She stared, unblinking, for a long moment. Then turned to her bed which also hung on chains from the rafters.

That day, she rigged an aluminum pie plate as a collar around each chain. She placed the pie plate halfway down. She hoped the rats wouldn’t be able to climb around these wide metal barriers.

* * *

When the men went to bed, they shut off the lights. Sometimes they forgot to give her warning. She would be in the middle of the pool, and there would be a loud clunk that left her in darkness. She’d have to find her way to bed by feel.

* * *

She started getting rashes where the edges of the wet bathing suit chafed against the edges of her crotch. She tried putting ointment on the area, but it got washed off quickly in the water.

She experimented with different types of clothing. A short dress got soaked from the water, and, underneath, the underwear sagged and chafed worse than the bathing suit. A leotard, with its snaps in the crotch, irritated the rash also. So, in the end, she began wearing a bikini top and bike shorts.

The men considered each of these outfits with appreciation. They sat inside the living room by the windows, eating meals or working while they watched, listening to the sounds she and Junior made, broadcast from the speakers.

It was rare that they stepped into the homearium to talk to her, and when they did, she couldn’t hear much of what they said unless she got out of the water to put on her glasses. So she was left alone, primarily in silence, talking at a dolphin, her voice echoing in her head. Few other noises were loud enough to penetrate her hearing. Luckily, Junior naturally tended to be loud, or maybe he’d figured out that she needed the volume.

She would say—Talk. A, B, C, Deeee.

Since that first Sunday she’d spent in town, Junior worked much harder at the lessons. He would repeat back the letters as best he could. He managed to replicate the timing and emphasis better than the exact sounds—Ayy, Eey, Eey, Eeyyyy.

She tried nursery rhymes and simple phrases, using a sing-song voice, the way you would with a baby.

—Talk. MA-ry HAD a LI-ttle lamb. LI-ttle lamb. LI-ttle lamb.

Junior would answer with something close to the right beat, but the sounds that came out were very different from her words. At times the noises could have come from different instruments in an orchestra pit. A squeal. A blat. A whistle.

She would repeat the words, exaggerating the vowels and pitch.

—No Junior. Try again. Humanoid this time, O.K.? Listen. Talk. MAAA-reee. MAAA-ree.

When she slowed down the words this way, it seemed Junior’s response was slightly more likely to include the vowels she’d used, the aaaa, the eeee, although not necessarily in the right order, and the humanoid sounds were interspersed with clicks and squawks. She might, however, just be wishing the vowels were similar. She knew Tibbet was recording these lessons and analyzing them in the house. She relied on him to double-check her perception, and to tell her if there were sounds she was missing, below her level of hearing.