Page 25 of The Voice of Wild Places
Cornelius blushed, an unexpected development.“I find his work fascinating, and you would too if you knew the half of it.Not only is he an intellectual in several fields, and the largest contributor of specimens to Rio’s museum thus far, but he also organized the construction of a fourteen hundred mile telegraph line, most of it through swampland.It took a little more than six years, and he workedwiththe native peoples, there it would be the Bororo, instead of against them.In doing so, he proved that the local people could be collaborators in the 'Brazilian National Project,' open to progress and expansion if they weren’t being crushed by violence.They called him the Chief of Chiefs.”Cornelius sighed, or perhaps swooned.“I’ll be honest, his astronomical work is what I find most illuminating.”
A knock sounded on the door.They rose from the floor and Watt let Jones in.He delivered their breakfast and coffee with a swift yet courteous good morning, and after they assured him they needed nothing else, he departed with a hefty tip from Watt.They sat at the table, pleasantly silent as they ate a great feast.Once their plates were clear, Watt took a long sip of coffee.Cornelius watched him, and after a second Watt realized he was staring at his hand, or rather his pinky finger curled around the mug.
Watt didn’t want to talk about it.He said, “I’d like for you to teach me.”
Cornelius blinked, successfully thrown off.“Teach you?”
Watt inclined his head.“Yes.There’s so much I don’t know, especially with all the politics.And I’ve been doing my best to study the local flora and fauna, but I find that first hand accounts are the most helpful with such things.I know that there are snakes, and jaguars.And piranhas as well.”
“It's not really my job to teach you,” Cornelius muttered, then asked, "Have you read the journal?”
Watt frowned, watching Cornelius lift the mug of coffee to his lips.“Yes, many times.But butterflies will not kill me.”
Cornelius nearly choked on his coffee, coughing harshly.Watt sat upright with alarm, but his companion held up a hand.Cornelius carefully set the mug down and recomposed himself.He said, “Indeed theycan.The Blue Morpho can cause intense hemorrhage, and that’s just one.”
Watt leaned forward, truly intrigued.
Cornelius reached for his collar as if he might adjust it, then his hand fell back to his lap.“And the Giant Silkworm Moth can cause systematic bleeding.It’s the enzymes, you see.”
And then Cornelius was off, spouting more words in the next half hour than he had in all their conversations thus far.Most of what he threatened Watt with, the man already knew.Snakes, bugs, plants.It all wanted to kill you, and in the most exquisite and creative of ways.But what he spoke most of were the snakes, and in great detail.
When Cornelius stopped to take a breath and a sip of long since turned cold coffee, Watt asked, “Do you like snakes?”
Cornelius set his coffee down and leaned back in his seat.He turned his attention to the large square window, contemplating for a moment.There was nothing but a shining ocean out there, no birds or clouds.Finally he shook his head and said, “I used to.”He glanced back at Watt and sharply added, “You know that.”
Watt shrugged.He did.He had incredibly fond memories of Cornelius bringing him gifts in the form of docile garter and rat snakes.But he promised to play this game of acquaintances with Cornelius, and wouldn’t break the rules just because Cornelius was.
Cornelius scoffed, shaking his head.He turned his attention to the water once again.“I’m a bit more skittish now than I used to be, I’ll admit.I was bitten by a fer-de-lance during my time in Colombia.”
Watt watched him.“And you lived to tell the tale?”
Cornelius smiled tightly, his attention elsewhere.“I was lucky.Lucky that we were close to aid, and that the indigenous tribes were generous enough to provide it.There’s antivenin for fer-de-lances now, but not for every type of snake that’s out there.And it doesn’t always work, depending on conditions.The best defense is knowing what you’re going up against, and how to avoid them if at all possible.The people at Vital Brazil—er, Butantan, will be able to explain it all much better than me.”
“Does it bother you?”Watt asked.Cornelius turned his head, and Watt nodded to his leg.“There were probably lasting effects, yeah?”
Cornelius stared pointedly at his cane.
Watt’s face heated.Of course there had been.Why the hell had he asked that?That was too personal.Too rude.And hadn’t he been trying to deflect an incoming personal question only minutes ago?
“I’m sorry, that was a terrible question.”
“It was.”
Watt nodded to Cornelius’ cane, unable to stop himself.“Will that hold in the jungle, do you think?”
“Oh yes.”
Cornelius laid the length of wood across his lap and began to unscrew the silver top, which was a knob-like shape.Watt leaned ahead in his seat, curiosity piqued.Cornelius set the top aside, then removed a screw from the middle of the cane before moving onto the tip, which he also unscrewed.After doing so, the stick opened into two halves, revealing a treasure trove of instruments inside.Watt spied a pen, pen knife, and handheld telescope before Cornelius withdrew a cylindrical piece that appeared to be a stake, and held it up.
“If the ground is particularly wet or muddy, I use this.And the wood is oak, so it’ll last forever.”
“That’s incredible, did your father make it?”
Cornelius’ lips twitched, but he did not allow the smile to break through.“He did, actually.”
“It’s beautiful.”
“Thank you,” Cornelius said, and he proceeded to close the cane back up.
