Too Personal #3
A knock sounded on the door. They rose from the floor and Watt let Jones in.
He delivered their breakfast and coffee with a swift yet courteous good morning, and after they assured him they needed nothing else, he departed with a hefty tip from Watt.
They sat at the table, pleasantly silent as they ate a great feast. Once their plates were clear, Watt took a long sip of coffee.
Cornelius watched him, and after a second Watt realized he was staring at his hand, or rather his pinky finger curled around the mug.
Watt didn’t want to talk about it. He said, “I’d like for you to teach me.”
Cornelius blinked, successfully thrown off. “Teach you?”
Watt inclined his head. “Yes. There’s so much I don’t know, especially with all the politics. And I’ve been doing my best to study the local flora and fauna, but I find that first hand accounts are the most helpful with such things. I know that there are snakes, and jaguars. And piranhas as well.”
“It's not really my job to teach you,” Cornelius muttered, then asked, "Have you read the journal?”
Watt frowned, watching Cornelius lift the mug of coffee to his lips. “Yes, many times. But butterflies will not kill me.”
Cornelius nearly choked on his coffee, coughing harshly. Watt sat upright with alarm, but his companion held up a hand. Cornelius carefully set the mug down and recomposed himself. He said, “Indeed they can. The Blue Morpho can cause intense hemorrhage, and that’s just one.”
Watt leaned forward, truly intrigued.
Cornelius reached for his collar as if he might adjust it, then his hand fell back to his lap. “And the Giant Silkworm Moth can cause systematic bleeding. It’s the enzymes, you see.”
And then Cornelius was off, spouting more words in the next half hour than he had in all their conversations thus far.
Most of what he threatened Watt with, the man already knew.
Snakes, bugs, plants. It all wanted to kill you, and in the most exquisite and creative of ways.
But what he spoke most of were the snakes, and in great detail.
When Cornelius stopped to take a breath and a sip of long since turned cold coffee, Watt asked, “Do you like snakes?”
Cornelius set his coffee down and leaned back in his seat.
He turned his attention to the large square window, contemplating for a moment.
There was nothing but a shining ocean out there, no birds or clouds.
Finally he shook his head and said, “I used to.” He glanced back at Watt and sharply added, “You know that.”
Watt shrugged. He did. He had incredibly fond memories of Cornelius bringing him gifts in the form of docile garter and rat snakes. But he promised to play this game of acquaintances with Cornelius, and wouldn’t break the rules just because Cornelius was.
Cornelius scoffed, shaking his head. He turned his attention to the water once again. “I’m a bit more skittish now than I used to be, I’ll admit. I was bitten by a fer-de-lance during my time in Colombia.”
Watt watched him. “And you lived to tell the tale?”
Cornelius smiled tightly, his attention elsewhere.
“I was lucky. Lucky that we were close to aid, and that the indigenous tribes were generous enough to provide it. There’s antivenin for fer-de-lances now, but not for every type of snake that’s out there.
And it doesn’t always work, depending on conditions.
The best defense is knowing what you’re going up against, and how to avoid them if at all possible.
The people at Vital Brazil—er, Butantan, will be able to explain it all much better than me. ”
“Does it bother you?” Watt asked. Cornelius turned his head, and Watt nodded to his leg. “There were probably lasting effects, yeah?”
Cornelius stared pointedly at his cane.
Watt’s face heated. Of course there had been. Why the hell had he asked that? That was too personal. Too rude. And hadn’t he been trying to deflect an incoming personal question only minutes ago?
“I’m sorry, that was a terrible question.”
“It was.”
Watt nodded to Cornelius’ cane, unable to stop himself. “Will that hold in the jungle, do you think?”
“Oh yes.”
Cornelius laid the length of wood across his lap and began to unscrew the silver top, which was a knob-like shape.
Watt leaned ahead in his seat, curiosity piqued.
Cornelius set the top aside, then removed a screw from the middle of the cane before moving onto the tip, which he also unscrewed.
After doing so, the stick opened into two halves, revealing a treasure trove of instruments inside.
Watt spied a pen, pen knife, and handheld telescope before Cornelius withdrew a cylindrical piece that appeared to be a stake, and held it up.
“If the ground is particularly wet or muddy, I use this. And the wood is oak, so it’ll last forever.”
“That’s incredible, did your father make it?”
Cornelius’ lips twitched, but he did not allow the smile to break through. “He did, actually.”
“It’s beautiful.”
“Thank you,” Cornelius said, and he proceeded to close the cane back up.
A heavy silence descended upon them, and Watt cursed himself. Too personal, once again. He said, “You’d said something about the crew, do you want to go over that?”
Cornelius’ shoulders sagged a little. “Yes, please.”
