Confusion and Wisdom met in a bar. Confusion was late. “I was reading a book, and I missed my stop, and I had to get off and backtrack, and I couldn’t find my transit card, and the bus driver—”

“And and and,” Wisdom said wearily. “I know the story.”

“What story?”

“The one you just told me. Theme and variations.”

Confusion looked confused. Green eyes and curly blond hair, upturned nose. Confusion really was pretty. “You don’t understand.”

Wisdom chuckled, her blubbery epidermis doing a Jell-O dance like a lard tsunami in slo-mo. The bartender knew to keep away. Those two never drank anything, and they were drunk all the time. “Are you familiar with Edward Elgar’s ‘Enigma Variations’ for orchestra, composed between 1898 and 1899? So-called because the theme is never stated. You have to infer it from the variations.” Wisdom closed her eyes, savoring her wisdom and offering silent thanks to the Goddess of Pride.

Confusion elbowed Wisdom in the ribs, but the blubber made Wisdom immune to attacks of confusion. Wisdom sat there, eyes closed, feeling all thankful and stuff. The elbow didn’t exist.

Confusion decided to talk to herself out loud, without realizing that she talked to herself out loud nonstop anyway. “I watched the movie. Enigma was, like, the German code. They used a secret typewriter with invisible ink. No wonder they lost the war.”

Wisdom opened her eyes and looked at Confusion as if for the first time. Truth be told, the freckles in Confusion’s face made Wisdom insane with jealousy. “Theme and variations, honey. Let me explain.”

“A double Scotch, no ice,” Confusion shouted. The bartender couldn’t believe it. First drink that she had ever ordered. What was the world coming to?

Wisdom opened her mouth and started explaining something else. Knowledge feels good, and knowledge hurts. “The ethanol in alcohol—”

“And an icepick,” Confusion barked. The bartender nodded. He was wiser than Wisdom, and he served the icepick before you could quote Ecclesiastes and that line about there’s a time for everything.

“Wait a minute,” Wisdom said. “Think before you act.”

Back in the day, Confusion had excelled at Sunday school. And she had been reading the Bible when she missed her stop and had to backtrack and couldn’t find her transit pass and the bus driver— “Meaningless!” she growled. “Utterly meaningless! Everything is meaningless. That’s the New International Version. You want the King James Version? Vanity of vanities, all is vanity.”

Knowing full well that the thick blubber made Wisdom’s innards inaccessible, Confusion plunged the icepick directly into Wisdom’s left eye and onto her brain, so-called.

Confusion gulped down her double Scotch and let out one sweet little burp. “Put it on my tab,” she said to the bartender. He nodded and called the ambulance, as usual.

She rummaged through her three handbags and found her transit pass. Confusion left in a hurry and caught the midnight bus. Local: plenty of time for Leviticus and Luke and the guys rising from the dead and the lepers getting good dermatological care and and and—

Best book ever.