Rash Decisions #2
There was a distinct click behind him, one that had become familiar in the past week and a half.
Watt looked over his shoulder, spying Cornelius looking a tad sheepish behind his camera.
Three times now Cornelius had taken his photo, having asked before the first time if he had Watt’s permission to take candid shots.
Watt rather thought that him brooding in a hotel room was a waste of film, and was surprised to find himself saying so.
Cornelius chuckled. “Every explorer needs a good before and after photo, you know, before they’re beaten to hell by their perils.”
“Then what were the photographs on the ship for?”
“Practice,” Cornelius said. There was an easy air about him this morning, which Watt was grateful for. He wasn’t sure if he could handle prickly Cornelius today.
Watt straightened from the wall, extending a hand towards Cornelius. “Then you should have a before photo as well, yeah?”
Cornelius cleared his throat. “Oh. I suppose so.”
He carefully handed off his camera to Watt, who inhaled upon gripping the cool metal and leather, and the subsequent brush of Cornelius’ warm fingers.
“It’s already set for the light at the window,” Cornelius said, pointing out the viewfinder and lever for the shutter.
It wasn’t an enormous box like the camera his family had, this one fit nicely in the hand, probably even more so when folded up.
Now the red bellows were unfolded, supporting an extended lens.
Watt held the camera close to his abdomen and looked down to study the ridiculously tiny viewfinder. “Could you come forward? Into the rays of light there.”
Cornelius shot him a look, but did as he was asked. Watt looked down into the viewfinder again, and caught the moment Cornelius’ scowl transformed into secretive pleased amusement. He was skewed into an upside down perspective, but it was brilliant all the same.
Watt took the shot, and by the time the shutter clicked the expression was gone, replaced by his usual casual indifference.
Cornelius took the camera, and his hands lingered for longer than seemed necessary to Watt, but he wasn’t so quick to pull away either.
Cornelius looked up at him, eyes full of something … familiar, Watt thought.
It was only a few seconds in the grand scheme of things, nonetheless it was a moment suspended in time, one that Watt would turn over and over again in the weeks to come.
The camera slipped from beneath Watt’s fingers, and Cornelius turned away. He tucked it away with the rest of his things and said, “We better get going. Senhor Antunes is probably waiting for us. And I’m starving, aren’t you?”
“Yes,” Watt said, and found he could say nothing else.
Senhor Severino Antunes was far more charming in person than on the telephone, and he and Cornelius got on like a brush fire.
He was about the same height as Watt, barrel chested and dressed in a smart and well tailored suit that had Watt feeling worse for wear.
He had a dark complexion with close cut inky hair, and thick eyebrows slanted over eyes warmer than amber stones.
He appeared to be of a similar age as themselves, but when he spoke it was measured and thoughtful, the words of a man who’d seen plenty and learned even more.
His handshake was firm, palms calloused, and his smile reached his eyes.
They ate dinner in the hotel’s dining area, an expansive room that was well furnished but not extravagant. It didn’t take long for Cornelius to start peppering the man with questions, ones he would already know the answers to if he’d properly read any of Watt’s correspondence.
“So what exactly do you do, Senhor Antunes?” Cornelius asked after drinks had been served.
“Oh, the question should be what don’t I do.
” Antunes chuckled heartily, then took a sip of his caipirinha.
Watt and Cornelius had ordered the same by Antunes’ recommendation, and Watt found the drink painfully sweet.
He drank it anyway. “Until now I have been Joaquim’s right hand and translator for the team, but with your arrival I am a guide now as well.
Not that I mind, of course. Gives me a chance to visit home. ”
“And where is home for you now, senhor? You are from Portugal, yes?” Cornelius asked, absently spinning his glass on the table. It was full, and threatened to spill over onto Cornelius’ fingers.
Antunes seemed pleased by this question. “Please, call me Severino.”
Cornelius' accent thickened when he said, “Severino,” and the sound of his voice was enough to kill a man. The way it rolled off his tongue, as if he were born and bred here. His eyes had darkened, reminding Watt of the glint of steel beneath a full moon.
Was … no, surely Cornelius couldn’t be. He had no idea who Antunes was, or if he was …
inverted? Was that the word? Was there a sign that Watt had missed?
