Page 47 of The Voice of Wild Places
“When did the harassment start?”Watt asked, smoking from his own pipe.He grimaced and swat at a mosquito on his neck.“Where is the proof?”
Severino huffed out an angry laugh.“It is what you think, shortly after they started finding artifacts of value.Why else would he want the site to himself?Not for history’s sake, that’s for sure.”
Watt contemplated this.“I’ve been specifically tasked with meeting him.We cannot avoid it, not for rumor and gossip.And if there’s a chance it may be true and he’s … a problem, we will go in prepared.”
“You are all the same.”Severino cursed under his breath and shook his head.“Whatever you think is best, senhor.”
They slept in hammocks, shrouded in bug nets that did nothing, and slept in shifts in order to keep an eye on the mules and each other.Antônio didn’t seem concerned about hostile people in this area, but it was a good idea nevertheless.Watt’s, of course.Cornelius wondered if this felt similar to trudging through France, but he quickly dismissed the thought.Two completely different experiences.
How bizarre it was though that they’d both been there at the same time, but out of reach and out of touch.While Cornelius was finding himself, Watt was fighting for himself and the lives of hundreds of other men, for his country.It wasn’t like Cornelius had refused to fight, he was an American.However, he was legally a woman.He could've become a nurse or something else, but that wasn't him.He loved to fight, although he was technically unfit to do so for his country.Unfit to do many things, according to certain people.
May 19th, 1930
They were surrounded by the sounds of insects, tails swatting futilely at them, and birds screeching.As the days went on, the heat stifled most conversation and impromptu lessons, leaving them with the sounds of animals and vegetation protesting against their passing.It was just as well, since the air between Watt and his companions had grown tense.Watt agreed with Severino, although he couldn’t admit it even if he wanted to.The search for Fawcett was their priority, and they would be careful.He told Nina he would visit Fawcett's rancher friend, and see what he knew.He couldn't go back on his word, only be prepared for the worst.
Their group was now in the rough land of the Pantanal, but they weren’t isolated.They passed small estancias and talked to any moradors they came across, but otherwise kept to themselves.Watt felt distinctly on edge any time they came in contact with these men who lived on the trail, but so far they were kind beyond measure.Quite unlike the nomads prowling the city back home.
Watt thought of Fawcett’s observation of the common belief the settlers here had, that they’d staked a claim in a never before discovered area while in all reality, they were surrounded by neighboring farms.While the States culled cattle and pigs by the thousands in an effort to raise prices for farmers struggling with surplus and land destroyed by dust, South America was picking up the slack.
Cornelius told a story about a rancher in Peru he’d met, a clever man from Texas that mastered raising cattle in high altitudes.One of many clever men who knew how to forge a living for themselves in this harsh environment.There was more to the Amazon than just coffee and rubber, and it was being harvested at an exponential rate.Castor oil, lemongrass, tropical fruit and of course quinine, along with hundreds of other medicinal plants.The opportunities were endless, and endlessly sought after.
On the third night of their venture they settled into chapada country, populated by enormous plateaus and cliffs that were once upon a time, a coastline.Whilst there, saube ants declared war on their bodies and equipment, eating through canvas and leather alike.It didn’t take long for their morale to dive further, Cornelius especially was in a foul mood.A couple days later they found the river they’d been looking for, which uplifted spirits until a downright nightmare occurred that evening.
Garapata ticks swarmed, literally swarmed, all over the ground.Ticks weren’t like any other bug, you couldn’t just swat them away.You had to ensure the head and pincers were withdrawn properly from the skin, otherwise the damn things burrowed as deep as possible.Cornelius had to remove one from the base of Watt’s neck, which led to an extremely awkward moment involving Cornelius’ fingers on Watt’s bare, sweaty skin.Cornelius said he hadn’t been bitten, but he also wouldn’t let anyone check him over.Watt had to pluck one from Maggie’s belly, and it worried him that he hadn’t found more than one.Surely there had to be more.
In short, the bugs were maddening, absolutely maddening.
