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

And it did go much farther than that, but they had to wait till later in the day to experience it. When Isabelle opened the door to their apartment, Hietzl the dog looked over from its chair across the room but didn’t get up to greet them as usual. It was angry at having been left at home when they went to the cemetery. Ettrich had explained to Hietzl that dogs weren’t allowed in cemeteries because they pissed on the gravestones and shit where they shouldn’t. Who wants a steaming pile on their final resting place? But despite the explanation, the dog only stared dolefully up at him from its place on the floor.

As they were going out earlier, Isabelle had hoisted her purse on to her shoulder and said, “It’s my fault, Hietzl. I don’t want to drive out there, so you can’t wait for us in the car. We’re taking the tram.”

Now that they had returned, the animal was giving them the cold shoulder. Not that they really noticed it because both of their minds were full of Vincent’s theory. They could talk of nothing else.

Isabelle sat at the kitchen table while Vincent prepared coffee and put the cups and cream in front of her. “Where did celadon come from? Why did you just suddenly say that word out loud?”

He turned from searching a cupboard for sugar and shook a finger at her. “Good question. I was trying to figure it out before. But you know what? Out of nowhere.”

“But you must have seen it before. Maybe you read it somewhere. How else could you have thought that word up?”

“I don’t know, Fizz. As far as I can remember, it really is the first time I’ve ever heard of celadon. The idea about you and I combined creating a third… something that knows much more than either of us alone, came when the word did.

“Look—when we touched that gravestone at the same time suddenly I was living in your past. Then later came celadon. What’s that? The minute I took your hand I knew what it was. And at the same moment, this ‘you-and-me-makes-three’ theory came into my head. It’s not the first time I’ve had the idea. And I’m not just talking about our child either. What is it? What’s the third thing? I don’t know. But today we’ve had pretty good proof of it.”

They were silent awhile, until Ettrich brought the coffee to the table and poured some for each of them.

“There’s something else. Please don’t get pissed off.”

“Pissed off at what?” She had the cup to her mouth so that when she spoke, her breath over the hot liquid pushed smoke in front of her lips.

“At the question I’m going to ask. Tell me about Frank Obermars.”

She lowered the coffee to the table without taking a sip. Months ago when they had gotten back together, one of the first things they swore to each other was to tell the truth about everything, no matter what. Since then they’d had some difficult wrenching discussions and full-blown arguments. But she had always kept her word and told him the complete truth.

Now she was tempted to lie. She was tempted to ask “Who’s Frank Obermars?” because he wasn’t important. No, he was important in a historical sense, but not to them, not now, not anymore. Frank was over. Frank was the past. Frank was what she did when she left Ettrich and swore she would never see him again although she knew by then that she was pregnant with his child. Leaving Ettrich was the cause, Obermars was the effect.

He was a good-looking smart Dutchman who worked for Philips Electronics in Vienna. Another time they might have had a rewarding relationship. But there are people we meet in life that miss being important to us by inches, days, or heartbeats. Another place or time or emotional frame of mind and we would willingly fall into their arms; gladly take up their challenge or invitation. But as it is, we encounter them when we are discontent or content and they are not. Whatever serious chemistry might have been possible if, isn’t.

Isabelle initially reasoned that having a fast electric fling with someone clever and sexy would lessen the pain of losing Vincent. So she said yes to an invitation from Frank and went away with him for a long weekend to a beautiful lakeside village near Salzburg. Everything there was perfect. It was an enchanting place that the Dutchman had chosen carefully.

At the end of their first day there, he made love to her for three hours. Never once did a cheerless, detached look leave her face. He tried every trick and tactic he knew to please her. He had a lot of them. He was used to satisfying his lovers because he knew what women liked and he genuinely reveled in sex. But not once, not for a second, did he feel that Isabelle was there with him sharing this experience, much less enjoying it. Obermars would later remember their encounter as similar to making love to an adept prostitute. A woman who knew the right moves but if you saw her face when she didn’t know she was being watched, you’d see only a blankness there that would chill your heart.

He tried and tried until Isabelle became almost still. As soon as he stopped she rolled onto her side away from him. He thought she was going to cry but she only remained silent, which was even worse.

He asked if she was all right. She said yes. The word came out a stone. He asked if there was anything he could do. She said no, but that she wanted to return to Vienna in the morning. He could not imagine spending an entire night with her and her silence, so he offered to drive back immediately.

She turned then and looked at him. “Yes, that would be better. You’re a good guy, Frank.”