The Lava in My Bones by Barry Webster

other’s eyes yearning to hear a giant “Yes” from the universe. Sam knew it was essential they remain separate; just as snow and fire must exist for the Earth to survive, the two men must not neutralize each other’s extreme qualities.
    Sam became troubled about how the opposite sex fit into all this. With women he had a script to follow. He knew who should open the door, pay for dinner; sex seemed more straightforward, less negotiable.
    One evening Sam guiltily snuck over to south Bahnhofstrasse, where female prostitutes paced, smoking and scratching theirarmpits. A woman in a micro-skirt and twisted halter top that pushed one boob up and the other down chewed gum in a darkened doorway. Sam was not dressed as elegantly as the Swiss men, so she said in English, “Hello. Want some Spass?”
    He took a step toward her and grimaced. In one quick movement she grabbed him by the arm and manoeuvred him into a dark room with a mattress on the floor. She asked him to show his money, which he did. “Take off your clothes,” she said.
    Sam undid his belt, not quite knowing why he was here. He didn’t want to abandon Franz, but hoped that making love to a woman would clarify his mind. When she was finally naked in his arms, he realized his desire for her was too lukewarm to act on.
    â€œNothing personal,” he muttered. “But I could only be happy with you if you had Franz Niederberger’s body and voice.”
    â€œI’m good at doing imitations.”
    â€œI want to eat rocks.” He paid her and left.
    On the tramway, wheels clattered and the air smelled of gasoline and wet socks. At station stops, people wearily shuffled on and off. Sam studied a dozing banker, a mother holding a sleeping baby, a bent elderly lady with watery eyes, an adolescent picking at his pimples with the end of a comb. The whole scene seemed pervaded with an indefinable grief. He felt sorry for every single person there, longed to take each rider’s hands in his and comfort them, saying, “In the past, I was solitary and desperate, just like you. I never realized we were so alike.”
    Arriving home Sam caught Franz finishing up a painting. Franz blushed; he didn’t put the canvas in the closet right waybut turned from his easel and took Sam in his arms. As Sam felt Franz’s hands warm against the small of his back, he looked at the painted tree trunks sloping upwards, branches like fingers clawing at the sky, and the lights like eyes flashing fire.
    Days passed. This was the first time since he’d left Labrador that someone always greeted Sam when he arrived home, the first time someone said goodbye when he left, the first time he told someone the trivia of his day (and how much more meaningful that seemed than his scientific ideas), the first time someone laughed at his jokes, talked to him at midnight, looked out the window beside him, prepared his breakfast, lunch, and dinner.
    Franz gave him a haircut. With each snip, the follicles in his skull tickled. “Scheiss, Sam, what bastard did this to you? It’s good you met me so I can repair your ‘do’.” Sam enjoyed feeling Franz’s fingers move about his head like delicately stepping spider’s legs. Then Franz asked, “When are you going home, by the way?”
    â€œI’m not sure. It’s my university’s decision.” A lie. Sam knew that at any given moment Franz could simply tell him to go back to the hotel, but he didn’t. If this were a fairy tale, that meant the dragon had been slain. Or hadn’t arrived yet.
    When Sam gave his next talk at the University of Zurich, he spoke before a near-empty auditorium. “If we can discover that force that jump-starts energy combustion, we can align our technologies to it, and our lifestyles will not kill our planet. But what could that initial force be? The energy created when electrons collide? The friction caused by water eroding