Pretty Snake
The days were long, and tempers shortened as each one passed.
One moment everything would be fine, and the next someone was at someone else’s throat.
Even Watt had that urge beneath his skin now, begging him to do something brash.
Scream at the sky, or claw at the dirt with his hands.
Throw Cornelius down for a good fight, or something like that.
After they'd traded cerrado for jungle, the vegetation thickened and trails thinned.
Trails that after a couple of days only Severino recognized, for even Ant?nio was in unfamiliar land now.
Severino kept getting too far ahead, and he apologized each time for leaving them behind, but he was clearly getting frustrated.
It was subtle, hiding in the pinched lines around his mouth every time he looked back.
The closer they got, the more anxious he became.
What was he so hard pressed to reach? The site wasn't going anywhere, and they were making good time, all things considered.
Cornelius’ own frustration was not as subtle.
He cursed Severino out, never to his face but none too quietly either as they attempted to keep pace with their guide.
He picked fights with Ant?nio every time the young man offered his help, which was often as Cornelius struggled with the terrain.
Every once in a while, however, Cornelius relented with a mighty grumble.
He never accepted Watt's offers for help or to take a break, which resulted in Watt snapping back at him a few times. Cornelius never argued otherwise when Watt called him a stubborn jackass, though. Watt wanted to know Ant?nio’s secrets, but was ultimately glad that Cornelius accepted help from someone. Even if that person wasn’t him.
Two weeks after they left Dead Horse Camp, Watt got his chance to satisfy that urge of his calling for trouble.
“It is not safe,” Severino said, slicing a hand through the air. “We are in—”
“I am well aware where we are, Severino, and if I wanted to go trekking a few leagues into Morcegos country I’d agree with you.
But I’m only going right over there. I’ll be fine,” Cornelius said, using that placid tone of his which sharpened even the nicest of words into daggers.
He had a sack of clothes under his arm, his cane at hand, and a very noticeable .
38 tucked into his trousers. That poor cane had been to hell and back, but still held strong.
“I will keep watch,” Ant?nio offered.
Cornelius shot him a look. “Absolutely not.”
Watt choked on the smoke curling in his lungs, and he wasn’t even the recipient of that glare.
His lungs had been protesting for weeks now, all the cigarettes and pipe tobacco was taking its toll on his damaged lungs.
His frayed nerves needed something, though.
Cornelius hadn't smoked any cannabis for weeks, maybe it was gone for all Watt knew, and he and his companions were dry.
A feature that most adventuring parties didn't share and Watt hadn't cared much about it 'till now. He could go for a drink, or two.
Ant?nio didn’t choke, but he did wither, shoulders curving inwards ever so slightly. He readjusted his hat and walked away, grumbling as he did so.
Severino swelled, a finger raised in Cornelius' direction. “You are—”
Cornelius did not give Severino the satisfaction of finishing his sentence.
He stalked off, disappearing between the nearby trees.
Watt blinked when he saw Maggie close at the man’s heels.
Cornelius frowned down at her, then glanced back at Watt.
He hesitated, then continued onwards. They'd settled into a sort of clearing surrounded by hills, vegetation had to be cleared away to make room for their hammocks and gear.
It all felt claustrophobic, and Watt fretted for several moments before turning away and joining Ant?nio near their hammocks.
There was no fire tonight, and the evening was especially cold.
To reach the site they had to pass between multiple hostile tribes, the same ones theorized to have taken Fawcett captive.
Needless to say Severino and Ant?nio were on edge, likely Cornelius too.
Severino came up behind them, running a hand through his dark hair that had grown lengthy with time. He shook his head. “He doesn’t make things easy, does he?”
Watt turned on his heel, hands balled into fists and feet settling into the proper stance.
Severino put up his hands.
Neither of them spoke, but an entire conversation took place across the small distance between them. It was spoken with shifting weight, tightening fingers, creasing wrinkles.
‘Leave it alone, Severino.’
‘You know I’m right, Watt. He’s got a death wish, and you know it. He's going to get us all hurt because of it.'
Watt took a step closer. He didn’t want to hear it.
“Who’s taking the first watch?” Cornelius asked. He stood a little ways behind Severino with Maggie by his side, his chin thrust defiantly into the air. As if somehow he’d heard the entire thing, and dared them to question his sanity aloud.
