“I was murdered.” Leni paused and then because she couldn’t hold it back, she hissed through gritted teeth, “I was murdered!”
Bob looked away. Even he couldn’t take the intensity of her glare then. “Yes, I’m sorry—before you were murdered. However long a person lives, they create a mosaic with their lives like this one on the floor. A singular design that only they could have produced. When you die the first purpose of the afterlife is to learn how to add your unique mosaic, the one you made of your life, to the greater one that is God.
“Put out your hand again and watch it.” Leni did as she was told and waited. After a short time a lime green ornament snowflake landed on her outstretched palm and remained. All of the others that touched her continued to pass through her body on their way down. This green flake stayed.
“That one is you,” Bob said.
She was inordinately pleased to hear it and found herself grinning at the small green multifaceted object on her hand. She shifted her eyes to the design on the floor. Thinking about what Bob had just said, she wondered where hers belonged in it.
“Look closely at the mosaic now. Do you see the gaps in it—the black spaces sprinkled all over?”
Yes she saw them. More important, once her attention was directed there, Leni noticed something intriguing about these small black gaps scattered around the mosaic: any snow that fell on them melted immediately and disappeared as soon as it touched the blackness. All of these spaces remained empty despite the heavily falling snow.
Bob repeated himself now to make sure she had understood everything. “From time to time a big bang takes place and all of the pieces fly out, but then eventually return. When they come back, they form a different mosaic.”
“They’re forming a different God?”
“That’s right. The distances they’ve traveled, what’s happened to them on their voyages out and back—it changes them. When they do return to form a mosaic, they’re different. Your green snowflake might have been white at the beginning of its journey. Like you, Leni—you weren’t the same person as a child that you were when you died. So your changed shape and color altered the final design of both you and the greater mosaic.”
“God is constantly changing? God?” The concept was equally ominous and enthralling to her.
“Yes. Because you change, so does God.”
“What happens when all the pieces return and a new mosaic is completed?”
“There will be another big bang and the process starts over again.”
It was so complicated yet so simple. Leni could only stare at the remarkable design at her feet while considering what she had heard.
“But there’s one more thing and it changes everything.”
She forced her eyes from the mosaic to look at Bob. She had not digested the information. It ricocheted wildly around her past and present. Her mind kept applying it to this and this and this, things that had mattered when she was alive. Mysteries that once compelled or puzzled her, significant events that had taken place, experiences that began making sense now because she understood their context.
“For the first time ever, Chaos has become conscious in this mosaic—it is able to think. Chaos was part of every mosaic, but only as a force before, like the weather. But imagine how different life would be if the weather could think.”
“What does it mean, Chaos can think? How does that apply to us?”
Tipping his head back, Haden opened his mouth wide. For a few seconds he tried to catch snowflakes on his tongue. In time he turned to her and said, “Imagine what it would be like if lightning didn’t like you.”
“So what?”
“Well Leni, if it didn’t, it would come looking for you and hurt you every chance it got. Like those poor people who actually do get hit by lightning six times in their lives. Why is that? Why them? Maybe the real reason is because lightning doesn’t like them and that’s why it keeps striking them again and again.”
She looked to see if Bob agreed with this. The bear stared back but said nothing. It wanted her to work through as much of this on her own as possible. If she asked her own questions, came to her own connections and conclusions, then things would proceed much faster.
“All right, forget the weather—what about Chaos?”
“Chaos doesn’t want a new mosaic formed because it likes this one; it likes being able to think. So it’s doing everything it can to stop a new mosaic from being formed. That’s why there are so many empty places in the design down there—because it has already found ways to disrupt the process.”
“How?”
Haden chuckled because it was exactly the same one-word question he had asked in the same belligerent tone of voice after hearing the explanation.
Bob said the same thing to her that it had said to Simon. “The simple answer is people. Every individual has their precise place in the mosaic. But if Chaos can transform people into Chaos, then they abandon that place and it remains empty because nothing else fits there.”
“Did John Flannery kill me?”
“Chaos killed you and Flannery is part of Chaos.”
“If it’s so powerful, why doesn’t it just change everything to the way it wants?”
“Because it’s neither strong enough yet nor is it fully aware of what it’s capable of doing. But as it has grown smarter and savvier, it’s made people more chaotic. It’s made the world more chaotic. Soon the balance will tip.”
“And what does this have to do with me?”
“You were one of the first people it actively interfered with and changed your fate. Before now it was more indirect; it convinced people to do its bidding, but never actually caused things to happen.”
“Why did it choose me?”
Haden said, “Because your best friend is Isabelle Neukor.”
“What does it have to do with Isabelle?”
“Her child. The baby she’s going to have could help stop Chaos. We have to tell her that, and we have to tell her how to do it before it’s too late.”
“How can you reach her?”
Bob said, “Only you can do it. You’re going to tell her.”
“Me? I’m dead.”
“True, but there’s a way.”
Zi Cong Baby Palace
Isabelle didn’t know whether to be concerned or annoyed. She and Flora were walking out of the cemetery together. Ettrich was still nowhere to be seen. “Have you seen Vincent?”
