Page 21 of The Voice of Wild Places
But this was different.These people were complete strangers, with motives that could not so easily be assumed.Cornelius couldn’t help but feelseen, like everyone could see beneath his clothes, peel away his skin and see the truth of his heart.His clothes itched, and the layers were all wrong.How long had it been since he felt so exposed?
Cornelius wanted to turn back, to hide in the suite for the rest of the trip, away from all of these people.This wasn’t home.These weren’t his people.He could feel every finger ready to raise and point, to declare,‘He is Other.’Cornelius swallowed against the ever tightening knot at his throat, fighting the urge to loosen his tie.He opened his mouth to tell the steward he’d changed his mind, but it was too late.They were already there.
Watt stood to greet them, looking reliably rough.Wind swept bronze hair, the same nice gray suit he wore to the museum, and freshly shaven cheeks.He’d abandoned the bow tie, and his trademark nervous stare.They traded civil greetings, then took their seats and promptly offered their selections to the wait staff.Mr.Jones offered to take Cornelius' cane, but he politely declined and propped it between his feet, allowing the pommel to rest against his thigh.Afterwards, Watt introduced Cornelius to those seated at the table.
The elderly couple’s names went right out the window, but Cornelius latched onto the why of their trip.A honeymoon in Rio de Janeiro, for they never had one after eloping to America.They were mirrored by a young and freshly married couple who did not elope, and were celebrating their nuptials.A widow sat between the couples, pleased as a peach as she spoke of returning to Brazil in order to visit her son attending university in São Paulo.
Conversation moved around Cornelius, and he took a long drink of ginger soda.It didn’t parch the thirst building in his gut, and he did his best to ignore the urge.He'd just begun to drift into darker thoughts when the widow asked him a question, the first to do so.“So tell me, Dr.Sawyer.Are you an anthropologist as well?”
Cornelius set his glass down and glanced at Watt, then back towards the woman.“Ah, no, ma’am.Archaeologist.”
“Oh, dear.Is there much difference?”
“Yes,” Watt and Cornelius said at the same time, then blinked at each other.The table erupted into lighthearted amusement.
“Well, then,” the elderly man said, gesturing to Cornelius.“Please, enlighten us.”
In his finest lecture tone, Cornelius did just that.“It is true that both fields study the past.However, archaeology focuses more on physical facts, like what is left behind by older cultures or where they lived, whereas anthropology focuses more on biology and the social aspects of those peoples.It is a common misconception.”
The newlywed husband leaned forward, an eager gleam to his eyes.“Do you work together often, then?Archaeologists and anthropologists, I mean.”
“Yes, and no,” Cornelius said, tilting his hand back and forth.
“Not as often as we should,” Watt said, and Cornelius looked over at him.Watt slowly added, “Ego tends to be an obstacle to such things, but there is some change in the community.We all share a common goal, furthering our knowledge of the past.While our methods are different, we’re all putting together the same picture.My teacher, Dr.Boas, is making great strides in this area, and I intend to follow in his footsteps.”
Cornelius blinked at Watt, surprised by not only the amount of words unfurled at once, but their meaning as well.Cornelius cleared his throat, dipping his head in assent.“You’re not wrong.”
“Oh,” the newlywed wife said, looking between Cornelius and Watt with an excitement sure to come from reading far too many adventure novels.“Oh, are you off to secure some mysterious artifacts?”
Watt chuckled softly.“I’m afraid not.”
The wife looked hopefully at Cornelius, who merely smiled.
The chattering of the dining hall was brought to a soft murmur when the captain arrived, coming to stand not far from where Cornelius and the others sat.He addressed the room at large, warm and welcoming, thanking everyone for choosing the Furness Prince Line for their voyage.His speech was followed with polite applause which Cornelius participated in.
Despair and panic threatened to poison Cornelius once again.Cornelius told himself over and over that he had the strength to stand before the weight of ten days spent in polite society.Then it’d be two more weeks of traveling via train and steamer, meeting all sorts of people.And then it would be just Watt to deal with, for an indeterminable amount of time.Weeks, or months.A year, even.
It didn’t matter.He could do it.
He could.
Too Personal
March28th,1930
The thing about being a man was that there were certain experiences you could not skip.Not if you wished to uphold the illusion.
On a day he was feeling more solid, more secure in himself and his place in the world, Cornelius wouldn’t have followed the men in their suits.But now he was among them, a cigarette in one hand and a glass of whiskey soda in the other.The beautiful thing about cruise liners was that once they were six miles off the coast, Prohibition was nothing but a distant memory.
Men drank their poisons of choice, and no one batted an eye at the affair.His heart pumped liquid gold throughout his body, and his mind finally felt clear.Shame prowled in the distant recesses of it, along with disappointment in that he so quickly broke his vow to himself.Not that he had done so yet, technically.He could have one drink.One drink, and turn in for the night.He would not lose himself, not tonight.
But damn, he felt better than he had in days.Weeks, even.When he felt desperate like this it was as if he were a vampire, having to leech off the masculine energy of men surrounding him, doing the same as what other men did.Which was the same as the women, to be frank.
They talked.
Cornelius sat in a high back chair, knees spread in a wide, careless posture that signaled he belonged there.This washisspace.He listened to the men talk of what they left behind and what was ahead, watched cards pass hands and alcohol of all kinds fill glasses.The smoke room was of a Piccadilly style, vaguely familiar in the way all uppercrust bars in Great Britain were.It was disconcerting to be surrounded by this false veneer of British aesthetic, considering they’d just been in America.
Watt trailed into the room long after the first cigarettes and cigars had been sparked.He directly approached Cornelius, who gestured for Watt to take the empty seat beside him.Watt eyed the chair warily, then Cornelius’ glass of what appeared to be ginger soda, likely noting the darkened color to it.After a hesitant moment he sat down, looking to all the world like a rabbit ready to bolt.Cornelius offered him a cigarette, not expecting the man to take it, but feeling charitable nonetheless.
