Read Online The Physiognomy by Jeffrey Ford - Free Book Online

instruments might leave a crack in the subject’s head. I put on my leather gloves and then set to work with the radius.
    The slender nature of the cranium made Mantakis’s thin head seem almost robust, but at the same time there was something so concise and elegant about this expression of Nature that the computations, when I figured them in my workbook—a tiny, leather-bound volume in which I recorded all my findings in secret code with a needle dipped in ink—at once pointed to both a severe paucity of rational thought and a certain sublime divinity. The numbers seemed to be playing tricks on me, but I let them stand since I had never read anything before quite like the Traveler. Is he human? I wrote at the bottom of the page.
    â€œPass me the nasal gauge,” I said to Arla, who stood close by me, rapt with interest. Now I could see that to have invited her along on this venture might have been a mistake. I did not want her to sense my uncertainty in the face of the Traveler. What could be worse than a pupil discovering a lack of confidence in her mentor?
    â€œHe is most peculiar-looking up close,” she said. “Nothing physically would suggest anything but the weakest link to humanity, yet there is something more there.”
    â€œPlease,” I said, “we must let the numbers do the thinking.” I fear she took this as a reprimand and was from then on completely silent.
    The bridge of the nose began almost at the hairline, and instead of flanging at the nostrils tapered to a sharp point with two small slits, like the puncture wounds of a penknife on either side. “Madness,” I muttered, but, again, I put down precisely what I found. Instead of the math solidly confirming my suspicions that he represented a species of prehistoric protohuman, the measurement was in direct ratio to that of a Star Five, my own and Arla’s illustrious physiognomical evaluation.
    The hair itself was long, black, and braided, and appeared as healthy as Arla’s beautiful tresses. There was a point where the braiding ended, but the hair had continued to grow a full six inches. From the look of it, I was forced to wonder if it was still not growing beyond death, slowly reaching outward through the centuries. I removed my glove and tentatively ran my fingers through it. Soft as silk, and I could almost feel life in it. I wiped my hand on my trousers and quickly put the glove back on.
    I continued, calling for Arla to pass the various instruments—the Hadris lip vise, the ocular standard, the earlobe cartilage meter, etc. I took my time, working slowly and carefully, recording, as always, precisely what I found, yet all the time a feeling of frustration was mounting in my intestines. The representative mathematics of this strange head was acting more like magic, conjuring something utterly superior to even my own features. When all I had left to apply was the calipers, my specialty, I stepped back from the altar and motioned to Arla that we would take a break.
    I turned away from the Traveler and lit a cigarette in order to calm my nerves. Sweat trickled down from my brow, and my shirt was damp. Arla said not a word but gave me an inquiring look, as if I should relate to her my findings so far.
    â€œIt is too early to make any determination,” I said.
    She nodded and glanced past me at that long face. From the cast of her gaze, I knew what it was she was looking at—the same eye-crease-to-jawline measurement we had earlier discussed about her grandfather. I didn’t need the calipers to know that I would find a measurement there well within the bounds of the Grandeur Quotient.
    â€œYour honor,” she said, “I think he is moving.”
    I spun around, and she brushed past me. She put her hand out and laid it on his chest. “I feel it,” she said, “the slightest movement.”
    I reached over and withdrew her hand with my own. “Now, now,” I said,