GLASS SOUP by Jonathan Carroll (funny books to read .txt) 📕

can do that? Even here you can erase his living memory? Even when he’s dead?”

“I told you—I’m King of the Park.”

“Holy shit.”

“You already said that. Know what the Russians say? ‘Every bastard meets his master.’ Bye bye, Jelden. Come on; let’s go talk to Mr. Haden.” He picked up Broximon and put him on the dog’s back. When Flannery moved toward the café, the Great Dane followed at a slow slink. Petrified, Broximon could only mutter “shit shit shit” under his breath and try to grab on to something fur to keep from falling off.

As usual Hietzl sat on the backseat of the car intently watching the two humans in front of him. The Range Rover was parked at the top of the Vienna Woods on a turnoff near Cobenzl. It was one of their favorite spots because it offered a spectacular panoramic view of Vienna and the plains beyond leading all the way to Hungary. They especially liked it on clear summer nights when they brought a picnic along and sat in one of the huge rolling meadows up there, eating and talking and watching dusk fall while the city lights flickered on far below them.

Now both of them were quiet, facing forward. Isabelle had been talking for a long time. She had told Vincent everything about her three trips to the strange land. She described what she had seen and her feelings about what she’d experienced there. Most important she had told him about meeting Broximon and Jelden Butter. How Jelden had called the place “Simon Haden Land” and said how important it was for their son that she meet with the dead Simon.

When she had finished a tense silence followed, which was very rare for them. Vincent sat slumped in the passenger’s seat, fingers laced behind his neck and one foot propped up on the dashboard. Whenever they were together Isabelle always drove because he loved the way she handled a car.

He turned to her. “Why did you think I wouldn’t believe you?”

She took a deep breath and let it out as a slow, slow sigh. Tears came to her eyes but she held them in check. “All I want is for us to be together so we can raise this child.”

“Agreed, but there’s a lot more to it than just that.”

“Yes, obviously, but why did they choose our child? Why did it have to be Anjo, Vincent?”

“Well, for one thing I’d still be dead if they hadn’t chosen our child, sweetheart.”

Despite herself, she chuckled. “That’s true.”

“Tell me again what they said about the place being ‘Simon Haden Land.’”

While Isabelle repeated that part of her experience, Ettrich stared straight ahead and squinted. Narrowing his eyes always helped him concentrate. But soon after she’d begun her account, he began shaking his head as if something were wrong with it. He interrupted. “Okay, okay, I’ve got it. Was there anything else you saw when you were there? Anything that might be relevant? Not just this time either—any time that you ‘blinked.’ Tell me about the strangest things you saw.”

She hesitated while running the experiences through her head, picking what was worth retelling. But then she surprised herself with what she said. “Do you know what was most strange; the most amazing thing? How it all fit together so seamlessly. Like today—I met a man made of butter. But after the first shock of seeing someone like that, two minutes later I was arguing with him. I wasn’t thinking He’s made of butter. I was only thinking This guy is an asshole.”

Ettrich had died alone in an anonymous hospital room. No one he loved or even knew was there to say goodbye or sit and hold his hand through that final ordeal. His only company was doctors and nurses and the elderly man with whom he shared the room. Both patients had terrible, ruthless cancers that ate through their insides like salt on ice.

Ettrich’s wife of many years knew he was dying but loathed him so much by then that she refused to come. Nor would she allow their young children to visit either. Because not long before being diagnosed with the terminal disease, Vincent Ettrich had abandoned his family to be with Isabelle Neukor. But in the crudest irony of his life, she rejected him and he was left with nothing. Soon after he became ill.

“Vincent?”

“Yes?”

“Was it like that where you went when you died: the seamlessness of it?”

He was about to answer her question when he heard something outside which made him sit up fast. Throwing open the door, he got out of the car and walked a few steps away from it.

“Vincent?”

“Ssh.” He put up a hand to silence her.

She had no idea what he was doing but still obeyed his brusque command.

His hand stayed frozen in the air, his head tilted slightly to one side as he listened hard to something. Opening her door carefully so as not to make noise, Isabelle stepped out of the car. She thought if she was outside then she might be able to hear whatever it was too.

It was summer and what she heard were everyday summer sounds—cicadas whirring, the snarl of a distant lawn mower, a child’s voice shouting somewhere, and a truck going slowly up through its gears. Then after a pause she heard the noise of something skittering on metal. Turning, she saw their dog jump awkwardly down from the car. After stretching, Hietzl came over, sat down next to her, and looked at Ettrich.

“Do you hear that?” He spoke with his back to her.

“What, Vincent? What is it that you’re hearing?”

“Listen carefully. You could miss it because it’s very far away.”

Setting her mind to it, Isabelle listened to everything around her as intently as she knew how. She tried to be totally in the moment, only listening, undistracted by thoughts or questions or other concerns. But to her dismay she heard only cicadas and the lawn mower which then suddenly stopped, leaving just the insect