The Voice of Wild Places, page 33
“You're not serious,” Watt said. “Cornelius, you are one of the most competent men I know, and I respect you greatly. You have proven yourself over time and time again, and I love you as are. Even when you're being a bull headed prick.”
Cornelius glared at him, but said nothing. Then his eyes widened, and his lips parted. “What'd you say?”
“That you're a bullheaded prick?”
“That you love me.”
Watt's heart skipped. “Well yes, I suppose I did. I … I thought it was rather obvious.”
“Oh.” Cornelius lifted his chin, and Watt obliged him with a tender, soft kiss.
Abruptly, he was struck by an idea and abandoned Cornelius and searched out his pack. Cornelius watched, confused until Watt settled back down beside him, closer this time. “I've been meaning to show you this.” He turned his sketchpad round to show off what he'd been working on. Light pencil sketch work laid down the foundation of their endeavor at the top of the waterfall. The perspective was of the sun, and the light work made the waterfall sparkle and their faces nearly too bright to see. The island was stark with massive breadths of water on either side of it, spilling over the edge and down, down.
Not into the river Cornelius had dove into, but a cloud of murky water that spilled down onto the corner and the next page. Cornelius reached to turn the page, then hesitated to capture the rest of the details, his finger hovering over where his eyes tracked. Namely, Watt's vague figure on the side of the river with arms reaching, a blur of black and brown color that was Maggie careening down the cliff side, and the kaleidoscope of blue morphos with Cornelius at their center. His expression was hard to read, but the posture of his body was calm, the dive perfect and confident like a kingfisher.
Cornelius was quiet for so long that Watt glanced at the painting, at him, then shut the sketchpad with an abashed expression. He'd meant to show Cornelius how much that moment had meant to him, how breathtaking and brave Cornelius was. Cornelius blinked a few times to clear his eyes and said, “It's beautiful, Watt. I—I've never seen myself like that before. Do you think I could have it?”
Watt nodded quickly. “Yes, of course. I made it for you.”
“Oh, Watt.” Cornelius rubbed a hand over his face. “What's a fella to do when you're being so sweet?”
Watt grinned, and maybe puffed out his chest a little bit. “Heal. Get better.”
Cornelius laughed, but sobered only a few moments later. God, Watt hated that his smiles kept dissolving into worry. Cornelius said, “You need to get better too. We both do.”
“Yeah.” Watt swallowed, casting a look around outside their shelter. “There doesn't seem to be anyone nearby, if there are locals they've been leaving us alone. Between the fish and the fruit, I think we can stay here for a little while. Try to regain our strength, build up our supplies, your bones can heal. Then what?”
Cornelius shrugged. Watt stared.
“What?” Cornelius asked, nonplussed.
“I—you—well. You're the plans man. I figured you had a plan.”
Cornelius laughed. He said, “Haven't you learned yet, Watt? Make plans and the Amazon laughs, God laughs, if you will. Let's just focus on making it through the next few days.”
“It's going to be at least a couple of weeks before you're up for heavy travel.” Watt hedged.
Cornelius sighed. “Let's eat, this is too much on an empty stomach.”
Watt's own stomach growled in agreement. Cornelius insisted he could walk over to the fire pit on his own, and he did with Watt's help to stand and take the weight of his bad leg. Cornelius lowered himself to the ground with a grunt, and Watt fretted the entire time. He arranged their breakfast, and pride warmed his chest when Cornelius began to eat. Watt sat beside him and did the same, albeit at a slower pace. After a short time, Cornelius lifted a shoulder and took a bite of a particularly large jabuticaba globe. “Alright, couple of weeks then.”
He chewed slowly, and juice dribbled out of the corner of his lip. He studied the inner white flesh, turning the purple skinned fruit this way and that. A distant rumble caught both their attention, and introduced a nasty grey sky in the distance. “You know,” Cornelius began dramatically. “I'm willing to bet we're in the rainy season now. So don't feel bad, I thought my adventure had only taken a couple weeks, not entire months.”
