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Full Planet
part 4
by Feech
"Damien, was I really a wolf last night?"
Pause. "Nathaniel... What do you want me to
say?"
He knows me all right. Even though he
technically met me less than a month ago. Am I
that much like my father? I consider and decide,
"Tell me the truth."
Damien watches me for a moment. Makes some
kind of assessment. Finally: "Yes, Nathaniel, you
were a wolf."
urk. The truth hurts. Which is, I guess,
why I am so sure it is the truth. _Damien_ is
fine with it. My _father_ is fine with it. I
think of Laraine, of Manfred, of my mother. They
don't seem any more accepting of the idea of
lycanthropy than I have been; at least, I know
Mother left Dad because he mentioned the
condition, and Manfred went so far as to kill
himself... Granted, I felt until a very short time
ago that my becoming a wolf was impossible. Yet
if Manfred suffered the same shifts of being, and
his wife died on the full moon...
I will stay at Uranenborg, at least for now,
and try to find out more about my condition. But
I cannot face Laraine. Not if I am one of them.
Isn't it likely that I may be subject to the same
alterations as her stepfather? I cannot risk
injury to someone so obviously fragile.
Once again, my companion of choice is Damien.
Of course, Damien is valet and close
companion to my father as well, but for the time
being I am too uncomfortable with the unsorted
thoughts in my brain to attempt close contact with
Oskar. His size, confidence and strength
intimidate me... When Damien is with Dad, I'll be
in the Observatory.
I am only too glad to allow myself to be
housed in my own, barred room. I cannot go back
to Luna until I know what I am. When the next
full moon comes, I want to be where Damien can
close me in and keep an eye on me.
Maury and Laraine are understandably confused
by my attitude. More than once Maury tries to
coax a response out of me with a hopeful, "Love
ya?". Laraine is beginning to be just plain
pissed. And I'll admit I haven't been very polite
to her... but if she knew that I was trying to
avoid danger to her person, being that I am most
likely a monster, she would realize that it's for
her own good.
As it is, I get a lot of scowls from that
china-doll face.
Mrs. Hudson, wise woman that she is, feeds us
all and keeps her mouth shut.
The Observatory is a wonderful place to be,
regardless.
I love watching the sky change colors,
something it never does on Luna. The effect of
those swirling and billowing white, grey and (in
storms) orange clouds can only be imagined when
watching them from the other direction, outside
the atmosphere.
Not to mention the _air_ on Earth. It's so
_real_. Sometimes I go out to the lawn and just
stand there, feeling the power of this place. I
imagine I'm beginning to fill out a little, like
my father, losing that classic lanky "Loonie"
look. Robust? Me? It's possible.
Oskar enjoys the lawn, too, and I usually
give way to him when he comes out to watch the
seagulls. They don't trust him a whit, invariably
staying just out of reach on the dark water, but
he _watches_ with an intensity that I find myself
echoing (from a distance, of course). It might be
neat to get our hands on one... sort of look at
it, you know, and then let it go... probably.
I am a little shy of the water, though. I
tend to stare at it most from my window, which
clearly shows me the slope, the pebbly-muddy beach
and our moored short-distance boats. We can't go
to Reykjavik in one of those, but they get us out
to the Ferry all right. I do attend the Friday
night pizza outings.
One day Damien finds me at my window,
watching my father watching gulls.
He says, "I think Laraine is looking for
you."
"That's why I'm hiding up here."
"What do you have against her all of a
sudden?"
I turn to look at Damien, who, I could tell
as soon as he entered the room, is chewing
wintergreen gum (and therefore blinking). "Look,
how am I supposed to communicate to her that if I
take leave of my senses with her around, I'll
never forgive myself? She's been through enough,
don't you think?"
Damien adjusts his gloves. "Nathaniel,
Laraine may not want to talk, but she's not
simple. Tell her anything you want. I think
you're hurting her feelings, showing up, making
friends and then ignoring her. Why are you so
sure you'd lose control anyway? You let me put a
leash on you in Reykjavik."
