Dear diary,
A radio play is an artwork that is performed for an audience’s ears alone; it has only audio, no visuals.
A silent movie is an artwork that is performed for the eyes of an audience, on film without sound: it is exclusively visual.
The god Yahweh sometimes causes his prophets to hear a message—audio only—and sometimes he causes his prophets to see a vision, without any synchronized soundtrack. And sometimes he causes his prophets to dream a dream: this is like “talkie” cinema, combining sound and image.
A dream also contains aromas; like when a movie theater’s usher holds before an electric fan a pillow soaked in rose oil, during a scene in a film where a swordsman is hacking his way through his neighbor’s garden.
A dream furthermore contains feelings, such as anxiety or euphoria. Feelings are the result of a brain sprinkling chemicals into one’s bloodstream.
Can dreams, movies, and radio plays be trusted? Are they divinely inspired messages from the god Yahweh? Yes, they are.
Yahweh once inflicted me with a prophetic dream where a woman named Molly was bathing two dogs. The dogs were large – the size of camels – and their hair was very shaggy; so, when they shook, the suds from their bath splattered Molly; and even some of it got onto me, the dreamer. In my dream, the suds had a pleasant taste, like cotton candy. (Cotton candy is delectable in my dreams: my dreams are different from reality.)
Now this Molly became engaged to a man who was the heir to a sandwich tycoon. “The secret of my success as a seller of sandwiches,” said the tycoon to his son, “is that I slice the meat thin.”
Then the son said, “Pa, someone is waiting outside whom I would like you to meet: her name is Molly, a caretaker of animals – she is the woman I am going to marry.”
The sandwich tycoon frowned and said: “No! I will not even look at her. If you plan to wed a poor person, instead of a millionaire like me, then I disinherit you. Leave my mansion, now. You are henceforth on your own.”
Thus did the sandwich tycoon cut off his own son from the vast riches that he had expected to inherit. And the father also discontinued his weekly allowance payments. Therefore, Molly’s husband was forced to find employment. He ended up getting a job in the construction industry.
His first day on the job, Molly’s husband was handed a pickax. Yahweh the boss said to him: “Mortal, what do you see?” And Molly’s husband answered: “A pickax.” And Yahweh the boss instructed him, saying: “Use this pickax to mine ore, but avoid striking any water pipes. If you succeed in mining ore, I will pay you your wages; but striking a water pipe will mean your immediate termination.”
So Molly’s husband swung the pickaxe, and it hit a water pipe. The water came spraying out of the pipe, straight into the boss’s face. This blunder led to Molly’s husband being fired (which was a relief, because he first had assumed that by the word “termination” Yahweh meant “death”).
Now when Molly came to visit her husband during breaktime at midday, the rest of the construction crew had left the site to go eat at Molly’s husband’s father’s sandwich shop (for, recall that the father was a sandwich tycoon whose motto was “Cut the meat thin”), but Molly’s husband was ashamed to admit that he had lost his job, so when he saw his wife approaching, he quickly grabbed his pickax and pretended to be mining ore, as if he had never committed his sin and was still an upstanding member of Yahweh’s workforce.
Molly smiled and handed her husband a box lunch. “Here is a box lunch I made for you,” she said. And her husband put down the pickax and wiped his brow, then opened the box and saw the lunch that it contained:
The lunch box featured a beautiful sandwich whose meat was cut thick.
“Ooh,” said the man to his wife, “such a nice box lunch! Thank you, dear.” And he gave Molly a kiss, then took a bite, and his eyes lit up, and he exclaimed: “This is a beautiful sandwich; the meat is cut so thick!” Molly smiled and waved goodbye.
“Wait; don’t leave!” said Molly’s husband. “You just gave me an idea. Do you suppose that you could mass-produce these box lunches? Because I think that if you were to start up your own sandwich business, you could outsell my father’s franchise, and we could force old pops to purchase our operation for a fortune in order to keep his monopoly on foodstuffs.”
At this point, the rest of the construction crew returned from dining at Molly’s husband’s father’s establishment. Molly’s husband stood on a hill to get their attention, and he said: “Give ear, O work crew, and I will speak. And hear, O fellow-laborers, the words of my mouth. You have just returned from your lunch break. You have eaten at my father’s sandwich shop. My father’s motto is ‘Cut the meat thin.’ Therefore, I suspect that you are still hungry. Now I ask: Are you still hungry?”
And all the multitudes answered: “Yes.”
Then Molly’s husband said: “Try this sandwich, here. My wife Molly prepared for me this box lunch today, and I have eaten as much as I desired; now I am full – I am completely satisfied – but there is still a large portion of the sandwich left over. I will break it into pieces, and pass the fragments around to the rest of the crew. Take, eat, and give me your reaction.”
The entire workforce was fed with the leftovers from Molly’s box lunch. Every man took as much as he desired, and he was made full. The construction crew then returned their verdict: “Molly’s sandwiches are beautiful; the meat is cut so thick, we are in bliss.”
“Would you pay to eat box lunches like this,” asked Molly’s husband from his podium on the hilltop, “instead of dining at my father’s sandwich shop?”
And all the people answered: “Yes.”
So Molly and her husband hastened home and started up a business. They hired a score of employees, and mass-produced sandwiches with the meat cut very thick. On every box lunch was printed “Molly’s Beautiful Sandwiches,” and then the following was written in italics: “made with a special secret.”
These box lunches sold like hotcakes. Molly and her husband became successful businesspersons.
