The Lava in My Bones Read Online Free Page B

creased. “There’s no choice.” He looked at Sam, took a deep breath, shoved them into his mouth, andswallowed. He clenched his eyes shut, his brow knit. Then his whole face relaxed and he smiled a second time. He offered Sam three beige stones and said gently, “Your turn.”
    Sam studied the rocks like pulled teeth in his palm. He hesitated, placed them on his tongue, tasted earth, dust, gravel. Everything in him said not to. His Adam’s apple popped forward once, twice; the stones plummeted down his gullet, and there was a warm detonative trembling in the centre of his stomach. He had the sudden impulse to gobble up all the pebbles scattered about his feet.
    Franz looked him in the eye and said again, “Your country, Sam. Tell me about your country.”
    And again Sam was in an empty field staring down at a pockmarked rock, and although winds blew all around him he dared not lift his head.
    â€œWho cares about my country?” He playfully picked a blade of grass and twirled it. “Tell me about yours.”
    Franz leaned back, chuckled. The sun shone right above his head. “Mein Land ?” he said raising both hands. “This is it.”
    And so Sam followed him into the wooded park on the edge of the city and up along rock-strewn paths, over twisted tree roots that clutched the earth like gnarled fingers, past moss-mouthed caves where stalactites had been dripping for the past one thousand years, and when they reached the edge of a limestone pit, Franz took off his suit jacket.
    The two men were sweating. Dark blotches marked the back of Franz’s T-shirt, his armpits, the top of his chest. Overhead, leaves rustled; Sam watched light-flecks dance over Franz’snarrow nose that jutted like a ski-jump, his low forehead with bangs that, from here, seemed unevenly cut, his thick thighs and wide kneecaps. A woman’s body would be more different from my own, Sam thought, hence more separate. Again, he felt bewildered.
    Franz spoke to Sam in a hushed voice. “Thanks for coming, stone-man.”
    Sam could only reply, “You’re welcome.”
    A shadow flickered on Franz’s cheek. “I live in a small house up ahead, on the edge of this park. My stepfather was the mayor, and he bought it for me. I’m a spoiled Arschloch ; most people only dream about having my life.” He ran one nail-bitten finger across his chin. “You see, I moved here seven years ago because I thought being near nature would help my art—and it did for a while. I painted every day! So many trees here, but mein Gott, your country has so many more. Eventually the trees began to bother me. I get afraid sometimes and will probably move back into the city soon, glaube ich. ’Cause I forget who I think I am when I’m out here.” He looked at the sky. “I don’t verschmelze with nature well, though I want to. Das ist mein Problem. So I was a daredevil to flirt with you and your country yesterday, your giant country of rock and trees. After meeting you, I actually painted a picture—the first time in years—of trees and light that shows how everything’s connected.”
    Sam listened in silence. He’d never heard someone talk so candidly. The words flowed gently into his ears.
    â€œI’m surprised I like you.”
    â€œYou like me?”
    â€œYes. You’re small like a Vogel. You’re not my type, and I usually get who I want. I actually barely notice what you physically look like. Funny. Usually someone’s body is all I see. You’re sweet. Du bist wirklich ein süsser Mann.” A breeze moaned through the treetops. He moved toward Sam and quickly and unobtrusively kissed him on the lips—Franz’s mouth was harder than a woman’s, the lips thinner, dryer, and beneath, the solid bone-plate of jaw. Sam smelled sweat, aftershave, a cinnamon-soap scent. Franz stepped away and sat on a flat rock protruding