Too Personal #2
Cornelius looked up at Watt, a brow raised at his casual tone.
The moment stretched, and Watt thought perhaps the ice would break between them.
But in the end Cornelius said nothing, nor did he reach out to Maggie.
He excused himself in order to get dressed for the day, and Watt set about securing coffee.
He spoke with the valet, Jones, who agreed to deliver coffee and breakfast to their room.
Watt didn’t feel like dining in the societal hall, and he doubted that Cornelius did either.
On the rare occasions Watt endured a hangover, he found a heavy breakfast and solitude was the best aid.
He further busied himself by gathering the necessary paraphernalia from his suitcase and meticulously laid it all out on the sitting room table, mentally repeating the names of everything like a chant.
Journal.
Pencil.
Up to date maps of the area.
Protractor.
Ruler.
When there was nothing left to do, Watt took a seat and glanced at the closed door to the bathroom.
He listened, surprised to hear the distinct tap of a razor.
After another minute, he retrieved his sketchbook from his pocket and began to doodle in it.
Cornelius rejoined him, cane in hand and smartly dressed.
He wore an outfit not dissimilar to the one he boarded the ship in yesterday.
Casual trousers, long sleeve shirt, and suspenders.
His face had a certain freshly tended to glow about it.
Watt smoothly closed his book and set it off to the side, tucking the extra pencil beside it. “I requested for breakfast to be delivered.” He braced himself for Cornelius’ potential annoyance.
The other man simply nodded, surveying the materials spread out on the table.
Cornelius had a journal, a pile of papers, and a folded map of his own tucked close to his chest. He set them down into a haphazard stack and reached for Watt’s hand drawn map of Mato Grosso.
He'd traced over the original, which he preferred to keep for safekeeping.
Better to run his copy ragged instead of the original.
He'd done the same for his map of Brazil and the surrounding states.
Just before touching it, Cornelius paused and looked up to him for permission. “May I?”
“Of course.”
Cornelius picked up the map and unfolded it, laying it out on the table over everything else.
Watt shifted in his seat at this, but said nothing.
Cornelius’ eyes narrowed as he studied the paper, and his wire-rimmed glasses were perched back upon his nose.
Cornelius donned a wrist watch, which glinted as his fingers traced over several key points in their upcoming journey.
Dead Horse Camp.
The archaeological site.
Fawcett’s public route.
The one his journals actually depicted him to follow.
“I don’t see anything amiss,” Cornelius said finally, not taking his eyes off the map.
“Things may change once we enter the area proper, there’s always the chance we’ll have to take detours if we encounter obstacles.
I have a few more points marked on my own map, landmarks to guide us by and indigenous villages. You can copy them over, if you’d like.”
Watt nodded, secretly pleased. They ended up on the floor, comparing coordinates and planning alternate routes at various points in the journey.
Cornelius marked the places that Fawcett had been sighted, noting the date for each.
He frowned every time Watt said, “Our route should be easier than his,” but Watt couldn't help it. Despite this, Cornelius was relaxed, the natural teacher. Faced with Watt’s lack of political knowledge regarding the area, Cornelius heaved into a long and surprisingly patient lecture.
“Well, we’re stepping into quite the hornet’s nest, you see.
It’s always been a coffee and milk sort of arrangement with the presidency in Brazil, each term the candidate hails from either S?o Paulo or Minas Gerais, alternating each time in order to keep things fair.
Mind you, S?o Paulo and Minas Gerais aren’t the only states in Brazil, simply the most powerful. ”
“Wait, what does that mean? Coffee and milk?”
“Oh, S?o Paulo is largely dominated by the coffee industry, while Minas Gerais leads in dairy. Brazil is well known for its café com leite,” Cornelius said, an edge of sarcasm in his voice which could have been teasing or reproach.
“I knew about the coffee,” Watt said weakly.
Cornelius gave him a tiny smile. “Right. Well, in this last election that took place a few weeks ago, the governor of S?o Paulo, Júlio Prestes, won and has been declared Washington Luís’ successor.
But that’s a problem, because Luís is also from S?o Paulo.
There’s been great push back from the governor of Minas Gerais, who’d previously promised not to lay a claim to the presidency in favor of a third party, Getúlio Vargas, governor of Rio Grande do Sul. ”
Watt rubbed at his forehead. “So … now what? Are they going to move forward? Will there be …” Watt trailed off, but Cornelius caught the lost thread.
Slowly, he said, “I don’t think there will be a war, it wasn’t that long ago that Brazil was fighting among itself and I don’t think anyone wants to do that again.
But there has been talk that Minas Gerais, Rio Grande do Sul, and Paraíba want to form an alliance, with Vargas as its leader.
It’s all very messy, quite the time to visit. ”
Watt shook his head. “I had no idea, shouldn’t we have been told this?” He glanced at Cornelius, curiosity sparking. “How do you know all this?”
Cornelius lifted a shoulder, adjusting his glasses. “I have correspondents in Peru and Colombia, and a few in Brazil. And there is such a thing as the news, you know.”
A small, self-deprecating grin curled Watt’s lips. “Ah. Tell me, do you know anything about a General Rondon? According to Senhor Antunes, he nearly didn’t allow us to come.”
Cornelius gaped. Watt stared at him.
“What?”
“Don’t you?”
Watt flushed. “I’m afraid not.”
Cornelius recovered, but only slightly. He pushed his glasses up his nose. “I’m sorry, that was rude, but I assumed that at the very least since you were close to Fawcett, you would’ve known.”
Watt bristled, waiting.
“Well, they were … on unfriendly terms, of a sort.”
Watt blinked. “What kind of man would be on unfriendly terms with someone like Fawcett?”
“A man who was in Fawcett's opinion, part savage. You heard Mrs. Fawcett, what she said about him. And even she herself used the term Indian, which is wholly inaccurate,” Cornelius said, visibly uncomfortable.
Quietly, he added, “Or in the case of Dr. Rice, a well privileged man. They didn't get on either.”
An awkward silence descended upon them. During this time, Watt searched his brain for any discussion of General Rondon at social gatherings, but came up empty.
Fawcett had been a friend of Callum's, but Watt only had a few encounters with the man himself, seances aside. They’d all been pleasant social encounters, but he'd seen Fawcett’s diary, noting the superior way he compared himself to the people who lived in the places he explored.
He thought of what Nina had said in Cornelius’ office, the duality of Fawcett and his beliefs.
Then Watt thought of himself, and winced internally when he realized he'd been guilty of the same fault as Nina on more than one occasion.
“Fawcett was a great explorer,” Cornelius said hesitantly. “But not a great man, I think. At the very least, there was room to improve in many ways.”
Watt didn’t know what to say to that, too afraid to speak ill of the dead and too cowardly to speak ill of himself. Instead, he asked, “What happened?”
Cornelius swelled with knowledge, and began.
“Well, Candido Rondon helped to overthrow Pedro The II, you know. Ended the empire at an age younger than we are now, and came from a small Bororo village. He’s incredibly smart, and can live off the land like no one else.
He’s a Positivist, and similar to Fawcett he would rather die than kill.
But Fawcett saw the Indigenous peoples as savages, not people.
Human, but less than. Same for people of color, too.
Well, he said that Rondon had ambitions ‘above his station.
' Rondon of course was furious. He's spent his entire life dedicated to Brazil, and science, only for the so-called superior white men of the east to declare they know best. I think for the most part he lets his work speak for itself, like the line. He did call Fawcett and the other RGS fellas poseurs, though. Serves them right. He’s currently on a border-inspection expedition, otherwise we might've been able to meet him.”
Watt laughed. “You’re enamored.”
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 worked with the 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. ”