But Antunes did not seem to notice the lilt in Cornelius’ tone and the hunger in his eyes.
Watt wondered if perhaps his mind was putting a spin on things that did not exist, and he took a long pull from his drink.
Antunes said, “I met my wife at Coimbra, and followed her here. She has family whereas I do not, and I have come to love Brazil with the same passion she does. We have lived in Rio for a good number of years now.”
“How romantic,” Cornelius said wistfully. He tilted his head back and took a long drink, leaving mostly lime and ice behind.
“Do you not miss them?” Watt asked sharply, then blinked in surprise at his tone. He cleared his throat. “I apologize, that was too forward.”
Antunes evaluated Watt for a moment before speaking, and when he did it was solemn.
“I miss them with such ferocity it hurts, Senhor Johnson. But let me ask you this. Did your dear Colonel Fawcett not miss his family? Or our own Marshal Rondon? Or any of the other great explorers of our time, for that matter.”
“I believe they did,” Watt allowed.
Antunes sighed. “And yet we press forward, leaving those we love behind in order to achieve our own ambitions, for better or worse.”
“And what is your ambition, Antunes?”
Antunes studied Watt for another long moment.
When he spoke, it was with careful and genuine intent.
“I wish for the world to see Brazil as I do. To see her as beautiful and full of life as I do, rich not only in history, but in people as well. People think of Brazil and her neighbors as a land lost to time, but this is not the case. We are on the cusp of a new era, one full of revelations and discovery, and I want to be at the forefront of it.”
Watt couldn’t help but think of Nina. Of all the women left behind to tend to the family while their husbands sought glory. “And what is your wife’s ambition?”
He’d thought this question would’ve disarmed Antunes, but it made the other man smile, quick as a shot. “Are you under the impression wives and mothers cannot have ambitions? Tell me, have you heard of the Brazilian Federation for Women's Progress?”
Watt swallowed, trying very hard not to look at Cornelius. He’d already felt a fool for not studying more of the country’s current issues, and here was more proof of it. “No, I have not.”
“Ah,” Antunes said. “Well I can assure you, it keeps Isabela plenty busy, and personally satisfied. She has no need for a man like me, all we do is get in the way. My children …" Severino sighed, and he met Watt's eye. “I do regret the time I have not spent with them.”
Watt begrudgingly awarded the man a point. He wondered if all Brazilians were so honest.
Cornelius abruptly asked, “And what do you think of the place?” Both men looked over at him. Cornelius cleared his throat. “The site, I mean.”
Antunes grinned. “Are you asking what I think of it, or if I believe it is the cidade?” He uttered this last word in a mere whisper, as if saying it any louder might tempt fate.
Cornelius lifted a shoulder. “Both?”
“The area is … compelling, yes. There was most definitely a settlement there, but there is also …” Severino hummed, tapping his clean shaven chin. “I cannot describe it. You have to see for yourself, yes?”
“Compelling in what way?” Watt asked.
Antunes fixed him with a contemplative look. He asked, “Have you ever stood in a place where you could feel history, Senhor Johnson?”
Watt nodded, throat dry.
“It feels like that.”
Cornelius felt as though he’d been here before, and he couldn’t put his finger on why.
Rio was not Lima, or Bogotá, but its own inherently beautiful corner of the world.
He stood at the window, leaning heavily against the wall as he smoked.
Watt sat in his bed, reading with Maggie at his feet.
He’d been largely quiet all night, save for his interrogation into Severino’s motives during dinner.
That was fine by Cornelius, who was marinating in the peace and quiet.
Rio had appeared domestic at first glance, but now that night had settled over her there was music and warm light in the streets.
Cornelius fiercely wished they had come in time for his birthday during Carnival, but nevertheless was grateful for being able to set eyes upon the coastal city at all.
The night felt endless and fleeting all at once, like sand slipping between the fingers.
“I have to admit something,” Watt said.
“Hm?” Cornelius looked over his shoulder. Watt was tracing his finger over the book’s edges.
Watt didn’t look up when he said, “I’m nervous.”
Cornelius finished his joint, contemplating what to say. He stubbed it in the ashtray and took a seat on the bed beside Watt's feet, leaving his good leg dangling over the edge. He’d only had the one drink at dinner, but was full of drunken emboldenment nonetheless. “You’d be a fool not to be.”
