Free White Apples by Jonathan Carroll Page B

When they stopped he saw that they were calm. "You waited so long to ask, Vincent."
    "I was afraid to. I am afraid to."
    She nodded that she understood and sighed. "Do you remember the last time we made love in Vienna? That night?" "Yes, of course."
    A waitress appeared. "Hi, folks. What can I bring you?"
    Ettrich was so distracted that he could only stare at this stranger standing above him and wonder who the hell she was. It clicked in his brain a moment later and he tried unsuccessfully to think of something to order.
    Isabelle said, "I'd like a piece of peach pie with a scup of vanilla ice cream." "You mean a scoop?" The waitress nodded encouragingly.
    "Yes, yes, a scoop."
    "You've got a cute accent. Where are you from, if you don't mind my asking?" "Austria. Vienna, Austria."
    "No kidding? You came all the way from Vienna to eat a piece of our pie? And you, sir, what would you like?" "I'll have a Coke."
    "Gotcha. I'll be right back." She winked at Ettrich and took off.
    Isabelle lifted her chin and looked down her nose at him. "I saw her wink at you." She smiled. "I thought you were going to have a banana split?"
    She shrugged. "Never trust a pregnant woman." She dipped her index finger in one of the glasses of water the waitress had brought. Taking it out, she ran it across the top of Ettrich's hand.
    "Talk to me, Isabelle."
    "Before I do, tell me about the last time we made love. It's important. Tell me everything you remember."
    Ettrich sat back and steepled his fingertips over his stomach. "I said let's eat dinner at your favorite restaurant. So we went to the Stella Marina—"
    "What street is it on?" Both her face and voice were a challenge.
    "Windmuhlgasse. Sixth District. Is this a test? Come on, Isa•belle, you know how good my memory is." "We'll see. Go on."
    For the moment Ettrich was on safe ground because his memory really was extraordinary. People commented on it. It was a good friend, having helped him countless times in both business and ro•mance. He remembered whole reams of statistics, obscure facts and details, poetry, a woman's middle name five years later.
    "It was a beautiful night. We couldn't decide on whether to eat in the restaurant or at an outside table. You even started laughing because we couldn't make up our minds. Finally I just said inside so we could talk without all the street noise. Should I tell you what we ate?"
    Isabelle shook her head and pushed a glass back and forth be•tween her hands. The water inside swayed to the edges but none slopped over.
    "After dinner we walked on Mariahilferstrasse and bought ice cream. It was melting down all over your hand and I kept telling you how to lick it so that wouldn't happen." The memories made Ettrich smile. What a nice night that had been! Putting his hands flat on the table, he looked at them. For the first time he noticed a liver spot on the back of his left. "I always assumed I'd grow old. I never imagined myself dying before I had white hair growing out of my ears and lots of liver spots on my hands. But I was wrong, huh? I left the party a lot earlier than planned." His eyes were full of sadness and dismay.
    "I don't remember any of it, Isabelle, nothing. Not getting sick or going to the hospital ... I don't remember dying. How is that possible? Not remembering death I can understand—you die and go someplace completely different. When you come back to life you can't remember that place because it's unimaginable. But how could you forget dying? That scares me most. I don't remember anything about it—not one thing."
    "Here you go, folks—peach pie a la mode and a Coke."
    Neither of them looked at the waitress, so caught up were they in the intensity of their moment. The woman was about to say more until she sensed what was going on between these two, and then she hurried away.
    Gently Isabelle urged Ettrich to continue describing their last night together in Vienna. He made an exasperated face. "Why? Is this going anywhere? Does