Page 46 of The Voice of Wild Places
mosquito net
pot
two mugs
Oiled poncho
striker and flint
Matches
It felt like too much and not enough all at once.Severino seemed to approve, and Cornelius figured he would be the ultimate authority on the matter, given how many trips he’d made back and forth.He’d asked the man if he minded trekking in and out of the bush, and Severino had only smiled.“I’m the man Joaquim sends when things are needed,” he’d said, and that was that.
They had their meeting with the Inspectoria de Protecção aos Indios on the second day there, providing the necessary paperwork to show they had permission to visit Bacairy Post and whatever potential people they may come across, Bororo, Paresí, or otherwise.It was not as easy to dive into the Amazon and meet her people as it used to be, but Cornelius was not complaining.
Brazil was understandably weary of foreign explorers claiming grand humanitarian and scientific purposes.Most often such explorers experienced great hardship which made for great headlines, and if they did come across any findings, most were not made public or if they were, it was in an adventure novel.Fawcett’s recent disappearance and the rescue missions sent after him had created exactly the sort of publicity they did not want.Not to mention that Brazil had their own brilliant scientists and explorers.
Cornelius keenly felt like the fox in the hen house, and tried to not think about it too much.Harming the Indigenous peoples was not in their plan, and theywereaiding the archaeological dig, if only for a short time.
It was their first real trek, about a month's worth of traveling without the aid of trains or ships, and Cornelius felt the tone would set the entire rest of the trip.His companions were in a good mood as they set off into the bush, and Cornelius smiled while listening to Watt talk with Severino and Antônio.It was as if by stepping into nature, Watt had stepped away from all his insecurities and anxiety, leaving them behind with civilization.
Antônio arrived on the second to last day, a Bacairy guide that Severino had called for when they first arrived and praised highly.He couldn’t have been any more than eighteen, if that, and he neatly occupied the space between society and the fringes of it.His black hair was cut in a blunt bob in what Cornelius recognized as the usual Bororo style, but he wore trousers and boots, a workman’s shirt and gaucho hat that had seen better days.He spoke Bacairí, and was fairly fluent in Portuguese as well.He was a serious fellow with an even more serious stare, and he listened more than he spoke.He reminded Cornelius of John, and his heart pulsed with dark fury.Not directed towards him, but home.
Home, and the dark, lonely summer when the world finally revealed its true cruel nature to Cornelius.He hadn’t given much thought to what they would find at Bacairy Post, but of course there would be religion.Government depended on religion to tame and organize those who had been doing just fine without it.Society wielded religion and morals like a scythe, clearing ‘wild’ lands and peoples like it had a right.In fact, they’d been doing it for longer in South America than they had in the North.The Jesuits, the Catholics, even the damn Protestants.Back home it was,‘kill the Indian, save the man.’
Here, with slavery abolished nearly twenty years later than America, the Positivists agreed that the Indigenous people had rights to their own land, and to defend it, but they still pushed for, ‘order and progress.'They stationed missionaries nearby friendly tribes, waiting patiently with a bible in one hand and tools of the trade in the other.After all, an educated and friendly 'Indian' was fit for work, wasn’t he?All that time and erasure led to men like Antônio and John, Louis Shotridge too.Straddling the space between a washed away past, and an uncertain future full of people who wanted to step on you, use you.Make you palatable.Really, Cornelius should have connected with Antônio immediately.
However, it was Watt who formed a close connection to Antônio, talking the kid’s ear off for hours at a time in his best, yet stilted, Portuguese.Antônio, for his part, mostly listened and provided one liner insights.Bacairy Post and its surrounding area were one of the few places Watt was familiar with, having studied Karl von den Steinen’s work.The physician had paved the way for Brazilian ethnology, dabbling in anthropology and exploration alongside his medical work.Everything that Cornelius knew about the Bacairy, Watt had told him.Severino had filled in a little, providing the political background that had changed since Steinen’s time.
Named the Bacairy by the Portuguese, although they called themselves Kurá, they had once been one people but were driven south and separated into three groups a little over a hundred years ago.Most of the Santana group fled the rubber plantations in 1847, moving east to merge with the Central group which had settled at the headwaters of the Teles Pires.The Territorio Kurá Bacairy was established, and by 1925 it seemed all the Bacairy, or what remained of them, had become one once again.Only time would tell how much remained of them after progress and order had their way.