The day after the tick incident, they found Colonel Hermenegildo Galvão’s estancia without much trouble, which bode well since it was a close neighbor to the Post.Located at the headwaters of the Rio Novo, Hermenegildo Galvão had constructed his own world of sorts, settling directly on the river.Watt bet that during the wet season this area became an island.Isolated.
A large main house constructed of bright red bricks and many smaller buildings were situated in the center of a grassy area, flanked by pastures and cattle.A towering coconut palm was planted near the front of the main house, casting a mid-afternoon shadow across the land.Watt stared up at it, the only tree in the clearing.It was rumored the property was roughly the size of Belgium, but given that Watt had never been to Belgium he couldn’t say.But it was a substantial area indeed, at least from where they stood.Rows upon rows of houses for farm hands, a warehouse and church, even a school house for the children of the laboring families.Machinery neighbored what appeared to be a factory, and Watt was overwhelmed by the sheer amount of buildings, people, and cattle.It was a small empire contained within a pocket of Brazil, fit with a place for planes to land.
“A fazenda, more like,” Severino muttered, and Watt hadn't the time to ask what that meant before they were greeted.
Hermenegildo Galvão was a large man with dusky weathered skin and an impressive mustache, he was well worn with wrinkled dark eyes that were full of energy.They were welcomed by the rancher with much hospitality, and true to Brazilian fashion all offers of repayment were refused.Senhor Galvão led them to a small house originally intended for laborers, but was empty and ready for use.The floors and walls were built of rough hewn lumber, the roof thatched with palms.There were no windows, and the house was split into a bathroom, bedroom, and living area.They dropped off their belongings and stabled the mules in a nearby fenced off area with an attached lean to.
They took turns bathing, the tub was too small for Watt and he didn’t want to immediately dirty the water that he’d hauled in.Senhor Galvão said not to worry about using too much, but still.He dunked his head in the water, scrubbing his scalp with the rough but pleasantly fragrant soap.Lemongrass, perhaps.After rinsing his hair out he ran a washcloth over his body, dripping wet and laden with soap.He dunked the cloth, rinsing the soap from it, and ran it over his body again.Despite his best efforts, the water turned murky.He dried quickly, using a musty and scratchy towel from the cupboard.He felt immensely better afterwards, like he’d had layers of tension and worry built up within the dirt.
He drained the tub and brought in more for the next person, Cornelius, who adamantly said, “I can do that myself.”
Watt said, “I know,” and did it anyway.
Afterwards in the sitting area, Watt asked Severino, “How’re you feeling?”
Severino was seated across from Watt and Antônio on an old chair at an even older table.He sighed, deft and clean fingers working to pack a tobacco pipe.“Does it matter?”
Guilt pinched at Watt and he said, “Yes, it does.”
Severino said nothing.He puffed on his pipe, thickening the air with his smoke and tension.
Later that evening they broke bread together, speaking mostly in Portuguese with some English sprinkled in.Senhor Galvão was a powerful man, and he commanded attention easily.Severino had not been pleased with their decision, but it was too significant of a place not to visit.As such, he was unusually quiet over dinner that night. That also could have been due to the main topic at hand.
“So, what makes you think you can do what no one else has?”Senhor Galvão asked, flicking his critical gaze between Cornelius and Watt.He’d been treating them as the main attraction, hardly giving Severino or Antônio a second glance.It irked Watt, but given their discomfort he didn't want to turn the spotlight onto them.“I have watched men come and go searching for Colonel Fawcett.Or not go, in some cases.Always empty handed if they do make it out alive.”
Cornelius’ lip twitched upwards, his eyes steelier than ever.He’d been wound tight for days, and Watt could tell by the look in his eyes, the set of his jaw, that he was looking for a fight.Lightly, Cornelius said, “You and I both know everyone’s going in the wrong direction.That has to count for something.”
Senhor Galvão’s eyebrow raised.“Does it?”
“We know that the others before us haven’t been exactly … open minded.But we are,” Watt said, gently easing into the conversation.
