A Hunter #2
Watt stilled, allowing the first thought that came to mind to pass. He said, “When I was small, with my father. Ahh, pai. It is not the same.”
“How?”
“It is…” Watt searched for the word staged in Portuguese, but he couldn’t find it. “Falso. If you don't shoot anything, it is okay. Here, now, it is important.”
“Hmm.” Ant?nio returned, frowning. They went back to work, and all the while, Watt did his best not to think of the thing he’d hunted most in his life.
Other humans.
On the one hand, Cornelius was incredibly grateful for the tender white meat roasting over the fire. And on the other hand, well. He wanted nothing more than to swat Watt Johnson over the back of the head.
“You’re absolutely covered,” Cornelius fumed. He gestured to Ant?nio. “Look at him. He’s got barely a spot on him.”
Ant?nio grinned. He'd changed into clean clothes shortly after turning over the peccary to Cornelius and Severino to prepare.
Meanwhile, Watt had sat nearby and helped them in his own way, which was mostly just a lot of sitting and staring.
His eyes were glassy, and his skin pale.
Maggie had hardly left her post, laying at his feet with her head on his boot.
They were covered in mud and probably blood, but she didn't care.
Watt sighed. “It’s just blood, it’ll dry."
Cornelius’ eye twitched. He said, “You’re not sleeping in bloody clothes. Get changed, now.”
Severino covered his mouth with a hand, stifling laughter. Muffled, he said, “He has spoken, and so it will be done.”
Watt’s cheeks flushed red, and Cornelius almost felt bad. Almost.
“Fine,” Watt muttered, then stalked off to his hammock and pack with Maggie right behind him.
None of the men had serious qualms about modesty, but none of them ever went fully nude in the presence of another either.
Cornelius was the exception, as he always dressed and bathed in private.
There'd been a few times after river crossings that had been close calls, but Cornelius was quicker than most when changing.
Nearly as fast as Watt, who Cornelius guessed felt insecure about his scars.
Cornelius watched the fire, glancing at Watt every now and then as he stripped down to his boxer shorts.
His boxers weren’t much different than Cornelius’ own, colorful pinstripes and everything.
But Watt filled them out much better than Cornelius did, and the sight of Watt tugging on pants and hopping into them a little had Cornelius instantly regretting his earlier demands.
Dear Lord. He’d started to pull his gaze back to the fire when Watt stretched his arms overhead to tug on a shirt, revealing an angry swollen area in his armpit.
Cornelius stood and made it all the way over to Watt before a single thought could occur.
Watt raised a brow at his unsteady approach, but didn't stop tucking his loose shirt into his trousers. Cornelius’ fingers skated beneath the fabric, tugging the shirt upwards a fluid motion.
Watt's eyes went wide and he inhaled sharply, which resulted in a low whine from Maggie. He started to pull away, but stopped when Cornelius said, “You’re hurt.”
“It’s just a bite,” Watt said, indignant. He half-heartedly tried to pull away again, but Cornelius lost his footing and pain lanced up his leg. He shot Watt a withering look. Abashed, he said, “I'm sorry, but I can take care of myself, you know.”
Perhaps it had been a bite at one point, but now it was a festering wound. Circular and smaller than the palm of his hand, but hard and highly inflamed. “Clearly not. It’s infected, Watt. How long has it been like this?" Cornelius hissed, inspecting the surrounding area.
“D’know,” Watt said defensively. “A few days?”
“Watt,” Cornelius glared at him. “Doesn't it hurt?”
“It’s a bug bite, Cornelius. It's infected. I've been keeping it clean, that's all that can be done for it. It's nothing compared to …” Watt trailed off, and his cheeks flushed. He swallowed, looking away from Cornelius. “It's fine.”
Cornelius sighed. According to more than half the stories about the Fawcett group, that’s all it took to kill Raleigh, a bug bite gone wrong. True or not, it wouldn’t happen to Watt, not on his watch. “Come on over by the fire so I can get a better look at you.”
“Cornelius, I—”
“Please?”
Watt stared down at him, his body rigid beneath Cornelius’ lingering touch on his side.
He barely seemed to be breathing, and Cornelius wondered if he should pull back.
Watt’s eyes were dark this evening, and his jaw set tight.
He searched Cornelius' face for some great epiphany it seemed, but none came. Finally he said, “Okay.”
Maggie escorted Watt back to the fire with the others while Cornelius obtained the first aid kit.
Watt sat cross-legged opposite the fire from Severino and Ant?nio.
Crackling light flickered across his tanned skin, highlighting the dark blond hair that clouded over his muscled chest, thick stomach, and even a little on his back, where ribs met spine.
The hair looked coarser than it was on his arms, and Cornelius wanted to find out for himself if it was.
Instead, he knelt beside Watt, and he could feel Severino and Ant?nio watching as he began to flush the wound with first hot but not boiling water, then iodine.
His skin was hot to the touch and flushed red, taut with swelling despite the slight drainage from where he must’ve been bit.
Cornelius bet anything it’d been one of those garapata ticks that had swarmed them.
Hells, that had been ages ago. Was the head still embedded?
It was quiet for some time, in a sense. There was the neighboring forest and the soft whisper of grass tousled by the crisp night air, the occasional pop in the cinders or sizzle of grease upon fire.
Cornelius leaned back and considered the wound once it was cleaned, debating whether to pack it or not.
He could fit the tip of his finger in there, and it probably wouldn’t hurt to put some gauze in.
But he hadn’t found the head of the tick, and that worried him. Had it gone deeper, or fallen off?
Watt’s eyes flicked to his, his crow's feet were pinched with pain.
“Sorry,” Cornelius muttered. “Almost done.”
“It's fine.” Watt smiled tightly. “Good thing your first aid skills are still impeccable.”
