conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Do you know a plot for a book about Lightkeepers, Cape, Cod entitled The Lightkeepers?
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: The Lightkeepers: The film is set on Cape Cod, Massachusetts, in 1912 and follows the story of two lighthouse attendants who swear to abstain from women, until two women arrive for their summer vacation.\nIt was based upon The Woman Haters by Joseph Lincoln.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Do you know the first four paragraphs for this book?
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: The Lightkeepers
  THE BIRDS ARE making their battle cry. Miranda can see a group of gulls wheeling in her direction. White feathers. Glinting beaks. Mad eyes. She has enough experience with their capacity for violence to recognize their intent. They are moving into attack formation, circling her like bomber jets homing in on a target.
  Miranda is on her way to meet the ferry. She picks up the pace, striding up the hill, her backpack swinging on her shoulders. The boat is late, which is no surprise. The ferry is always late. It is one of the few constants of the islands.
  The lap of waves fills the air. The archipelago is shrouded in mist today. In the summer months, the fog is often present. There are no balmy, golden afternoons here, no sunbathing. The horizon is obscured, the sun a damp pinwheel. Miranda slips and skids on a crumbling patch of stone. Despite her eagerness to be gone, she must step carefully, consciously. Her progress is impeded by nests and baby chicks. The gulls have covered the ground like snowfall, making use of every inch of grass and granite. In their midst, Miranda is incongruous, a lone pine tree in a field of white.
  The birds are not a silent presence. Their wings rustle. The chicks squawk to be fed. The parents shriek back indignantly. Every now and then, there will be an explosion, a dispute over territory—feathers flapping, a spatter of blood. Miranda herself is not immune to their possessive, fanatical angst. A few gulls have been tracking her progress since she left the safety of the house. Any minute now, they will strike. Their wings are splayed, eyes glittering. Closer and closer.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Do you know four more paragraphs?
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: It has taken me a while to understand his shape. The eyes poke up on stalks, each pupil a black, horizontal bar. But the bulbous sac beneath these organs is not, as I originally suspected, his nose. It is, in fact, his body, a squishy balloon that comprises his lungs and stomach. The mouth is hidden at the center of a pinwheel of tentacles. There is a beak in there somewhere. There is venom in that beak. I have done a little reading on the subject, finding an old, battered copy of a Jacques Cousteau manifesto on one of the shelves. Leafing through the pages, I have learned that octopuses are clever. They are more intelligent than dogs. They possess extraordinary powers of disguise. A dead octopus, if moved from a dark surface to a lighter one, will gradually pale, attempting to camouflage itself from beyond the grave.
  Watching Oliver, I have learned still more. Lucy has put a rock in his tank, a rudimentary shelter, and Oliver will dig beneath it, scooping armfuls of pebbles to one side. Then he will pour his body into the hole he has made. Gradually he will alter his color and texture, becoming invisible by degrees. When Lucy taps three times on the lid, however—a signal to indicate mealtime—he will balloon upward, a rabbit conjured out of a hat.
  WE HELD THE Secret Santa a few days before Christmas. As it turned out, not everyone would be present for the holiday itself. Mick, Lucy, and Forest were all planning to return to their homes for a much-needed vacation.
  In the morning, we gathered in the living room. I had pulled Lucy's name out of the hat, which was awkward for me. I considered insisting that I be allowed to pick again, or maybe cornering Mick and begging him to trade. In the end, however, I decided to make a few small presents for Oliver. I saved and squirreled away anything I could picture the octopus playing with in the quiet space of his tank. Now, with everyone watching, Lucy opened my explanatory note, then unwrapped a chain of paperclips, a tiny glass jar, and a ruby-red marble. She lifted each object into the air and examined it. She got to her feet and gave me a one-armed hug, her body as stiff as a board. I honestly couldn't tell whether she was pleased.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Do you know the last two paragraphs? End with the sentence ' It will remain here forever, in his keeping.'.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Then he strides down the hall. His room is filled with keepsakes. Over the past decade, he has accumulated a wealth of souvenirs. There is a bat wing, leathery and withered, pinned to the wall like the flag of a favorite sports team. Desiccated barnacles are lined up on the windowsill. A small wooden bowl holds shards of ceramic—the remains of a teacup flung in an argument, a testament to anger and violence. On the bureau, a jam jar brims with deceased beetles. A human rib bone, bleached and pitted by the sea, is wrapped in newspaper on the upper shelf of the closet. Throughout the years, Galen has amassed an array of feathers, pinning them to a length of twine that hangs above his window. They are arranged by size, from albatross to cormorant to sparrow. His paperweight is the skull of a dead seal pup. There is a drawer full of shark teeth. Galen casts his professional eye around the room.
  His collection of seal stones sits in the corner, a bucket of moonlike orbs. Without ceremony, Galen drops Miranda's stone into the pile. Camouflaged, gray against gray, it looks as innocent as anything. He dusts the dried blood off his hands. The murder weapon will fit in nicely among his mementos, surrounded by sand dollars, oyster shells, and bird bones. It will remain here forever, in his keeping.