Page 53 of The Voice of Wild Places
Watt chuckled softly and tossed the stick into a patch of reddish brown dirt not far off.When he turned his attention back to Severino, he caught the man staring at his hand.Watt flexed his fingers and said, “Are we ready to go?”
Severino nodded, smoothly taking the hint.Man was too damn curious for his own good.“I am if you are.Or do you have more pebbles to fetch?”
Watt grumbled in response, unable to keep a smile from his lips.
They traversed through sparse grasslands which gave way to thickening trees at a steady pace, talking little.Cornelius couldn’t remember the last time he felt so exhausted.His body ached, and his mind was heavy.His mount seemed equally tired after the crossing, and Cornelius still felt bad for falling and clutching to her like he did.Embarrassed, too.His companions hadn’t any trouble crossing, and if they suffered beneath the strain of their trip they didn't outwardly show it.
He did his best to keep his mind off his body, which worked out fine as he kept thinking about Watt’s body instead.But not in the way he would’ve liked to be thinking about it.No, he was thinking about the bullet wound on either side of his right shoulder.He hadn't known that Watt had been shot.And then there were the scars on the backs of his hands.The missing tip of his left pinky finger, an injury Cornelius assumed occurred during war time.What happened to him during those days lost in the woods?
What he kept coming back to were the metal, circular tags hanging around his throat.He wanted to know why Watt still wore them, were they his own or Frederick's?Was he still in love with a dead man?Cornelius could believe it, Watt had a deep heart with enough love to fill the ocean.He bet the man was a romantic.And to lose someone so tragically, well.Nothing could beat a love story like that.
They arrived at the Simões Lopes Post by mid afternoon, covered in sweat and assaulted by insects.This part of the country was cerrado, dry prairie land.The Post was well organized with government buildings and the staff needed to run them, and fit with a local for the missionaries from the South American Indian Mission.They dismounted and met with the missionaries and the agent of the Indian Protective Services, all were friendly and welcoming.The men of God made Cornelius’ skin crawl, but he did his best to be grateful and polite.Afterwards, they were brought to the neighboring Bacairy Village itself.
Cornelius noticed a large building that seemed reminiscent of a warehouse.When he asked about it, the IPS agent explained that it was indeed a warehouse.All the posts serving Indigenous peoples were being pushed to be self-sufficient, and as such they grew their own rice, corn, cane, and other crops on reservation land.
“And is any of it sold in the cities?”Watt asked, which surprised the agent.
The agent said, “Well, yes.It is a good way to support the post financially, especially when our residents are so hard working and bring in such yields that it is far beyond what we can consume here.”
“I see,” Watt said, and it sounded like he didn’t see at all.
The agent picked up on this as well and quickly added, “It is our mission here to give the natives the isolation and privacy they desire, and any support they may need.This area is quickly becoming settled, as I’m sure you saw on your way in.And not just by the get rich quick sort of folk, but people who are here to stay.It is imperative that the people here have a way to … bridge the gap, so to speak.”
Cornelius opened his mouth, but Watt discreetly pinched the back of his arm.Cornelius nearly decked him.What the hell did Watt know about howwrongthis was, and what gave him the right to shut Cornelius up?
Instead of hitting Watt, he scowled and rubbed at his arm.
They were confronted with a large, elevated dirt area surrounded by grass and fence.The soil was packed down between great square clay buildings thatched with palm leaves, and gallery forests waited in the distance beyond the fencing.A small cattle herd was also visible in the distance on the cerrado, another puzzle piece that did not fit.According to von den Steinen, the Xinguano Bacairy were fishermen that relied on the rivers, and grew their own food.Perhaps this was more of that self sufficiency the agent spoke of.
The Bacairy lived in four different villages on the reservation allocated to them, and this village beheld many people of the Xinguano sort, although there were some families from other villages as well.The Headman and many of the local families greeted them.They had dark brown skin and black hair that was cut in blunt styles.Most of them wore clothing of the khaki variety, and their houses looked entirely different than in the photographs he’d seen thus far.Doing his best not to glare at the men of organized religion, Cornelius noted more people were acculturated than he thought would be.Perhaps Antônio was not so much of an outlier as he'd originally thought.
Severino did most of the talking, acting as lead man of their group.He was well known and respected here, which made sense since he frequently stopped on his way to the site.All the children were taught Portuguese at the relatively new schoolhouse and some of the older people were familiar with it, but Severino mostly spoke to them in Bacairí, a fact that wrinkled the noses of the missionaries.Cornelius and Watt introduced themselves, using the limited Bacairí they knew thus far.Antônio stayed with their group as they were taken to a building known as the men’s house, which would be their shelter for the next few days, and their mules were brought to a grazing area separate from the cattle.Cornelius hoped his steed would enjoy the reprieve.The mules hadn’t lost much for weight, but they also hadn’t gone far in the grand scheme of things.
The men’s house would not be solely theirs, but shared among the men of the village.They piled their belongings in a corner, then sat with the agent, headman, missionaries, and other male members of the village at the center of the building.Cornelius sat between Watt and Severino, and he felt strangely pleased that Antônio sat on other side of Watt.
The Headman asked a question in Bacairí, and Severino relayed it to Watt and Cornelius.“What is your purpose for visiting?”
Watt looked at Cornelius, and after a pause Cornelius picked up the question.He said, “We are passing through, on our way to an archaeological site in the north.With Severino.”
The Headman considered this, his wizened gaze shifting between Severino, Watt, and Cornelius.He’d been aged in the sort of way that meant he could’ve been fifty or seventy, his brown skin wrinkled in deep creases around his eyes and mouth, even his nose.When he spoke, Cornelius caught a glimpse of teeth yellowed by time and use, and the uppers were filed to points.The Headman exclaimed a string of words, and this time it was directed at Severino.The two held a fast paced conversation, and Cornelius recognized his and Watt’s names, but no more.The Headman gestured to Antônio, who inhaled sharply but said nothing.Severino shook his head, and it was clear the conversation had devolved into a disagreement.
“What’s wrong?”Cornelius asked.
“He believes you are imposters,” Severino said, looking between Watt and Cornelius.
Cornelius swallowed.It was the truth, wasn’t it?
“What did he say about Antônio?”Watt asked.
Severino flicked a cool look to the young man in question.Antônio was stiff as a board, discomfort evident in every taut muscle.His face though, was blank.“He wants Antônio to travel with us.”
“To keep an eye on us,” Cornelius clarified.
“Yes,” Severino said.“But also, Antônio has shown great promise and they have been trying to send him to university for some time.But he does not want to leave.It is their hope that Antônio may change his mind after working with us.”
That surprised Cornelius.He quietly asked, “So … what?We’re to take him on as an unofficial intern and spy?”
“Cornelius,” Watt muttered.