I'm past wincing. I say, "Look, Damien,
don't you think it's obvious what happened to her
mother? Cassandra died on a full moon. Does that
not disturb you the slightest bit? Who knows what
this family is capable of?"
"Manfred was in an institution, by his own
choice. He was not in jail."
"He dismissed all the help."
"Maybe his wife's death upset him so much he
couldn't handle dealing with people."
"Damien. With all due respect, I think you
have a very poor grasp of the obvious."
The chewing stops and those intense eyes lock
onto mine. I think he's smiling in a rather
patronizing manner, but I'm not sure because I
have to keep my gaze steady. "Nathaniel.
Nathaniel, Nathaniel, Nathaniel. Speaking of
overlooking the obvious... One of us present in
this room was, not to put too fine a point on it,
in very real danger of being picked up by
Reykjavik Animal Control last month."
At that I do hang my head. "Sorry."
"It's not a problem, really. I've been
dealing with your Dad ever since he gave me a job
back in America. He's a very generous man and a
good friend. In some ways you're very much like
him."
"What about my Dad is generous?"
A slight, wry smile this time. "Well, where
he met me, I would have had a very hard time
finding a position with anyone else."
"How so?"
"Because. There are certain stigmas to
certain conditions, which can only be erased when
someone like your dad finds the potential in a
person and springs for surgery and treatment that
allow that person to appear virtually normal in
the rest of society."
Something is dawning. The perpetual fog in
my brain parts just the slightest bit. "Do you
aspire to be a valet?"
He laughs. "Not exactly. Oskar knows that.
He thinks I'd be a wonderful surgeon; I told him
that's a goal of mine, if I can ever get the
schooling."
"Why can't you get the schooling now?"
Damien sighs. "Nathaniel, have you noticed
_anything_... odd about me?"
"Well..." I pause. "I, well, that is, I..."
Damien breaks out laughing again and I look
at him in surprise. He returns the look with some
mixture of amusement, pity and-- maybe-- hurt.
"You think I'm crazy, don't you."
"Well, maybe a bit-- eccentric--" Yet that
fog is clearing in ever greater patches. For
everything this Earth inhabitant does...
He shakes his head and chuckles. "Why can't
I get the schooling now. Okay. Your people have
far greater medical advancements than we do. A
treatment center in America halted the bacteria,
healed the wounds, rearranged some tendons, and
gave me a prosthesis. But my nerves cannot be
regenerated with current medical technology."
"They could be on Luna... What the Hell are
you talking about?"
"Leprosy, Nathaniel. Beauty of a disease.
You can stop it but you can't cure it. The nerves
are destroyed."
This is where I, sensitive soul that I am,
begin to blather about pointless things in an
effort to keep a very disturbing conversation
"light" and "friendly".
Of course Damien sees through that and neatly
puts a stop to it with, "Want to see my
prosthesis?"
Uh...
"Here, I'll take it out. Ready?"
"Damien, please. I get the point."
"Okay. Darn. I've always wanted to spring
this on someone and I've always been too polite to
actually do it. Sure you don't want to see it?"
"You're nuts."
"I knew you thought so."
"Damien, no, I'm sorry, I didn't mean--"
"S'okay. I know. Point to all this being
that you, Nathaniel, had not the foggiest idea why
I might change pairs of gloves like an obsessed
person, never touch hot food until I know it's
okay, and apply antibiotics and disinfectants
until I smell like a walking hospital ward. Since
you had no idea why, I suppose it was only natural
for you to assume the worst as far as my brain
power is concerned."
Boy does he know me. "Can't feel anything...
at all?"
"That's about it."
"Do you injure yourself often?"
