Beautiful to the Bone (The Enuis Trilogy #1) by P.G. Lengsfelder Read Free Book Online

never asked me to skin, and I was glad of it. I watched him skin a fox, then decided I’d prefer not to see that part of the process again. I turned away from him whenever he started cutting and scraping, and he never mentioned it.
    But there was one moment . . . In that second week, arms stretched out in front of him and more willing to glance at me than the pre-historic fish he carried, he said, “Take care of this.” He thumped a gargantuan fish on my workbench. Then pulled gloves and a jowl spreader from his back pocket and laid them next to the fish.
    “What is it?” I asked, heart rate up.
    “Muskellunge.” Clear distaste in his tone. “Frozen. Can you handle it?”
    It was light-silver, mean looking and the largest fish I’d ever seen, almost 6-foot long, close to 50 pounds with sharp needle-like teeth. “What do I need to do?” I swallowed.
    “I thought you weren’t squeamish.”
    “I’m not.” I stood straighter.
    “Clean it out, don’t rupture the skin.” He wiped his hands on a rag, threw it on his bench and walked away, then stopped at the office door. “It’s a near-record, don’t screw it up.” Then closed the door behind him.
    I starred at the monster. It starred back. Spitefully. But it was a water creature. I needed to make friends with it. Reluctantly I lowered my hands to its skin, then stroked it. “Pals?” It wasn’t amused.
    I heard Carver already on the phone with a customer.
    I slipped on the gloves. They were oversized and too big for me. I inched the jowl spreader into its mouth. A crackling sound. “Oh no, no!” I said pulling my hand back. The crackling stopped. Breathe . I removed the left hand glove. I took hold of the center of its body with my gloved right hand, and with my left I slowly and very carefully reached between the teeth into its belly, straining to stay in its center. Deeper. Almost to my elbow. Something furry and slimy! My hand flew out, tearing open the skin between my thumb and index finger. I pumped air in and out. “Shoot.”
    But no damage to the fish. Another deep breath. “I can do this.” I steadied my breathing.
    This time, past its teeth, my body as frozen as the fish, my arm buried deeper, deeper, until my hand came to rest on the slime. Trembling, I grabbed hold of it, unwilling to even imagine what it was. I pulled at it, and with a sucking sound it detached from the monster’s belly and came toward me.
    At the monster’s mouth I held my breath and dragged it into the dim light.
    I screamed. A large brown and yellow snake with a duckling in its mouth fell to the floor, and with them, as the glove slipped away from my hand, the monster fish slid off the workbench and joined them with a thud on the ground.
    “Oh shoot, oh no!” I looked to the office door. I dropped to my knees and scooped the huge fish into my arms, quickly laying it on the table as Carver came cursing through the door.
    “What the hell is going on?”
    “Just startled,” I said stroking the monster. I pointed to the floor and the duckling in the snake’s jaws.
    “As long as the Muskie’s okay.”
    I smiled and kept gently massaging the fish.
    “Just get back to work, will you. Just deal with it.”
    “Yes, sir.”
    ***
    Before Mr. Carver’s complete decline, I found pleasure in keeping his art high quality. I helped make each animal beautiful by salting, pickling, and tanning the skins; transforming the protein skins to non-protein; and preparing them for rehydration. The process was a delight —no spoilage and so purifying, leaving each body germ free.
    “Always,” he said, “keep them out of the sun and direct heat. Gelatinization and hardening; hair slippage is irreversible. Never stack skins.”
    I learned to rehydrate the skins in 5% solution, to keep the pH below 2.2. “But not too long,” he’d say checking on me. ”It loosens the hair.”
    I handled all the acids, dressing the fur with Formic acid, bleaching with Oxalic, the poisonous powdered