Chapter 5: The Carpenter's Square

Book of Joshua   Present Day♁

Hork Estate, Colorado Springs, CO, USA

Tools lay scattered beside the weathered stairs like offerings. With steady hands, Josh set to work on the sun-warmed treads. Demolition came fast—hammer struck pry bar with metallic clangs, popping nails free in screeches of splintered wood.

“I’ll be done soon…” he whispered to the birds, noting their sudden flight from the clamor. One by one, damaged boards surrendered until stringers lay bare.

Fingers running along fresh redwood planks—smooth and unblemished—he selected the straightest, measured true, and marked clean. The circular saw roared to life, precise cuts filling the air with woody sweet sawdust.

The whine of the blade reached William’s office and resonated in his jaw, shattering focus like the roll of distant thunder. He yielded and broke from his desk. Pouring juice in the kitchen, he watched through the window as the young man worked with care: knee steadying each board, screws driven firm and even—the fit better than original.

William stepped out onto the terrace.

“Morning, sir,” Josh called.

“They make nail guns, you know.”

“Yeah—but they’re noisy as hell.”

William’s deep laugh rumbled. “This isn’t?”

“I could drag the compressor out if you’d like? But screws hold much stronger.” He worked quick, a pace indicating no intention of slowing to haul more gear and hoses from the truck.

“True enough—carry on.” William’s smirk lingered.

“Only a few more…”

The impact gun rattled and screamed, screws biting deep. Josh remained focused—avoiding William’s gaze.

William continued to observe in silence, juice cooling in hand. Being watched while he worked needled Josh—William’s presence reverberated childhood criticism under his father’s eye: perhaps well-intentioned, though every flaw went noted.

With the final tread secured, Josh rose from his knees and arched his tired back. He turned to speak to William—but the terrace was empty. Josh shook his head and gave a private smile. Too noisy for you?

Josh navigated strategic steps to his canteen, avoiding a rolled ankle on loose tools and cutoff blocks of wood. The cool water hit salty lips, the taste triggering an echo in his mind: a recent surf trip, duck-diving waves, saltwater ripping through his hair. His eyes remained closed and he breathed deep—lungs filling as the imagination resurfaced.

Reality returned and the wobbly railing needed a piece of backing. He hunted through scraps, kicking cutoffs until he appointed the chosen block.

Startled—William once again appeared at the head of the stairs. Silver tray in hand, this time with chilled Dr. Peppers and a grape vine trailing off the side.

“Break time.” William gave an easy smile. “Come on up.”

Josh blinked, the contradiction stunned: the legendary Dr. Hork, sleeves rolled, playing waiter in the midday sun. Josh’s scowl melted into a grin and he dropped his tool belt; skipping stairs two at a time on his way up.

“Have a seat.” William motioned, still offering a smile. “Looks like Pom put you straight to work.”

“Yes, sir.” Josh groaned, sinking into the cushioned chair.

“William Hork.” The older man extended a powerful hand.

“Josh Bach.”

“I usually handle these types of things myself,” William nodded toward the stairs, a touch sheepish, “but life’s been a bit hectic… running short on time.”

“No problem—that’s why I’m here.”

William handed Josh an icy can.

“Thanks. Quite the place up here.”

“Pom and I enjoy it… Took time. Didn’t happen overnight.” He looked around, appreciating the finished product.

“I Imagine not. Where’d you find these pillars?”

“Didn’t find them—they grew!” William’s eyes sparked.

Josh smiled. “I like the vision, Dr. Hork—it takes quite the imagination to pull something like this together.”

William chuckled. “Imagination, sure… and money.”

“Nothing you can’t handle.” Josh smirked. “Pom… Mrs. Hork mentioned a new discovery.”

“Did she? Can’t imagine Pom ever bragging…” William laced with a tart tone. “Seems my discoveries notoriously become our discoveries.”

Josh raised an eyebrow, sipping from his soda.

“I don’t see a ring. You haven’t had the privilege?”

Josh nearly choked on bubbles. “Me? Nah. No ring.”

“Why not? You seem like a solid guy, self-sufficient. Pom even mentioned you were charming…”

“She said that?” Josh shifted, half grinning, half cautious. The spark sitting across from him smoldered different from other powerful men he’d met.

“She did.”

