As Intended
Watt listened to Cornelius and Antunes talk, their conversation shifting from Brazil and her decades long transformation, to the Institute.
They chatted about snakes and the exponential growth of antivenin research, and everything in between.
There had been so much damn talking from the moment they met up for breakfast, that Watt had barely gotten a word in with Cornelius, to check in with him or otherwise.
He looked tired as hell, but otherwise acted like his usual self.
One would never know the type of night he’d had.
“And what about you?”
Watt tore his attention from the passing landscape out the window and blinked at Antunes. “What?”
“Are you familiar with snakes?” Antunes asked. He smiled and his dark eyes were warm, but it all had the opposite intended effect.
Watt shifted in his seat, doing his best to dislodge his irritation. “Ah, yes. Cobras and horned vipers mostly.”
“A snake is a snake, the only difference is how they like to take their prey,” Antunes said.
Cornelius opened his mouth, but then the car turned onto the drive and the Institute was in view.
The building was enormous, all white with tall rectangular windows and intricate stone carvings along the rooftop.
The words ‘INSTITUO BUTANTAN’ were carved across the front of the building, and as they approached it became clear just how large the building was.
It seemed to loom over them, even taller than the decorative palm trees standing vigil outside.
The lawn was meticulously cared for and several ferns decorated the place along with some short hedges and other nicely trimmed vegetation.
'Sterile for a lawn,’ Watt thought.
They were deposited onto a stone and dirt drive.
Cornelius wielded his cane and walked at a leisurely pace, taking in their surroundings.
Watt kept close to his side, hands in his pockets as he studied the establishment.
Antunes did not seem to be in an exceptional hurry, but he did eventually lead them into the facility.
It had a punctual air about it, very clean and filled with people dressed in white jackets who kindly bid them good morning.
They met with the director, an older man who only spoke Portuguese.
The ensuing conversation, relayed and translated by Antunes, regarding what type of snakes they may encounter had Watt feeling a bit queasy.
Cornelius on the other hand appeared unbothered, which made Watt suspect that he was actually very bothered indeed.
“Would you like to see how the antivenin is made?” Antunes asked, glancing between Watt and Cornelius. “It is not required, but they have offered.”
Cornelius stiffened at the question, then glanced over at Watt. His eyes were wide, and his lips set in a bloodless line. Watt felt it would be rude to say no, and education was gold. He inclined his head to Cornelius in an 'up to you' sort of way.
Cornelius nodded curtly. He shifted his attention to the others and said, “That would be fine.”
Watt followed behind everyone else as they were led outside to where the majority of the snakes were kept, feeling like he’d done something wrong.
Again. He could brood on it later, for now he tried his best to pay attention.
There were palms everywhere, along with a variety of prim and proper plants.
A tall stone wall with short metal fencing atop it surrounded a large area, which was further sectioned off into small pens with waist height stone walls.
The grass in the pens was neatly manicured, furnished with stone mounds that had small arches for snakes to pass through, the surfaces of which were covered in growing grass.
Pathways connected each mound, as if snakes cared for such things, and little saplings further decorated the area.
Big fancy white signs accompanied the area, and Watt couldn’t read much of it besides the ‘serpentario’ bit.
He figured that it had something to do with snakes.
He asked Cornelius about it, and after a moment of squinting at the sign Cornelius whispered, “Don’t throw any objects into the serpentarium.”
Close enough.
One of the scientists used a long pole that had a hook on the end to ferret a snake out of one of the mounds, then pressed the curve of the hook to the base of the snake’s head before scooping it up with practiced ease, fingers secured where the hook once had been.
The snake curled and writhed immediately, thrashing its body this way and that.
It was downright pissed off, and for good reason. The scientist wasn’t harsh, but he wasn’t kind either. Yes, it was a snake, but still. Watt shifted in place, and noticed that Cornelius had taken a step behind him. He could still see the snake, but had room to hide if necessary.
