The wind against her skull was surprising, like skinny-dipping, the revealed neurons so awake. Her head lighter.

He was finished within a few minutes. By then the other two men were standing on the veranda, holding onto the railing, watching. She stood up and shook her head, ran her hands over the bristly egg of her skull. The stubble perhaps a quarter inch long. Such a different feel, like a soldier’s head or a nun’s. Her bare neck seemed longer. Her head free and unencumbered. At her feet was the nest of hair out of which she had been hatched.

She put her glasses back on, revealed and honest. She looked at Blum’s expression, then Eh’s. So hungry to see their discomfort or perhaps even disgust, to see their interest erased.

Instead they stared. Gaped, really.

(Later on when she looked in the mirror, she’d see the buzzcut revealed the shape of her skull, a delicate egg on a narrow neck. With just a fuzz of hair, her eyes seemed bigger. This masculine cut, by comparison, made her body seem more feminine and surprising.

And perhaps, most of all, her haircut made her deeply aberrant. Like a woman wearing a dog collar and holding a whip, her hair was testimony that normal rules did not pertain to her, that with her, anything was possible.)

The focus in their eyes much worse.

She held her short towel around her, feeling naked under their gaze.

Blum ran his hand over the stubble on her head. His touch now slightly possessive, as though he’d formed her somehow.—You look good this way. Sleek.

His hand lingered. Another touch to tally.

THIRTEEN
July 9–13, 1965

The next day, when she waded out of the water, Blum was sitting on the dock waiting for her. She toweled her head off and put on her glasses immediately. A benefit of her new haircut.

Grinding his cigarette out, he considered her new look, his head cocked.—The back of your neck is much paler than your face.

She was able to hear better now with her buzzcut. Perhaps the rustling of her hair had confused her, or maybe it had reduced the connection between the amplifier and her skull. Mostly now she could hear most everything except S’s and soft C’s.

She ran her hand over the back of her neck.—It hasn’t been in the sun until now.

—You can certainly tan.

—I’m part Seminole.

He went still at this information, head tilted.—You’re an Indian?

A small part—she said.

He looked at her as though she’d changed in some way.—Maybe that’s why you’re good with animals.

She blinked and moved past this.—What did you do to Mother?

—Who?

—The dolphin you brought into the building the other day, that you operated on.

He said—Mother.

—I named her that because she acts like the mom of the smallest dolphin. What did you do to her?

—Brain research.

—What do you mean?

—We attempted operant conditioning.

—What?

Blum enjoyed lecturing others.—We inserted electrodes, ran a small amount of electricity into her brain and moved the electrodes around, while we watched how she reacted. We’re looking for the pain and pleasure centers.