Watt gave him a long suffering look. “There's no way we lost that much time. We'd be dead.”
Cornelius waved a hand carelessly. “Maybe we are.”
“That's not funny.”
“Well something funny is happening!” Cornelius announced grandly, then popped the rest of the fruit into his mouth. “Might as well enjoy it.” He moved on from the fruit to the fish, and a pleased noise escaped him. Cornelius ate his breakfast with a renewed vigor, and Watt just stared at him.
Cornelius grinned. “What?”
“Maybe you still have a concussion.”
Cornelius laughed. “Or maybe I'm done trying to fight my destiny.”
Watt flushed. “You're going to milk that, aren't you?”
“I can—never mind. Dear, this pacu is amazing.” Cornelius teased. “Come on, eat. Enjoy the outside while you can, I have a feeling we're going to be grounded for awhile.”
Watt sighed, and allowed himself to fall into the lie. Everything would be fine, as long as they pretended.
Cornelius might have been losing his mind. But for once, he didn't mind. Funny, that.
The rest of the day, and night, was absolutely miserable. After eating they had picked up, with Watt doing most of the work, and retreated to the lean-to. It was well built considering the time and resources that Watt had available to him, but the storm that moved in on them was of biblical proportions. The fronds could only divert so much water, and the framework of the limbs shuddered beneath the howling gusts of wind.
Watt lay closest to the entrance, which he had barricaded from the inside with brush and more fronds. He took the brunt of the elements that penetrated every weak point of their shelter, and Cornelius lay between him and Maggie. She faced the wall, her back against Cornelius' side. Nearly every position hurt, and while laying on his back hurt the least, it was hard to see Watt's face.
Watt lay curled beside him, careful as can be. While they were so close, there was also a great distance between them. Watt was so afraid of hurting Cornelius, that he had hardly touched him at all. It was irritating, the only true injuries Cornelius had were his possibly broken ankle and ribs. And his recently dislocated shoulder was back in place, it just hurt like hell. The concussion had to be long gone by now too, the headache he fought was likely from his weakened state.
Between the weather, his pain and anxieties, Cornelius slept fitfully on and off throughout the night. He couldn't even soothe himself by stone, as it had been lost to the river and he didn't have the heart to tell Watt or find a new one himself. By the time the storm cleared off, he was exhausted. He didn't want to get up, and wouldn't have it wasn't for Watt's insistence. Watt offered to carry Cornelius to the river to wash and relieve himself like he'd done yesterday. Unlike yesterday, the water was a raging beast. It had climbed the pebbled shoreline, and was not far off from their camp.
“I can piss on my own, thank you,” Cornelius said, pushing Watt's offered hand away. Watt gave him a look, and Cornelius scowled. “Been dealing with a bum leg for most of my life, I'll be fine.”
Watt rolled his eyes. And not in a subtle way, either. Cornelius opened his mouth, but Watt held up a finger. “Fine. But hold on one minute.”
Cornelius was too shocked to do anything else. Watt usually did as Cornelius said, and his attitude was … disconcerting. Cornelius leaned heavily on the tree Watt had built their shelter against, listening to his companion blunder through the jungle. Everything still hurt, but being upright gave the mind a certain boost. Maggie's back arched as she stretched at Cornelius' side, tongue lolling as her jaw widened. When Watt returned, her tail began to wag and she rubbed against his leg. Oh, to be as easily pleased as a dog.
Watt held a branch in his hands, about the same length as his cane but much wider around. The bark had been freshly peeled, exposing the creamy green flesh beneath. One end was narrower than the other, but substantial enough it wouldn't snap off. Watt offered it to Cornelius and said, “It's not quite right, but it'll give you something to lean on.”