"Every day. Before I met up with Oskar, I
was a mess of sores. Luckily my eyes weren't too
badly damaged-- they got me blinking again, to
protect them, with surgery to link the mechanism
to my jaw. But for my hands and feet they can't
do anything except to say, 'Watch yourself'. Of
course they set the tendons so I can _use_ my
hands. But when I forget about a scratch or cut,
or when I miss a little wound somewhere, things
can get nasty in a hurry. You'd be surprised how
much inflammation can build up when you don't
favor a wounded limb... You okay?"
"Mm... Yeah. I'm... surprised that you can
talk about this. I would never... I mean, I would
probably never have the guts..."
"Yes. I know."
"I, uh... I think I've steeled myself. If
you wanted to display your prosthesis, do it now,
if you'd like."
"You got it!" With a typical Damien-esque
flourish, the man lifts his upper lip and
withdraws a plastic molded nose. There is no
cartilage, only the thin layer of skin now fallen
back without support. I stare. Leper. I
shudder. The picture is familiar, like something
out of an antique book with the diseased standing
around holding rattles on staves. The classic
flattened face and glaring holes. Hm.
Considering it's Damien, I stare some more. He
solemnly accepts the scrutiny. Finally, I begin
to see the visage before me as an individual man,
and one I know and like, at that. The inked
pictures of lepers fade from memory. Just Damien.
Without a nose. "Go ahead, put it back in,
please."
"Certainly." He does so.
The next time we all go on the Ferry for
pizza, I make a detour to a mini-mall and buy a
small, silver heart pendant. You probably know
why. It's just that I have to test the theory. I
don't know if I can ever trust anything I haven't
seen with my own eyes. The clerk admires my
taste, offers to wrap the pendant up for me. I
accept, returning to Dad and the rest of the group
with a small, white cardboard box in one hand.
"So, what did you buy, Nathaniel?" asks Dad.
I don't really look at him. In answer I
mutter something about souvenirs. That seems to
satisfy him.
Damien doesn't say anything, which makes me
wonder if he's seen through me-- again.
The Ferry is crowded, as usual, and the trip
home makes me antsy. Dad loves a crowd like this,
but I'd rather have a little more space to myself.
I get the feeling he considers this entire ship to
be his private territory. It's a good thing he's
so _generous_ with his territory. The picture of
antique white decks running in blood just crosses
my mind, but I block it out and just stand between
Damien and Mrs. Hudson all the way home, holding
my little box.
Maury is calling to Laraine from his private
room when we get home, and while she goes to greet
him I slip upstairs to my own quarters.
Once I'm locked in, and before anyone can
wonder where I am, I remove the lid from the white
mini-mall jewel-box. A layer of cotton covers the
pendant; I pinch it between my fingers and toss it
aside.
Silver. We'll see about this.
I tilt the box so the heart-shaped pendant
falls out into the palm of my hand.
I'm thinking about it, weighing it, when I
begin to experience a feeling... Not sure what...
Just a different sensation...
A moment later the feeling has resolved
itself into _burning_.
I'm being _burned_.
It takes several seconds for me to work the
whole sequence out in my brain and actually drop
the silver. Then I half-stagger to the washroom
and run cold water over the red blot on my palm
for a good five minutes while I try to compose
myself.
And Manfred _ate_ this stuff?
"Boy, Manfred, you must have been _really_
upset."
Cognition returning, hand still buzzing with
discomfort, I wander back to where the pendant has
been dumped on the floor.
So what do I do with it now?
A few minutes later, I find the discarded
cotton. Making certain not to touch the jewelry,
I fold the cotton around the silver and lift it
cautiously to the box. Once I have it safely
confined, I take the heart down to Maury's room.
The musky parrot smell greets me, along with
Laraine's sweet female scent. Laraine is giving
Maury a much-appreciated parrot neck-rub, but both
look up as I approach.
"Hi, Laraine, hello, Maury," I mumble.
Maury immediately begins flapping and
bobbing, which means he wants to be picked up. In
case I'm failing to get the message, he pipes up
with a demanding, "Whatta ya want, MAURY?"
