Page 20 of The Voice of Wild Places
“The Amazon is no place for feelings, Dr.Johnson.If something—”
“With all due respect, Dr.Sawyer, she is my responsibility.Dogs are an asset in the jungle, Fawcett himself used them.I am well aware of the dangers, and what I must do in the worst case scenario.”
If Watt had been looking, he would’ve seen the flash of surprise that overtook Cornelius before he bowed his head.“Very well.”
Case in hand, Watt said, “You can have the bed, I’ll sleep out here.”He nodded to the sitting area.Cornelius opened his mouth to protest, but Watt continued on, turning away.“I’ll be back shortly.”
He left before Cornelius could get a word in, Maggie hot on his heels.
Cornelius had spent the entire train ride to New York, and nearly every day before that, anticipating how his next reunion with Watt would go.All of that time had been for nothing, because none of the scenarios he dreaded came to fruition.He expected the man to be emboldened by their time apart, ready to push Cornelius’ boundaries and ask questions.Try and get personal.
But the man had performed exactly the way Cornelius told him to.Civil, professional.Distant.He hadn’t even been outright rude in response to Cornelius’ intrusive questions, simply matter of fact.So why was Cornelius so damn frustrated?
Cornelius sighed, snapping his journal shut.He pressed it to his forehead and stopped pacing, shoes protesting against the polished floors.He glanced at the door to their suite, wondering if Watt would return soon.Their valet had come to collect Watt ages ago, and was only mildly surprised that he'd taken off without guidance.It was nearly dinner time now, and Watt still hadn’t returned from presumably taking his dog below decks for relief.
At least with Watt around, Cornelius was able to distract himself from his other worries.He hadn’t heard back from Dimitri or Gabriel before leaving, unable to confirm they made it home safely or that Lili’s surgery went well.He’d thought that Dimitri and Gabriel would stay in Berlin and work at the Institute for the rest of their lives, but how quickly things changed.
And the surgery.Cornelius rested a hand over his heart.Of course Lili’s surgery was different from the radical mastectomies he’d researched and shied away from, but all surgeries beheld risks.Especially novel ones.It would be the first of many to change Lili’s body from man to woman, and Cornelius hoped that she got the results she wanted.That she came out on the other side, happy.He’d only met Lili and Gerda a few times at Dimitri and Gabriel’s parties filled with artistic folk, before the boys had made the move to Berlin.But that was enough for Cornelius to like her, to find kinship in her like he did with nearly everyone else he met in Dimitri’s artistic circles, and at the Institute.Longing struck his heart like a match, demanding the air from his lungs.
Cornelius palmed the flask tucked into his jacket, heart pounding.He’d poured a glass shortly after Watt had left, and that first drink felt dangerously like another, and another.They were decidedly at sea now, and the reality of his situation was sinking in further now that Cornelius was alone with himself.
Cornelius wasn’t a drunk.He didn’t need to drink every day, during all hours of the day.He could wait until appropriate night hours, when in the privacy of a speakeasy or at home.He could last from weekend to weekend, and pull himself together the next day without a problem.
The problem lay in stopping, in dragging himself out of the sweet, obliterating relief before he became too lost in it.And he couldn’t lose himself here, no matter how much he wanted to.He made a vow to himself that he wouldn’t overindulge on this trip.Cornelius spent the remnants of his free time in the same fashion.Pacing, worrying.Taking his flask out, and putting it away.At one point he dug out a worn paper bulletin from his suitcase titled,‘The Pennsylvania Museum Bulletin.Number 70.February, 1922.’
He ran his fingers over the words.‘Mrs.Cornelius Stevenson.In memoriam.’ The ink was starting to fade from rough handling and overuse.He brought the bulletin with him on every trip since she passed, and soon he’d have to leave it behind, or face a blank page.He read the passage he loved most several times, eyes flicking back and forth, back and forth.
‘To us there will always rise, at the mention of Mrs.Stevenson's name, the dignified little figure with the black bag out of which she brought, like the unexpected mother in the Swiss Family Robinson, precisely the thing needed at the moment.For wise counsel, for tolerance, for understanding sympathy, we all of us came to her and never were refused.Her counsel was based on an experience of the world which included half a century of real intimacy with brilliant and wise people who sought her as a companion; it was poignant with interludes of the Mexican capital, Parisian days and Egyptian excavations.It was invariably moral and direct, but tempered with a worldliness that was never the counsel of the fear of consequences.’
