The Lava in My Bones Read Free

are the same everywhere. All rocks are hard.”
    Surprised by this silly challenge, Sam answered, “Our presence affects how rocks erode.”
    â€œBut why study the surface of rock?” the man continued. “Even in Canada, what’s below is more meaningful than what you see.”
    Why was Franz so poetic that day? Why did he become so ridiculous later?
    Sam tightened his grip on the stone as Franz glared at it. For a second Sam felt violated.
    â€œYou should go to Canada,” he muttered. “If it interests you.” Sam studied the rising arc of the man’s pompadour. He must have spent the whole morning arranging it.
    â€œNo, I’m … I get afraid of … of leaving Switzerland. You see, I’ve never been to another country. Das ist scheusslich. I don’t know what would happen if I crossed a border and entered France or Italy. I’m afraid I’ll dissolve or something.” Sam had always had the same fear but only now realized it. “Because I am an artist but have been blocked for years. Nobody knows this. Everybody thinks I’m a great professional but, Scheiss” —why was he telling Sam this?—“nature should help, and there’s so much of it in your country. I saw ‘Canada’ beside your name on the conference poster and so I knew I had to come here. Something might begeistern —inspire me. And seeing you talk about your enormous home while holding a real Canadian rock in your bare hands, mein Gott! ” The man choked. “You’re from so far away.” Then he reached for the stone but instead touched Sam’s forearm. His fingertips were warm on Sam’s skin. The man’s hair swirled luxuriously around two ears, curling, Sam thought, like the wave-rippled coves near his hometown in Labrador.
    Sam stepped back and replied with forced sternness. “Sir.” Franz flinched at the coldness of the word, but Sam repeated,“Sir—what did you hope to gain from this conference?”
    The man was breathing heavily. “It’s funny, but when I see you, I don’t really see you. I just sense something coming from inside you. And I put on these clothes—this shirt is 100 percent silk, and my jeans are the latest Diesel—as a …” he searched for the word “Bollwerk —bulwark?—against everything here, so I wouldn’t get … consumed. Since I stopped painting, I design ads and go to bars and eat out with my friends, but it’s only the verdammt surface—and I need risk. I need to be a risk-taker. ’Cause I’m a total coward. I don’t tell friends this, and they can’t imagine I’m frustrated. But your country is such a vast space and has so much nature. You can absorb anything.”
    Sam stood rigid. No one had ever talked to him about personal feelings. His colleagues only discussed stone formation.
    Suddenly Franz grabbed the rock from Sam and cried “Christus! ” He stared at the rock in his trembling hands, and his body wavered as if buffeted by winds.
    Alarmed, Sam asked, “Are you all right?”
    â€œThis rock doesn’t reflect light, nicht wahr ?”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œIs it dangerous?”
    â€œDangerous?”
    â€œWill this rock harm me?”
    Sam was dumbfounded.
    â€œDo you really think it’s personal?” Franz asked.
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œWhat you said. That rocks record the details of someone’s life. Do you believe that?”
    Sam nodded.
    â€œThen it will help me.”
    â€œWith what?”
    â€œMit was ich brauche —with what I need!”
    And then it happened. The moment that jumpstarted everything and determined the course of Sam’s life.
    If you love something, you put it in your mouth.
    Franz brought the rock to his lips, shoved it into his mouth, and swallowed hard. His Adam’s apple leapt forward as if a tiny man trapped in his oesophagus struck