“Yes,” he said simply. “I’m working on a paper for grad school.”

That explained it. Ben understood all about grad school, about the endless writing and research, the quest for something to study that was unique, something not already claimed by someone else. He recalled his own horror at discovering, while working on his master’s, that he’d elected to pursue the same subject as an archrival, a situation that added even more pressure to an already-difficult situation but which ultimately had forced him to work harder and, as a result, produce the more original thesis. He knew now why Hudson had seemed wary. He knew, too, that further questions about the subject would make the other man uneasy.

“People often assume Doc and Ricketts are the same person,” he said, going back to the subject that had originally brought them together. “But they weren’t. Not really. I think Doc was an idealized version of Ricketts, maybe the man Steinbeck knew he wanted to be. Or maybe the man Steinbeck wanted him to be.”

“I’ve always thought that myself,” said Hudson. “I was hoping that being here would help me figure it out.”

“Maybe,” Ben said. “As you’ve already seen, though, even Monterey has turned into what it thinks people want it to be. It’s a sort of Dis-neyized Cannery Row. People don’t want to know about how they wiped out all the sardines, or how the original Japanese fishermen were pushed out by the white ones when they realized there was money to be made. The place has almost become a myth, filled with happy bums and heart-of-gold whores.”

“And Doc,” said Hudson.

“And Doc,” Ben echoed.

“All writing is a lie in some way,” Hudson said thoughtfully. “Like you said, maybe Steinbeck wrote about it the way he wanted to see it. Did you know he wrote his ex-wife out of the Sea of Cortez account?”

“No,” said Ben. “I’ve never heard that.”

“Took her right out,” Hudson said. “They fought the whole time she was there, and he didn’t want to write about her. He thought the story would read better if it was just him and the boys going on an adventure.”

“He’s probably right about that,” Ben said. “I can think of a few trips I’d rather remember without my wife in them.”

“Well, Carol Steinbeck probably felt the same way about John,” Hudson said. “It would be interesting to hear her side of the story.”

Ben had forgotten that Steinbeck had been married to a Carol, too. He thought of his Carol. His ex-Carol. She also had her side of the story. Their story. He wondered how she told it, how he came across to people who knew him only from her description of their marriage. I wonder if I would recognize myself? he thought.

“I’ve taken up a lot of your time,” Hudson said, checking his watch. “I didn’t mean to. But I appreciate it.”

Ben drained the last of his coffee. “It’s all right,” he said. “I wasn’t in any hurry to get back to the lab.”