The Dinosaur Feather

have the decency to attend my lecture today. I’ve nothing to say to their protégée. Goodbye.’ He climbed the broad steps between the seat rows. The young woman followed him.
    ‘I’ve got something for you from Dr Tybjerg,’ she said. Clive stopped and gave her a sharp look.
    ‘What is it?’
    ‘I can’t tell you here.’ She glanced over her shoulder as if the walls had ears.
    ‘Why doesn’t he deliver it to me in person?’ Clive persisted.
    ‘I’ll explain later. It’s a bone . . . it’s complicated.’ The young woman straightened up and said softly: ‘Imagine how you would feel, if you finally had to accept that you had been wrong. Your entire scientific career.’
    ‘Ha!’ Clive snorted. ‘Hell will freeze over before Tybjerg admits he’s wrong.’
    He carried on walking, reached a corridor and increased his pace. The young woman called out after him.
    ‘Professor Freeman! Monday eleven o’clock. In the Vertebrate Collection. Do we have a deal?’
    ‘I guarantee you we don’t!’ he said, shaking his head as he left.
    Michael was waiting for him in a taxi in front of the Bella Centre. He was sitting in the back with the door open, the meter was already running. What was he thinking? That Clive would act as if nothing had happened and drop the subject? Michael was on his mobile, reporting back, most likely, oh yes, everything had gone fine, he had finally managed to say it, the old fool was history. Who was he even talking to? Someone from the department? The Head of the Institute? Michael moved to make room for Clive.
    ‘Don’t you ever wait for me in a taxi again,’ Clive screamed into Michael’s astonished face. Michael lowered his mobile.
    ‘Relax, Clive,’ he said quietly. ‘Get in the taxi.’
    Was he not listening to him? Not any more. That was the message. Clive stomped across the car park to the metro station. He didn’t look back.
    He got off at Nørreport and walked down a random street. He had trusted Michael. He had taught Michael everything he knew. Without Clive, Michael was a mediocre researcher with a – to all extent and purposes – superfluous knowledge of bird evolution. It struck him that he wasn’t any better than Jack. One of a scientist’s most important qualities wasthe ability to stand firm. Through stormy weather, starvation and torture. Otherwise you were nothing but an amateur. Jack and Michael were amateurs. Cut from a different cloth to him. He would remain firm even if it was the last thing he did. To be honest, he had respected Helland and Tybjerg for that very characteristic. You could say what you liked about them, but they stood firm and defended their position, just like him. It was the only valid stance. U-turns were for politicians. He would pay no heed to that silly girl. Tybjerg would never admit to being wrong. If he could, it never would have come this far! Tybjerg would stick to his guns just as stubbornly as Clive’s father had done. A bone. Ha! What a joke.
    He entered a round tower which appeared on his left. The ascent was almost without steps, a smooth spiral, and he tripped and fell on his knees. Thinking he was alone, he swore out loud, but a younger man, on his way down, stopped and looked shocked. Clive exploded and screamed at the young man, who retreated, said something, but left in the end.
    Clive was alone. What was happening? In the old days, when he was younger, the sun had shone and when he leaned across his desk to look out into the garden, he would see Kay sitting there, wearing a broad-brimmed hat, and the boys dipping their toes in an inflatable pool, squealing, and drinking lemonade through curly straws. Once, a respectful silence had accompanied his arrival at work; Michael had been twenty-two years old, bright green like a newly-hatched grasshopper, delirious with happiness because he had been promised a postgraduate place in two years’ time and gratefulfor being allowed to type out Clive’s lecture notes and laminate the covers of all Clive’s reference books in the meantime. Once his sons had looked at him with admiration in their eyes, once Jack had loved him.
    Clive felt the cold and he stood up. He needed Kay. It was no good without her.
    He called her from a telephone booth. Around him, people fought their way through darkness and it snowed lightly. Clive’s heart nearly exploded when Kay answered the telephone. Not Tom, not Tom’s wife. Kay.
    ‘Kay, I love you,’ he whispered. ‘I don’t