Last year I started to build a barn. A man who was a liar undertook
to do the stonework and concrete work for me. He could not tell the
truth to my face; he could not tell the truth in his work. I was
building for posterity. The concrete foundations were four feet wide
and sunk three and one-half feet into the earth. The stone walls
were two feet thick and nine feet high. Upon them were to rest the
great beams that were to carry all the weight of hay and the forty
tons of the roof. The man who was a liar made beautiful stone walls.
I used to stand alongside of them and love them. I caressed their
massive strength with my hands. I thought about them in bed, before
I went to sheep. And they were lies.
Came the earthquake. Fortunately the rest of the building of the
barn had been postponed. The beautiful stone walls cracked in all
directions. I started, to repair, and discovered the whole enormous
lie. The walls were shells. On each face were beautiful, massive
stones--on edge.
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