Like any mom, she began to learn his particular version of language, how he pronounced different words (lo’ meant yellow, ehrrr meant red). He had learned to speak loudly enough for her to hear.

Frequently the men did not understand what he was saying, and she, the partly deaf person, had to translate.

She would hold up the blue square and ask him—What’s this?

He would eye her and the square, thinking. His attempts at language sounded a little like someone trying to play the piano for the first time. One sound, then a pause, then the next.—Kh . . . air.

She yelled in victory and threw him a fish.

Then she’d ask—Ok. Come on. Talk. It’s a BLUE square. BLUE. Blueee.

He’d keep his face in front of her, while twisting his body to try to touch his lower belly to her leg. She stepped out of the way, holding up the square, waiting.

The B sound, for him, was difficult. He’d push air out of his blowhole under pressure. Sometimes he managed a Puh or Buh sound; other times, it came out more as a simple burst of air.

He said—Puh . . . ewww.

Yes, yes—she yelled in victory, gave him a fish and rubbed his side.

Several times a day, he’d open his mouth and stretch his face toward her, wanting her to touch the inside of his mouth. This, she wouldn’t do. Those sharp teeth.

* * *

The more clearly Junior spoke, the more power she had with the men.

With each new word he mastered, she would ask for more things for herself or the dolphins, and the men would get them for her. She asked for more squid for Kat and more tarpon for Mother. She’d bring these treats down to the lagoon and throw them to the dolphins one after another. She felt guilty for neglecting the two of them. She also asked for more toys for Junior.

One of the toys the men brought back was a 3-foot-long inflatable dolphin. When she first saw that toy, she hoped Junior might transfer his affections to it, but he clicked at it just once and understood it as a plastic bubble filled with air.

* * *

Blum and Tibbet disagreed about the extent of Junior’s progress. Blum would make sweeping exaggerated statements about the results and the potential. Tibbet would respond that Blum’s beliefs were not demonstrated in the data in a statistically significant way. Blum would look at Tibbet with his bright bird eyes and declare that Tibbet had all the intuition of a calculator.

One day, while Cora was on the lawn, reporting, the two men began to disagree about Junior’s ability to pronounce sounds such as Th and T and D. Tibbet underestimated Junior’s ability, while Blum overstated it. Their voices became tense, and neither of them backed down. It seemed possible that something else was underneath the disagreement. Tibbet pushed each word out with more energy than was necessary, his face a little flushed. Blum’s chin was up, his eyes glittering. Tibbet’s wife had not dropped by the research center for days.