Now Molly’s husband’s father, the sandwich tycoon, received a visit from his accountant, who announced: “Dear Sir, your Sandwich Monopoly is in danger. Look at this graph, and all these charts: they show that your profits are sinking down, down, down. You are losing all your money. For a new competitor has appeared on the scene and stolen all your regular customers: it is the business called Molly’s Box Lunches. They are outselling you because their product is superior.”
Hearing this, the sandwich tycoon’s face turned purple. He almost suffered a heart attack. Then he mastered his anger, and replied in a calm voice unto his accountant: “Tell me, my boy: Who is the owner of this new sandwich franchise? I wish to smite him unto death.”
The accountant answered: “I know not the owner’s name, but here is his company’s address.”
So the sandwich tycoon stormed directly into the headquarters of Molly’s Beautiful Sandwiches. He saw the employees all hard at work, and he picked up one of the box lunches and opened its lid. He took a bite of the sandwich. His eyes lit up. Then he finished the rest of the sandwich in a single gulp, and opened a second box and devoured another. Then he drew his sword and shouted to the workforce, after swallowing: “Summon the owner of this establishment, for now I shall slay him!”
The sandwich tycoon’s son then came walking out of the office and said: “Father! What a surprise. Welcome to Molly’s Box Lunches. I see you’ve already enjoyed some samples of our product. Would you like to meet my business partner Molly?”
The tycoon’s countenance fell, and he exclaimed: “Sonny boy? This is your enterprise? Ah, then I must sheathe my sword,” and he put the weapon back into its scabbard, saying: “I cannot execute my own offspring; for that would cause the transgressions of the entirety of the working world to be washed clean by the bloodshed, in accordance with the divine logic of sacrifice. Plus, an ancient prophecy warned me that my own demise shall result if I murder my son.” Then the old man frowned and said: “Take me to your leader.”
“Yes, you wish to meet Molly,” said the sandwich tycoon’s son. “Follow me.”
The son then led his father into the main office at the back of the establishment. Molly was seated at the executive’s desk behind a large calculator. “Father, this is the company’s owner, Molly,” said the son; “Molly, meet father, the Ex-Emperor of Sandwich Land.” Molly smiled and shook hands with the old man. “Pardon me,” she said, punching the last couple buttons on the calculator; “I was just adding up the profits that my box-lunch business keeps generating. What can I do for you?”
The sandwich tycoon said: “I would like to buy you out.”
“Buy me out?” Molly feigned surprise. “For how much?”
“I’m willing to pay five million dollars,” said the sandwich tycoon. His son, who was standing behind the old man so that his father could not see him, made a gesture to his wife which meant “Demand a much higher price.”
“Five million?” Molly laughed. “I just made twice that much money in the amount of time it took you to say the words! No way; I reject your offer: you’ll have to pay me much, much more.”
The sandwich tycoon raised his eyebrows in surprise. “Young woman,” he said, “you are crazy to turn down five million dollars. I can reproduce this whole enterprise for a fraction of that amount.”
Molly beamed with confidence, as she slowly reached behind her desk, took one of the box lunches, and held its cover close to the tycoon’s face. Tapping the lid, she asked the old man: “What does that say?”
The man answered: “Molly’s Beautiful Sandwiches.”
Molly bowed and smiled: “Now please read the phrase underneath – the one written in italics.”
The old man muttered: “Made with a special secret.”
Very calmly, Molly explained the point she was making: “Dear sir, it is true that you could use your millions to build another sandwich factory just like this one; but you would be throwing your money away. And here is the reason: You still do not know my special secret.”
The tycoon looked back and forth in distress, as if this fact had placed him in physical danger. Then, frowning, he said: “Will you take five hundred million dollars?”
Molly stood up and, with an expression of pity, shook her head. Now looking the tycoon right in his eyes, while pointing her finger and poking his tummy at every word, she demanded: “Five thrillion dollars.”
“Five thrillion!?” he cried. “But I don’t even have that much – I’m only a multi-millionaire!”
The sandwich tycoon’s son, from that place where the old man could not see, kept gesturing to Molly, as if to say: “Stick to your guns; don’t accept a penny less!”
“Five thrillion or nothing,” said Molly, with a nod. “If you cannot pay, then I will just bulldoze your monopoly.”
The old tycoon was nearly in tears. “OK, I’ll give you whatever you ask.” And he drew out his golden checkbook, and used his golden pen to scribble and sign.
When the check for five thrillion was handed to Molly, her husband and business partner came forth and congratulated his father, the sandwich tycoon: “You have mastered the art of the deal, pops. Great job negotiating. I was afraid that you would let Ms. Molly swindle you.”
The old tycoon grimaced proudly at his son and said: “Molly here drives a hard bargain – but I appreciate that.” Then, as the thought occurred to him, he added: “If only you had married a woman like Molly here, I would gladly give you another five thrillion dollars.”
Hearing these words, the son and Molly exchanged a look of shocked elation; then they both stood proudly side by side displaying their wedding rings and marriage certificate.
The old tycoon was dumbstruck. Realizing his position, he shrugged and sighed; then pulled out the golden pen and checkbook again.
After handing over the second payment, the tycoon retrieved from his suitcoat pocket the extra sandwich that he had swiped from one of Molly’s box lunches earlier, and after taking a bite he then asked while chewing: “Say, you never did tell me: What is your speical secret that makes these sandwiches so satisfying?”
Molly draped her arm around the tycoon’s son, then winked at the old man and said: “We cut the meat THICK.”
The old tycoon shook his head, chuckled good-naturedly, and snapped his fingers in acknowledgement of a fair defeat.
Source: That Certain Thing (1928)
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