfectly neat and clean.

A standard that was difficult to maintain

in the walk-in freezer.

The walk-in freezer?

The walk-in freezer on Prospect Avenue.

The sign has been broken for forever

so no one really knew what the name of the street was.

I bought the pizzas from the former owner

of the walk-in freezer.

He claimed it was a great deal

but of course I never managed to sell them

so it all became too much for me.

I only ate one of those shitty pizzas.

Pizza, pizza!

And then there was a door to another room

which I never managed to open.

A fucking neurotic riddled with obsessive compulsions

and a pathetic dream of something greater.

And what about the police?

I imagine they started coming around a lot.

No, call it luck if you will.

I had attempted to hide her car..

...but to my great annoyance

you could still catch a glimpse of it from the main road.

You know, without realizing where I had parked the car