---

Father Bertolli held his arm only long enough to be sure he wasn't going to fall down, Mike thought. It was long enough to make Mike feel like he ~cared~ that he didn't fall down, too.

He felt funny sitting beside a professor at one of the student tables, not even on the other side...

He looked at the Jesuit priest, who was a real, live monk....

And realized that if there was ever a better person in the entire world to talk to about what he was feeling, he'd never met them.

Father Bertolli had told them a lot about himself on the first day of lectures. He was a language scholar and an archaeologist, and thought "one God was as true a reflection of creation's beauty as another." (Mike had had to edit the God to 'god' after he'd listened a little longer.)

And he hadn't ~always~ been a priest. He'd hinted he even had a life before.

And Mike liked him. And he trusted him.

He reminded Mike of his grandmother. But Italian. And a man. And he was sitting there. And Mike didn't think he could talk to his Grandma about what he thought he might be about to talk to Father Bertolli about.

And, maybe, Father Bertolli might actually have some answers.

His own private oracle.

He smiled a bit at that, even though he thought he might be shivering, too.

"Father? Have you ever heard of the butterfly effect?" He noticed his professor's expression change and realized that he'd called him Father instead of professor. But he called himself Father.

And besides that, his question wasn't all that bright, either.

Father Bertolli smiled a bit more. Like he'd heard that part.

"Yes. It was a movie a while back, wasn't it? It's an idea of causality, determinism... popularly in meteorology, extrapolated from popularized physics, I believe. That given time and a sufficiently large threshold, the smallest motion - a butterfly's wing - can eventually effect huge change in the environment? Is that the effect you mean?"

The oracle smiled. Mike sat there and blinked.

He realized that he probably hadn't meant to ask about ~any~ of that, really. Except the word "causality." One thing causes another.

He still nodded. Suddenly, he felt even shyer than he'd felt nervous a moment ago.

He had to look at his hands. Anywhere. He still needed to repair his manicure. Some nails were almost chipped bare. And that was part of it. But when he looked up, Father Bertolli was still smiling. Mike tried to, too.

"I don't know if that's really what I meant... I mean, about the whole tiniest start and all.... But starting something and then it becomes bigger and maybe more than I meant..."

But it wasn't bad. Just not what he'd been thinking about. Planning. He'd never planned it, really. Ever.

Not real plans that mattered.

He hadn't planned anything except never shaving again.

He'd never even meant to buy nail polish. Or that ~that~ changed things, too....

He'd never really thought about how changing... would change him even more.

He stopped picking at his thumbnail and looked up.

"I think..."

He had to re-think. Father Bertolli waited, not smiling, but okay.

Mike didn't look up for the second try, after a few seconds. He'd thought about how he had to show his professor some of the same shadows he saw.

"I'm getting my beard removed..."

-
-

"Oh, no! I have to run!" Mike looked from the clock he'd just noticed and started looking around frantically before he saw his bag and book and realized that he'd forgotten them entirely and needed to take them too.... He stood, almost knocking over his chair.

"I have an important appointment in... in three minutes!"

"Wait, wait..."

Father Bertolli wasn't panicked. Or even upset. Mike didn't stop, but he at least heard. He looked at Father Bertolli and tried to replace the chair at the table at the same time and almost knocked it over again.

"Where is your appointment? Unless it's down the hall you won't be on time." He smiled. "Can you call and postpone, or explain? I will add my excuses if it would help?"

Mike 'Wait, waited...'

He'd been on the edge of tears, he realized, but he could think again.

-

Professors - especially ones who were priests and counselors and confessors, Mike supposed (though he didn't speak catholic enough to have more than a vague idea of what that really meant) - made good excuses.

Especially when keeping that ~exact~ appointment with a certain Mrs. Thakur wasn't (apparently) as important to Mrs. Thakur as he'd thought it was.

Especially when said professor explained that the delay was, constructively, about the same issue as the meeting. Topic. Problem.

All of the above.

And especially when he ~really~ didn't want to stop talking with Father Bertolli right then.

-

So... he was re-booked for three-fifteen, which gave him tons and tons of time. Since he didn't have a ridiculously intense class schedule like certain unnamed and rude engineering students.

-

"So..."

Father Bertolli sat back. He didn't smile, but Mike could tell he liked thinking about a problem. Any problem. They'd moved to his crowded, little office, which was also in the St. Augustine building.

"What you wanted, ~intended~, was to take advantage of a windfall to remove a beard you greatly disliked. To start the removal. Correct?"

Mike nodded.

"And what you wanted, ~wished for~, was to also remove a barrier to your self-image? One that would be entirely private?"

Father Bertolli smiled and then nodded along with Mike. Mike had a hard time not freezing up again, hearing it.

"But what has happened is that through this process, you believe your appearance has become sufficiently feminine that people are relating to you as a girl? Some people?" He nodded and didn't smile.

Mike did too. Both.

"And though this is not at odds with your self-image, being seen this way is distressing?" He watched Mike's face.

"Or this change in others' perceptions is happening too fast for your comfort?"

Mike must have done something.

"Or might not even be what you want at all, in the end?"

They both nodded, one after the other, for similar, but different reasons. Mike at the word "might." Father Bertolli at Mike's almost shaking "no" before he nodded "yes."

"And you wonder about your sexuality."

Mike hunched forward.

Almost no "yes" at all.

Father Bertolli sat quietly for several minutes, just touching the young student's hand while Mike shook.

He took his hand away, just an inch. Then he put it back.

"And you have gone to Health Services and told them you are transsexual and cannot afford to pay for the bulk of this... electrolysis. And that you feel desperate to change your appearance and they have agreed to aid you and have been funding your clinical visits?"

Mike didn't look up, but he made a tiny nod. Father Bertolli said it better than he had.

There was silence for a long time. A long time.

Mike thought. And thought. And none of the thoughts were... anything he could recognize....

"And you feel very guilty about telling them this?"

Mike sat very, very still. Then he realized that he'd nodded.

"Even though you ~do~ feel you are a woman, inside?"

Mike nodded again, almost imperceptibly. This time he'd done it on purpose. His hand shivered under his teacher's warm, big one.

"Michael?"

He tried to nod that he could hear.

Father Bertolli moved his hand to fully cover his student's.

"What would you have done if your beard had thickened? If your features coarsen as much as mine?"

After a few seconds, Mike shuddered. Then his whole body jerked.

It was a full minute before he could look up.

---

Later, to his own confessor, Emmanuel Ignatius Bertolli said that he had never before seen such a mask of tragedy.

---

End of Part Quinque: Metamorphosis