Free White Apples by Jonathan Carroll Page A

understand. Throughout this inspection both people remained oblivious. Isabelle folded the sandwich paper and said something to Vincent. He smiled but it suddenly stopped, faded and disappeared. The light, moving across the top of his shiny car, paused as if lis•tening to what they were saying. Then it began moving again. It wasn't fully cognizant yet so the couple had some time. Soon though. When the light had its full strength and intelligence it would be unstoppable.
    Coco lit another cigarette and wished she could call for help. Being this close to the light was extremely dangerous for her too. But her job was to protect Ettrich as best she could, so she had to stay. For a moment she raged at how horribly unjust all of this was. Against it she was powerless to protect Vincent. And he certainly had no way of defending himself against what was coming.
    The cigarette tasted awful. Why did people like these repulsive things? She had started smoking only for Ettrich's sake and then found herself doing it more out of habit than for any other reason. She quickly rolled down the window and tossed it out. But she was so nervous just sitting there helplessly watching that she had to do something with her hands. Pulling the cigarette lighter out of its socket on the dashboard, she bit into it. Now that tasted a lot better than cigarettes. Coco sat there more or less contentedly eating the still-warm object while watching the beautiful menacing light move over Vincent's car. The sound of plastic and metal being crunched and chewed was surprisingly loud in the small cockpit of the Austin-Healey.
    After having swallowed the last curl of metal, she was still hungry. Looking at the dashboard and then lower, her eyes stopped on the gearshift knob. It was fat and round, made of a beautiful burled walnut. Normally she didn't like the taste of wood but beg•gars can't be choosers. Like Isabelle Neukor across the parking lot, Coco wanted more to eat. Her hand dropped onto the knob and with a twist of immense strength began to unscrew it. All the while her eyes never left Ettrich's car.

Anjo

    "What should I get?" Isabelle's beloved voice rose from behind the large black and yellow menu she had been studying. They faced each other in a booth by one of the windows. This booth was so large six people could have sat in it comfortably. But the diner was half-empty so they didn't feel guilty being there. It was that time of night when people don't think about eating. Most of the customers were either drinking coffee or eating dessert.
    Ettrich had driven here from the airport because he remem•bered Isabelle liked the place very much. It was the kind of basic but good restaurant that advertised breakfast twenty-four hours a day, and served meat loaf with real mashed potatoes to guys wearing baseball caps indoors or women in pantsuits and running shoes. The friendly waitresses were all middle-aged and had 1950s' names like Elsie and Doris. When they asked "You ready for more coffee, hon?" Isabelle grinned and nodded like a child. As a European, she loved the genuine friendliness of most Americans. She was a great fan of America. Many times he had heard her defend it to skeptical con•descending Europeans who saw his country as a great place to shop but who would want to live there?
    "A banana split." She closed the menu with a whop and gave him a big smile. "With extra Schlagobers. "
    He nodded and looked for a waitress. "Do you feel more com•fortable speaking German or English? I never asked you that before."
    "Both. Either. It doesn't matter. It's just that you can say certain things better in one language or the other. Ich liebe
    dìch is an ugly-sounding way of saying 'I love you.' English is softer and fits the emotion better." She looked around the room, taking it all in. He had never known a person so attentive to the world around them.
    "Isabelle, how did you know about what happened to me?"
    Her eyes slowly moved to Ettrich's face.