Eventually he put himself together again, piece by piece.He put away the bulletin.Smoked a cigarette, then hid in the bedroom and changed into the suit Giovanni had gifted him.He did his best to focus on the fabric as it passed through his fingers.Stiff yet soft, well made and quality materials.He loved the winged collar of the draping black jacket, and the roominess of the trousers.Using his fingers and a comb, he did his best to rearrange his hair into the style he’d fixed this morning.Worry and the wind had tousled it into a sorry state, but there was no time to wash it now.
He stared at himself in the mirror, feeling at once large and small.His suit, despite its impeccable fit, felt like his father’s.Too big and impossible to grow into.
The door to the suite opened, and Watt’s following footsteps were so quiet that if he hadn’t been straining to hear, Cornelius would’ve missed them.His breath caught in his throat, despite being fully dressed.He hadn’t mentally rearranged himself yet.Not fully.
Watt stood on the other side of the door separating the bedroom from the rest of the suite and cleared his throat.“I was wondering if you’d like to accompany me to dinner.”
“No,” Cornelius said, and after a pregnant pause he added, “Go on without me, I’m not ready yet.”
Watt said something, but Cornelius didn't catch it and didn’t ask the man to repeat himself.A moment later Watt’s footsteps retreated, trailing through the space for a few minutes before leaving the suite entirely.Cornelius exhaled a sigh of relief.He braced himself on the dresser, seriously debating staying behind.Except hewashungry, and he didn’t want to seem like the coward he was.And it was the first of many meals they would be sharing together.Would he avoid all those too?
Cornelius passed Maggie on the way out, she lay on the chair Watt had claimed and watched him with a shrewd look as he collected his cane.After leaving the room, Cornelius shook off the judgmental energy she had been radiating.
The Eastern Prince was ritzy as hell, perhaps one of the finest ships Cornelius had been aboard.One of four, Cornelius couldn’t help but wonder if she was identical to her sister ships, or different in ways that were obvious or perhaps more subtle.The last time he visited Colombia, it was in steerage on a similar ship, a fact he didn’t mind.The company was far less snottier than those in first class, and ten-fold more entertaining.He wasn’t used to all the valets flitting around, with their curated British accents and eagerness to please.
The craftsmanship of the upper decks themselves were undeniable as well.Most of the furniture was finely crafted and warm, giving the ship a wholesome but rich feel.It wasn’t all that different from the places back home that were designed for the tourists, not the people who actually lived there.While he walked, Cornelius corresponded what he saw with what the brochure in his hand promised.He was keenly interested in the dark room, but it eluded him.
He wasn’t the last one to enter the societal hall, but there weren’t many other stragglers either.The space currently played host to dining amenities, but could be swiftly transformed into a ballroom by sweeping all the neatly placed tables off to the side of the grand room.The thought of dancing upon the waves made Cornelius slightly seasick, a new discovery.Sea travel had never bothered him before.
He quickly found himself overwhelmed, unsure where to sit.He’d gotten used to playing the part of someone more socially apt than he actually was, able to play the right games, wear the correct mask and say the right things.Engaging with the upper class was simply a performance, but did the spectacle change when at sea?He felt like a dancer thrown onto stage without having practiced the choreography.
Mr.Jones appeared at his side in that bizarre way good wait staff did, appearing when needed most and without a word.“Right this way, Mr.Sawyer.”
“Thank you,” Cornelius said, bowing his chin.
He followed the man to one of the tables at the head of the room, near the stage area where Cornelius assumed the captain would soon be.Watt was already seated beside an older couple, hands waving through the air and an animated story tumbling off his lips.The woman laughed, a hand to her chest.Her companion seemed more delighted by her joy than Watt’s story, but he paid the storyteller respectful attention nonetheless.
The steward bravely led Cornelius through the crowd, not quite all hundred or some odd first class passengers.Cornelius was no stranger to stiff crowds like this, but at least he usually knew the lot.Aristocrats who loved to invest in the latest trend; philanthropy.Assign some moral value to the act in order to make themselves feel better about flaunting their wealth, and it was a pissing contest for the ages.Also a necessary evil for people like Cornelius, having to prance beneath chandelier lights like a damned show pony in order to secure funding for the University.
