see who else is standing up, and there’s your sign.”
“ ‘Flower of Scotland’? It’s a folk song?”
The old man gave him a solemn stare. “It’s the national anthem of the Republic of Scotland.”
Jerry Buchanan gasped. “About donations,” he whispered. “Would another thousand help?”
Lachlan Forsyth smiled. “Aye.”
“That,” said Elizabeth, “is a bagpipe.”
“Oh, good!” cried Cameron. “Let’s borrow it and vacuum the cat!”
After an ominous pause, Elizabeth began to laugh.
“I take it you don’t listen to this much at home?”
“I’m very fond of Scottish music. Sheena Easton, Rod Stewart… The porpoises love Rod Stewart.” His face brightened as it always did when he could get the subject around to marine biology. Elizabeth looked at him in his Save-the-Whales T-shirt, and beyond him at the kilted Americans playing bagpipes. He’s like a time traveler, she thought. But if he is
Aloud she said, “I’ll bet you’d like to see the refreshment tent. They have any amount of weird food there that you’re not going to find in the Shop-Rite near the university.”
“What, haggis with neeps and tatties followed by a clootie dumpling?”
Elizabeth frowned. “Clootie means the devil, doesn’t it?”
“Not on a menu. It’s a cloth-wrapped dumpling. What’s
“Kangaroo branch. He ought to have a wallaby in his sporran. Are we headed for the refreshment stand?”
“Keep going. It’s at the end of this row of tents, but if you keep turning around like that, it’ll take us two hours to get there.”
Cameron, who was staring at passersby, didn’t seem to have heard. “A
Their progress was slowed further. Having noticed the signs on each tent, Cameron began to use them as an exercise in free association. “Grant-that’s a furniture store in Glasgow… Menzies-John Menzies; I buy my books there… Barclay-the banking folks… and Gordon’s gin, of course.”
Elizabeth shook her head. “You’re going to be crushed when the MacDonald tent doesn’t have golden arches, aren’t you?”
Cameron wasn’t listening. “What is that great horde of people doing there?”
“That’s the refreshment tent.” Elizabeth sighed. “Pick a line.”
They edged their way past a collection of pipe-band members, and peered over the crowd to see what the menu offered.
“Bridies!” cried Cameron. “Mutton pies!”
What does one talk about to marine biologists, wondered Elizabeth, especially if one doesn’t know much about seals or porpoises. And a Scottish marine biologist, at that. Something clicked. “Loch Ness!” she cried.
“That’s up near Inverness. I went camping there with the Scouts once, though.”
“I don’t get it. I mention Loch Ness, and you think of Boy Scouts. As a marine biologist, shouldn’t you be interested in Nessie?”
“An unverified creature in a freshwater lake? Why should I?”
“I don’t know, but I’ll bet you’re going to be asked about Nessie an awful lot while you’re over here.”
“Well, it’ll make a change from folks wanting to know if I’m Irish or asking what it’s like in Edinburg.” He shuddered. “And that was only in the bloody airport.”
“Well, you should feel better here,” said Elizabeth. “These folks know all about Scotland. There’ll probably be people here who vacationed in Inverness-”
“Inverness,” Cameron corrected her.
“Or Aberdeen-”
“Aberdeen.”
“And one of the Menzies is really a war buff. He’ll probably want to talk to you about…” Elizabeth took a deep breath and marshaled her linguistic forces. “Ban-noch-burrn!” She finished triumphantly. “You don’t have to go through all that,” said Cameron mildly. “It’s
“Strictly non-alcoholic here,” whispered Elizabeth.
He laughed. “It’s a carbonated drink. Comes in a can.”
“Oh.”
“Would you like to get anything for your moggie?” Seeing her look of bewilderment, he pointed to Cluny. “For your dad there.”
“No, he’s already eaten.” Elizabeth smiled. “We could take this stuff up on the hill, if you like. From under the trees, we’ll be able to see the games.”
“Will they be throwing the hammer this way?”
“We won’t sit behind the Campbell tent. Come on.”
When they had settled under an oak tree, with sausage rolls balanced on their laps, Elizabeth said, “Are you over here to work on anything specific?”
It was an inspired question. Cameron launched into an animated explanation of seal migratory patterns, which might have been quite educational if Elizabeth had listened. She sat nibbling her pastry, and nodding occasionally with an expression of rapt interest. Cameron began to talk about manatees in the South Atlantic. Elizabeth hung on every syllable, listening to the vowel sounds, the trilled r’s and uvular l’s, and making no sense at all of the words.
Brown eyes, she was thinking. I thought Scots had blue eyes. And his hair is so pretty. What would you call that color? Russet? Sorrel?
“… which has interesting evolutionary implications, don’t you agree?”
Elizabeth sighed. “I love your r’s.”
Cameron blinked. “Er-ah-yours is quite nice, too.”
“No, I can’t make them sound at all the way you do.
“Yes, they’re wonderful,” she murmured.
“You’ve heard whale songs, then?”
Elizabeth straightened up. “Whales? I was talking about
Cameron blushed. “That shouldn’t be a novelty here. What percentage of these people are from Scotland?”
“Just you, I imagine,” Elizabeth told him. “When the rest of us say we’re Scottish, we mean six generations back.”
“Hmmm.” Cameron studied the faces of the passersby. “Now
“I don’t know. Maybe.”
“Come on. Let’s go and find out. Maybe he has some Billy Connolly tapes.”
“Who’s Billy Connolly?”
Cameron considered it. Whom could you compare Billy Connolly to? Richard Pryor? Lenny Bruce? He grinned.
“He’s the Duke of Glasgow. Come on.”
Lachlan Forsyth, having finished his conference with Jerry Buchanan, returned to the stall to find Jimmy in conference with a man in full MacDonald regalia.
“How are you keeping, lad?” he asked pleasantly.