“No.”
“Neither have I. Not since halfway through the funeral. I have no idea where he went.”
Flora didn’t care where Vincent went. All she wanted to do was get Isabelle alone so she could describe the vision she’d had earlier of Leni holding up a sign that said GLASS SOUP. It had to mean something.
“That is just strange. Vincent doesn’t disappear like that; especially not today.”
Flora had told her husband that she was returning to town with Isabelle, but not before stopping off to get something to eat and have a long talk. He squeezed both her shoulders and said he would see her at home. Don’t worry about the kids—he’d take care of them. He was such a good man. Times like these, she was reminded again that his greatest quality was he always made her feel loved. Flora wished she loved him more than she did.
The two women left the cemetery and walked down the narrow road back toward Isabelle’s car. Where had Vincent gone? Isabelle had forgotten her cell phone at home and was still so distraught by the burial and Vincent’s disappearance that she didn’t think to borrow Flora’s. She wanted to call him right now and give him a blast—Where are you?
Flora was wondering whether it would be better to describe her vision of Leni while they were riding in the car and she had Isabelle’s undivided attention, or wait until they got to the restaurant and drank a couple of glasses of wine first to settle them down.
Maybe today was also the day to talk about her new lover Kyle Pegg. Just tell her best friend in the world everything about the affair
and wait to hear what she had to say about it. Leni’s death had suddenly made life feel so urgent; so right-this-moment because there might not be another.
How touching and considerate of Kyle to come to the funeral. She saw him right away but made no sign because her husband was standing nearby. But Flora was deeply grateful for his thoughtfulness and presence. It helped make the burden a little lighter. She honestly never expected Kyle Pegg to show up there. Flora felt his concern and support embrace her. How lucky she was to have two such stand-up guys in her life.
By the time they reached Isabelle’s car, Flora still hadn’t decided whether or not to spill the beans about him. She couldn’t read her friend’s face which was only blank and drawn. Flora knew that Isabelle had been closer to Leni than to her. She knew too that although both friends loved her, they thought she was over the top, too much, too often without perspective or clarity on too many matters.
Isabelle rounded the car and stood by the driver’s side door, looking at her keys but not really focusing on them. What should she do now? And where was Vincent, damn it? She had no desire to go anywhere now and certainly not to some Gasthaüs to listen to Flora prattle on about Leni or her latest personal crisis. Flora was a gem, but there were times like right now when she wanted to be on the opposite side of town from her.
As Isabelle inserted the key into the lock, she looked inside the car. Broximon was sitting on the edge of the backseat. He raised his eyes from the magazine he was reading and waved at her. He closed and then slid his small reading material into an inside pocket because it was a bondage magazine. Better she didn’t see that. He had been studying the pictures in an illustrated article titled “Eat, Drink, and Beat Mary.”
“Grüss gott, meine damen,” he said.
Isabelle said quietly, “You’re bigger than the last time I saw you.”
Flora looked across the roof of the car at Isabelle and frowned. “What did you say? What do you mean, bigger?”
Broximon crossed one leg over the other. “True. They made me a little bigger for this trip.”
“And you’re here. How can you be here, Broximon; how is that possible?”
He ignored the question. “How are you, Isabelle? How was the ceremony?”
“It was all right. How did you get here?”
“By plane.”
“By plane? You flew here?”
“Yes, there’s one flight a week.”
“Isabelle, what are you talking about? Who are you talking to?” Flora’s voice was high and concerned. She really didn’t know what to make of this.
“Flora, could you excuse me for a few moments?”
Flora crossed her arms and then uncrossed them. She looked down to the left, and tapped her foot. What the hell was going on? Why was Isabelle talking to herself? Slowly Flora walked three meters away and pretended to look back toward the cemetery.
“You did not fly here in a plane.”
“Yes I did, and you’re going to fly back with me”—he shot his cuff and looked at his wristwatch—“in two hours.”
“Two hours, really? I’m going to get on a plane and fly away with you—there?”
“You must, Isabelle.”
“Leave everything and just fly off?”
“You must.”
“Why?”
“Because of Anjo. You have to go with me to save your son Anjo.”
Vienna airport is a half-hour ride from the city. Isabelle drove down the autobahn at slightly under the speed limit, her hands unmoving at three and nine o’clock on the steering wheel. Staring straight ahead, she had not said a word the whole trip. Flora sat next to her in the passenger’s seat, scared stiff of what to do or say. The only thing she wanted was to get out her phone, call Vincent Ettrich and tell him to come get Isabelle before it was too late. What would happen if she couldn’t reach him in time?
Isabelle had been so matter-of-fact about everything. They walked to her car after the funeral, no problem. But the moment she opened the door, she suddenly started talking to someone who wasn’t there. Initially Flora thought it was some kind of badly timed joke, a weird diversion intended to take their minds off what they’d just endured and the crushing weight of Leni’s loss. However when it became clear that it was not a joke and Isabelle was really talking to ghosts, it was frightening. Flora had never heard the name “Broximon” which Isabelle kept using, but knew very well the equally peculiar “Anjo.” It was the name Isabelle and Vincent had chosen for their child.
