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ornithologist,” said Lewis.
    “Nice and isolated, too.” Joseph backed up and made a sharp turn across the highway, pulling up to the gate. There was a little communications box with a push button at one side. He got out and pressed the button. A moment later a voice responded, tinny and distorted by the weathered speaker.
    “Are you here to see the smews?”
    “Uh—” Joseph and Lewis exchanged a look.
    “Or are you here to see the Hitchcock set?” the voice went on, in a slightly annoyed tone.
    “Yeah, actually,” Joseph said.
    “I have to tell you, you’re really missing an opportunity if you don’t see the smews while they’re here.”
    “Ornithologist Grade Two Juan Bautista?”
    “Oh.” The voice altered completely. “I’m sorry. Who’s that?”
    “Facilitator Joseph and Literature Specialist Lewis.”
    “Okay.” There was a loud buzz and click as the gate unlocked. “Please close up again after you come through.”
    Once through the gate, they followed the road across a meadow and down the hill toward the bay. It led to a promontory where a frame house sat, shaded by three enormous cypress trees, looking out on a little boat dock. The location seemed eerily familiar.
    “Alfred
Hitchcock,” said Joseph abruptly, slapping his forehead. “It’s the house from
The Birds!”
    “Well, no wonder we drove up here to see it,” said Lewis in delight.
    “Perfect,” Joseph growled, pulling up to the garage from which Rod, Tippi, Jessica, and Veronica made their final desperate escape.
    As they approached the house, they heard what appeared to be a
violent argument going on between a child and an adult, though it ceased abruptly when Lewis knocked. The door opened, and an immortal stood there staring at them. He wore a khaki uniform with a plastic tag over the pocket that read JOHN GREY EAGLE, SITE DOCENT . His long hair, which had once been silver, was now dyed jet black and braided behind him.
    “Hi,” he said. There was a violent flapping of wings from the room beyond, and a raven suddenly landed on his shoulder. He reached up swiftly and closed its beak between his thumb and forefinger.
    “Whoa.” Joseph stepped back, laughing. “Is that one of the cast members still hanging around?”
    “No,” said the man with a trace of sullenness. “This is just Raven. You guys understand that birds never, ever really behave that way, right? It was just a horror movie. Ravens never hurt mortals, and neither do seagulls, for that matter.”
    “Well, sure, but it’s still a great movie.” Joseph thrust out his hand. “Hi. I’m Joseph and this is Lewis. We came to see the set, but—say, what
is
a smew, anyway?”
    “I’m Juan Bautista.
Mergellus albellus, it’s
a Eurasian merganser, and they’re only accidental here, but we have a mated pair! Do you have any idea how rare that is?” said Juan Bautista, shaking hands.
    “Amazing,” said Joseph. “So. Can we see the house?”
    “All right,” sighed Juan Bautista, stepping back from the door. Then he stopped, staring at Joseph. “Do I know you from somewhere?”
    “Gee, I suppose it’s possible. I get around a lot,” said Joseph. “Come on, I want to see the fireplace where the sparrows attacked.”
    There wasn’t really much to see, since no attempt had been made to reproduce any of the film’s furnishings. Juan showed them through the rooms anyway and recited a few film facts for their edification: that Hitchcock had thrown a lot of innocent helpless birds at TippiHedren, and that the schoolhouse where the ravens massed for their completely out-of-character attack was now a private residence and thought to be haunted, though not by Suzanne Pleshette. The raven clacked its beak derisively.
    “Well, isn’t that just fascinating,” said Lewis.
    “Want to go see the smews now?”
    “Great,” said Joseph.
    A smew looked like a fat little black-and-white duck with a crest, though Juan Bautista insisted a merganser wasn’t a duck.