Watt made a mental note to keep an eye on Cornelius for the rest of this endeavor. The man was too stubborn to say enough was enough.
Cornelius was sickly fascinated by the drops of venom as they rained down like tears from a perfect set of extended fangs.
Only a few drops of the stuff had been enough to completely change the course of his life, and nearly end it.
It seemed impossible that something which appeared so much like water could be so deadly.
His fingers ached from where they curled around his cane, but he couldn’t relax his grip no matter how hard he tried.
His leg had been in a flare up due to all the traveling, and the stress didn't help.
After the venom was milked, it had to be processed.
They were shown vials of previously processed venom, then the scientists brought them outside for another demonstration.
There was a sort of makeshift stall outside, square in shape and accompanied by horse shit.
A thin horse with a dull coat was brought out from the nearby stables, and it balked upon reaching the stall.
It refused to go in, clearly familiar with whatever came next.
It threw its head, and the whites of its eyes showed as it chuffed and complained.
Two men forced it into compliance. The one leading the horse stood on the opposite end of the stall and pulled on the rope while the other swung a crop, skimming the horse’s gaunt flank but not making hard contact.
It took a couple of minutes and ultimately the use of a twitch to get the horse into position, and by then Cornelius’ teeth were set firmly on edge.
He leaned hard against his cane, folding one hand over the other.
“Doesn’t that hurt the horse?” Watt asked Severino, nodding to the twitch snugged around the horse’s upper lip. Watt was tense too, standing close enough to Cornelius that his presence was palpable.
“No, not on the lip. If it were the ear, yes. But the pressure provides a sort of calming effect. See?” Severino pointed to the horse, its head had drooped into the arms of the man holding its lead.
The scientists were preparing the great muscles of its neck with iodine, and it reminded Cornelius of days caring for his own wounds.
“It all seems—” Watt flinched, watching as a metal catheter was promptly jammed into the appropriate place on the horse’s neck.
It shuddered, but otherwise did not move as the humans injected it with venom.
It stood there as they poisoned it, and they stood by and watched.
Cornelius' guts turned, his hangover unrelenting in the face of such … medicine.
The scientists began talking and Severino translated, which was just as well because Cornelius’ brain felt slow as he watched the process, his own translating skills useless.
They explained that the horse would be monitored for a few days, and if there were positive results its blood would be withdrawn and processed, separated into its basest components where the prized antibodies were hiding.
This is what the antivenin would be made from.
Cornelius glanced at Watt, wondering why he kept brushing against his arm.
Then Cornelius realized that it was the other around, that he was swaying a little.
But Watt did not try to steady him or ask if he was alright, at least not aloud.
He looked down at Cornelius, face drawn and a question in his eyes.
All morning he’d been staring at Cornelius, quietly concerned.
Cornelius had felt too embarrassed to try and set things right, and apparently Watt wasn’t going to let last night slip by undiscussed.
Rationally, Cornelius knew a conversation was due between them.
For now, Cornelius gave him a short nod and a grim smile, then turned his attention back to the scene at hand.
The needle had been removed from the horse’s neck, and all that remained was a bubble of fluid beneath the skin. In English, Cornelius asked why they used horses. Severino relayed the question to the scientist, who gave a long reply in Portuguese that Cornelius only caught half of.
Severino said, “They handle the venom remarkably well, and have a better metabolism than cows. The short term effects to the animal are fairly minor.”
“And the long term effects?” Watt asked, watching the horse as it was led away to a nearby area with a hose.
The scientist explained that a chronic inflammatory response could develop, or renal failure.
If he or Severino could tell Cornelius or Watt were discomforted, it did not show on their faces.
The men began to wash the animal down and groom it, which made Cornelius feel a little better. His stomach was still knotted though, and he felt like he’d taken that needle in his own neck. Thankfully they would not be witnessing the exsanguination process, and were led back inside.