Page 59 of The Voice of Wild Places
Cornelius did not push the matter, but he didn't have to.Even Watt could hear the grey area left behind in that statement.The tent fell quiet, and the smoke gave way to fresher air.Watt didn't fall asleep for a long time, mind gnawing on all the different ways people could love people.
A Hunter
May26th,1930
Watt stood on skeletons.
There was nothing remarkable about the area occupying 11° 43’ S and 54° 35’ W.Long marsh grass covered the ground, and slim trees did their best to survive in small clusters.The birds cried the same as they did anywhere else, and the insects were in peak biting condition.It was late afternoon and the place was as good as any to make camp.But it felt wrong, somehow.Hallowed.
“We can make camp here,” Severino said, voice thin.He turned in a slow circle, studying the surrounding patch of land.The last place that Colonel Percy Fawcett was seen alive.The last place they could be seen alive.Severino generally did not take this route to the archaeological site from the Post, it was more of a round about way that took them through marsh land that was currently sparse and barren during the dry season.
Watt exchanged a glance with Cornelius, whose face was drawn and skin ashen.Haunted.Cornelius tried to smile at his attention, but it was tight and looked damn near painful.Was he in pain?Or just tense?He'd been struggling ever since they left the Post, and their mules behind.They would be rendered inefficient in the upcoming terrain, and there was no way to care for them at the site, so they'd been left as gifts.Cornelius looked away, busying himself with withdrawing his camera from its case.As he began to take pictures of the area, Severino approached Watt and the unflappable Antônio.
“Will there be more opportunities, do you think?”Severino asked Antônio.Technically they were still in Bacairy territory, which he was more familiar with.
Antônio nodded, and Watt's shoulders relaxed.“It is grassland for a mile or two, then we meet the basin.That will be good.”
“Do we want to try for that then?”Severino asked Watt and Cornelius.
“Yes,” Watt said, a hand stroking down Maggie's back.She panted, ears alert but eyes calm.
“Yes,” Cornelius echoed, but his attention was on his camera, or more specifically the viewfinder.“Let me take a few pictures first.”
Severino ran a hand through his hair and blew out a breath.He muttered, “This place feels strange, no?”
“Wasn’t it you who spoke of feeling power in places?”
“Certo.”
“Well, there you have it.”
A moment passed, during which they watched Cornelius take photos of seemingly nothing important.The trees.The grassy area where a camp could’ve been made.A bird, some kind of green parrot with a yellow face.Too bad the film wouldn’t be able to capture the different shades.Antônio wandered over to Cornelius, his curiosity getting the better of him.At his approach, Cornelius lifted his head and asked if he wanted to try it.Antônio nodded, so Cornelius demonstrated how to do it before handing the camera over.They weren't that far away, so Watt listened as Cornelius explained the specifications of the camera.Watt practically had them memorized, for all the times that Cornelius had recited it.A Kodak Eastman, Autographic.It was an autographic edition because of the little flap that allowed you to write directly on the film.It made him smile, watching them.
“Or … ” Watt began slowly.“Places only hold the power we give them.”
Severino considered that.He elbowed Watt and said, “You know, you have more wisdom in you than you let on.”
Watt chuckled.“I don’t know about that.”
Cornelius and Antônio joined them, the camera now tucked away into its case.“Don’t know about what?”
“That he's a smart one.”Severino jutted a thumb at Watt.
“Of course he is,” Cornelius said without missing a beat, brows slightly pinched in confusion.
Watt flushed from his cheeks to the tips of his toes.He coughed and said, “Let’s go.”
With Severino leading the way, Cornelius and Watt in the middle, and Antônio in the rear, they continued on.Maggie easily kept pace beside Watt, ears perked and tail curled.Conversation was sparse, allowing the noise of the swelling insects to thicken the air.Watt constantly fended them off, while they hardly seemed to bother Cornelius.The proof lay in the nasty bites along the back of his neck, behind his ears, and somehow there was a real angry one in his armpit.He hadn’t told Cornelius about that one, the man was already worried about the ones that were visible.
He wanted to itch at it so badly, and caught himself rubbing his arm against his side in a vain effort to do so.After an hour or so of this, Cornelius called, “Doing alright there Watt?”
“Fine,” Watt said, perhaps a bit too quickly.
Cornelius said nothing in response, at least nothing that Watt could hear.The man was notorious for cursing Watt out under his breath.Once his walls were broken, Cornelius was a worrier, especially when it came to Watt.Ever since leaving Cuiabá, he frequently asked each person in the group after their physical condition, whether they had any sores or bites, how they were feeling.He was the one to make sure everyone had eaten and hydrated properly in the mornings before heading out, and in the evenings before turning in.
He didn’t ask Watt so much as interrogate and manhandle him, evaluating every inch of exposed skin in search of abnormalities that needed treatment.It was he who treated all of Watt’s bites and strictly informed him not to itch.Cornelius was particularly bossy when taking care of Watt, but he couldn’t say that he minded it.What he did mind was Cornelius touching his side, fingers to bare skin.The thought of it alone had an anonymous shiver going down Watt’s spine.It was simply care, tending to a friend, but there was an aspect to it that Watt could not name, one he was not ready to explore.No, he didn’t need Cornelius to do that for him.He could take care of himself.He could.
As the sun retreated, so did the cerrado.The gallery forests expanded until there was hardly any dry grassland between them, the canopies overwhelming and great.By the time dusk arrived, they’d found what Antônio said was the last clearing for some time.Ahead lay a dense treeline and thickening ground vegetation.Watt glanced back the way they’d come.They could still go back.Dead Horse Camp wasn’t the place of no return.This was.
