"To begin," he said, holding his chin thoughtfully with his unchalked hand. "I think I'll ask a few questions first, like we've been doing. I want you to teach me, and thus learn from yourselves, rather than have me blather on." He finally tossed the microscopic shard of chalk into the trash, and clapped his hands together with a single, hearty thwock, producing a film of chalk-dust scattering ahead. He rubbed his hands together, considering his next words carefully.

"We already know what Deus means and, for now, we can forget about ex. What about machina?" he asked, pronouncing it ma-kee-nah. A few hands vied for attention, most students retaining a blank though attentive stare.

Dr. Z pointed at Jason and nodded.

"Making?" he guessed. Any answer would suffice at this juncture, so he didn't feel bad when he Dr. Z shook his head with pursed lips. Nope, try again. The teacher swung his arm toward Lorelei, indicating her chance to end the inquisition.

Her face was scrunched with thought. "Mocking?" she wondered.

Z rewarded her with a toothy smile. "Some would say so, for it arguably mocks the audience's intelligence. But, I'm sorry Ms. Wiehel, still not close enough." He waved his arm back and forth, seeking a new target. Finally he settled on a girl in the back who hadn't raised her hand. "Adriana?" he inquired, "Would you like to enlighten us? I'd hate to spend the rest of class getting answers like my king and such."

Adriana, startled and unprepared, blurted out the first word that wasn't entirely ridiculous. "Machine," she said, hesitating. Instantly she chewed her lip and looked crestfallen. Latin was thousands of years old; they didn't have machines back then. Preposterous.

"Ah, don't pout, young lady. I can guess what you're thinking and, actually, a similar thought crossed my mind when I first encountered the translation back when dinosaurs roamed the Earth. He then, bemused and determined, walked behind his desk, yanked open a drawer and began rummaging. Muted clinks and clanks broke the silence, adding a tint of mystery to whatever object would finally emerge victorious from the tepid battle. Ultimately, Dr. Z emerged with a bauble resembling a tiny wooden crane. He held it proudly and thrust it forward, presenting its miniscule glory to a confused classroom.

Kyle tilted his head to one side and realized what the item must be. His head already in position, he held his right hand behind his neck and jerked it while simultaneously gagging and unraveling his tongue in counterfeit demise. The class tittered.

Dr. Z turned the item around, staring at it with new understanding. It was an upside-down L with ratchets up one side, set into a skeleton of sticks arranged in a thin pyramid. Tiny functional wheels sat at each corner, making the awkward contraption mobile. "Hmm..." he said. "I suppose it does look like you could hang someone from it. Very good, Kyle!"

Kyle certainly wasn't expecting praise for his little joke, and baffled by the turnaround, his laugh degraded, freezing as a distended O. It is? He didn't wait long for an explanation.

"Yes indeed, boys and girls! This, while not the dreadful tool of a hangman, did provide hung people when necessary." He stopped, sensing a dark cloud of bewilderment forming at the apparent contradiction. Again he propelled the item forward as if banishing their collective stupor. "This," he roared, "is our machine."

"I don't blame any of you for expressing doubt or outright denial of this. Latin's a pointless language exploited for taxonomy and untranslated books from the dawn of man; what would such a thing have in common with a machine?

"Well, this is actually one great trick, you see. The phrase Deus ex machina is indeed Latin, but it's based on another phrase from ancient Greek, Theos ek mekhanes. We know it as God from the machine. Do you see now that the English word for machine has roots in a language that defies death only tenaciously in our modern era? Ancient Greek? Yes!

"English is truly the tongue of thieves. But as I said, that is a lecture for another day, and trust me, I've many similar engrossing examples of linguistic evolution. But today, I'd like to actually address the meaning. Can anyone provide a semantic interpretation of the phrase?"

Nobody volunteered. Dr. Z considered his class carefully, mentally filtering likely candidates when Kyle surprised him with a quickly raised hand. Z lifted his eyebrows and signaled, go on Mr Cemtes.

Kyle, still the new kid, already earned a reputation for missing subtle details. The class prepared itself for his unquestionably ludicrous and comically inspired ranting. So rant, he did.

"Uh, well... The thing, with wheels on it? They'd hang a man from that and yell 'This be God, ye mortals. See Him, and do tremble!' to, uh, scare someone? Hmmm. You said it started in Greece, right? And they were philosophers, so maybe they wheeled the God Cart around so God could solve people's problems with insight from all their discussions?" Kyle spoke to the class and Dr. Z, but also constructed each addition to his story as if asking himself if the progression contained obvious flaws.