"Silly bird," I say and turn to Laraine.
"Laraine, do you like jewelry? Silver? Stuff
like that?"
She nods, and I know she's seen the box in my
hand, but she lets me do my thing.
"Well, in Reykjavik I bought this-- well, a
little, just a little thing to put on a necklace
or something, and I thought you might like to have
it."
She smiles hopefully. "LARAINE!" shouts
Maury, and she absentmindedly picks him up. He
looks up at me smugly from his new perch on her
forearm.
"Here." I hold out the box.
Laraine accepts and opens the box with a
wonderful display of grace, considering that
Maury's steel beak is in the way as he tries to
help.
I am rewarded with a glowing smile and a
quick kiss on the cheek.
Laraine puts the reluctant bird back on his
perch and floats off towards the stairs, motioning
that she has a chain she wants to wear the pendant
with. At least now everyone will think I was just
being nice, giving her a gift. I'd just as soon
they not know about the burn. They'd probably say
that I'm a danger to myself...
Maybe I am.
"TTTTTTTToast?" Maury asks as he paces back
and forth on his perch.
"I don't have any toast. Be a good bird or
you'll have to go in your _cage_."
"NO!"
"Well quit asking me for things, then. I'm
not in the mood."
"tttttoooaast?" this time more sweetly.
"Don't have any toast."
"Love ya."
"That's not going to work either."
The red-and-green parrot mumbles
incomprehensibly to himself as I head for the
door. "See you later, Maury. Be a good bird.
Laraine will be right back. Nathaniel doesn't
feel like playing with you today."
As soon as I step through the doorway, before
I even have time to close the door, a deafening
and terrifying sound presses on my ears. My heart
pounds so I'm not even certain I'm not physically
hurt. When the sound and the ringing aftermath
finally subside, I turn around.
"MAURY, you little shit. What the Hell are
you trying to do to me? As if my nerves weren't
bad enough already."
Maury bobs happily on his perch. He has
found a way to get my attention.
"No more! Understand?"
"Whatta ya want Maury," he confirms.
"All right. Good bird."
My back is turned on him again, and again,
inevitably, the howl. Long, rending, so
recognizable that my ears and mind shy from the
possibility. There is no joy, no open call in that
howl. It is not a song, but a scream.
There goes my peace of mind for the rest of
the day.
I begin to picture the late Manfred Clavius
not as a man, but as a wolf.
The night of the full moon approaches and I
feel the old uneasiness again. I spend more time
in the Observatory. When I look at the circle of
smokey whiteness that used to be home, I wonder
whether I could ever really return to Luna
University. Mutants-- _my_ kind of people are not
looked upon kindly by my government. Treated
fairly, yes. Let loose on the streets, no. As I
recall, there were no exclamations of horror or
disgust when Damien leashed the werewolf and took
him away. Do I belong on Earth? Can this be me?
An image of Damien, injured as he must have been
before my father took care of him, crosses my
mind. And I thought he was nuts. I thought they
were _all_ nuts. It's obvious Mother felt the
same way. She had a man she thought she could
trust, and he let loose with an outrageous story.
Obviously a madman. What if she knew that what he
said was true? It's all too much to make sense
of...
And then, suddenly,
The moon will be full tonight.
The relaxed air of ritual in Uranenborg on
Hven is almost spooky. I shudder involuntarily as
Dad casually mentions that he'd better finish
dinner soon or Damien will have quite a time
catching him, and Mrs. Hudson chuckles and says
she'll just have to coax him with his favorite
foods then.
I know what food they would use on me if I
got out of hand-- provided they could get my
attention at all. It all seems surreal and
timeless.
We go to our rooms as the sun falls. Damien
says good night and locks the heavy doors. Time
and thought shift.
Doors. No, one door, one window. Not solid,
but impenetrable... bars... clear... no air... yes
air, no wind. Sniff, sniff, sniff. My room.
