Page 17 of The Voice of Wild Places
Yours,
Cornelius Tremblay
Watt,
January 18, 1915
I told myself that I would not write another letter and that I would take your silence as an answer, or at the very least an ill omen.But even after all this time I find it impossible to move on, and I do not know why.
We have spent far more time apart than we ever did together, and my life is approaching a direction that promises adventure and new friends.You were but a brief interruption in the grand scheme of my life.
But I find myself stuck on that beach, with the ghost of you beside me.
Am I really that reprehensible?Is my existence that difficult to fathom?
Or did I ever matter that much to begin with?
I don’t know why I’m sending you this letter, other than the fact that I will be leaving Harbor Springs soon, and all of our memories behind.I’ve decided to change my last name as a birthday gift to myself, and so you will no longer be able to find me as I am now.Papa understands, and I do not think he hates me much for it, but Mama is not so easily swayed.But it is a necessary action, to keep me and them safe.I’ll be staying with family overseas, where I can grow into myself.
Not everyone is as understanding of my situation as I once hoped you were.I thought I’d have more anger or disappointment to put to words, but I fear once I start dressing you down I will not be able to stop.So I will say this.
I sincerely hope that you have a beautiful and wonderful life, Watt Johnson.
Goodbye.
C
Watt had never been in such a rage all of his life.Was it any wonder that Cornelius never responded to Watt’s letters, when he was only returning the apparent silence he’d received from Watt?Not that it was Watt’s fault these letters were stolen, and had never reached the intended recipient.How could anyone fathom that their own family would interfere in such a violating and cruel manner?
Someone had clearly tried to destroy the letters.And Cornelius' confession, and the resulting confrontation that took place during Watt’s gap of forgotten memories, for no one had told him.Watt desperately tried to remember Cornelius at his bedside, admitting his innermost truth, but he could not.Watt had been so sick that the entire time was nothing but slippery fog.He felt monstrous for having lost such a sacred memory, and that his father had invaded it.Stole it and twisted it and hid it.
All this time, Cornelius thought Watt had known.He thought Watt had known, and cut ties.Would Cornelius believe him if he said he’d only just now come into possession of these letters, and that he had no memories of what happened before?No, he didn’t think Cornelius would.It all seemed too convenient, and besides.It was too little, too late.
Watt’s hands flexed, tightening dangerously around the papers.He immediately stopped himself, staring down at the burned words.Who had saved the letters, and why?
If Father had read through these letters, he would’ve recognized the name at dinner and thrown a fit.Watt thought about his Mother, her inquisitive and knowing stare at dinner.But why only burn them partially and keep the remains?
Watt desperately tried to recall the first letter he sent to Cornelius, wondering how tone deaf it must’ve sounded.How disrespectful.No wonder the man had been so hostile.The once-upon-a friend who had shunned and abandoned him was now asking for his help, and not with something like furniture.It was a wonder he said yes at all.
Watt vowed to try and make things right, even if he had no clue how.
March 23rd, 1930
The first time Watt called Cornelius, he fully expected to be hung up on.
“This is Cornelius Sawyer.”
Watt breathed.He said, “Hello, Dr.Sawyer.This is Watt Johnson, I was wondering if you had a moment of time to spare.”
Cornelius did not respond for a long second.It had been two weeks since Cornelius agreed to participate in this trip, and Watt had restrained himself from calling half a dozen times already.He had questions, and eventually decided that it was completely normal of him to call and simply ask.
Watt was capable, he’d been in hostile environments before.But this was different, and he wanted to prepare as best he could.Most of his colleagues from before the war had been to Egypt like him, or in Europe.Those he met after were much younger than him and had done very little fieldwork.The perils of switching disciplines later in life, he supposed.
“I do.”Cornelius allowed, using that same polite and cold tone from their last meeting.“What do you need?”
Watt sorely wished he could say that he didn’t need anything, that he was calling just to say hello.“I was curious if there was anything in particular I should obtain for this trip beforehand.There will be opportunity to resupply in São Paulo and Cuiabá, so what do I need from here?I was also thinking it might be useful if we compared and pooled our resources, so we each carry as little gear as possible.But if you are opposed to sharing, I understand.”
Cornelius huffed against the phone’s receiver, and the faint sound scratched at Watt’s eardrum.“You’re calling me for help with packing.”