Logical or not, the class remained unconvinced. Zerb slugged him in the shoulder, "Nice going, monkey-butt. I was gonna say it was like a scarecrow or sumthin'. But that? That was wild." Zerb, apparently, skeptical and impressed at Kyle's meandering nonsense. Kyle flushed hotly, embarrassed at the accusation and its likely accuracy.

"Laugh if you will, Mr. Zerbinski, but Kyle's actually on the right track." He winked at Kyle and continued, "This device indeed 'wheeled around' a person who played the part of God, or an angel, or otherwise supernatural deity. That's implied by the Greek theos, and we know the Greeks worshiped a rather daunting pantheon of imposing characters, so they had an abundance of possible occupants from which to choose.

"But!" he exclaimed, "It wasn't the quandries of others that concerned the masters of this cart. This is, for all its grim resemblance to a gallows, a stage prop. Theater, for all its pomp, often presented plot holes. You've all heard the phrase: paint yourself into a corner. Well, thanks to the myriad of Gods and their unadvised interaction with us mere mortals, often supernatural assistance appeared to set things straight; punish those in need of punishing, setting right perceived wrongs, etcetera. The full size version of this contraption would lower a God or minion onto the stage, where they would resolve all questions and with heavy hand, explain in great detail: why they were doing so, who sent them, and so on. But why? Why do you think they did this?"

Everyone paid attention through the short summary of ancient Greek theater practices, and so no shortage of raised arms presented themselves. "We haven't heard from you yet, Ms. Landale," he said.

"They had to!" she shouted, breathless and desperate to continue. "They kept making up scenes to fit their idea of morality, but they needed believable characters! Regular people and Gods don't mix, so they had to, had to fix it when things got messy or everyone would be angry. And, it's the perfect time to browbeat the audience!" Each sentence emphasized with a slap of her hands on the desk, excited and eyes wild with understanding, she vocalized a stream of consciousness without taking a breath. "They were just lazy," she finished.

"Very good!" he exclaimed, genuinely astonished at her accuracy. "Deus ex machina is generally recognized as the ultimate contrivance. That used to be how stories were told: full of exposition and direct examples of Gods interacting with, and ultimately solving, humanity's numerous woes. It allowed actors to wax philosophically directly at an audience distracted by numerous plot-threads. This audience didn't mind long soliloquies, because each long-winded oration simplified convoluted or otherwise indecipherable conspiracies. This practice has lessened somewhat, but you can still find examples of it in books and theater; often this indicates a writer has made a mistake of grand proportion, leaving little choice but to solve dilemmas through unlikely means. In such cases, the writer is the God, creator and destroyer of characters, ultimate lord of destiny. If something can be written, acted, or portrayed in any manner, why, it must be true within the context of the artificial world. You fiction fans are probably already well acquainted with this too-readily wielded crutch.

So why do I drone endlessly on this increasingly mundane subject now that my secret is revealed? Well I am a teacher, we've already established I'm not yet interested in etymology, and class is almost over. What can we assume from this?"

A chorus of male and female groans created a rumbling din. He hadn't assigned anything yet! Students who finished their laments looked upon Dr. Z, anticipating a rewarding yet grueling exercise.

"Now, now! It's not all bad. I know everyone here can utilize a pencil, so all I ask is that you jot a page or two of fiction. I want two stories with the same plot: one employing Deus ex machina and one eschewing it absolutely. I will obviously consider grammar and style, but you need not concern yourself with producing Grand Fiction. There may be a writer or two in this room, but that's not the aim of this class. I want to know you understood today's lesson, in concept, as well as practice. Tell me using your stories, what you think God is doing in the machine. You can't extract that from a dictionary, and you can't plagiarize something so short, so you've no choice but to comprehend!"

Dr. Z gestured toward the door, "You've had a long day, and I'm sure you'd like to leave, so you may vacate my room early today." Each student, grateful at the unexpected reprieve, gathered up his or her books and sprinted toward the exit, eager to to eat lunch and ponder their fables. He held up a finger and stabbed it at Kyle, "Except for you, Mr. Cemtes. I'd like to speak with you privately, if I may." Less than five seconds passed before this phrase was repeated among the departing bodies, speculation of Kyle's impending doom spreading like a natural gas explosion.

Kyle, of course, didn't notice the hushed whispers; he was far too busy panicking.