Cornelius chuckled. “Growing up with a litter of brothers will do that to you.”
“What is your story?” Severino asked, gesturing between them. Ant?nio was checking the meat, but it was clear he was listening as well.
Watt glanced over his shoulder at Cornelius, waiting for him to give a version of their story that fit best. But in that moment Cornelius was very tired of stories, and he wanted nothing more than to deal in truths.
He decided not to pack the wound, but he did cover the area with gauze and a bandage.
He distracted himself from the feel of Watt’s tanned skin beneath his fingertips by dredging up old memories.
In English, allowing Severino to translate his story for Ant?nio, he said, “When we were children, his family visited the place I lived during the summer, when it is most beautiful. We met at the local ice cream shop, and I tagged along when my brothers offered to give him a tour of town. I was always following Jimmy around, even if I wasn’t supposed to be, and it only got worse when this one showed up. ”
Watt smiled. “We never minded.”
“This is true.”
“Why not?” Ant?nio asked in Portuguese. “Why not follow your brother around?”
Loathe to do so, Cornelius bid Watt to put his shirt back on.
He ached to light up, but he didn't. He sat down beside Watt so he was facing Ant?nio and Severino properly. Cornelius told his story in English, his brain unable to come up with Portuguese words for most of what he wanted to say. “It wasn’t the done thing, girls playing with boys, running around town and getting into trouble. Papa could convince Mama to turn the other cheek most of the time, but when the ritzy types came into town it always put her into a mood.”
Cornelius finished a little breathlessly.
Although Severino already knew, it was still terrifying.
And he didn't know how Ant?nio would react, who Cornelius respected greatly.
Watt's elbow brushed against Cornelius', but he didn’t mind. In fact, he wanted to lean against Watt’s arm and stay there awhile.
Brows furrowed, Ant?nio said in English, “You are not a girl.”
“My body is. Not my heart.”
“Oh.” Ant?nio's face creased with concentration as he mulled it over. Severino glanced between Ant?nio and Cornelius, looking slightly bemused. It must’ve been nice to feel so lighthearted, and not like your gut was in your throat.
Maybe he shouldn’t have said anything. Maybe this was a mistake.
Watt pressed his knee against Cornelius’, and in response he flashed Watt a quick, nervous grimace.
“What happened next?” Ant?nio asked.
A sigh of relief escaped Cornelius, and so did the rest of the story. They had been friends, meeting up every summer when the Johnsons came to town. They'd taught Watt how to be a kid, that much he was sure of. But during the tail end of that last summer, Watt fell ill.
Cornelius had kept him company, and when it looked like he might not pull through, he changed his body to match his heart, and went to tell Watt the truth.
It had started to storm, but Cornelius didn't care.
Watt had to know who he was before he died.
He came in through the same window he always did, and told a delirious Watt everything.
But Callum Johnson had been on the other side of Watt's door, listening to everything.
Waiting for the perfect moment to strike, Cornelius had thought.
He'd taken Cornelius by the arm and dragged him away from his friend, from shelter.
When he threw Cornelius outside, he dislocated his shoulder.
Cornelius screamed, but it had been nothing compared to Callum's furious roar, banishing him from his property, from Watt, from everything that mattered.
Then he'd shut the door in Cornelius' face, locking him out in the rain.
He'd made it home hours later, drenched and shivering, both from the pain and the cold.
He hadn't even seen his parents or siblings yet dressed as he was, hair sheared, but they didn't care.
The confrontation between Callum and Papa was one that occurred while he'd been sleeping, but Jimmy had described it to him in great detail.
After a heated exchange, Papa had knocked Callum to the ground with a single hit, sending blood spraying everywhere.
He came home, told Cornelius he was banned from the Johnsons' property, and that was the last Cornelius had heard of the Johnsons for ages.
Anything he heard about them was gossip or news he sought out.
The loss of contact continued until early this year.
Severino did not know this part, or if he did Cornelius had not told him.
Cornelius did not tell them about the lost letters between them, or the feelings he harbored for Watt.
He had a sense Severino knew the way he cared for Watt went beyond the care of a friend, but then again Severino often smiled like he knew all the secrets of the world.
After it was all said and done, Cornelius’ chest hurt from the bombardment of cigarettes and truth, and his head was light from the release in pressure.
He couldn’t get a clear read on Ant?nio, the man was as serious as a stone.
Eventually, he asked in Portuguese, “So what you are. That is not normal.” Ant?nio shook his head. “No. Accepted.”
Cornelius exhaled shakily. In kind, he said, “Not generally, no.”
“Then why tell me?”
“You asked. And I wanted you to know that I—we—think of you as kago?ro.”
A stricken look crossed Ant?nio’s face, fleeting and sudden but there all the same. “You said I was a spy.”
Cornelius shook his head. “I was wrong to say that, and I want you to know I do trust you. And I’m glad you came with us.
We both are.” Cornelius glanced at Watt, who nodded.
Ant?nio studied them both for a long moment, then swallowed and looked away.
He pushed himself up to standing, and excused himself in favor of hiding away in his hammock.
Cornelius looked at Severino, who simply waved a dismissive hand. He whispered, “Give him time to think. He will come back for food.”
Cornelius’ gut clenched. Sometimes, there wasn’t enough time.
Sometimes, certain things couldn’t wait.
And the thing was, he’d said what he needed to Ant?nio, something he should’ve said long before this.
But at this point, it felt futile. He wasn't sure why he craved Ant?nio's respect so much, but he did.
Watt sighed, long and explosive. He was smoking from his pipe, staring up at the sky with a rough pebble rolling between the fingers of his free hand. Unbidden, Cornelius' hand drifted to rest over the stone in his own pocket.
“We don’t have much time left,” Watt said, and Cornelius wondered at how the man could read his mind.