smiled in spite of himself.
"You said there was something there that you were close to finding. In the song, I mean. What is it?"
"Well, if I knew that, it would be found, wouldn't it?"
"You must suspect. You have to have a theory. Tell me, and let's apply the data to the theory. I'm willing to do the work, reconstruct the data, but you've got to trust me."
"No theory ever benefited by the application of data, Amy. Data kills theories. A theory has no better time than when it's lying there naked, pure, unsullied by facts. Let's just keep it that way for a while."
"So you don't really have a theory?"
"Clueless."
"You lying bag of fish heads."
"I can fire you, you know. Even if Clay was the one that hired you, I'm not totally superfluous to this operation yet. I'm kind of in charge. I can fire you. Then how will you live?"
"I'm not getting paid."
"See, right there. Perfectly good concept ruined by the application of fact."
"So fire me." No longer The Thinker, Amy had taken on the aspect of a dark and evil elf.
"I think they're communicating," Nate said.
"Of course they're communicating, you maroon. You think they're singing because they like the sound of their own voices?"
"There's more to it than that."
"Well, tell me!"
"Who calls someone a maroon? What the hell is maroon?"
"It's a mook with a Ph.D. Don't change the subject."
"It doesn't matter. Without the acoustic data I can't even show you what I was thinking. Besides, I'm not sure that my cognitive powers aren't breaking down."
"Meaning what?"
Meaning that I'm starting to see things, he thought. Meaning that despite the fact that you're yelling at me, I really want to grab you and kiss you, he thought. Oh, I am so fucked, he thought. "Meaning I'm still a little hungover. I'm sorry. Let's see what we can put together from the notes."
Amy slipped off the stool and gathered the field journals in her arms.
"Where are you going?" Nate said. Had he somehow offended her?
"We have four days to put together a lecture. I'm going to go to my cabin and do it."
"How? On what?"
"I'm thinking, 'Humpbacks: Our Wet and Wondrous Pals of the Deep - »
"There's going to be a lot of researchers there. Biologists - " Nate interrupted.
" - and Why We Should Poke Them with Sticks. »
"Better," Nate said.
"I got it covered," she said, and she walked out.
For some reason he felt hopeful. Excited. Just for a second. Then, after he'd watched her walk out, a wave of melancholy swept over him and for the thirtieth time that day he regretted that he hadn't just become a pharmacist, or a charter captain, or something that made you feel more alive, like a pirate.
The old broad lived on a volcano and believed that the whales talked to her. She called about noon, and Nate knew it was her before he even answered. He knew, because she always called when it was too windy to go out.
"Nathan, why aren't you out in the channel?" the Old Broad said.
"Hello, Elizabeth, how are you today?"
"Don't change the subject. They told me that they want to talk to you. Today. Why aren't you out there?"
"You know why I'm not out there, Elizabeth. It's too windy. You can see the whitecaps as well as I can." From the slope of Haleakala, the Old Broad watched the activity in the channel with a two-hundred-power celestial telescope and a pair of "big eyes" binoculars that looked like stereo bazookas on precision mounts that were anchored into a ton of concrete.
"Well, they're upset that you're not out there. That's why I called."
"And I appreciate your calling, Elizabeth, but I'm in the middle of something."
Nate hoped he didn't sound too rude. The Old Broad meant well. And they, in a way, were all at the mercy of her generosity, for although she had «donated» the Papa Lani compound, she hadn't exactly signed it over to them. They were in a sort of permanent lease situation. Elizabeth Robinson was, however, very generous and very kindhearted indeed, even if she was a total loon.
"Nathan, I am not a total loon," she said.
Oh yes you are, he thought. "I know you're not," he said. "But I really have to get some work done today."
"What are you working on?" Elizabeth asked. Nate could hear her tapping a pencil on her desk. She took notes during their conversations. He didn't know what she did with the notes, but it