Sleeping in Flame by Jonathan Carroll Read Free Book Online

barbershop."
    "_Grüssgott!_"
    "Uh oh. The American is here!"
    We walked in and sat down between an old man and a teenage boy.
    The two barbers, owners of the shop, were identical gray-haired twins who forever kept up a sarcastic, funny patter with their customers. The place was Vienna's equivalent of a Norman Rockwell barbershop; talk of sports, women, and the stupidity of politicians abounded. Usually there was a group of regulars in there for nothing more than the insults and good feeling.
    "Who's your pretty friend, Herr Easterling?"
    How could I say we'd dropped in for a little cheering up because my new friend had just hit another woman?
    But Maris winked at the barber and asked if she could have a haircut.
    He was surprised, but gestured grandly toward his chair. She plopped down in it and asked for a trim.
    Another man walked in, in a hurry, but stopped halfway across the floor when he saw her in the barberchair.
    "That's the best-looking guy I ever saw in this damned place!"
    Conversations started up again after that, and the good-hearted nastiness of men comfortable with each other returned. Maris said little but smiled the whole time. It was clear she enjoyed being there.
    When the barber was finished cutting her hair he carefully brushed her off, looking thoroughly pleased with himself.
    Outside again, Maris briskly rubbed her head a few times and stopped in front of a store window to check her reflection.
    "They're nice in there. They all get a big kick out of each other, don't they?"
    "Yes. I always come out of there feeling good."
    She started walking. "I would too. What's your next happy place?"
    The next was a pet shop on the Josefstädter Strasse that sold some cat and dog stuff, but also used bicycles, handmade bird-houses, and diving equipment. The owners were an old couple and a sad-eyed Saint Bernard that must have been twenty. The dog had his own full-length couch, from which he never moved. I never understood how the place survived, because no one was ever in there, and the goods for sale had the lopsided look of things that had sat in the same spot for years.
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    The people always asked how Orlando the cat was getting on, so we talked about my roommate for a few minutes. But then, when things got quiet, out of desperation I bought an enormous bag of kitty litter I didn't need.
    Trying to see it through Maris's eyes, first-time eyes, it was both strange-looking and sad. The store smelled of coal stove, big dog, years-long failure, and dusty everything.
    She asked, "What can I buy for your cat?"
    "Well, it's a little hard, because he's blind and can't really play with most toys."
    She asked if they had a ball with a bell inside. The man brought out one as exhausted-looking as the dog. I hadn't the heart to tell Maris that Orlando already had one and hated it. It was beneath his dignity to chase a tinkling ball.
    After that we went to lunch and watched the sky clear to blue through the windows of the restaurant. It was a quiet meal. I didn't know whether that was because of the fullness of the morning, or because somewhere along the line things had gone flat for her. Maybe that flatness was my fault, but I
    also kept forgetting: Literally, the day before, a man had tried to kill her.
    "You know what I liked about that pet store?"
    "You liked it? I thought I'd really bombed out with that 'happy place.'"
    "Not at all, Walker. I liked the way they treated their dog like a pal and not a pet. I bet they don't have children. Dogs are the kids we've always wanted. They're totally devoted and want to live with you until they die. Not like children who can't wait to take off as soon as they grow up and don't need you anymore.
    "You know what I've been doing for the last five years or so? Writing a daily letter to my daughter, even though she's not born yet. So she'll know what I was like when she grows up. I think it's more important than anything.
    Kids _have_ to know who their parents are, and