We Love You, Frank (Milujeme Vás, Glenne) by Sam Young

We Love You, Frank
(Milujeme Vás, Glenne)

      One morning, for no apparent reason, Franz Kafka and Glenn Gould found themselves sharing coffee.
      “Frank—” Gould said.
      “Ich spreche kein Englisch!” interrupted Kafka.
      “—may I call you Frank, Frank?”
      “Nemluvím anglicky!”
      “Frank, you’ve been quoted as stating that—in your view—‘A book must be an ice-axe to break the seas frozen inside our soul.’ Now, having a certain fascination with ice myself—the North, you see—I wonder if…”
      The noted radio documentarian continued in this fashion at length, outlining a question too complex to be interrupted by his companion’s discomfort. Kafka sighed, trying once more in Czech mixed with limited French invective, but to no avail.
      Or, at least, to no apparent avail. The situation had been progressing in this manner for nearly an hour. The other man showed no signs of letting up his one-sided verbosity, as if some impenetrable block confounded Kafka’s intensifying gestures To further aggravate his confusion, the man would occasionally pause for long periods, waiting for a response to what Kafka guessed was a question. At first Kafka would use these pauses in an attempt to point out the glaring flaw in his  companion’s plan, but the only response this yielded was the other man waving his arms around like an idiot.
      All Kafka was able to figure out was that he was being called “Frank”. Also, the other man was stark raving mad, but that was self-evident. If not for his monologuing, than for his wardrobe. Despite the eighty-degree temperature, he sported a heavy overcoat, scarf, leather gloves, and several hats.
      “You’ve been dead for 86 years, and I’m curious to know how this experience contrasts to my own—27 years. What do you think has brought us together?”
      “Tohle je docela zbytečné.”
      “No thoughts at all?” asked Gould.
      “Du spinnst.”
      Gould was frustrated, too. It was annoying that Frank refused to comment on his own death. The significance of the situation was evidently lost on the dour insurance adjuster, who was preoccupied with declaring he didn’t understand. That Glenn spoke none of the languages Frank did was inconsequential. Here was a marvellous chance to study a fascinating turn of events in both their lives.
      And all Frank could do was bitch. Glenn wouldn’t let this lack of repartee get him down.
      With customary enthusiasm, he made the best of it.
      “Mr. Gould, first of all, thank you for being here.”
      “I don’t think I had a choice, Mr. Gould.”
      “No need to be rude.”
      “Forgive me, I was merely stating facts.”
      “Quite alright, but please try to be less blunt in the future. Now, Mr. Gould, would you say that these circumstances are entirely without explanation?”
      “Certainly not, Mr. Gould. This has its roots in any number of physical or paranormal phenomena. Extraterrestrial, deity, wormhole…perhaps some sort of indulgence of the collective unconscious. That, or I’ve gone stark raving mad.”