Skin of the Wolf Read Online Free PDF Page B

arms, the tug of the lines of the work; how, since her Change, she understood art not just visually, but viscerally, not just intellectually, but physically. Listening, he marveled that such a thing was possible. That the human body, after a microscopic alteration in the structure of its cells, could be capable of such sensitivity. And how, almost alone among the non-Noantri, Thomas Kelly, SJ, had been accorded the privilege of the knowledge of this.
    From the mask, talk drifted to Livia’s conference, and then to Thomas’s research. His newfound fascination with the Northeast tribes at the moment of first contact animated his conversation; Livia hardly spoke until the coffee came.
    “Well,” she said, “it certainly sounds like you’ve found a niche.”
    “There’s so much to learn! Completely absorbing, to a bookworm like me. I hope I haven’t been boring you. Lorenzo used to say—” He stopped. His excitement about the work had caught him unawares, driven him into territory he hadn’t thought to go.
    Livia waited, then gently asked, “What did he say?”
    After a pause: “He said, if I were marooned on a desert island with just a phone book, I’d have written three treatises—historical, philological, and philosophical—on the names in it by the time they found me.”
    She smiled. “I think he was right. Thomas—”
    Thomas shook his head. “I’m fine. Really. As I said, I meditate daily on what happened in Rome. So much to understand. So many souls to pray for.”
    “I’m sure your prayers are well received.”
    “As yours would be, if . . .”
    Now it was Livia who was shaking her head.
    “I’m sorry,” Thomas said. “I didn’t mean to push you. Come on, let’s have dessert. The crème brûlée is supposed to be exceptional. There’s so much more I want to talk to you about!”
    “Me, too. I could sit here with you all night.” She checked her watch. “We have time for dessert and coffee. But then we have another appointment. No, Thomas, don’t look at me that way. I told you, Spencer wants to see you.”
    “We weren’t the best of friends in Rome.”
    “On the contrary, it was he who arranged things so that you could go on with this life you’re enjoying so much without any pesky interruptions, like getting arrested.”
    “Yes, that was kind, and I thanked him. By letter. I even sent flowers. Irises. But you know how he feels about priests. He hasn’t gotten in touch since he came to New York.”
    “You haven’t called him, either. I told him I was having dinner with you and he insisted I bring you along for a drink. He has a friend he wants us to meet.”
    “You. Wants you to meet.”
    “Thomas.”
    “I don’t know.”
    “I do. This is ridiculous. You got off to a bad start. All right. Now things have changed. A new city, new lives for both of you. And you have so much in common. You’re practically mirror-image obsessive scholars. I’m going to go see him. Let’s have our dessert, and then, please—come with me.”

7
    I n a general sort of way,” Spencer George announced, burrowing more deeply into his coat, “I do not enjoy this weather. In case you wondered.” His eyes watered as yet another blast of cold air hit them.
    Bare-headed and gloveless, the larger, younger man beside him laughed. “Why not? It’s beautiful! Look at that moon—full tomorrow! Look how bright the stars are! When do you see that in the city? And listen to that wind! Come on, it’s a gorgeous night.”
    “Michael, I am fully prepared to accept that for your people, priding yourselves as you do on your oneness with the natural world, it’s conceivable shrieking wind and glowing stars are sufficient to neutralize the discomfort of numb toes and frostbitten ears. I would further stipulate that I myself am a decadent white man who long ago lost touch with Mother Earth.”
Longer ago than you can imagine,
he added sourly to himself,
and I can’t say I’ve missed her caress.
“I