It was a squid, with only one leg left. She’d clearly been saving it for a while. Probably it was her last one. Cora hadn’t given her any since Kat had hit her in the face with one.

Kat looked at her.

Cora went to the outdoor fridge and came back with a bag of squid. She held up one where Kat could see it and said—Talk.

She waited.

—Talk.

Kat rose, peddling her tail back and forth, standing up in the water. In this dull lagoon, with nothing to do, she wanted the squid even more than she wanted to eat. She squealed with frustration.

At this sound, Cora threw her the squid.

Kat caught it. Overjoyed, she flipped it up in the air again and again, a pom-pom of flesh, a drum majorette in a butcher’s parade.

Cora picked up another squid, held it out for Kat to see.

Kat paused, focusing.

Cora said—Talk.

Kat stared. Perhaps this was the moment when she understood the deal, the compact of trainer and trainee, the promise of reward for requested behavior. Or maybe she’d understood it from the start, but this was when she conceded.

Whatever went on in her head, she squealed a second time, even louder, the same key.

Cora threw her the squid. Kat caught it. Two squid in her mouth now, she rolled under the water to hide them at the bottom of the lagoon. A moment later she popped back up, eager.

Cora said—Talk.

Kat squawked, gurgling a little at the end.

The two of them repeated and repeated this command and reply, until Kat had squid tucked away in nooks and crannies all over the lagoon and Cora began holding up butterfish instead.

Each time Cora said Talk, Kat squealed the same note, catching the fish as they were thrown. She was so hungry, she swallowed them whole, repeating the trick thirty times in a row. The other dolphins watched this interaction with concentration: Cora saying Talk, then Kat making a noise and getting thrown a fish.

This was a concept that was new to them, having food be dependent on their ability to please a different species. Hunger, however, focuses the mind, shoving it toward innovation.

Once Kat was finally full, she stopped responding to Cora. Instead she circled the lagoon, her head out of the water, wearing a squid at a rakish angle like a fleshy Easter hat, pleased with herself.

With Kat no longer interested, Cora held up a fish and looked at the others instead. She said—Talk.

She waited a moment, then said—Talk.

Mother squeaked, hesitant, but willing to try.

Cora threw the fish to her. Mother swallowed it and then opened her mouth to bellow out lots of noises, her mouth open and hungry. Within an hour, even Bernie at times responded to the command.

* * *

The next day as soon as the dolphins saw Cora pull out the fish, they all squealed and clicked and trilled as loudly as they could, like opera stars warming up.