Their group took it slow in order to preserve their mule’s endurance, which was fine by Cornelius.He couldn’t deny the terrain was treacherous in places, especially in the marshlands where water over saturated the grass and invited bugs in hordes.The insects were undoubtedly annoying and beautiful in equal measure.It was hard not to admire them as they tended to dive right for the eyes, settling for the face or neck if they had to, or any other bits of skin that were exposed.It made it hard to keep an eye out for whining bushmasters when the wasps were always demanding attention.Cornelius pestered Watt nearly as much as the bugs did, the man was terrible at proactively avoiding insects.In fact, he seemed to attract them.The choking wet heat was near unbearable, and Cornelius could see why Watt would want to roll up his sleeves or undo the buttons on his collar.It was a rookie mistake.
March was one of the wettest months in this area, and it wouldn’t be until June before the ground fully soaked up the excess standing water.Cornelius tried to stay positive, appreciating the fact they were on relatively easy ground compared to the thick jungle they’d have to endure later.The first day was scrub country and grazing land, then they reached a plateau which eventually gave way to more grass.This new region was a transitional zone between the lush basin in the North, and the highlands in the South.What forest they did find was considered dry forest, the trees shorter and less full than their relatives to the North.
Antônio pointed out the cashew trees and other plants that could prove useful, like the shrub trees with yellow and white flowers called pau santo; the bark could be used as a substitute for cork and the leaves used for medicinal purposes.That was the thing Cornelius loved about nature itself, that everything had a purpose and use if only perceived the right way.He’d always wondered how something had been discovered for the first time.Who was the first person to take the leaves of a tree and say, this will cure malaria?Or sure, I’ll smoke this.Why not?What a surprise trip that must’ve been.Obviously it had been the native peoples, but what made the very first one try it?
Severino knew some Bacairí, one of many Cariban languages that were closely related and widespread, from Venezuela to Colombia, Brazil, and more. He’d been teaching Cornelius, but along the way Antônio taught him and Watt as well.The kid didn’t drive words home or use them in different contexts like Severino did.He merely said what something was, and moved on.Water was páru, and fire was páto.He told them to keep an eye out for aká, or jaguars.
They put in seven miles the first day, and the second, a pace that was punishing despite their mounts.Cornelius couldn’t imagine travelling with Fawcett, who’d been pushing ten miles a day by now.On the second night they camped near a stream, which beautifully reflected the enormous moon.It illuminated the bush better than any spotlight ever could, and it had Cornelius wandering a little.He jotted down the constellations he recognized, wondering what the ancient peoples in this region thought of them.Severino followed along and pointed out the ones Cornelius didn’t know.Lobo, musca, toucan, and the ever so obvious Crux.A lifetime could be spent in the Amazon simply studying the world above it, let alone the world they stood on.
Later, after they’d gathered by a small fire, Cornelius broached the idea of visiting Hermenegildo Galvão once more.But once again, Severino met it with much resistance.He said, “There is nothing to be gained by visiting there.”
“And is there anything to lose?”Cornelius countered.
Antônio made a noise of disapproval, but didn’t say anything outright on the matter.Watt looked between him and Severino, then asked, “Is the man dangerous?”
Severino puffed on his tobacco pipe, quiet for some time.Finally, he sighed.“There is an archaeological site near his ranch.Or rather, was.He invited some people from São Paulo University to take a look at what he’d found, including a friend of mine, of Joaquim's.At first there wasn’t much, but then they started digging, and well.You know how it goes.Fields of urns, petroglyphs on stones, and cemeteries.
“It was all theorized to be of the Toltec period, like our site, but the research there has been abandoned and now we’ll never know for sure.The people there were harassed to no end, equipment broken and …” Severino glanced between Watt and Cornelius, eyes full of meaning.“Traps.It was all made to look like the natives, but it wasn’t.It was him, or rather, his bugeiros.”
Antônio hummed, nodding along to Severino’s tale.
Cornelius’ breath caught in his throat.“How do you know?”
“Trust me, I know,” Severino said, and he rubbed a hand over his face.For the first time during their journey, he looked tired down to his bones.“Roberto is no longer there, and neither are any more answers than you don’t already have.I am telling you, it is a waste of time.”
Cornelius blinked.They hadn’t so blatantly spoken of their objective thus far, and it was like a bubble had popped.A distinct line had been drawn between Severino and them.It had always existed, but now it was highlighted.They were merely using him and his archaeological site as a stepping stone before disappearing further into Brazil, searching for Fawcett or signs of him.
