S. Gazan - The Dinosaur Feather

“Bellahøj police station,” Anna said. “I’m being interviewed at 1 p.m., then he goes before a judge and he’ll probably be remanded in custody.”

“I would like to visit him, if I’m allowed to. Would you come with me?”

“No,” Anna said, stroking Karen’s hair.

“Okay,” Karen said into Anna’s arm.

At 10:30 a.m. they arrived at the Natural History Museum. They looked at all the colorful plastic animals, pencils, and posters in the museum shop by the entrance. Karen bought Lily a dinosaur eraser while Anna hung up their coats.

“I thought you were meeting someone?”

“I am, in half an hour.”

They strolled through the exhibition and lingered for a long time in front of the different displays.

“I didn’t know birds were dinosaurs!” Karen exclaimed as she studied a poster depicting the 200-million-year evolution of the feather. Anna smiled.

“So a sparrow is a dinosaur?” Karen wanted to know. Anna nodded.

“And when we eat chicken, we’re really eating dinosaurs?”

“Yep! And I like mine with roasted potatoes,” Anna said.

“Roasted potatoes! They must be extinct by now, surely?” Karen teased her. Anna elbowed her.

“Ahhhh, Mom, that’s so cute,” Lily burst out. She was standing in front of a low display case containing a model of a baby Tyrannosaurus. It was the size of a small dog, had giant feet and was covered by a soft, insulating layer of down. Anna leaned forward, gazing at the small body.

“What is it?” Karen asked her.

“A feathered baby Tyrannosaurus.”

“Right,” Karen said.

“Fascinating, isn’t it?” Anna remarked.

“What is?”

“That it has feathers.”

“I think it’s more fascinating that its arms are so short. Must have been a real nuisance.”

At that moment, Lily spotted a sign with an ice-cream cone on it at the far end of the lobby where the café was located.

“Ice cream,” she shrieked, taking off.

Karen chased after her.

“So sorry, I’ve ruined your daughter,” she called back over her shoulder.

“That’s quite all right,” Anna called back. “I’ll be off now. Back in an hour, all right? I’ll come and find you when I’ve finished.”

Karen waved without turning around.

Anna let herself into the university through a concealed door in the Whale Room, which had been painted two shades of blue to blend in. She caught a glimpse of the bench where she had sat with Troels, before the door slammed shut behind her and she was in the strange, but now familiar, system of corridors. She started walking and when she turned into the corridor leading to the Vertebrate Collection, Professor Freeman was already there. She knew he wouldn’t have been able to resist! Even so, a wave of triumph rippled through her. Freeman had taken off his jacket and was holding it under his arms, which were folded across his chest. Everything about him exuded rejection. Anna’s heart started pounding, and she concentrated on holding out a hand, which didn’t shake.

“Hello,” he said.

“Thank you for coming,” Anna said, feigning composure.

She unlocked the door to the collection and switched on the light, which scrambled and rattled into action. Anna heard a chair scrape across the floor far away and knew she had to get Professor Freeman to say something, so Dr. Tybjerg would know that she wasn’t alone.

“Do you have a vertebrate collection at UBC?” she asked. She said UBC so loudly that it was a miracle Freeman didn’t comment on it.

“Yes, obviously,” he said. “Our collection is far bigger than yours. The biggest in North America… but the atmosphere in here,” he added, sounding almost amiable, “is really quite special. The cabinets, the systematics, it’s all very old-worldly.”

There was silence at the far end of the collection where Tybjerg must have heard Anna arrive with a guest and presumably figured out who it was. Anna had planned the scenario the night before, and she deliberately led Professor Freeman to the place where she had found Dr. Tybjerg last Wednesday. She lit a desk lamp, pulled out a chair, and asked Freeman to sit down. Then she opened her bag and took out her dissertation and the draft of the lecture she would give in a week.

“You said you had something for me,” Freeman said.

“I lied,” Anna said, looking straight at Freeman. “I want you to listen to what I have to say.”

Freeman reached for his jacket, which had slipped to the floor. He looked as if he was about to leave.

“You’re a coward if you leave,” Anna declared. Professor Freeman blinked and let his jacket fall.

“You have fifteen minutes. Not a second more,” he said through clenched teeth.

Anna gulped. Her lecture lasted an hour, and the subsequent defense, forty-five minutes. Now she had fifteen.

“I wrote my dissertation on the controversy surrounding the origin of birds,” she began, “and you play a key part in this controversy.”

Professor Freeman looked at her as if he couldn’t be less interested in what she had to say.

“I’ve read everything you have written, papers and books. Gone through them with a fine-tooth comb.” She studied him. “And I’ve read everything your opponents have written and examined that just as closely.”

Professor Freeman still looked utterly bored.

“Your most prominent opponents are,” Anna continued, “Walter Darren from New York University, Chang and Laam from the University of China, T. K. Gordon from the University of Sydney, Belinda Clark from the University of South Africa, and, of course, Lars Helland and Erik Tybjerg from the University of Copenhagen.” She flicked through her papers.

“What your opponents have in common is that they all criticize your fossil analyses and, on that basis, reject your conclusions regarding the origin of birds; criticism that you don’t accept, am I right?” She didn’t wait for his consent, but carried on.

“For more than fifteen years you have engaged in fossil trench warfare, even though experts agree there’s no longer anything to debate. Let me give an example of your critics’ view on the origin of birds: Belinda Clark is quoted in the September 2006 issue of Nature as saying…” Anna picked up a sheet and read out loud:

“We basically try to ignore him. For dinosaur specialists it’s a done deal. Birds are living dinosaurs.” She lowered the sheet.

“Your opponents say they’re ignoring you, but that’s not entirely true, is it? The debate is still ongoing. Why?”

“Well, why do you think?” Freeman said, giving Anna a neutral look. “Because we can’t agree, and why is that? Because they’re wrong. Clark and Laam and Chang; Helland and Tybjerg. They’re wrong.”

Anna ignored him.

“No one can catch you out in terms of anatomical and fossil arguments. I’ve been through all the material, and the order of battle is the same: you interpret the bones differently, so you draw different conclusions. It’s a vicious circle. You’ll never agree.

“I was about to give up.” She gave Professor Freeman a dark look. “I was desperate. You have maintained your position for so many years, so how could I—”

Freeman glanced at his watch. Anna took a step forward and looked straight at him.

“So instead, I reviewed your premise. And it stinks!”

“Allegations,” Professor Freeman yawned. “Unscientific allegations. From a postgraduate.” Again he reached for his jacket. Anna handed him a piece of paper, which he automatically accepted.

“Please would you read it and tell me if you agree?”

He looked baffled for a moment, then he scanned the page.

“Basic rules that should be adhered to if work is to be deemed scientific,” he read out loud. “What’s this?”