The Lava in My Bones Read Online Free Page A

school the underwear stain story and Sam became known as the boy whose mom loved his undies. The next spring, after graduation, Sam left Labrador and never returned.
    All of this happened in the early days of the world, before glaciers started melting and ocean levels rising, during a time when the tropics were hot and the North and South Poles frigid. The world’s climate was in perfect balance.

    His second morning in Zurich, Sam noticed the sun perched on the lower lip of the valley. He was curious about what would happen today. He’d refrain from lecturing Franz on global warming. In the mirror, the skin on Sam’s face looked smooth, unblemished. He fingered the gentle bump of his barely visiblecheekbone, the budgie-like beak of his nose. In his life, there was no largeness of gesture; when someone offered him pleasure, albeit peculiar and fleeting, he knew he should accept and be satisfied with it.
    The tram made a high-pitched, humming sound as it slid along its steel rails, moving so smoothly through the cobbled streets that Sam felt he was floating on air. The metal-slat seat vibrated beneath him. The city was calm. Zurich always looked calm. Gleaming silver-trimmed cars glided soundlessly along streets, boys on shining bicycles seemed to drift in slow-motion up the city’s small hills; an elderly woman wearing a hat decorated with a stuffed bird carefully sipped her coffee at an empty sidewalk café as a teenager with safety pins in his cheeks crouched down to comb his orange rooster-tuft before a shop window. At intersections everything came to a stop as groups of men in identical, square-shouldered suits and women carrying shopping bags draped with floating wisps of gauze walked in single file between parallel lines printed on uncracked pavement. One man’s tie blew over his shoulder and he stopped walking to tuck it back in.
    When the train passed Zurich’s little lake, there was not a ripple on its surface, and all the small boats were docked. The whole city appeared to be waking up but, in truth, it was the height of day.
    Little did Sam know that below the ground, continental plates were shifting, buckling their shoulders hard up against each other, and that steam was building up below the Earth’s crust.
    Finally, at the thirtieth tram stop, Franz stood leaning againstan oak tree next to a cluster of squat pines. He stepped forward, held Sam’s fingers with moist hands. “Come,” he said marching between the trees. “Hope you’re hungry.”
    In the clearing, Sam discovered a picnic table covered with paper plates and piles of sliced cheeses and meats and paper cups and thermoses of drinks. “Why are you doing this?” Sam felt embarrassed. He wasn’t used to people giving him things.
    â€œI bring you a typical Swiss breakfast because I’m a typical Swiss guy.” For the first time, Sam saw Franz smile—so broadly, his eyes twinkled. He was wearing a checked T-shirt and suit jacket. A bit overdressed for a picnic? Noting Sam’s gaze, he explained, “To prevent me from going wild in the forest.”
    â€œYou do that?”
    â€œI ate a rock yesterday. You make me go crazy. I could get weirder today if I don’t watch out.”
    And then the men ate food. Sam swallowed things Franz’s hands had recently touched: thick slices of salami that left grease dripping from their lips, acrid olives that singed tongues and palates, moisture-beaded grapes that exploded between teeth, and Franz’s own concoction—“that I invented one day when it wouldn’t stop raining and my fridge was too full”—yogurt mixed with cranberries, pomegranate seeds, muesli, and sliced apples.
    Then Franz cocked one eyebrow. “That breakfast wasn’t enough. I’m still hungry as a Schwein.”
    Sam feared what would happen next.
    Franz bent over and scooped up a handful of rocks. Molasse pebbles. His forehead