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

these memories came to him like bad, out-of-focus photographs. He would stare at them, turn them this way and that in his bafflement, wonder what they were, what they meant, where they were taken. But a few of the pictures were clear and distinct. Ettrich had begun carrying a small notebook in his pocket in which he wrote down things he thought relevant to these memories; or associations between them and his hunches.

What he didn’t grasp was that one small part of his mind worked light-years faster than the rest now, accelerated even more so when he was in physical contact with Isabelle. This part of him had recognized important details in these “photos” and gone on to make fundamental connections. Racing ahead of the rest of his conscious mind—seeing, analyzing, and filing—this super-perceptive sense was one of several things he had unknowingly brought back with him from death. Right now however it did him almost no good because he was only beginning to recognize it and its messages.

For example on the first page of his notebook, amid an array of memory fragments, lists, and free-association doodles, he had written Flannery. But when he wrote it, a name that had come to him out of nowhere, Ettrich thought it referred to Flannery O’Connor whose short stories he had loved as a student. On the seventh page of the notebook in a corner he had drawn a first-rate cartoon of a Great Dane.

This highly developed part of his mind knew that he and Isabelle were in danger and even where the danger came from. But no matter how brilliant or informed it was, it had no way of conveying the warning to him directly. This was not death where a Broximon or Bob the Bear could break the rules to help. Ettrich was alive again and here he would have to discover things on his own.

Nevertheless he was the first one to see John Flannery at the funeral that day. It was held in Weidling, a village about five miles from Vienna. The bucolic crowded graveyard was at the edge of town alongside a narrow curving road that led into the Wienerwald. Leni’s family had a plot there.

Cars were parked haphazardly all up and down the road because there was no cemetery parking lot. As a result, the only space Ettrich found was far away. They’d had to walk back quite a distance, arriving just in time for the beginning of the ceremony. Along the way they passed a celadon-colored Porsche Cayenne. Vincent recognized the color and smiled briefly. He was about to mention it to Isabelle but remembering the solemnity of the occasion, said nothing. He looked back at the car twice though as they walked on, both times saying the word celadon to himself.

Ettrich had never liked Leni Salomon and vice versa. So he felt vaguely guilty going to her funeral while feeling little more than the conventional sadness for someone who dies unexpectedly and much too early. Leni had always been aloof and curt toward him as long as he knew her. The first time they met, he felt disapproval coming off of her like waves of cold off someone who has just come inside from a February day. Things never got any warmer between them either. He knew she was aware of his affair with Flora, and that Flora had subsequently introduced him to Isabelle. Did Leni dislike him because he had gone from one of her best friends to the other? Had Flora said nasty things about him after their relationship ended? Or was there some other reason why Leni had never made any attempt to disguise her dislike for Vincent?

As he walked down a short hill into the cemetery with Isabelle, he remembered the summer night a whole bunch of people had gone to a heurigen in Sievering to drink new wine and eat the delicious fried chicken served there. It was a happy gathering and the wine made things even nicer. Halfway through the evening Ettrich found himself sitting next to Leni. They had a spirited interesting conversation about their favorite books. It was the first time he had ever felt the slightest glimmer of interest from her. At one point he lightly touched her elbow with two fingers to emphasize an idea he was expressing. The moment contact was made, she snatched her arm back while a look of such dislike flashed across her face that he was both stunned and deeply hurt.

It was the last time they ever spoke at length. After that, he heard about Leni and her life from Isabelle who frequently spoke of her friend with the greatest love and respect. Ettrich listened as neutrally as he could to these stories and anecdotes but in the end he still didn’t think much of the lame pretty woman.

They walked across the graveyard toward a sizable crowd gathered at the door of a small open chapel. When they were almost there, Flora came out of the crowd and over to Isabelle who she embraced for a long time with her eyes closed. Ettrich felt awkward and uncomfortable in their intensely emotional presence. He didn’t know what he should do or say. He and Flora had made their separate peace long ago. Still, whenever they met he often saw her face tighten and her smiles turn into the patently fake ones politicians wear.

He thought it best to give the women room to talk and console each other. He slowly moved away from them, always checking Isabelle’s face and body language in case she suddenly signaled for him to return. He drifted to the back of the crowd, just close enough so that anyone observing would know that he was here for this funeral. He watched as the two women walked hand in hand to the coffin and each in turn bent down to kiss it. Although it was done in public, Ettrich had the feeling that there was no one else out