Page 40 of The Voice of Wild Places
Cornelius, on the other hand, hadn’t felt so alive in days.
Yes, the steamer was crowded and dirty.Yes, the ship exhumed an ungodly amount of smoke.Yes, crocodiles lazily swam below and birds chattered endlessly above.
But there were crocodiles and birds.Screaming monkeys and carnivorous fish.There was such fiercelifeall around them, and Cornelius was at once exhilarated and overwhelmed.He didn’t realize how much he’d missed this, how bored he’d been back in Philly.And all the ceaseless noise did wonders for his grief stricken thoughts and dehydrated cravings.
Cornelius gripped the edge of the boat, imagining that he was in a separate place from the too-close people that were so loud, like they were part of a background and he was on a different layer.There were no secrets with all the shouting, half of which were complaints.He mentally counted playas, categorizing them based on whether they held people, animals, or nothing at all.He marked down in his personal notebook every species of animal he recognized.He also noted the landscape at each dawn and dusk with a quick sketch of words.Anything to keep him busy.Engaged.Part of the world outside the boat.
Watt was nervous, not that he’d said so.He’d uttered hardly more than two words since departing Corumba (or sincethatnight) and was stiff as a pole, alternating between standing at ease when the current was calm, and gripping anything permanent fixed to the boat for dear life when it wasn’t.The three of them stood at the railing together, watching the river and all it entailed.
Maggie was not a fan of the people, but she didn’t mind the boat.Everyone wanted to pet her, and she tolerated it like a martyr.Now she was engaged in what Cornelius had come to think of as her ‘working’ mode.There wasn’t much to it, on the surface.Maggie sat at Watt’s left, and Cornelius stood at his right.Air coursed in and out of Watt’s broad chest in short and shallow bursts, and while he was standing at ease he looked anything but easy.He’d been wound up tighter than a spring since arriving in Brazil, and Cornelius didn’t know how to help.It was like the man was convinced they were marching to their certain death, which to be fair Watt might be right.But he also might be wrong.
It didn’t help the situation that until now Cornelius had been just as tense.Back in São Paulo they’d done their errands, mailed letters and obtained supplies.They ate meals together, but otherwise the trio recuperated socially, so to speak.Corumba had been just another stop in the trip for them, a short rail ride away from São Paulo and just as quiet.They'd kept to themselves, and even Severino was more subdued than he had been in the beginning of their journey.Cornelius thought maybe he was missing home already.Cornelius had developed film and bought more, sent most of his photos with his letters.He kept the photos of Watt for himself, though.Along with a few others.
Watt.Damn, what was Cornelius going to do about him?
Nothing had been said between them about that night, not about Papa dying or Cornelius’ ridiculous and drunken behavior.It was that awkward and pleasant fake professionalism between them again, and he hated it.Had he really craved it only a couple of months ago?
An odd feeling crept over Cornelius, a sense of timelessness.How long had they been traveling together now?At first he thought it was only a couple of weeks, but no.Two months?
No.No, it’d only been a few twenty days or so, give or take.
It felt like nothing at all, and like they’d should’ve arrived at their destination a decade ago.
Cornelius found it difficult to balance, and he told himself that was the reason he leaned against Watt’s right side.Watt returned the pressure without preamble, in fact he seemed comforted by it.His ribs flared against Cornelius’ side as the other man sucked in air long and slow, and his breath evened out after a few more deep inhalations.
Cornelius, for his part, found it a bit more difficult to breathe.Watt’s body was warm beneath fabric damp with sweat, and Cornelius’ left hand twitched.He thought about putting his hand on the small of Watt’s back, or perhaps his shoulder.The boat was packed enough that no one would think anything of it.Just two colleagues using the other to stay upright.
Cornelius slid his hand across the span of Watt’s shoulders and rested a hand on the space between neck and shoulder.Eyes on the river, Cornelius lightly asked, “Do you remember that time we borrowed the canoe from Juillerets?”
A silence ensued.Watt didn’t look over at him, but his body moved beneath Cornelius’ hand.Closer.He said, “I think the word you’re looking for is stole, but yes.”
Cornelius chuckled.“We brought it back.”
“We did.”Watt allowed, humor warming his voice.He glanced at Cornelius then, who returned the attention.“Are they still open?”
“As far as I know.”Cornelius thought about the little store, the candy he traded with his siblings and Watt, and the ice cream cones they let melt for too long.He could distinctly remember the chocolate ice cream smeared across Watt’s face on that day, his grin so widespread that it had brought out Cornelius’ own smile.
They’d carried the canoe out to the beach together, and weren’t caught until hours later when they brought it back to Juillerets, where Papa was waiting.They’d flipped once or twice, and as a result were soaking wet.Papa handled their trouble the same way he always did.With a stern lecture ensuring that we righted whoever we wronged, and that we apologized.Cornelius had been in trouble with Mama later, for swimming unsupervised with a boy.It was the first summer Cornelius had been allowed to swim at all.
Papa wasn’t a brute, but by the way Watt flinched in his presence you would’ve thought so.The lecture Cornelius had earned that day was well worth it.Large bits of his childhood and even teenage memories were blurry on the edges, and there were even chunks of time he’d forgotten all together.But that smile Watt had given Cornelius, with the lake and sun behind him, the canoe's rope in hand and chocolate on his face.
That might’ve been the moment Cornelius fell in love with him, even if he’d no idea what that meant at the time.
The question was, did he still?
Cornelius shook his head minutely, feeling like he’d been slapped.What the hell did that matter?What was hethinking?
“Are you trying to say we’ll make it back to shore?”Watt asked.
Cornelius smiled.“Yes.We’ll make it back to shore.”
That was all he was trying to say.
Watt had to concede that the voyage had its perks.The food was infinitely better than the decadence of the Eastern Prince, and endless despite the three dozen or so people aboard the ship.There was goiabada, a sweet and pasty guava conserve that Watt could only eat small amounts of at a time, and meals were usually a mixture of rice, beans, and chicken with macaroni mixed in sometimes as well.There was always bread and cheese, and black coffee.The stuff was potent enough to punch Watt in the gut with every sip, and despite how much he loved the strong brew he found he could drink very little.
He’d fought his stomach the entire trip, but the first day on that steamer had been the worst.Of course Cornelius and Severino appeared unbothered, although Cornelius did seem to be smoking more tobacco cigarettes than usual.But Watt didn’t think that had anything to do with the churning São Lourenço, and everything to do with the trip that lay ahead and the news of his father.Cornelius spoke in his excited professor tone more than usual, and at such speed that it made Watt’s head spin.He wondered if he should slow the man down before he had a fit or something.
Cornelius told Watt about everything.