Cornelius swallowed, wrapping his fingers around the makeshift cane. It was cool to the touch. For a moment they both held it, staring at the other. Cornelius pulled hard, yanking Watt down to his level, then darted forward to lay a deep kiss on his lips. Watt still wasn't close enough, so Cornelius bit Watt's bottom lip and pulled. Watt made a noise in the pack of his throat, the echo of a whimper, and came willingly.
“Encontrei-os! Aqui! Aqui!”
Cornelius startled out of the kiss, flipping his grip on the cane in preparation to wield it like a bat. Watt stepped in front of Cornelius, reaching for the gun tucked into his waistband. Maggie barked twice, then took off for the shoreline at a dead run. Cornelius squinted, trying to make sense of the distant pebbled shoreline, rushing water, trees, and a … a man?
“Is that …” Cornelius began, glancing at Watt for confirmation.
No longer reaching for his gun, Watt raised his hand high in the air and waved, his smile clear as day. “Antônio!”
Cornelius sagged with relief, lowering his cane into the mud so he could lean upon it. Tears immediately welled in his eyes, and he choked on a laugh when Maggie took off running to meet their new companion. “I can't believe it.”
Watt slung his arm around Cornelius, who slumped against his side. Watt kissed the top of his head and whispered, “We're going to be okay.”
It took Antônio no time at all to reach them, weaving through the washed up debris along the riverside with ease. Not only was his easy movement magical to Cornelius, so was his presence. Where the hell had he even come from?
When Maggie caught up to Antônio, he acknowledged her but didn't stop running. He didn't really stop running when he caught up to them, either. Watt held them steady when Antônio collided with them, throwing his arms around Cornelius and Watt. He was hot and sweaty and real, and the familiarity of him had not only Cornelius choked up, but Watt too. Maggie whined, pacing around the three in dizzying circles.
Antônio said, “I knew it. I knew it.” He lifted his head, looking to Watt first, then Cornelius. “You idiots.”
Cornelius laughed, shaking his head a little. “What're you doing here? How'd you find us?”
“We couldn't go back without knowing you were okay. After Severino found your belongings, we thought you had to be upstream.” Antônio patted Cornelius on the back, which jarred his injuries unpleasantly, but he didn't care. “This is northeast from camp, twenty miles now. I think.”
Cornelius exhaled as if gut punched, and Watt's fingers twitched against his skin. Twenty miles was nothing compared to how long they'd been traveling, searching, lost.
“Joaquim did not know this was here.” Antônio added, as if that would help anything. He stepped back, keeping his friends within arm's reach. His chest heaved, and he ran a hand through his hair. It was a few inches longer than before, and damp with sweat. He appraised them, an uncharacteristic nervousness to his features. “Are you alright?”
Cornelius nodded in a numb and automatic sort of way, but Watt said, “He's hurt, and in poor condition. But otherwise, yes.” He craned his head around Antônio, trying to get a look downstream. He glanced back at Antônio uncertainly. “What day is it?”
“October 3rd,” Antônio said. While this did not shock Cornelius as much as their limited distance had, it did seem to rattle Watt. He hadn't lost, or gained time rather, like Cornelius had during their separation.
Cornelius scowled, breaking out of his melancholic confusion in order to prevent Watt from falling into the same trap. “You're in poor condition too. I've never seen so many of your ribs before.” He eyed Antônio. “Wait, where did you find our equipment? We lost it in the swamp, not the river.”
“We found signs of a camp, and rags tied to trees. We followed to the river, and found—” Antônio held up a hand, while the other dug into the pocket of his trousers. “No equipment, your broken cane, and these.” He withdrew his hand, unfurling his fingers to reveal Cornelius' glasses. The left arm was bent and the right one was missing entirely, no doubt from where he'd cracked his head on that rock. Miraculously both lens were intact, but fractured beyond use or repair.
Cornelius straightened, shifting his weight to his cane instead of his partner. With trembling fingers, he gingerly took the glasses from Antônio. He whispered, “Thank you, Antônio.” He met Antônio's eyes and gave him a grateful smile. “Thank you for coming for us.”
Antônio smiled. “Kagõro. Yes?”
