“It’s amazing, isn’t it,” she burst out. “Of course, I’m no expert. But it came as a huge surprise to me!” She smiled at Clive, straightened his jacket, conjured up a powder compact from her pocket, and began dabbing powder on Clive’s nose.
“I’m sorry, I don’t follow?” Clive croaked. The cable for the microphone was choking him, and he tried to give it more slack.
“Allow me.” the young woman said. “Turn around.” Clive turned, and she carefully lifted up his jacket. Clive felt the cable loosen and became more comfortable.
“What did you mean just now?” Clive prompted her. His cell phone had been switched off, and he hadn’t looked at a newspaper while visiting his mother. He suddenly got the feeling that the President might have been assassinated and that he was the last to know.
“It’s really amaz—” the woman began, then she stopped to listen to something coming through her headset, excused herself, and hurried off.
Dr. Tybjerg entered, grinning like an idiot in the sharp light, and pushed up his unfashionable glasses.
“Professor Freeman,” he said, offering him a sweaty hand. Clive shook it. Tybjerg might be a walking encyclopedia, his knowledge was truly impressive, but he was devoid of charm.
“As a scientist you would have to rejoice, no matter what your views are, wouldn’t you say so?” Dr. Tybjerg stuttered. “You must admit that it’s hard to believe?”
“What are you talking about?” Clive said as calmly as he could manage, but he felt his voice tremble.
Dr. Tybjerg gave him a puzzled look.
At that moment the host appeared and explained the format of the debate to the audience. Professor Clive Freeman and Dr. Erik Tybjerg were introduced to each other by their full titles, to the audience and the viewers, after which the host handed floor to the two duelists. Clive made a friendly gesture to Tybjerg, who opened the debate.
“As you all know, the day before yesterday it was announced that the remains of a feathered Tyrannosaurus had been found in Makoshika State Park in the state of Montana, close to Hell Creek where the world’s first Tyrannosaurus Rex fossil was found in 1902.”
Clive stared at Tybjerg. His jaw dropped.
The duel lasted thirty minutes, and throughout the whole ordeal Tybjerg was visibly nervous but quick-thinking. He listened attentively, he never interrupted Clive and every time he demolished one of Clive’s arguments, he was thorough, meticulous, almost. When Clive declared that he wanted to examine the animal before forming an opinion, Tybjerg gave Clive a looked of genuine surprise and wonder, and said:
“How long are you going to use that argument? Until a feathered Apatosaurus turns up on your doorstep?” It was an obvious joke, but no laughed.
When the spotlights faded, the audience started to disperse and Clive studied his hands. He didn’t dare look at Dr. Tybjerg, who hadn’t moved since the stage lights dimmed. Afterward he had no idea what provoked him. A faint cough? The quiet superiority? Whatever it was, he glanced up and the second he met Tybjerg’s eyes, he slapped him with the back of his hand. Dr. Tybjerg sprang up, horrified, touching his eyebrow, which had split open. Clive looked at his hand, at his wedding ring. It was stained with blood. When he looked up again, Tybjerg had left.
Then he heard footsteps.
“What happened?” the confused young assistant shouted.
“Uh,” Clive began. He dusted off his clothes. The assistant looked at him and then in the direction in which Tybjerg had disappeared.
“Uh,” Clive repeated and dusted his clothes again.
Back in Vancouver, Clive felt strangely accepting of the news. He refused to talk to the press, didn’t reply to e-mails and telephone calls, and he informed the faculty press office that he had no plans to counter-attack.
“I have resigned myself to the folly of this world,” he told the press officer. Then he called a meeting with his department where they agreed to keep a low profile while redistributing their workload. The next allocation of research funding would take place in three years, and no one needed reminding that if they were unable to convince the world that birds were not descended from dinosaurs, they would never get another grant.
They decided to start three major excavations and an expensive developmental study to observe the cartilage condensation in bird embryos. Clive’s junior researcher, Michael Kramer, would be heading the project.
Once that was in place, Clive headed home.
As Clive cycled through the forest, the sun shining through the trees, he thought about Jack. They hardly ever spoke these days. When Clive submitted a paper, Jack rarely acknowledged receipt, and when Clive rang with changes, Jack’s secretary would deal with them. Clive had even called Jack at home and left a message, but Jack never called back.
Whenever Clive opened Scientific Today looking for his contributions, his joy at seeing them was diminished. Clive appreciated the expensive layout, the graphs, and the illustrations, but he felt no real pleasure. Jack and Clive had met in their passion for nature. Now he was alone.
Clive thought about the situation for a week, then he called Jack and invited him and Molly over for dinner. He practically pleaded with Jack to come.
“Jack,” he said. “Let’s put the past behind us. Let’s do the right thing, let’s not mix science and friendship.” Jack replied with silence.
“I can’t stand not seeing you,” Clive suddenly burst out, and held his breath.
Finally Jack said: “All right, we’ll be there.”
Kay was delighted that the famous Jack Jarvis and his wife were coming to dinner.
“What an illustrious guest,” she said, thrilled. “What will we serve them?”
Clive took the cookbook from his wife’s hand and led her into the living room where he told her the whole story. Or, almost the whole story. Kay was fascinated.
“He must have been like a son to you. Why didn’t you ever tell me? Fancy them moving away like that,” she added. “That poor boy must have felt like he was losing his father all over again.”
Clive nodded.
That Saturday Jack and Molly arrived right on time. Molly was radiant and very beautiful. She shook Clive’s hand energetically and said what a pleasure it was to meet such a legendary scientist. Her husband had talked so much about him over the years, she said, but she had no idea that they had known each other since childhood.
“I was sorry to hear about the recent trouble,” she carried on, cheerfully, “but Jack says that’s how it is with natural science. All storms blow themselves out eventually.”
Clive smiled and took their coats. What a chatterbox she was. He wasn’t entirely sure what he had imagined but definitely not this.
“Odd,” Kay said when the evening was over and Molly and Jack had left. “Molly is as outgoing and sparkling as Jack is closed.”
Clive nodded. Jack had seemed a little sullen, but then again with the women chirping away, it had been hard to get a word in.
At the start of July 2007, Clive developed an earache and decided to leave work early. He had been troubled by a cold since Kay and he had spent two weeks in their vacation home, and it was getting worse, not better.