Good. Flop. Drifting...
And in the morning, chaos.
I ache in every atom of my being. My mouth
tastes like mud and seawater and-- and-- I smell
stew! There, near the bed. Oh
thankyouthankyouthankyou Mrs. Hudson. I'm
starving. I pick up the bowl and eat
slobberingly, feeling strangely cold and shaky.
I've never wakened this exhausted before. Sounds
are filtering through my door... Too many sounds,
I realize.
There are strangers here. What the HELL
happened last night?
My nose works feverishly as I tentatively let
myself out into the hall. Yes, the door is
unlocked. Yes... there are so many voices coming
from downstairs-- the direction of the main hall,
I think-- that I cannot hope to sort them out. I
will have to venture down there if I am to know
what's going on. The only scents here, near my
door, are those of my family.
I step carefully in the direction of the
stairs. At my father's bedroom door I stop as
Oskar, too, emerges cautiously. He looks as tired
and confused as I feel. I wait for him to take
the lead, and we go down into the mass of
strangers together.
"Son?" he almost whispers. "Are you all
right?"
I shake my head in bewilderment. "What
happened?"
"I don't know."
The lower rooms of Uranenborg on Hven are
packed with people. I sense the calm and
confidence of some uniformed police officers, but
the overwhelming scents here are of seawater, the
outdoors, confusion and relief. What...
Damien comes shouldering through the
drip-drying people and a wave of combined relief
and fear startles my senses. Damien is here,
he'll explain everything, but he's covered in the
odor of blood and bandages. His hands are swathed
in thick white wraps. Yet he seems pleased to see
us; there is no terror in his approach.
Just as the valet reaches us, a small child
wearing a blanket around his shoulders makes his
way among forests of legs and hurls himself at me.
I shy back, but his thin arms encircle my knees as
he cries, "DOGGY!"
_Doggy_? I look down at myself. No... It's
good old Nathaniel D'Yangelo...
Damien claps my shoulder with a bandaged
hand. "Kid recognizes you!"
"Why? What did I do?"
"Does either of you remember anything?"
Oskar and I shake our heads no.
"Laraine's around here somewhere-- I'm sure
she'll want to see you as soon as we can find her.
She let you out of your rooms while I was out on
one of the boats. That blasted ancient Ferry went
up in flames last night. I think between the two
of you you brought about fifty people to shore.
Police are helping get them home now. I brought
in a few myself, I must say, but it was Laraine
who let you loose. Good thing, too."
Dad and I are staring at him, open-mouthed.
Finally, Dad speaks. "The Ferry..."
"Kaboom. Yep."
The child is still clinging to my legs. I
pat him on the head in a dazed fashion. "You're
telling me that _I_ swam in the ocean last night,
and... and..."
Damien smiles at us, understanding our
incomplete grasp of things even though the effects
of the night are milling all around us. "You two
need some rest while we explain. How about
hitting the chairs in your dining room? Sit down
awhile so the police can do their thing, and I'll
see if I can find Laraine."
The truths filter comfortably into my addled
brain. Laraine comes, gives Dad and I each a kiss
and hug, and then stands, beaming proudly, by the
door. She, too, seems tired, but I am relieved to
see she is not hurt. Apparently, while Mrs.
Hudson called the police boats and Damien rushed
to help rescue the passengers who had jumped to
safety, Laraine took action of her own and let us
down to the dock.
We worked side by side, we are told, even
bringing the last man in together, helping each
other support the weight.
That seems a little hard to believe. I look
shyly at Dad, but he just shrugs, then smiles.
Suddenly I love Uranenborg on Hven.
There are words I never thought I could find
spiritually uplifting, deeply warming, wholly
satisfying. As we sit, resting, letting chaos
continue around us, that little child finds me
again and simply lights up with joy. He speaks,
gleefully, petting my knees again. "_Good_
doggy!" What an amazingly eloquent child.