“Well, if I caught the eye of a woman like Pom—maybe I should take a swing?”

William loved the recklessness of the young man’s words. Sultans twice his age waffled when confronted, but Josh doubled down.

“Caught her eye, Barry Bonds? I merely said charming…”

Josh leaned in, undeterred. He had posted his chess piece but had no intention of disrespecting Dr. Hork.

“Pom’s… I mean, she’s an actual super model in real life. But her statue in the courtyard—that’s obviously her—the way you had her carved. She’s not cold and distant like the ones you see in church. She’s not ominous. She’s… kinda pure—almost motherly.”

William sank back, studying the peculiar young carpenter.

“She can be… on good days… She can also be a handful.” A flicker of vulnerability slipped through. “How old are you, if I may?”

“Twenty-nine.”

William nodded, letting the number settle. “A gift indeed. You’ll have to share your secret someday… and maybe I’ll show you mine. Grape?” He offered the tray.

“Thanks.”

“Carpentry—how’d you land there?”

“My dad builds houses—I was born into it. I hate it… well, hate’s too strong. There’s something honest about working with your hands. Construction is tangible. But it doesn’t feel like my calling.”

William listened and nodded.

“I picked it back up recently—I was working in music for a few years.”

“That so? You play?”

“No. Record label at first, then on the road. Basically just made sure the band had everything they needed.”

“Everything?”

“The rockstar stories are pretty accurate.”

“Groupies?”

“The groupies were easy… the drugs a bit harder—just not my scene. Got tired of babysitting millionaires who couldn’t remember their own set times.”

“Makes sense. You never really think about the logistics that goes along with that stuff.”

“It’s pretty self-indulgent—a cool job to brag about at the bar, but the glamour wears off.”

“The glamour hasn’t worn off this?” William tilted his head toward the stairs.

Josh laughed. “No illusions of glamour in construction! Maybe that’s my discontent: it lacks the poetry.”

“Proper expectations, I suppose. Though I’d say this place is a sonnet…”

“Sonnet? More like an epic…” The words trailed as he found his thought. “Construction is rooted in reality—and reality isn’t glamorous.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, money, mainly. That’s what construction comes down to. With enough money, you can build anything. Look at Rome, or putting a man on the moon.”

William nodded, but pushed. “You wouldn’t say Rome and the Apollo program are glamorous displays of construction?”

“I’d call the idea of Rome and Apollo glamorous—however, the reality of actually achieving those projects… I’d say they’re a bit tarnished.”

“How so?”

“The unimaginable use of resources, unrepayable debt that crippled generations, a force of will that decimated countries and cultures, and it was all driven by blind arrogant competitiveness. I’m just saying the actual construction of Rome and Apollo rockets quickly lost its glamour.”

“Yet Rome, Apollo—they’re considered mankind’s greatest achievements.”

“I’d agree with that—I’m not discrediting the achievement of either project. I’m just saying it took a lot of dirty work to make them happen. Which, when speaking frankly, is what construction is: dirty work. The poetry lies within the idea.”

William used the armrest and studied the young man more intently. “A man of Plato?”

“Absolutely—the glory belongs to the dream, not the sweat and debt and mess it took to get there.” Josh met his eyes. “Reality always tarnishes the perfect idea. Like Plato’s triangle—flawless in the mind, never quite right once you cut the wood.”

William went still for half a breath. The words landed deeper than Josh could know. “Impressive… It’s not too often you meet a philosopher these days.”

“We can imagine absolute perfection—an immaculate triangle, or set of stairs… However, once physical creation or construction begins, the laws of reality keep us from achieving them. Tarnished.”

“What’s the point of perfection if everything within reality is imperfect? Seems like a useless concept.”

“Well, that’s poetry: the idea that there is perfection. The notion of a greater truth.”

William read the depth behind his words. “…Are we still talking about the triangle?”

Josh deflected with a shrug. “Sure. Anything, really. The concept stays the same.”

William sat back and absorbed Josh’s words. The young man hadn’t sparked revelation or expanded the great scientist’s mind—the concept of ultimate truth was a daily struggle within his research. The intrigue came from Josh articulating the pursuit, and serendipity echoing Ana’s words.

“Kismet, Mr. Bach…”

Josh returned a blank stare.

