woodcut, sumi ink of kozo paper/ short film
the walking table
(a short story)
(20 years ago, in 1993, when I was 8 years old) my father the engineer cut off one of the branches of the mangrove tree to make a walking table. The table was small, but it fit us five, my father, my mother, my brother, my sister, and I. No matter where we went, the table followed. We never knew when we would need it, so making one with the ability to get up and move whenever we went, proved very useful at the time. But you see, a walking table can have its problems as well. Take for example when one person wants to have dinner with a friend that they haven’t seen in a long time, and one person doesn’t feel hungry at all but would rather do something else, it can cause a lot of trouble. The table, engineered to follow us five, would scamper about the room in all directions, hitting walls and knocking over things until finally we each arrived and settled comfortably into our respective places. Then, the table was perfectly still. To correct this oversight, my father removed its legs, with all the apprehension of a father letting go.