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

“It’s Haden’s kid? They didn’t tell me that.”

“No, it’s another man’s. The father died but was brought back to life to help teach this child.”

Broximon touched his forehead in disbelief. “What? That breaks every rule in the book.”

Bob smiled for half a second. “There is no rule book anymore. Only survival of the fittest and no more rules. Chaos saw to that. It’s why I’m telling you these things; I never would have been allowed to before. You know how the system worked. But now all bets are off and whatever help they can get, they’ll take.”

Broximon moved his index finger back and forth as if it were a windshield wiper. “Okay, there’s Haden and pregnant Isabelle: What’s their big connection?”

“Simon often dreamt about Isabelle when he was alive, so Chaos keeps bringing her here into his dreamworld. It’s trying to figure out how to force her to stay and have the baby.”

“Bob, that’s not possible. She can’t give birth here—this is death. The child would be born dead.”

“That’s exactly what Chaos wants.”

“Whoa! And how does Haden figure into this?”

“This world is his creation. He’s the only one who can keep her out of it.”

A Paper Trumpet

None of the people who knew him now were aware of the fact that not long before, John Flannery had been one of the richest men in America. You had to look hard to see any remnants of that wealth, but some were still there. He wore a plain-looking George Daniels watch that had cost $107,000 at a Christie’s auction. A Creditanstalt bank book taped to the bottom of a dresser drawer carried a balance in his name of 839,133 euros. One of his dog’s eyes was false. The substitute was an ingenious feat of American bio engineering and one of a kind. Flannery was an exceptional cook who had once made a simple meal for Flora using ingredients that were obscenely expensive. Not that she knew it. Her only comment was that everything in it tasted almost as good as sex. He served the leftovers cold to Leni the next day.

He enjoyed doing that sort of thing; liked tickling people’s noses with a secret feather only he knew existed. Once after they had made love, Leni picked up his watch from the bedside night table and examined it closely for the first time. He could see appreciation rising in her eyes and that made him happy. She wasn’t a total loss.

“This is a beautiful watch, John. I mean it’s really beautiful.”

“Thank you. It belonged to my father.” He slipped it gently out of her hand. He did not want her to notice or remember the name of the maker. If she became too curious about it, she only had to look up the brand name on the Internet to discover some eye-opening information about Daniels watches, not least of which was how much they cost. Then Flannery would have real trouble explaining to her how he could own one of the most highly treasured watches in the world. You could never be too careful about these details, no matter how stupid humans were. Strapping it on, he looked at it fondly. He knew exactly what to say to get her mind off the thing. “Did I ever tell you about my father?”

Her eyes left his wrist and moved to his face. He had never said anything to her about his family. This was a first. She was definitely intrigued. “No, never. Tell me.”

Opening the door to his apartment today, Flannery called out her name and was somewhat surprised when she didn’t answer. She wasn’t here? He looked at his watch. Two hours had passed since they spoke on the phone and agreed to meet here in one. Hmm. Leni was never late. Something serious must have happened. She was such a good little Girl Scout. He was sure she would either show up at his door with an excuse in her hands like a trembling bouquet, or call as soon as she could to explain why she was late. In the meantime, he decided to celebrate his new car with a small glass of whiskey.

He’d ordered a new Porsche Cayenne right before being reassigned by Chaos to Vincent and Isabelle. It was one of the few things he regretted about leaving his previous post. The vast money and power he’d left behind were no more than a shrug to Flannery. But he had wanted to see how well Porsche made its first four-wheel-drive car, and was vaguely sorry at the time that he had to forego the chance. Now he would know. Celadon was a bad color choice that made him wince a bit when he pictured it. But the car was new and he would be using it only a short while.

He was thinking about the Porsche and a glass of good whiskey when he turned the corner to the kitchen and saw Leni sitting at the table. She was staring directly at him. Luba the Great Dane was asleep at her feet.

“Hey there. How come you didn’t answer when I called?” He started for the cupboard and the unopened bottle of 1967 Glenlivet. Halfway there he stopped on realizing that she still hadn’t said anything. “What’s the matter?”

Leni lifted one of her hands off the table. Beneath it was a four-inch-long toy miniature of the automobile John Flannery had just stolen. It was even painted celadon. The color more than the toy beneath her hand told him what was going on.

Chaos was here in a whole new form. Somehow, somewhere, Flannery had made a serious mistake without knowing it and it had come to straighten him out. Or worse. He fell to his knees and stretched his arms above his head, prostrating himself in front of this Leni Salomon replica. He was not afraid because fear is a combination of what is and what could be. Chaos is not a combination of anything—it simply is. Flannery was