He Knows #2
They were confronted with a large, elevated dirt area surrounded by grass and fence.
The soil was packed down between great square clay buildings thatched with palm leaves, and gallery forests waited in the distance beyond the fencing.
A small cattle herd was also visible in the distance on the cerrado, another puzzle piece that did not fit.
According to von den Steinen, the Xinguano Bacairy were fishermen that relied on the rivers, and grew their own food.
Perhaps this was more of that self sufficiency the agent spoke of.
The Bacairy lived in four different villages on the reservation allocated to them, and this village beheld many people of the Xinguano sort, although there were some families from other villages as well.
The Headman and many of the local families greeted them.
They had dark brown skin and black hair that was cut in blunt styles.
Most of them wore clothing of the khaki variety, and their houses looked entirely different than in the photographs he’d seen thus far.
Doing his best not to glare at the men of organized religion, Cornelius noted more people were acculturated than he thought would be.
Perhaps Ant?nio was not so much of an outlier as he'd originally thought.
Severino did most of the talking, acting as lead man of their group.
He was well known and respected here, which made sense since he frequently stopped on his way to the site.
All the children were taught Portuguese at the relatively new schoolhouse and some of the older people were familiar with it, but Severino mostly spoke to them in Bacairí, a fact that wrinkled the noses of the missionaries.
Cornelius and Watt introduced themselves, using the limited Bacairí they knew thus far.
Ant?nio stayed with their group as they were taken to a building known as the men’s house, which would be their shelter for the next few days, and their mules were brought to a grazing area separate from the cattle.
Cornelius hoped his steed would enjoy the reprieve.
The mules hadn’t lost much for weight, but they also hadn’t gone far in the grand scheme of things.
The men’s house would not be solely theirs, but shared among the men of the village.
They piled their belongings in a corner, then sat with the agent, headman, missionaries, and other male members of the village at the center of the building.
Cornelius sat between Watt and Severino, and he felt strangely pleased that Ant?nio sat on other side of Watt.
The Headman asked a question in Bacairí, and Severino relayed it to Watt and Cornelius. “What is your purpose for visiting?”
Watt looked at Cornelius, and after a pause Cornelius picked up the question. He said, “We are passing through, on our way to an archaeological site in the north. With Severino.”
The Headman considered this, his wizened gaze shifting between Severino, Watt, and Cornelius.
He’d been aged in the sort of way that meant he could’ve been fifty or seventy, his brown skin wrinkled in deep creases around his eyes and mouth, even his nose.
When he spoke, Cornelius caught a glimpse of teeth yellowed by time and use, and the uppers were filed to points.
The Headman exclaimed a string of words, and this time it was directed at Severino.
The two held a fast paced conversation, and Cornelius recognized his and Watt’s names, but no more.
The Headman gestured to Ant?nio, who inhaled sharply but said nothing.
Severino shook his head, and it was clear the conversation had devolved into a disagreement.
“What’s wrong?” Cornelius asked.
“He believes you are imposters,” Severino said, looking between Watt and Cornelius.
Cornelius swallowed. It was the truth, wasn’t it?
“What did he say about Ant?nio?” Watt asked.
Severino flicked a cool look to the young man in question. Ant?nio was stiff as a board, discomfort evident in every taut muscle. His face though, was blank. “He wants Ant?nio to travel with us.”
“To keep an eye on us,” Cornelius clarified.
“Yes,” Severino said. “But also, Ant?nio has shown great promise and they have been trying to send him to university for some time. But he does not want to leave. It is their hope that Ant?nio may change his mind after working with us.”
That surprised Cornelius. He quietly asked, “So … what? We’re to take him on as an unofficial intern and spy?”
“Cornelius,” Watt muttered.
“I am no spy,” Ant?nio spat in English, and his expression cracked. Cornelius’ cheeks heated.
“You are our friend,” Watt said. “No one is saying otherwise.”
Ant?nio shook his head and said nothing, but the damage was done. Cornelius rubbed at his temple, nausea and guilt stirring in his gut. He desperately wanted a joint.
“Okay,” he said. “Yes. We would be honored if Ant?nio accompanied us.”
This pleased the Headman, and so they ate.
Cornelius’ group shared their remaining xarque, condensed milk, and beans with their new friends, who in turn fed them sweet potatoes, yams, squash, peanuts, and fish.
Severino would later explain that fish was now considered special in the village, for there was now a lack of fish in the portion of the Paranatinga they lived on.
It was a great feast, but each man sat with their backs turned to their companions.
To do otherwise would bring about great shame to the person.
Afterwards, they smoked tobacco grown by their hosts.
It was unlike anything Cornelius had ever smoked before, making his head spin and body soften like the first time he ever tried the stuff.
It was after Watt had been banished from Cornelius’ life, and before he had accepted his departure.
He'd smoked Papa’s pipe, believing he’d gotten away with it until later on that day.
Papa chastised him for not only smoking, but not being clever enough to change his clothes to get rid of the smell.
Hells, he missed him. The sudden force of his aching struck him like a splitting maul to the heart, and he desperately wanted to be held by his Papa again.
But that time had come and gone, and he was alone.
In Portuguese, Severino told a story within a story.
Ant?nio spoke quietly to the Headman, translating the words he didn’t understand.
“Jacobina, a man who preferred to stay out of arguments and debates whenever possible, was challenged by four friends of his, their own opinions divided cleanly in two.
The debate was this; what is the nature of a human soul?
He tells them he has a story to prove his theory, that humans have not one soul, but two.
One looking from the inside outward, and the other outside in.
He told them of a story of when he was a younger man, a freshly appointed ensign with a uniform to match his position.
He was treated so differently, addressed no longer in familiar but serious tones.
His aunt, enamored with his status, ordered a large looking glass for his room.
It was ornate and old, but finely made. His furnishings were modest, but he could not sway her otherwise.
“A transformation took hold, the ensign did away with the man, the external soul shifting as his world did. Three weeks thereafter, his cousin fell ill and he was tasked with managing the farm while his aunt tended to her. The man was left alone, save for servants who spoke little to him, then abandoned him in the night. He thought to leave and tell his aunt, but he could not abandon his responsibilities, so he stayed. His mind unraveled, and he began to ask questions, the kind that pulled at your heart, uprooting thought and reason. He wondered; do I exist if there is no one to perceive me? What is my purpose? He had avoided gazing upon his reflection in the looking glass, but after a week of eating bland food and reciting poems and otherwise, his frayed mind caught distorted features blurred and devoid of color, missing lines. And so, with madness driving him, he put on his uniform and faced the glass straight on before leaving, unable to take the solitude any longer. And then, he found it.”
“Que?” Watt asked, eyes kindling with … Cornelius wasn’t sure, but he thought perhaps it was … hope?
“Himself, the ensign, and the man. For the next six days, no matter what, he would put on his uniform and stand in front of the mirror. He would exist as the way others saw himself, if only for a few minutes a day. But that’s all it took to keep the madness away, and his outer soul was satisfied.
” Severino spread his hands and smiled, his warm eyes around the room, pausing briefly on Cornelius before continuing.
“The story, of course, had stirred up Jacobina's friends and upended the debate, but he took advantage of the chaos to slip away.”
A chill tracked down Cornelius’ spine, and he nearly shivered despite the humid heat trapped within the building.
‘He knows,’ Cornelius thought with a certainty that went down to his very bones.