He Knows
Crossing the Paranatinga was a strenuous effort that demanded every ounce of thought and muscle that Watt had. He was glad for the distraction of simple labor, everyone was tired and quiet that morning which led to too much room for thinking.
They decided to ford the animals and supplies from one side of the river to the other, utilizing an area where the water was relatively low, but still high enough to reach their chests.
Roots of scrub trees protruded from the reddish brown dirt of the steep river banks, exposing themselves in an effort to quench their thirst. The water ran quick enough to render it clear, and be a nuisance.
Guiding the mules on foot, Severino went first, followed by Cornelius, then Watt.
Ant?nio remained, waiting for Severino and Watt to return for the pack mules.
When Cornelius led his steed into the river, he nearly tumbled down the embankment and into the water.
Thankfully the mule was steadfast and did not spook easily, providing Cornelius with a rigid source of support.
Of course he refused all offers of help, and Watt was helpless to do anything but watch the man struggle across the river.
He’d thought it was because of the man’s leg, but when Watt made his own crossing he found the river bed was the type of silt that sucked at you, doing its best to drag you down, and the current was surprisingly strong.
Watt and Severino returned for the other mules, and Ant?nio, and by the time they all got across a break was needed.
Shielded by the mules and shrubbery, the men stripped down and changed into fresh sets of clothes and boots.
Watt’s cheeks were aflame the entire time, thus far they’d been able to change in relative privacy and isolation, but not like this.
Needs must, however, when soaked to the bone.
By the time he found a branch to hang his clothes on, Cornelius joined him fully dressed, his hair combed back and a lit cigarette pinched between his trembling lips.
Watt hurried up and pulled a shirt on, but he could tell that Cornelius had already seen the ugly scar on his shoulder.
His attention brought a burning phantom pain along with it, and Watt turned away to prop his wet boots upside down on a rock.
Cornelius did the same with his own boots, then hung his clothes beside Watt’s. After hanging up his trousers, boxer shorts, socks, and a shirt, he glanced Watt's way and smiled crookedly around his cigarette. “Your hair's long."
The tension eased in Watt's shoulders, and a smile escaped him as he withdrew his pipe. “You're one to talk.”
Cornelius leaned heavily on his cane, shifting closer to Watt. A bit more serious, he quietly asked, “Did you sleep alright?”
Watt lifted a shoulder, cheeks flushing as he recalled how exactly he’d fallen asleep last night. Held by Cornelius. He’d awoken to the man staring down at him, gaze intent and a tiny smile cresting his lips, telling him to go to bed before the others woke. What a sight.
“I think so,” Watt said, realizing he’d been staring at his companion for far too long without answering. “Thank you, for uh—” He coughed. “For talking to me. Did you? Get enough sleep?”
“Of course.” Cornelius chuckled softly.
They smoked tobacco and drank their canteens dry, then refilled them with iodine treated water from the river.
Cornelius took pictures of Ant?nio by the river and spoke quietly with the man in Portuguese.
Watt wandered nearby, pleased when he found several unique looking stones that he tucked into his pocket for later.
It was a running joke among the others at this point, that Watt was carrying more rocks than gear, but he really wasn't. He limited himself to a dozen, trading out the small rocks with more interesting ones as needed. His eyes wandered, too, glancing over at Cornelius every now and then, unable to stop thinking about their conversation last night. He’d revealed his greatest secret, and Cornelius had easily accepted it.
Him. Watt wasn’t sure why he’d thought Cornelius would do otherwise.
Not because of his own nature, but because Cornelius had a heart. A good one.
It all had Watt rattled. Unsettled. He couldn’t help but read his companion's every move and expression, certain that Severino and Ant?nio had overheard their conversation, or that Cornelius was looking at him differently. That last part may not have been all paranoia.
Cornelius had said he’d had a crush on Watt …
well, Watt from his youth, anyhow. Watt was not anywhere near the same person he was all that time ago, physically or otherwise.
