This type of nonsensical vocalization, perhaps at the level of a pre-lingual toddler, was the majority of the language she heard each day. It left her hungry for real language. So when she wasn’t working with Junior or cleaning up, she read. She borrowed a book or two a week from the men’s library, devouring them during her scheduled quiet times. There wasn’t much else to do. She learned about the men through these books, about their words and values and thinking.

She started with books on language acquisition, learning how hard it was. Language was a complex code transmitted at high speed. A word was a sound chunk. In English, there were hundreds of thousands of different sound chunks that could be used in different orders in any sentence. Some of these chunks sounded identical but meant different things. Others sounded different but meant the same thing. And then there were all those prefixes and suffixes and irregular conjugations. Without ever having experienced language, a baby had to first figure out these audio waves were some type of communication, and then become a cryptanalyst, systematically breaking each sentence down, parsing it into chunks and guessing at the meaning of each. The only way to learn it all was through deduction and raw memorization.

After reading about language for a while, it seemed surprising to Cora that any child could figure it out.

So she decided to help Junior break this code by teaching him a few specific nouns and adjectives. She had Blum buy a child’s set of large three-dimensional plastic shapes; squares, circles and triangles in different colors. The first time she presented them to Junior, she held out three triangles (a red, yellow and blue one), while she said—Talk. Triangle, triangle.

Junior cocked his head and examined her and the triangles, gurgling dolphin sounds and occasional vowels out of his blowhole. It was possible that, with his senses, he could perceive very different qualities than the shape. He could be seeing the minute differences in the contours or inner seams, or in how the sound bounced inside.

After ten presentations of the triangles, stating the name each time, she repeated the process with the squares and then the circles. She spoke each word as clearly as she could, exaggerating the mouth movements and looking him in the eye.

Then she moved onto colors, holding up different red objects (triangle, square and circle) and saying—Talk. Red. Red. Junior, this is red. Talk. Red.

Junior burbled and watched her.

Of course, it was possible the dolphins were color-blind.

Finally she added verbs, hoping that, even if he couldn’t repeat a word, he could demonstrate through action that he comprehended the meaning.

Throwing all the shapes in the water, she said—Junior. Bring square. Bring square.

Like any baby, at first he just slapped the shapes around with his tail, or carried one around in his mouth or on his belly.

She repeated, holding out her hand—Bring square. Square.

Instead he began teething on the yellow triangle, the satisfying crunch of plastic between his teeth.