That ‘please’ tripped Watt up, and he cleared his throat before beginning to list the names and professions of those at the site.
Joaquim de Silva; director of the expedition and crew chief.
Severino Antunes; translator and liaison.
Thomas Anderson; archaeologist.
Charles Rowland; botanist.
Francesca Carmine; geologist.
Andrea Carmine; anthropologist.
At first, Cornelius nodded along with no recognition until saying, “Oh, I’ve worked with him,” about Anderson. When he heard the names of the Carmine siblings, he went dead still. Watt internally sighed, knowing full well who the problem child was.
“You’re serious?” Cornelius asked. “Andrea—Dr. Carmine—I mean, he’s there?”
“Yes, he’s with the rest of the NYU folks.” Watt tried very hard not to sound chastising as he said, “I believe you have a copy of the list? It was in the first batch of letters I sent to you.”
“I don’t remember seeing it, but that doesn’t mean it wasn’t there. Rest of the NYU folks …” Cornelius removed his glasses and rubbed his temple, then glanced at Watt with narrowed eyes. “Were you offered an opportunity to work the site as well? Before?”
“Yes, but I wasn’t available at the time,” Watt said, and found he couldn’t say much more. He wasn’t obliged to tell Cornelius anything personal, that much had been made perfectly clear. As long as he could keep his own damn questions to himself.
Cornelius studied him for a moment, lips parted on a question.
Watt decided to strike preemptively. “Did you two work together?” He asked, although he’d already deduced the answer.
After returning home from Philadelphia, he’d spent days comparing the timelines of their life, who had been where and when.
Now that he had the proper name to search, it was remarkably easy.
Even still, all he had were academic papers and newspaper articles.
Cornelius shot him an accusatory look. “We did. In Ur, before I left and he jumped ship to join your team. Anderson was there too, but he’s far better company than Carmine.”
“That was Carter’s team, not mine.” Watt clarified. “I was hardly more than a graduate at the time.”
Cornelius studied him. “Why’d you leave?”
“What?” Watt asked, taken aback.
“The team, why did you leave when you did? You missed out on all the glory.”
Watt felt like he’d been dunked in cold water. “Glory isn’t why I got into this life.”
“No, your father’s what got you into this life. Well, your days as an archaeologist, anyways.”
Watt stood. “You know, for someone who doesn’t want to get personal, you seem to be asking a lot of questions.”
He didn’t say, ‘and it’s unfair that you know more about me during our time apart than I do about you. There’s gaps in the timeline. I want to know it all.’
Cornelius stared up at him, eyes wide. A moment passed, then he shook his head and looked away. “You’re right. I—I’m sorry.”
Watt thought maybe Cornelius was genuine, and he couldn’t take it.
“It’s fine. I’m going to take Maggie for a walk.”
He needed air.
When he returned from below decks, Watt found he could not open the door to their suite.
He stood there, heart racing and Maggie waiting patiently beside him.
He felt like a fool after having cooled off.
Cornelius had not asked anything outrageous, nothing he hadn’t been asked before.
But he hated talking about Egypt, hated that everyone found him interesting because of it.
That they approved of what he’d done. For years he wanted someone, just one person, to tell him he was a grave robbing sack of shit.
But he did not want that one person to be Cornelius. Watt actually gave a damn what the man thought about him. Always had. Watt’s head was starting to turn inside out again, and he breathed hard against the wave of thoughts.
The door opened, revealing Cornelius on the other side. Cornelius’ fingers tightened around his cane, and after a pause he gave Watt a grim smile. He said, “Coming in, or going out?”
“What are you doing?”
“Going for a walk. It’s … stuffy, in there.”
“Can I join you?”
“Yes.”
And so began the first of many morning promenades around the ship.
They said nothing for a while. Simply walking and listening to the people move around them.
Watt’s tension bled out of him with each step, and when the sun hit him it drew out a little smile.
After some time, they ended up at the same spot they had occupied last night.
Wordless understanding passed between them as Cornelius withdrew his cigarette case.
Watt supplied the match, lighting Cornelius’ cigarette before his own.
The men stood there, watching the ocean as the ship broke through its vastness, smoking in silence. Watt thought he could stay like this forever, in this liminal space between continents, between phases of his life.
Cornelius said, “I’m sorry—”
Watt shook his head. “No, I shouldn’t have—”
“You were right.” Cornelius firmly took hold of the conversation, exhaling a heavy stream of smoke. “I think we can both agree this is hard for both of us. Peculiar for both of us. Let’s just pretend that this morning never happened.”
Watt took a drag, then let it out slowly. “Yes. Alright.”
Cornelius adjusted his glasses. “Alright.”