Junior was overjoyed. His blowhole exhaled—Kh-orrh.

He shot over to the deep end and jumped and twirled in the air. He squealed and blatted and squawked.

The first sentence she wanted to teach him was—Set me free.

At the moment, what he said instead was—Kh-orrh. Kh-orrh.

THIRTY-FOUR
Homearium, Week 14

One day, Junior took too long, the crevice behind her bent knees not as satisfying as another dolphin’s body. Rocking on her knees, he seemed to have forgotten himself in the urgency of the moment. Although his body was mostly in the water, reducing the weight, he was still rocking back and forth. Her whole body was being knocked around, her kidneys slammed into the steps, her tailbone in real pain. Her butt scraped against the concrete.

Hey—she yelled, punching him in the side—Hey!

He continued, too focused to notice.

The image flashed through her mind of her family’s farm, Luther the boar rocking away on the mounting bench, her dad crouched down and reaching underneath with his hand and the container.

So she reached down and helped Junior. Her human hand so adept. It took just two motions of her wrist.

Afterwards Junior stared at her surprised and clicked at her hand for some time, examining it. Afterward he recited the alphabet all the way to G.

* * *

Reporters and photographers continued to visit the center. At first they were from Florida newspapers—the Miami Herald, the Orlando Sentinel, the Ledger—but lately more regional magazines and even TV stations had started calling.

The reporters asked Cora questions about what it was like to live in a pool with a dolphin. They did not ask her about the work. They asked her what she made herself for dinner and if she missed spending time with friends and if she was ever scared of the dolphin. She would respond with simple sentences and small words.

Then Blum would step in front of her, and the reporters would ask him about the research. He had his shirt buttoned, his hair brushed, looking like a Harvard professor. He answered the questions, using his large scientific words. The reporters looked big-eyed. Each time he used a word they didn’t know, they would assume it meant something important.

And as Blum had predicted, given all the news stories, foundations began to call, interested in the research. On the phone with the grant officers, he stood in the window of the office, glowing with satisfaction, looking out at Cora and Junior, his gestures large, his voice confident.

The grant applications began to arrive one by one in the mail. Eh sat at the typewriter for long hours each day, filling out the paperwork, pecking at the keys, a bottle of white-out next to him. Tibbet told Cora that within three to six months the money would start rolling in. Given the number of applications, Blum would have more money than he could imagine.

And that Tuesday morning, CBS news called. The camera crew would arrive in a week.