An even worse moment came when Isabelle asked her to move away from the car so that she could speak to this Broximon phantom alone. Flora walked a few meters and then turned to look back at the cemetery, wondering the whole time how best to contact Vincent without being seen.
Soon Isabelle waved her back over and announced that she must go to the airport right now because she had to catch a plane. Would Flora mind riding out there with her and then driving her car back to town because Isabelle didn’t know when she would return?
One of Flora’s two best friends was dead and the other was going insane before her eyes.
They were now passing the Schwechat oil refinery, six or seven minutes away from the airport, and then what? Have a nice trip, Isabelle; see you when you get back from madness? What was going to happen next kept whizzing around in Flora’s head like a spun ball about to drop in a roulette wheel.
All right, yes, Isabelle had been acting a little strangely in the last weeks; long before the unexpected horror of Leni’s death. But so what? Flora had known Isabelle Neukor for twenty-five years and she was an eccentric woman. Of their trio, Leni had always been the rock the other two leaned on, Flora was the diva, and Isabelle the creative but unsteady one. She was not especially fragile and always chose to present herself to the world as a tough guy. But Isabelle was tough only when it was easy and there was no danger. When faced with real difficulties she couldn’t take any kind of punch without falling down or running away. Her two friends had felt responsible, always on the lookout for people and situations that might cause her trouble. It was another reason why Flora didn’t like the fact that Isabelle and Vincent Ettrich were together now. From her experience Vincent was not a steadfast soul, although in fairness to him she had to admit that since returning to Vienna he had been a model partner. But all of that aside, right now she needed his help no matter how she felt about the man.
Isabelle said just loudly enough to be heard, “I can’t get over that they actually have a flight from here to there.”
Instead of blurting out What the fuck are you talking about? Flora looked at the chipped fingernail polish on her thumb and mentally counted to ten before responding to Isabelle’s weird non sequitur. Before she had a chance to say anything though, the phone rang in her purse.
She stuck a hand into the bag and rummaged around until she found it and lifted it out. “Hello? Oh my God, Vincent! Hi!”
“It’s Vincent? Let me talk to him.” Isabelle took a hand off the wheel and wiggled her fingers for the phone. “Come on, let me talk.” She thrust her arm out impatiently and tried to take it without looking. Because she still had her eyes on the road, she only managed to knock the phone out of Flora’s hand onto the floor. It hit and bounced under the passenger’s seat.
“Shit! Great. Will you please just drive, Isabelle? Try not to kill us. I’ll give it to you in a minute if it isn’t broken now.” Flora slid forward and reaching under the seat, tried to fish the phone out without looking.
Behind them on the backseat, Broximon had been sitting silently the whole trip keeping an eye on Isabelle. When he heard who was calling he started to move forward. But he had no time to act before the phone flew out of Flora’s hand and ended up under her seat.
Brox was the size of a small dog now. He landed on his feet but the jump down from the seat was farther than he had judged. On landing he winced, feeling the shock all the way up his legs. But he had to get to that phone before Flora did. Dropping to his hands and kne
es, he scuttled under the seat toward her silver Nokia. He watched as Flora’s hand danced around on the floor, her long fingers searching for it here and there. Because he was so close, Broximon heard Ettrich’s voice coming out of the small speaker. What was he saying? Could Flora or Isabelle hear it?
The boys had bought their lunches minutes before and were walking home with them. Those clean white cardboard boxes were still warm in their hands. One of the pizzas had slices of pineapple, goat cheese, and onion spread thickly across the top of it. The restaurant called it their pizza #7, “Hawaii Surprise.” It looked disgusting and smelled suspiciously like room freshener, especially after it had cooled awhile. But the kid who bought it loved #7—it was his all-time favorite.
They were in the middle of the pedestrian bridge that crossed over the autobahn. One of them, always the idiot, stretched his arm over his head. The pizza box rested on top of his fingertips like some kind of fancy tray a waiter brought to the table with a flourish. He planned on doing a few show-off things with it up there to impress his sidekick. Unfortunately he quickly lost the balance of the box and in a heartbeat it slid off his fingers and over the side of the bridge into the traffic below.
Flabbergasted by the mad coolness of the gesture, his friend threw his pizza box over the side too without a moment’s hesitation. But he launched his overhand, as if throwing a shot put.
The two mates looked at each other across an overjoyed split second and then took off running as fast as they could, laughing like loons at the total Dada awesomeness of what they had just done. Nonetheless they weren’t about to be caught and punished for the act. Only for the fleetingest of instants did either wonder what would happen when his large lunch landed on a vehicle speeding by on the road below.
Just over the edge of the bridge a lively gust of wind yanked open the first box and then flipped it aside, as if anxious to get to the food. But any pizza dropped from a great height holds together for only so long—sticky cheese or not. On #7, the yellow pineapple pieces were the first to pull off and fall alone. They were big chunks so they dropped pretty fast.
GLASS SOUP Page 21
