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

small bundle of pink although its cries were surprisingly loud. The last crow walked back and forth on the telephone wire dipping its head forward and back, opening and closing its beak again and again but no sound came out of it.

“How long does a soul have to wait before it’s safe?”

Leni did not look at Isabelle when she answered. “That depends on the life the person led.”

Soothed now, the baby stopped crying. The soul began to rise again. At the same time it also began to very slowly disperse like water vapor. From out of nowhere, the first or second crow came sweeping back in, snatched up the fragile white soul in its open beak like a rag, and flew off with it. The crow still on the telephone wire dipped its head up and down, up and down, up and down, cawing like crazy.

Because the two women were watching all this, rapt, they did not see the immaculately dressed little man emerge from inside the baby carriage, climb over the edge of it, and drop to the ground. No one saw this happen because those who could see him were watching the soul snatcher, and those that couldn’t were looking at the dead body sprawled against the base of the tree.

The little man spent time brushing himself off and straightening his beige drape-cut suit. When he was satisfied with his appearance, he walked over to Isabelle and Leni.

“Hello ladies.”

“Broximon!”

Leni looked down at him and then over at Isabelle. “You know this man?”

“I do. What are you doing here?”

Broximon hiked a thumb over his shoulder. “Pinching that baby. But it didn’t do much good. The crow still got the soul, huh? I couldn’t see from in there.”

“You were the one making the baby cry?”

“Yup. Sometimes one good pinch will make them cry for half an hour. Half an hour usually does the trick. Chaos doesn’t have the patience to wait around longer than that. But sometimes these babies shut right up even after you’ve given them a hell of a pinch. Then there’s not much else you can do. Did either of you know the dead guy?”

Isabelle looked at Leni. “No. But what are you doing here?”

“I came to help you get out of here.”

“By pinching little babies?” Leni demanded.

Broximon stayed cool. “If needs be, yes. Babies recover—souls don’t.”

The siren they heard belonged to a police car. It pulled up behind the moving van, blue lights flashing. Two cops got out, a man and a woman. The woman walked right over to the body and looked at it coolly and appraisingly. Her partner talked to different people in the crowd who were only too happy to fill the police in on what had happened.

“Vincent is here.”

Isabelle froze. “Vincent? How can he be here?”

“Anyone can be. The problem is getting back to his side of here.”

“Where is he?”

“At your apartment. That’s where you were going anyway, wasn’t it?”

Isabelle started to say yes but to her real surprise, Leni interrupted her and said loudly, “No.”

“No?”

“No.”

“Then where were you going?”

“That’s none of your business.”

“Leni!”

“Isabelle, he isn’t real; he’s Chaos. He’s your own chaos.”

The idea was so unexpected that it stopped Isabelle. “What do you mean?”

“He’s from Simon’s world, right? That’s where you know him from?”

“Yes.” Isabelle said it hesitantly, the one word sounding like a question.

Leni shook her head. “You fished him out of your memory of Simon’s world to save you now. It won’t work.”

“But I saw him in the other world too, Leni, the real world. After your funeral in Weidling.”

“Yes, you told me. But was he able to stop you from coming here?”

“No.”

“Exactly. And he can’t save you now either. You can re-create him and make him damn real, but he’s only a delusion. Most of our lives we create our own chaos, Isabelle. We don’t need much of it from the outside because we’re so good at making it ourselves.

“We do it because we believe, we honestly do believe that it’ll help us or save us… but it’s usually what ruins us.

“Nobody can help you get out of here now but yourself. Not Vincent, not your fake little magic man, no ruby slippers. Not me or Simon—only you. Only you can do it.”

“But what about that whole scene with the soul we just saw; the crow stealing it and the crying baby? Were they real?”

“Yes, but this guy is not. Not some little leprechaun who pinches babies. He’s your creation. You made him out of your memories because you hoped he’d help get you out of here. He won’t. He can’t.”

To make matters worse, afterward this false Broximon wouldn’t go away. When they started walking again toward Isabelle’s apartment he followed them without asking permission. Fifty steps on, Leni made a disgusted sound and stopped. Turning to him, she asked/accused, “What do you think you’re doing?”

“Walking.”

“Walking where?”

“That’s none of your beeswax,” he said nonchalantly.

“Oh really? That’s interesting.” But Leni was at a loss for something else to say in response, so she started walking again albeit more quickly.

Broximon walked a few feet behind them. He frequently interrupted their conversation by asking what this or that was along the way, as if they were tour guides. It quickly became both exasperating and annoying. When he wasn’t asking questions, he whistled that moronic song from the group Drownstairs neither of them liked.

“Broximon, will you please stop that? If you’re going to follow us, at least just shut up. Don’t ask any more questions and stop whistling.”

“Why?”

Isabelle held up a rigid fist at him to be quiet now—or else.

“Leni, why is he still here if what you said is true?”

“I don’t know—ask him.”

Isabelle asked.

To their surprise he answered. “Because you brought me here. You’re the only one who can make me go away.”

“How?”

“I don’t know—I didn’t make me. Ask yourself.”

Isabelle asked herself but didn’t have the faintest idea. Leni didn’t have the faintest idea either.

Brogsma

The three of them stood there looking into the front window of a vacant