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

in agreement, her eyes closed because she did not want to see her friend’s face. False Broximon did nothing.

“Why didn’t you tell me, Leni?”

“Don’t you remember the guards at the border talking about that man on the bicycle that comes over here a few times a week to try and communicate with his mother? But he almost never succeeds. This is what it’s like for any dead person who returns here.”

“But I’m not dead!”

“You came here from Simon Haden’s land. That’s why Chaos tricked you into choosing to go there; because after you’ve chosen to experience that stage of death there’s no returning.”

“But I brought Vincent back from death. I brought us both back. I did it before.”

To her dismay both of them shook their heads this time. “Vincent had just died. You came before he created his world, which is the second part of death. If that had happened before you reached him, you never would have been able to save him.”

“Then where is here? Where exactly are we?” Isabelle made an exasperated gesture meant to take in everything around them, everything real, her world, the world that she knew intimately.

“This is the other side of the glass. Remember? You’re on our side of it now.”

They were sitting in this park instead of finishing the short walk to Isabelle’s apartment because she was afraid of how she would react when she saw Vincent again. See him but not be able to touch him? Smell him but not kiss him? This was the worst part of being on the other side of the glass. She was back in her world, back to everything she knew so well. There it all was—right in front of her. She could see it, hear it… She was sure that if she had been able to order that Mohr im hemd she would have been able to smell its rich deliciousness. Everything from her life was here—except her in it.

“Hello there, young fellow. What’s your name?” A handsome old man wearing a gray Tyrolean hat asked in German, looking delighted to see Broximon perched high up on Ettrich’s back in his Babby Basket.

Broximon tried to ignore him but it was difficult because the traffic light was red and they stood together on the curb waiting for it to change. There was nowhere else to go and the old man was clearly waiting for an answer.

“Vincent, what did he say?”

Ettrich leaned his head back and translated, “He wants to know your name.”

“Ah English! I speak English. Hallo, little man. What is your name?”

“Marvin Gaye,” Broximon said in his deepest adult voice and turned away.

A red and white city bus passed close by, drowning out whatever the old man said next. Broximon didn’t ask him to repeat it but he did anyway. His voice sounded completely different this time. He spoke with no accent at all. “I thought your name was Broximon.”

The light changed to green but none of them moved. The old man smiled but the others didn’t.

“Who are you?”

“Vincent, we just talked on the telephone. Don’t you remember?”

“That was you?”

The old gentleman lifted his hat in the gallant/jaunty “how do you do?” manner.

“What are you doing here? I thought we were supposed to meet at Heldenplatz?”

“Change of plan. Would you like to see Isabelle? She’s right nearby.”

Ettrich was instantly torn between deep suspicion and desire. Isabelle was here? She was near? He had missed her so much. And the baby? How was their child?

“Where is she?”

“In a park a few minutes from here. I’ll take you there right now if you’d like.”

Broximon piped in over Ettrich’s shoulder, “Why should we trust you?”

The old man reached up and tickled Broximon under the chin. “Why shouldn’t you? All I’m suggesting is that we walk over to a park.”

Broximon leaned forward and whispered in Ettrich’s ear farthest from the old man. Ettrich listened but said nothing and the expression on his face didn’t change. Then he said, “All right, we’ll go with you.”

“Excellent. Follow me.”

He walked a few steps ahead of them and for the first minutes, Broximon continued whispering to Ettrich. Eventually Brox straightened up in his seat and asked, “Did you take John Flannery’s place?”

“Yes I did.”

“You’re Chaos?”

“Let’s say I represent the firm.”

“Aren’t you a little old to be doing this?”

The old man wiggled a “naughty-naughty” finger at Broximon and winked. “Just because there’s snow on the roof doesn’t mean there isn’t a fire in the fireplace.

“Anyway I don’t do miracles, which really is a young man’s game. So don’t ask me for one of those. Besides, the last two fellows they sent here could work miracles but look at what Vincent did to them. I loved how you handed Flannery. Oh, I had a good laugh at that. Him and that big dog. You vaporized them both. That was a stroke of pure genius.

“Everyone underestimated you, Vincent. They didn’t give you your due. I told them that; I said Ettrich is a clever man, he’s wily. Send me this time and let me just talk to him. I know he’ll listen.” He patted his chest. “Because my one and only specialty is order; tidying things up. You should see my desk at home—it’s always spotless. As a rule, old people are good at organizing things because we’ve had so much experience. Plus we don’t have much else to do.

“Take a right at the corner—we’re almost there.

“I like contracts. Treaties, ironclad agreements, and binding clauses. No loopholes allowed. No sly gaps in the fence where someone can slip through. I want things signed, sealed, and delivered. Then you know exactly where you stand. Surprises are my enemy.”

Neither Ettrich nor Broximon knew what the old guy was getting at, nor were they really listening as he rattled on. Instead they watched him—his gestures, his gait, the way he frequently turned to smile at them.

“You didn’t say what your name was.”

“You can call me Putnam.”

Down the street the flakturm came into view. Ettrich knew what it