Too much had changed, broken. So Watt convinced himself that the look in Cornelius’ eyes this morning was not interest. In fact, he convinced himself that there was no look at all. He was overthinking.
Watt joined Severino who was keeping the mules and Maggie company.
She was eager to continue on their journey, she’d crossed the river twice without complaint and still had enough leftover stamina for days, but settled for attention instead.
He wasn't sure how the old girl did it, and a pang of guilt hit him.
She should be in retirement lazing about their apartment, not laboring through the wilderness.
“Traidor.” Severino laughed when she managed to tug a stick out of his hands and dutifully delivered it to Watt when he approached.
Watt chuckled softly and tossed the stick into a patch of reddish brown dirt not far off. When he turned his attention back to Severino, he caught the man staring at his hand. Watt flexed his fingers and said, “Are we ready to go?”
Severino nodded, smoothly taking the hint. Man was too damn curious for his own good. “I am if you are. Or do you have more pebbles to fetch?”
Watt grumbled in response, unable to keep a smile from his lips.
They traversed through sparse grasslands which gave way to thickening trees at a steady pace, talking little.
Cornelius couldn’t remember the last time he felt so exhausted.
His body ached, and his mind was heavy. His mount seemed equally tired after the crossing, and Cornelius still felt bad for falling and clutching to her like he did.
Embarrassed, too. His companions hadn’t any trouble crossing, and if they suffered beneath the strain of their trip they didn't outwardly show it.
He did his best to keep his mind off his body, which worked out fine as he kept thinking about Watt’s body instead.
But not in the way he would’ve liked to be thinking about it.
No, he was thinking about the bullet wound on either side of his right shoulder.
He hadn't known that Watt had been shot.
And then there were the scars on the backs of his hands.
The missing tip of his left pinky finger, an injury Cornelius assumed occurred during war time.
What happened to him during those days lost in the woods?
What he kept coming back to were the metal, circular tags hanging around his throat.
He wanted to know why Watt still wore them, were they his own or Frederick's?
Was he still in love with a dead man? Cornelius could believe it, Watt had a deep heart with enough love to fill the ocean.
He bet the man was a romantic. And to lose someone so tragically, well.
Nothing could beat a love story like that.
They arrived at the Sim?es Lopes Post by mid afternoon, covered in sweat and assaulted by insects.
This part of the country was cerrado, dry prairie land.
The Post was well organized with government buildings and the staff needed to run them, and fit with a local for the missionaries from the South American Indian Mission.
They dismounted and met with the missionaries and the agent of the Indian Protective Services, all were friendly and welcoming.
The men of God made Cornelius’ skin crawl, but he did his best to be grateful and polite.
Afterwards, they were brought to the neighboring Bacairy Village itself.
Cornelius noticed a large building that seemed reminiscent of a warehouse.
When he asked about it, the IPS agent explained that it was indeed a warehouse.
All the posts serving Indigenous peoples were being pushed to be self-sufficient, and as such they grew their own rice, corn, cane, and other crops on reservation land.
“And is any of it sold in the cities?” Watt asked, which surprised the agent.
The agent said, “Well, yes. It is a good way to support the post financially, especially when our residents are so hard working and bring in such yields that it is far beyond what we can consume here.”
“I see,” Watt said, and it sounded like he didn’t see at all.
The agent picked up on this as well and quickly added, “It is our mission here to give the natives the isolation and privacy they desire, and any support they may need. This area is quickly becoming settled, as I’m sure you saw on your way in.
And not just by the get rich quick sort of folk, but people who are here to stay.
It is imperative that the people here have a way to … bridge the gap, so to speak.”
Cornelius opened his mouth, but Watt discreetly pinched the back of his arm. Cornelius nearly decked him. What the hell did Watt know about how wrong this was, and what gave him the right to shut Cornelius up?
Instead of hitting Watt, he scowled and rubbed at his arm.