Sleeping in Flame by Jonathan Carroll
Authors: Jonathan Carroll
Tags: Fiction, General, Fantasy fiction, Fantasy, Contemporary, Love Stories, Occult fiction, Body; Mind & Spirit, Reincarnation, Shamans, Women artists, Screenwriters, Vienna (Austria)
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pure it made me sad, transient.
In the next months, we would grow so close and empathetic that she once joked she wasn't breathing air anymore, she was breathing me. All that happened, and I will tell you about it, but those minutes on top of the hill were somehow the best. They were our Eden, they were what set everything else in motion. Finally, they were what ruined us.
CHAPTER TWO
1.
When we were driving back downtown, Maris asked if she could see my apartment. There was nothing in her voice that said she had anything more in mind than normal curiosity. She'd been so forthright about her feelings that I
didn't freeze up at the request or lick my lips like the Big Bad Wolf. She wanted to see my place, and that was that. After we got out of the car and were walking down the street, she took my hand and slipped it with her own into her pocket.
Page 22
"I liked the barbershop and I loved the hill, but why did you take me to that pet shop?"
"Because the owners love being there. I sense it every time I go in.
They love the dog, they love talking to their customers, they probably love it when no one's in there but them. So few people like what they're doing these days. People don't do their job well because they hate it or are bored by it.
I like to see people enjoying what they're doing with their lives. There's a bank near here I go to just to watch the teller handle money."
We were at the door to my building and I stopped us just short of it.
The door was fifteen feet high and made of carved wood, a beautiful thing.
"Look at this door. Sometimes when I'm going in I stop and look at it because the guy who made it obviously did the job with love."
We walked down the long hall to the entrance to my part of the building.
Then up three stairs to the ancient elevator that made so much noise ascending that I often worried whether I'd reach my floor or not. We got in and I slid the door closed, pressing the button for the fourth floor. The thing clanked, groaned, and lurched up. Maris gave me an alarmed look.
"Don't worry, it does this every time."
"That's not reassuring."
When it stopped on my floor she opened the door fast and got out faster.
"That thing should have been in _The Third Man_."
At the door to my place I fumbled with my keys, and realized I was more nervous than I'd thought. But I finally found the right one and turned it in the lock. As soon as I did, Orlando gave his normal "welcome home" meow on the other side. He must have been standing right by the door, because it hit him with a small thump when it swung open.
"Do you always greet your cat like that?"
On hearing a foreign voice in his kingdom, he stopped dead and "looked"
in Maris's direction. He was a friendly fellow, as cats go, but wasn't used to other creatures (besides me) being in the house.
"Let him smell you, then he'll be okay."
He walked over and gave her the once-over sniff test. Satisfied she was neither enemy nor large mouse, he began his normal weave around and through her legs.
"Can I touch him?"
"He'd like that."
She picked him right up and gently patted his head. He didn't purr, but I could tell by the set of his empty eyes that he was content to let this happen. Holding him in her arms, she walked into the living room. I followed, feeling like a real estate agent eager for a sale.
It was important that she like where I lived, liked the space and objects with which I had chosen to surround myself. Sitting down in one of my expensive chairs, she looked slowly around, checking out the room from that low altitude.
"Which of these do you sit in when you're alone?"
"The one you're in."
"I thought so. The leather has the most wrinkles. Le Corbusier was such a goof. These are the greatest-looking chairs around, but there's nowhere to put your arms. He talked about the necessity for absolute simplicity in things, then designed snazzy furniture like this that's simple, all right, and totally impractical! It's the same with
In the next months, we would grow so close and empathetic that she once joked she wasn't breathing air anymore, she was breathing me. All that happened, and I will tell you about it, but those minutes on top of the hill were somehow the best. They were our Eden, they were what set everything else in motion. Finally, they were what ruined us.
CHAPTER TWO
1.
When we were driving back downtown, Maris asked if she could see my apartment. There was nothing in her voice that said she had anything more in mind than normal curiosity. She'd been so forthright about her feelings that I
didn't freeze up at the request or lick my lips like the Big Bad Wolf. She wanted to see my place, and that was that. After we got out of the car and were walking down the street, she took my hand and slipped it with her own into her pocket.
Page 22
"I liked the barbershop and I loved the hill, but why did you take me to that pet shop?"
"Because the owners love being there. I sense it every time I go in.
They love the dog, they love talking to their customers, they probably love it when no one's in there but them. So few people like what they're doing these days. People don't do their job well because they hate it or are bored by it.
I like to see people enjoying what they're doing with their lives. There's a bank near here I go to just to watch the teller handle money."
We were at the door to my building and I stopped us just short of it.
The door was fifteen feet high and made of carved wood, a beautiful thing.
"Look at this door. Sometimes when I'm going in I stop and look at it because the guy who made it obviously did the job with love."
We walked down the long hall to the entrance to my part of the building.
Then up three stairs to the ancient elevator that made so much noise ascending that I often worried whether I'd reach my floor or not. We got in and I slid the door closed, pressing the button for the fourth floor. The thing clanked, groaned, and lurched up. Maris gave me an alarmed look.
"Don't worry, it does this every time."
"That's not reassuring."
When it stopped on my floor she opened the door fast and got out faster.
"That thing should have been in _The Third Man_."
At the door to my place I fumbled with my keys, and realized I was more nervous than I'd thought. But I finally found the right one and turned it in the lock. As soon as I did, Orlando gave his normal "welcome home" meow on the other side. He must have been standing right by the door, because it hit him with a small thump when it swung open.
"Do you always greet your cat like that?"
On hearing a foreign voice in his kingdom, he stopped dead and "looked"
in Maris's direction. He was a friendly fellow, as cats go, but wasn't used to other creatures (besides me) being in the house.
"Let him smell you, then he'll be okay."
He walked over and gave her the once-over sniff test. Satisfied she was neither enemy nor large mouse, he began his normal weave around and through her legs.
"Can I touch him?"
"He'd like that."
She picked him right up and gently patted his head. He didn't purr, but I could tell by the set of his empty eyes that he was content to let this happen. Holding him in her arms, she walked into the living room. I followed, feeling like a real estate agent eager for a sale.
It was important that she like where I lived, liked the space and objects with which I had chosen to surround myself. Sitting down in one of my expensive chairs, she looked slowly around, checking out the room from that low altitude.
"Which of these do you sit in when you're alone?"
"The one you're in."
"I thought so. The leather has the most wrinkles. Le Corbusier was such a goof. These are the greatest-looking chairs around, but there's nowhere to put your arms. He talked about the necessity for absolute simplicity in things, then designed snazzy furniture like this that's simple, all right, and totally impractical! It's the same with
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