“You. Here. Talking philosophy… It’s unexpected.”

“Sure…?”

“Are you aware of my recent discovery?”

“Mildly—I try to avoid the news.”

“Smart man—the media’s clueless.”

“Well, everyone’s heard you’re the soul cloner.” Josh smirked.

William returned a raised eye. “And what do you think about that? How does it make you feel?”

“Bullshit.”

William’s brow narrowed. “I’ve heard a lot of responses, bullshit usually isn’t one of them.”

“I mean, not that you’re able to clone memories and personality—that was the next evolutionary step. But now you’ll have every 2045 god-complex-crazied-billionaire at your door… Or maybe that’s what you wanted?” Josh casually sipped soda and twirled a pointing finger around their costly surroundings. “You can’t clone a soul—that’s the bullshit part.”

“And why not? You a religious man?”

Josh shook his head. “Nah… religion and I, well… let’s just say I’m more intuitive. Spiritual, maybe.”

“So, you believe in a soul?”

“I don’t know, Dr. Hork—I can’t answer that… But I can go back to the triangle—if there is a bit of ultimate truth within us, you can’t reconstruct it without tarnishing it. The physical world denies it.”

William nodded and pressed his lips. “Quite insightful.”

Josh felt the depth of the conversation and retreated. It was usually around this moment that he felt his words made more enemies than friends. “So,” he transitioned, “after the record label, I got called up to Warped Tour.”

“Warped Tour?”

“It’s basically a traveling rock n’ roll circus—a music festival. Hundred bands, stages, we played shows all over North America. Kids go crazy for it.”

“And you did this?”

“Yep! Had my bunk on the tour bus and everything.”

“And you couldn’t even land a girl then?!”

“Never said I couldn’t get a girl—just can’t keep them. There’s a difference.” Josh grinned.

“I hear you.” William sourly admitted. “Tough to be with just one… So why’d you stop?”

“I may look 20 but my liver doesn’t feel it…” Josh smiled and gave his ribcage a pat. “I did it for a few years, but truthfully the whole thing just got old. No one cares about the guy making sure the bus leaves on time, or that the lead singer is sober enough to make it to an interview. They’re just excited to see the show. You never knew where you were going to wake up, never got a good shower. You miss your friends and family after a while. My parents aren’t getting any younger—there’s not always tomorrow.”

William nodded as if he could relate. He was beginning to  piece together the quirky young man: a powerful presence beneath a thin build and shaggy hair—a fire that fed his own.

“I’m sure your parents appreciate it. I rarely see my kids anymore—all out serving the world in one way or another…”

“Could be worse—they could be destroying it.”

“Oh, our family’s seen some destruction… but you’re right, it can always be worse.”

“Well, just give ’em a call sometime, you know? I’m sure your kids would love to hear from you—even if it’s just to go on about the weather and how your knees predict rain better than the weatherman.” Josh adopted a creaky, knowing tone, rubbing an imaginary aching joint.

William let out a roaring laugh. “So true!”

“Storm’s a comin’—feel it in my bones!”

“That’s exactly what I sound like!”

“Oh, I’m riled now—the barometric pressure’s a droppin’!”

“And what are you boys laughing at?” A female voice scolded like a teacher during midmorning recess.

Startled, the men whipped their heads to find Pom, hand on hip, standing in the doorway. Her smile was wide with a breeze brushing her wavy hair; silk dress shimmering in the sunlight.

“Peacock—I wasn’t expecting you for another hour.”

“Well, I couldn’t bear to think of a couple men working unsupervised.” She circled William and plucked a grape. “What is this—shade and drinks?!”

“All Josh’s idea.” William was mischievous.

Pom rubbed his shoulders. “Well don’t you two seem to be getting along nicely?”

“Did you know that Josh is practically Dionysus? He’s been touring around the country with rock stars?” William announced proudly.

“Really, Josh?!” Her eyebrows were high. “That must have been fun?"

Josh blushed and nodded.

“Which famous ones have you met?”

“All of ‘em,” Josh teased.

Stories flowed—tales of celebrities, ridiculous backstage demands, favorite albums, and debates raged about the muses of inspiration. Laughter came natural. Josh sat in the golden afternoon light, no rush, no performance, just being.

For the first time in a long while, he felt like he belonged exactly where he needed to be.