Page 56 of The Voice of Wild Places
There were many times when Watt questioned God’s existence, and sitting here with the wire fencing in view brought all those times back to the forefront of Watt’s mind.
Cold.Blood.Mud.
Flames.Grenades.Gas.Bullets.
Metal tags close to his chest, two sets now.
Barbed wire.The snap of a canine's jaw, and flesh giving way beneath teeth.
His left hand ached, convulsing with the memory of flesh that no longer existed.It was a strange thing to lose something like the end of a finger.It wasn’t necessary, per say, and by no means inconvenient, not truly.And the pain that sometimes came out of nowhere, temporarily paralyzing muscles and tendons, was tolerable and somewhat quick in its attack.The look of it used to bother him, and that proof of vanity bothered him.Now, he largely ignored that part of his body most of the time, same with the scars on his hands and his chest.
And yet, he'd liked it when Cornelius linked his own finger around that misshapen pinky.Acknowledged him.
This reminded Watt that during all his times of crisis, he’d always come up with the same answer.Of course He existed.How else could you explain the stars and moon that hung above them?The places they’d been, and had yet to see?
The secret love that Watt held in his heart, and the fortitude to have felt it at all?To have survived the war, and the hell that came after?
But he did wonder.Where was God?
Did he condone the actions and words of his followers?
Did he know all the awful ways humans could hurt each other, now?
Did he know all the beautiful ways humans could love each other, now?
Watt became acutely aware of the fact that Cornelius was no longer crying.Cornelius still lay curled against Watt’s side, his arms squished between them.One of his hands was trapped too, but the other had a hold of Watt’s shirt, right over his sternum.His breathing was shallow, but consistent.For a brief moment, Watt wondered if he should break the silence or offer to move, but ultimately decided to let Cornelius do the breaking.He was content until then.
The thing was, Cornelius was content too.They sat together, watching the stars in comfortable silence.The bodies of dying light moved overhead, too slow to be perceived unless one watched them for hours on end.
May 19th, 1930
Cornelius woke with a headache, a sore leg, and a craving for Giovanni’s cooking.Or was it Giovanni himself he wanted?Or better yet, was it home he so desperately needed?
The day ahead of them was fully booked, and for once Cornelius wasn’t grateful for distractions.He wanted to go back to sleep.No, he wanted to fill his stomach, smoke a joint, and go back to sleep.He couldn’t face today.He needed an entire day and night of sleep before he could even think about functioning, or dealing with the emotional vomit he’d dumped onto Watt last night.
And there was the matter of Severino to deal with, but Cornelius didn’t know how.He couldn’t go asking Severino what he knew based on a significant look given with a seemingly relevant story, he could give himself away.Maybe Severino knew nothing.His heart argued otherwise, but for now he allowed his head to give direction.Best to act aloof.Casual.If Severino had suspicions, Cornelius would wait him out and deal with it then.He just hoped that if the other man did confront him, it would be in private.
Watt, well … they’d gotten used to treating their late night revelations as simply that, hadn’t they?Matters of the night.During the day, they were colleagues.Professional.Friendly.Was he embarrassed to have cried like a baby twice in the man’s arms?Yes.
But also, it was the first time he’d let go in so long.He never cried, not with Giovanni or Esther, not even alone.The last time he cried before this trip was … hells, was it when he visited the Institute?Years, then, and now he’d cried on this trip so many times it was ridiculous.
An entire day and night dedicated to sleep was not in the cards, so he rose for the day.After his morning ablutions, his mind cleared and a thought crystallized.Today he would try.The past few weeks had been rough on their group’s morale, and that needed to be remedied before continuing on.Perhaps if he pretended hard enough that everything was fine, he could get the others to believe it was true.Besides, it was an auspicious day.Jack Fawcett’s birthday.
After readying themselves for the day, Antônio led their group on a tour around the village.The missionaries and agent did not come along as they had their own business to attend to, much to Cornelius’ relief.He was also glad he brought his cane as they went beyond the confines of the fence, visiting the gardens near the river and gallery forests.They were by no means trapped in the village, and everyone insisted the fence only kept hostile people out, but it still made Cornelius uneasy.The reservation was over 50,000 hectares, a staggering number that Cornelius couldn’t comprehend.Many people lived at the village near the Post, but there were outlying households as well.
Men and women worked in the gardens, each plot nearly an acre in size.Antônio explained they grew manioc and cotton, and that they grew sweet potatoes all year round, with the last harvest in April.Currently they harvested yellow maize, tearing the ears off the stalks and removing the husks.
With the aid of Antônio, Cornelius asked questions of those who stopped their work to speak with them.He asked about the gardens of course, but also if they enjoyed their work.After all, much of what they harvested would go on to the city.Brazil needed laborers, and here they were.He was surprised by the older folk.He expected many of them to be sour about the changes in their community, but he found that most were proud.“Have you visited the buildings yet?Look at all we’ve done, the clothes we wear and the tools we wield.”Surprisingly, there was a common sentiment among them, one that echoed many of the older generations back home.“The young ones, they don’t know how to work.”
Watt found this bit particularly amusing, but in a dark humor sort of way.
Many of the younger people could speak Portuguese with Cornelius, rudimentary as it was but effective nonetheless.They were more suspicious than their older counterparts, bitter and cynical in a way that reminded Cornelius of himself.One woman in particular gave Cornelius a thorough lecture on the wrongdoings of the karaiwa, the non-indigenous peoples.They brought sickness with them and disturbed the ekuru of their village.Ekuru, Cornelius later learned, was a substance found in all plants and the beings that ate them, and eventually excreted them.It was one of the reasons the Bacairy tended to move often, the buildup of nails, hair, and bodily fluids could bring about bad spirits of sorts, or kadopy.
Cornelius didn’t know much about ekuru, but he did know about the sickness that plagued this place.Many places like this, to be frank.Syphilis, and malaria.Malaria was par for the course in the jungle, but syphilis was brought in by all those who colonized, explored, and exploited these lands.Sickness did run rampant through the village here, and the population was straining.Had been straining ever since civilization came knocking.Cornelius tried to focus on the now.
In addition to gardening, the Bacairy were excellent canoemen and fishermen.They learned to paddle around the time they could walk, and despite their numerous migrations over the past couple hundred years it was a skill that always remained.This was common with many of the indigenous people living in the area, but to see them work so smoothly and competently in person was quite different than reading about it.Cornelius and Watt were shown how the bark of a jatuba tree could be transformed into a canoe, a process that Severino had seen many times before but seemed to enjoy nonetheless.There were canoes in various stages, some were still bark upon a tree while others were slabs of bark hung over a smoldering fire.It bode well for Cornelius and Watt, otherwise they’d miss the process as it generally took several days.
To remove the bark, a platform of sorts was built around the tree.Three upright poles surrounded the tree to form a triangle, and cross pieces were lashed between the poles for the workers to stand upon.The outline of the canoe had been drawn upon the bark, and wedges were now nestled between the bark and the wood.The men worked effortlessly as they pried it apart, the task mundane to them but fascinating to Cornelius.
