Skin of the Wolf Read Online Free PDF

“Don’t worry, he still doesn’t know your real name. Or mine. And not everyone does his job so well. I thought that ought to be rewarded.”
    The waiter removed their soup bowls. Thomas was silent until he’d gone, and then said, “Speaking of confession, I want to say something.”
    Livia waited.
    “As hard as all that was last fall,” Thomas said, “there was a part that, even at the time, I loved: working with you. Oh, look, now you’re the one who’s embarrassed.”
    “Am I blushing prettily?”
    “You are.”
    “Good for me. Thomas, thank you. That means a lot.”
    “It’s true. This hermit-scholar business, I mean, it’s the life I chose, and it’s a good one, but . . . well, you know what Keynes said.”
    “I’m not sure I do.”
    “‘It is astonishing what foolish things one can temporarily believe if one thinks too long alone.’”
    Livia laughed. “Well, you’re always welcome to call me, if you find yourself thinking foolish things. I agree we work well together, and I’m pretty much of a lone wolf myself.”
    “I’ll take that as a high compliment, then.”
    “It was meant that way.” Their eyes met and held each other. She broke away with a smile and said, “Now. Tell me more about your saint.”
    “I will, but you know how single-minded I can get.”
    “Oh, can you?” she asked innocently. The waiter returned, setting down their main course: haddock for Thomas, bluefish for Livia.
    “I don’t want to talk and talk and then leave here and realize I know nothing about what you’ve been doing. And you know I could. So first, you tell me about the conference. And ‘lone wolf’ reminds me: the piece at Sotheby’s. The famous wolf mask. You went to see it, didn’t you? Was it all it was cracked up to be?”
    Livia reached for a piece of bread. “As a matter of fact, no. It’s extraordinary and beautiful, but it’s not authentic.”
    “It’s fake? But I thought it had unassailable provenance.”
    “Not exactly fake. With wooden pieces made for ceremonial purposes, there’s always a question of what ‘real’ means. If a piece is damaged or destroyed and one is made to replace it, the new one’sas authentic as the original, and as valuable to the users, even if it’s less valuable to collectors because it’s less ancient. Now I’m giving the lecture, aren’t I?”
    “I asked for it, in more ways than one. But what you just described, that’s not what you mean by ‘not authentic’?”
    “No. I got the feeling that this piece wasn’t made for use.”
    “Why do you think that?”
    “It didn’t feel alive to me. I don’t mean really alive—it’s a piece of wood. I mean, I didn’t get the feeling the maker thought it was alive.”
    If a different art historian were speaking, Thomas would have been skeptical. He was a scholar. He needed evidence, facts, proof. But Livia’s Noantri senses brought her close to artworks in ways he credited even while he didn’t fully understand them. “What do you think it was made for?”
    “To replace the original.”
    “Isn’t that what you just said, though? If one’s damaged or destroyed—”
    Livia shook her head. “The original was made for use. For a ceremony no one knows anything about anymore. The only Europeans who ever did, by the way, were Jesuit missionaries. But this mask was out of the hands of the tribe who made it and owned by an Irishman as early as the eighteenth century. That’s where the provenance starts. I think somewhere after that the original was replaced by this one.”
    “Why? When?”
    “I have no idea.”
    “Wouldn’t the owner have noticed?”
    “Maybe he was the one who made the switch.”
    “Why?” Thomas asked again. Without waiting for her answer,he went on, “Or is it possible the original wasn’t made for use at all? It was made for display, and this actually is it?”
    “I don’t think so.”
    As they ate, Livia told him about the tiny contractions in her hands and