Maury, too, when I go to see him in some
small attempt to feel that my whole pack is here
and known, manages to say something flattering.
He begs and flaps and when I lift him up, he
rewards me with a decided, "Love ya!"
Eventually the strangers leave.
Seagulls are perusing the beach for detritus
thrown ashore by last night's explosion.
Dad watches them, moving slowly, but they
take off as we descend the slope to the dock.
Damien wants to show us something.
The mud is a mishmash of footprints and
debris, but Damien manages to find what he's
looking for, and points. We look.
One footprint is deeper, larger than the
other, but they are placed beside each other,
almost as if the paws' owners were signing their
names in the mud. Father-Son wolfprints. I try
to remember, to call up some idea of the man we
might have brought in together, when our jaws were
taxed and our coats heavy with water. But the
only dreams I recall are dark and misty. Still,
the prints are there. I touch the pressed-in mud
with a finger and rub the slickness between finger
and thumb. Every month this happens. Every
month. Maybe... maybe we could spend a full moon
free on the lawn. Or maybe... Maybe nothing.
What am I thinking? _Wolves_. Last night's
behavior must have been an exception. I think of
Cassandra and experience a new chill. "Let's go
in."
But Dad wants to stay outside and keep an eye
on the ever-increasing flock of seagulls. In the
end I stay with him.
I'm not sure how long we've been idling on
the brown-grassed lawn when I notice something
curious.
"Hey, Dad, what's that shiny thing that
seagull has?"
We rush the shore, silently, hopefully,
closing in on the bird. This is no Maury, with
steel beak and claws. This is something fragile,
flapping...
We don't catch the seagull (_darn_ it), but
in its flight it drops the object I spotted.
A ring?
"Could it have come from someone aboard the
Ferry?" Dad wonders.
I turn the subtly twisted gold band over in
my fingers. "It could, I guess. We'd better tell
the authorities in case anyone from last night can
identify it."
When we enter the big main doors of
Uranenborg, Damien is the first person we see. We
show him the ring. "A woman's ring," he notes.
"Could have come from last night, but then, with
an explosion like that _anything_ could have come
up from the bottom. I'll ask Mrs. Hudson to call
the police and describe it, though."
He never gets that far, because the next
person to appear is Laraine. I hold the gold ring
out to her. "Look what we found."
She looks. A sigh escapes her. I let the
ring fall as she holds out her pale hands. She
grasps it, strokes it, then places it on her
finger.
I glance in amazement at Damien as Laraine
takes me firmly by the hand and begins pulling me
down the hall to the concourse.
We don't stop until we come to the covering
of velvet that obscures Cassandra Clavius's
painting. Laraine's eyes are intense as she draws
back the velvet and firmly directs my gaze to the
familiar visage of Mrs. Clavius. I don't
understand, stare blankly, until she shows me her
ring finger again and strokes the frame of
Cassandra's portrait.
Wait, I think I understand...
Laraine, melancholy yet loving, turns the
twisted band on her finger and fixes me with a
deeply meaningful look.
From somewhere within my disarrayed self
comes a voice. "Your mother..."
She nods, helping me along.
"Your mother... Drowned?"
Mournful nod. Then Laraine hugs me.
She... Drowned? What about... What... Oh
Lord, what _about_ Manfred?
We're sorry, Sir. Cassandra was... killed
last night when the Ferry struck her boat... we
have been unable to find a body. We're terribly
sorry.
But I don't even remember! Where is she?
This can't _be_...
The shrieking of a wolf who will not
remember, who will wake up a man with no wife, a
mute, bereaved daughter and the faintest of
nightmarish visions seen with wolves' eyes through
unbreakable bars. No wonder she let us out. Her
father never forgave himself.
I return Laraine's hug in my own silence.