Watt shyly glanced up at him, then back down to his book.
Cornelius waited for him to continue, but he didn’t.
“What’re you afraid of?”
Watt said nothing, and Cornelius wasn’t sure whether to keep pressing the issue.
Watt had brought it up, after all. Maggie watched them from the other side of Watt's feet, ears pricked. Cornelius slowly reached over Watt, fingers wiggling in her direction. Maggie was still for only a second before bumping her nose against his fingers. Cornelius couldn’t help but smile, feeling childish for not petting her sooner, and stupidly proud.
She huffed against his knuckles, then scrubbed her forehead against his palm.
He obliged her, gently petting with the grain of her fur.
It was dense, and softer than he imagined.
There were also far more grey hairs than he'd previously given her credit for.
For the first time, he wondered how old she was.
“Do you know about the 77th Division?” Watt whispered.
Cornelius stilled. He wanted to say, ‘of course I do.’
Of course Cornelius had known that Watt was part of the Lost Battalion.
That much he’d been able to glean from the man’s letters, and not for the first time he felt a pang of guilt at having not answered them.
To have survived such vicious bloodshed and come out on the other side with some semblance of self.
It was a miracle. Especially considering many soldiers still fought, if only in the battlefield of their minds.
And like Watt's commanding officer, many of them lost those battles.
His death was simply more sensationalized, due to the drama of the 77th's ordeal, and the way he chose to go.
Cornelius had previously wondered if Watt fought battles in his mind, too. Now he was quite sure the man did.
Instead Cornelius started to pet Maggie again and quietly said, “Yes.”
Watt sighed, but it was more like a shudder.
He was quiet for some time again before starting his tale in an even quieter whisper.
“It was only four days, but Cornelius, it felt like four years. Hundreds of men died, deep in the woods and surrounded by the enemy. It was cold and miserable, nothing but bullets and explosions, mud and blood. Towards the end they even had flames and gas. That damn gas.”
Watt cursed, shaking his head. “Laying there, slowly burning alive from the inside out, all I could think was why couldn’t it have been a bullet?
Something quick and personal, not—” Watt broke off abruptly and sniffed.
Breath sawed in and out of his lungs. Cornelius was very careful not to look his way, unsure what to do other than listen.
Men were fussy about tears, and Cornelius didn’t want to interrupt Watt’s truth.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—the point is—I don’t want to ….” He trailed off, sighing. “I don’t know what I’m trying to say.”
Cornelius understood, though. “If anything happens, I won’t let you suffer.”
Watt flinched beneath Cornelius' arm. When had he rested it across Watt's legs?
Cornelius looked up at him then. His eyes were wide and glassy, and Cornelius had a sudden urge to take his hand.
He waited for Watt to speak again, but when it became clear he wouldn’t, Cornelius said, “Don’t worry.
I’ll make damn sure you’re headed that way before making any rash decisions.
And for what it’s worth, I’m glad you made it home. ”
Watt stared at him, eyes searching. Always searching with such intent. Then he smiled, and a few tears escaped from his eyes in the process. He laughed a little and whispered, “Okay. Thanks.”
For a moment Cornelius could see that young man laying on the sands of Harbor Point, before life had its way with him. Hopeful and tentative. Ready for adventure, a promise freshly rolled off his tongue.
Cornelius nodded curtly. “Then it’s settled. You'll leave me behind if needed, and I'll put you out of your misery if needed. Now, if you don’t mind, we have a long day tomorrow and I’d like to turn in. What sweet dreams we'll have.”
Watt's smile grew. “Alright, boss.”
Cornelius looked at him incredulously. “I don’t think so.”
Watt shrugged. Cornelius got up to shut the lights off, and when he returned to his own bed Watt had already laid on his back and folded his hands over his stomach. The way he usually slept. His eyes shone in the moonlight, head turned as he watched Cornelius settle into a similar position.
“Good night, Cornelius,” Watt murmured.
Unbidden, Cornelius’ muscles began to relax, one by one and with great relief. “Good night, Watt,” he whispered.
Watt’s chest rose and fell with great effort, and not another word was said between them. There didn’t need to be. Not when there was even and slow breathes, the rustle of fabric, and the call of the world outside their window.