Severino turned, and the genuine relief that overcame his shoulders soothed the anger flaring in Watt’s chest. Cornelius noticed the way Severino sagged, and the fight seemed to go out of him too.
Cornelius rubbed a hand over his face, dislodging his glasses.
He said, “Look, I’m sorry. I just needed to …
” Cornelius’ face reddened, and Watt wondered if it was from the way he rubbed at his face, or something else.
What had Cornelius been doing in the few minutes he had alone if not changing or relieving himself?
The knuckles of Cornelius’ right hand whitened, his nails digging into the sack of clothes tucked against his side. Watt’s heart leapt to his throat, and when he spoke his voice was thick. “Let’s all just start over, okay?”
Cornelius looked at him strangely, but Severino was already nodding. “Okay,” he said, then patted Cornelius gently on the shoulder. “Okay.”
They ate a cold dinner of dried out peccary and beans, and Watt gave Maggie the last can of Ken-L ration he had.
From now on, they'd be sharing meals. Cornelius took the first watch, same as he usually did. Watt readied himself for the night, distracted by the sound of Cornelius rinsing his hands using his canteen. He fought a strange urge to turn around and watch the blood clinging to the man’s fingertips rinse into the dirt and grass.
It stirred a part of him he didn’t understand, and as with most things of that nature, he locked that curiosity deep within his heart, and threw away the key.
The next morning, Watt woke with a gentle nudge to the ribs. He flinched awake, reaching for his knife. A hand settled on his hammock to keep him from flipping, and Cornelius muttered, “Oh, fuck off,” which settled Watt.
“What's wrong?” Watt asked blearily, rubbing at his eyes.
A small weight fell onto Watt's stomach and he immediately sat upwards, eyes flashing open.
Cornelius held fast to his hammock so he didn't tip, fully dressed in a less dirty change of clothes, his combed hair damp and slightly tame.
He stood over Watt and gave him a quick, tight smile.
“Happy Birthday. Don't take too long, o patr?o wants to get going.”
A laugh disguised as protest emerged from somewhere behind Cornelius, and then Severino poked his head around Cornelius.
“Do I get no credit for letting him sleep in for twenty minutes?” Severino grinned at Watt, bright eyed despite the fact the sun was barely above the horizon.
“Feliz Aniversário, Watt.” He stepped around Cornelius and dropped a stone with a thin middle which smoothly tapered to thick edges, the shape impossible.
He tugged at Watt's ear, then went on his way to wake Ant?nio before Watt could say thank you.
Cornelius rolled his eyes, but gave Watt another smile that was less tense this time.
“Thank you,” Watt said, his voice hoarse from sleep and emotion. He placed a hand over the gift, holding it against his sternum. "You didn't have to give me anything."
Cornelius contemplated him, then quietly said, “I know.” He turned away to start packing his things, leaving Watt with the mysterious package on his chest. He rubbed at the grit, or more likely bugs, irritating his eyes. Maggie stretched on the ground beside him, sniffing upwards curiously.
“Hey, girl. No, this is for me, not you,” Watt murmured, reaching down to give her good morning pets.
Maggie licked his face, and he chuckled.
Watt meticulously untied a length of twine which secured roughly folded paper flaps, wondering when Cornelius had the time to do this.
His pulse pounded in his throat, and he willed it to calm down.
He was thirty three years old now, too old to be excited over something like a present.
It wasn't often someone remembered his birthday, let alone gave him a gift.
The last time anyone had made a big deal about it was in the barracks, and most of those men were gone now.
It had been an exhilarating feeling, to be celebrated.
To be known. And at that age, he knew himself too, or thought he did.
But he wouldn't want to be twenty one again.
He'd rather be thirty one, as bad as those years were, sweating and aching and finding out who he truly was, what he truly believed in.
Watt's breath caught when he found nestled within the thick brown paper a few vague rectangular shapes wrapped in thin and delicate golden yellow tissue paper.
Shoestring leather was tied around the belly of each object to keep the tissue paper in place, and a small blank white card was tucked beneath the brown cord of the largest object.
Watt withdrew the card and flipped it over, revealing Cornelius' handwriting.