Another day, another episode in the D'Yangelo
Lunar soap opera. I ignore the mail in the
reception box and start for the kitchen for a
frozen dinner when I notice that the phone is
blinking.
The phone indicates that the call is from
Earth. Well, it's about time. That boy has been
gallivanting about that planet long enough without
ever a word to me. You'd think Nathaniel could
contact his own mother... I kick off my high heels
(_impossible_ to walk in but oh-so-essential for
high-class luncheon with other members of The
Family) and reach for the receiver.
"This is Christina D'Yangelo," I say,
batting a tendril of loose hair out of my face.
"Hi. It's Oskar."
'Shock' does not begin to describe it.
"Well... Well, Oskar..."
"Hello, Christina."
I recover a little of my usual composure.
"Is Nathaniel there?"
"Yes, he's here, but he gave me the code and
I asked to make the call. We have a favor to ask,
I must admit."
Disappointment. Disappointment? Why? I'm
not disappointed about this being a business
call... am I? "What would that be, Oskar?"
"I have a friend. An Earth native. He needs
clearance to Luna for medical treatment and
possible permanent residence. Is it possible that
the D'Yangelos could do something for him?"
"It's... possible. Why don't you send me his
information and I'll see what I can do."
"It should have gotten there today. There
should have been a package on the shuttle."
The mail. "Just a minute."
There is, indeed, a package. I hold the
receiver between shoulder and ear while I open the
thick envelope. Oskar speaks in my ear. His
voice sounds just the same... "Say, Christina, I
like your hair that way, but a little piece is
loose from the comb." I swipe the hair away again
and shake out the package's contents. The
friend's information is there, but a glossy photo
which lies on top has my immediate and entire
attention.
I know he knows I'm seeing it now.
"Oskar. It's been over twenty years..."
"Yeah, I know. Your ring has slipped upside
down on your finger, Christina." I fix the ring
and continue staring at the photo.
Both my boys. They look so handsome.
Wait a minute. This is an audio-only phone.
"How are you doing that?"
"Doing what?"
"Don't play innocent with me. You know what
I'm talking about."
"I know _you_. You know, Nathaniel is a lot
like you."
"Not in this picture he isn't." Earth... How
did they get off so easy? How is it that the rest
of the family is together on a 'mad' planet, while
I defend myself alone against the insanity of
these society get-togethers? This is ridiculous,
I tell myself. The man couldn't possibly be the
same one I married. It's been twenty-one years...
"Yes, well, that picture was taken last
month. Damien took us in for a sitting so we
could see what we looked like. I hear we were
very good boys. You really should come down and
see us sometime."
"Oskar, that's impossible and you know it.
We don't even know each other anymore. Why don't
you just put Nathaniel on now. I don't think we
should talk anymore."
"Tell you what. First, you go warm up your
mushroom-sauce noodles. You must be hungry after
pretending to eat at that damned luncheon. When
you're done, Nathaniel will be waiting to talk to
you."
"Oskar... This isn't _fair_." But something
in me waits for the next line.
"Christina, I want you to come back. You
know, I... never took my ring off, either."
"Did Nathaniel tell you about that?"
"Nathaniel? No... I know you would never
take yours off and I wanted you to know I never
have, either."
I sigh and look again at the photo. It
_could_ be some mock-up, some computer-generated
thing. _If_ their expressions weren't so
charmingly confused. It's obvious they have no
idea what the photographer is doing. Oskar so
dark and thick-ruffed, Nathaniel without so much
coat but handsome in his own right. Together.
Oskar lets me look at the picture a moment
more before he speaks. "Wolves mate for life..."
"I know that, Oskar, I know."
"Oh, come now, don't cry. Take some time to
think about it. Eat your frozen dinner. If you
don't mind, we'd really appreciate knowing if
there's any way Damien could come to Luna. But
when you're done thinking, feel free to call me
back. I will be waiting."
"I know you will, Oskar. Can you-- can you
put Nathaniel on now?"
"He's right here."