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

store. False Broximon was behind the women and off to one side. He had continued talking, asking irrelevant questions and whistling the Drownstairs tune on and off all the way over here. The women wanted to strangle him. He was like the awful little brother you had while growing up who seemed to make it his goal in life to infuriate you with everything he did.

“Why are we looking into an empty store?”

They pointedly ignored him, but the truth was Leni would like to have known the answer to that question too.

Isabelle remained silent and stared. It had been her desire to come here. While walking toward her apartment, she had unexpectedly veered off onto a side street without any explanation. For the next ten minutes she said nothing while leading them here.

The empty storefront looked vaguely familiar to Leni. But she had lived in Vienna all of her life so much of it appeared familiar, no matter where she was in the city.

“Why are we looking into an empty store window?”

“We heard you the first time you asked that question.”

Broximon’s voice went up a half octave. “Yes, but you didn’t answer me the first time, so I’m asking again.”

Ignoring both of them, Isabelle continued to look intently into the empty window as if there really was something in there only she could see.

“Isabelle, why are we here?”

“This was Petras Urbsys’s store, don’t you remember?”

“Ah, that’s right!” Leni remembered Simon Haden scolding her for forgetting the time he brought her and Isabelle here and introduced them to Urbsys.

“I want to go inside. Can I do that?”

“Sure, but why?”

“I just want to go inside, that’s all. How do I do it, Leni?”

“Push the door open and walk in,” Broximon said.

Isabelle checked Leni who nodded that this was true.

She gave the door a push. It didn’t budge. She immediately thought It won’t let me do this, it won’t let me go in there. But a moment later the door yielded to the pressure of her pushing hand and slid open. Isabelle walked in.

Leni remained outside with Broximon, assuming her friend would be inside only a short while. Plus she had no desire to go in anyway. The only things she remembered about Petras was that he talked too much and he smelled. Go into his funky old empty store now? No thanks. Broximon did not go in either. He stood nearby whistling. Leni was sure he did it only to irritate her.

“Petras? Are you in here?”

The empty store remained silent. Did Isabelle seriously believe he would be in there? Yes, some optimistic part of her believed exactly that. She said his name again, only this time with no question mark at the end.

It smelled of mildew, old air, dust, and wood in the store. It smelled of emptiness and long neglect. It had once been such a vital unusual place. A compelling man had passed his last days in here. Old Petras knew that his life would soon be over. While he still had time though he wanted to share his stories with people who would appreciate them and cherish the objects that had helped populate them. Isabelle walked aimlessly around that large, shadowy, empty room searching for anything that would bring back even a trace of Petras Urbsys.

On the floor in a corner of the room was an old disconnected telephone. Clam gray, it had one of those rotary dials she hadn’t seen for a long time. Squatting down beside it, Isabelle slid a finger into one of the holes and slowly dialed her own number at home. She left the receiver in its cradle. For a fine few seconds she envisioned the black telephone ringing in her apartment. She saw it on the small redwood table next to the couch in the living room. Then she pictured Vincent entering the room and walking toward the phone to answer it.

After dialing the seventh and final number in the familiar sequence, she left her finger in the hole and watched it ride the wheel back to the starting point.

When someone outside tapped on the front window, she started in alarm because she had been so absorbed in that scenario of Vincent in their home. She really felt she was there—like she could reach over and touch the ringing phone herself.

Leni rapped on the glass again, harder this time, using the backs of two fingers. When she eventually had her friend’s full attention, she shrugged as if to ask When are you coming out of there?

Isabelle could not see little Broximon from where she was but assumed he was somewhere nearby. Her Broximon—not the real one, but the imposter she had unconsciously created from memory and frantic need to help her out of this trouble.

Perhaps it was thinking about her false Broximon. Or the memory that followed of the multitude of Simon Hadens massed together to confuse Chaos when it arrived. It might even have been as simple as seeing the rotary dial on this telephone with its numbers and letters you could choose from and combine.

Whatever gave her the idea, like a cloud that crosses a brilliant morning sun and changes the light over the world completely for a few dramatic moments, Isabelle suddenly realized something and instantly she passed from doubt and confusion to crystal clarity. Without hesitating at all she closed her eyes and thought of Petras Urbsys. In her mind she re-created the best possible image of the man she had known so well and respected tremendously. She thought in particular about his joie de vivre combined with that polymath’s knowledge and endless curiosity…

Time passed while she thought of him, remembered him, and then she heard his voice very near: “Did I ever tell you about the Blue Morpho butterfly?”

Although her first reaction on hearing his familiar voice was to yelp with joy, Isabelle managed to keep her eyes closed and silently mouth no. She had never heard of the butterfly before. She hoped and prayed to the gods