The Dinosaur Feather

confessing to a man of superior intellect. The only thing he hadn’t imagined was Jack’s calm reply: ‘That’s precisely what I’m trying to prevent.’
    ‘Then why have you allowed that article in
Scientific Today
? I demand to know why!’
    Jack looked at Clive for a long time before he said: ‘Because it’s my journal, Clive, and I decide which articles are published.’ Clive detected a faint tremor in Jack’s voice.
    ‘It’s unscientific,’ Clive shouted, and stamped his foot. ‘And you know it! You know that their arguments aren’t properly supported. What about the reduction of the fingers, what about the ascending process of the talus bone, eh?’ Clive swirled the alcohol around in his glass and continued his rant.
    ‘What about the crescent-shaped carpus, you moron, the orientation of the pubic bone, and the colossal ifs and buts, which you know ad nauseam, and which allow you – in contrast to those idiots from
Science
and
Nature
– to weed out these mad articles about kinship? When did you turn into someone who shapes his scientific views to fit a trend? Have you lost your mind?’
    Jack gave Clive a neutral look.
    ‘I don’t believe in you any more,’ Jack said eventually. ‘True, the other side still have certain problems explaining the reduction of the hand, but we’re talking about two hundred and eighty-six apomorphies, Clive, two hundred and eighty-six! A feathered Tyrannosaurus. What do you want? God to pop down from Heaven and explain how it’s all connected before you’re satisfied? I’ve supported you professionally for years. I’ve done much for you. Much more than I should. Because you’re . . . my friend. But it has to stop now. A feathered Tyrannosaurus, Clive.
Scientific Today
is a scientific journal.’
    ‘How do you know it’s a Tyrannosaurus?’ Clive sneered. ‘How do you know it’s feathered? You want to put feathers on an animal that couldn’t fly? You know as well as I do that the development of feathers is primarily and inextricably linked with the evolution of flight and didn’t serve as insulationuntil later. And you also know Tyrannosaurus didn’t fly. You haven’t seen the creature. I haven’t seen it, either. The structures may look like feathers, but they’re likely to be the residual of a dorsal skin fold; they’re
not
precursors of genuine feathers. That should be self-evident! You’re publishing conjecture, it’s unscientific! Have you forgotten you should never, ever, base your conclusions on what others have seen?’
    ‘No, I haven’t,’ Jack replied, ‘and when it’s your turn to describe the animal,
Scientific Today
will be delighted to publish a properly researched article which may conclude that the discovery in Montana
isn’t
a Tyrannosaurus, and that the skin structure
isn’t
feathers. But not until your description is available and has been accepted. It’s never been the intention of science to claim to have found the absolute truth, Clive, but to put forward the most likely hypotheses, and my job,’ Jack pointed to himself, ‘is to publish those papers that reflect the more probable ones, and right now, they aren’t coming from you.’
    ‘Get out,’ Clive said icily. He pointed to the door. Jack got up.
    ‘You shouldn’t mix science and friendship,’ Jack said calmly.
    ‘Get out,’ Clive repeated.
    Jack left. Shortly afterwards, Clive heard the engine of Jack’s car rev up.
    Kay came into his study.
    ‘Why did Jack leave? What happened?’ Her eyes were bulging.
    Clive said nothing. He was shaking all over. Jack was a traitor.
    ‘Did you two fight?’ she asked. ‘Clive, what did you say to him?’
    Kay’s mouth moved. Say something for God’s sake, her lips mouthed, but there was no sound. Kay put her open, baffled face up to his; like a poker, she stoked the embers and the fire flared up. He struck her. The angle was unfortunate and the impact of his wedding ring made her cheek swell up. Horrified, she touched her face and stared at him. Then she left.
    Clive stayed in his study and tried to calm himself down. He reread some of his old articles and a few hours later, he felt better. He went through the house to find Kay. It was dark and quiet. The dishwasher was beeping and the door to the garden was ajar, but Kay wasn’t in the kitchen or in the garden. He went upstairs to the master bedroom. The door was locked. Outside the bedroom door, to the right, lay his duvet and his pillow. Clive knocked