Watt rested a hand on Antônio's shoulder, and echoed Cornelius' sentiment. “Kagõro.”
A man's shout rolled in from the distance, and they all turned to see Severino stumbling out of the treeline and onto the beach. Joaquim was not far behind him, ready with a steadying hand. Severino grasped it, and didn't let go when he regained his balance. Upon seeing them, Severino began dragging Joaquim their way.
Antônio glanced at Watt and Cornelius, then said, “Stay here.” He dashed away, leaving them alone for quite possibly the last time for a long time. Cornelius watched him run for a moment, then slowly turned his gaze on the area they'd been staying. The waterfall, the pebbled beach, and the little niche of jungle they'd settled into.
“Cornelius?” Watt whispered, fingertips grazing his elbow.
“Yes?” Cornelius looked at his companion, his friend, the man who had saved his life time and time again. He knew what was coming, but let Watt speak his peace. There had been too many unsaid things between them, and this didn't need to be one of them. Not again.
“No matter what happens, we stay together, right?”
Cornelius slid his hand against Watt's, entangling their fingers. Surely, he had to have lost his mind. To have this person making promises to him like this, to be rediscovered by friends that cared for them, and to have experienced such a beautiful and vibrant world. Real or not, well deserved or not, Cornelius would enjoy it all.
“I'm yours as long as you'll have me, Watt Johnson. I just hope you know what you've signed up for.”
Watt smiled, and it was brighter than the Brazilian sun. “Careful, Mr. Sawyer. That almost sounded like a vow.”
“You did make me a promise, you know.” Cornelius teased, although his words did ring with decades old truth.
“Where would we go?” Watt revived the question he'd posed back when all this truly began, his thumb rubbing over the back of Cornelius' hand as if he were the man's own personal soothing stone.
Cornelius lifted his chin and Watt obliged his quiet request for a kiss, despite their incoming company. It didn't matter, they all knew, and still cared for them. Still deemed them worth saving. Watt's lips were soft and yielding beneath his own, which for a moment was all that mattered. One day soon, he'd find all the other soft places of Watt, and reveal his own as well. He withdrew enough to speak, and grinned against Watt's own blooming smile.
Cornelius whispered, “Where wouldn't we?”
Historical Sources
The Voice of Wild Places is a book that was three years in the making, and required research that spanned books, websites, articles, video footage, and other paraphernalia. You can find a full list of links available at neshamapublishing.com
These are the books I read while researching, and highly recommend for further information on exploration during the late 19th century and early 20th century.
The Lost City of Z: A Tale of Deadly Obsession in the Amazon by David Grann.
Exploration Fawcett by Percy Harrison Fawcett.
Into the Amazon: The Life of Cândido Rondon, Trailblazing Explorer, Scientist, Statesman, and Conservationist by Larry Rohter.
The story Severino tells is a highly redacted version from The Looking-Glass: Essential Stories by Machado de Assis.
The effects of the residential schools Indigenous peoples were forced into in Canada and America are still prevalent today, and I highly recommend educating yourself on the history of these schools. The following reads are a good start.
Education for Extinction: American Indians and the Boarding School Experience, 1875-1928 by David Wallace Adams.
Unsettling Truths: The Ongoing, Dehumanizing Legacy of the Doctrine of Discovery by Mark Charles & Soong-Chan Rah.
Stealing Little Moon: The Legacy of the American Indian Boarding Schools by Dan Sasuweh Jones.
Medicine River: A Story of Survival and the Legacy of Indian Boarding Schools by Mary Annette Pember.
Acknowledgements
What was supposed to be a short and fun romp through history became a wild adventure through time and space, and it wouldn't have been possible without the support of my friends, family, and dedicated readers.
I want to especially thank Henni and Kat for reading this story in its early stages, and championing me through to the end.
Benedetta has not only brought my characters to life in her many beautiful artworks, but also read this story early on and kept me going. Other talented artists I have worked with for character art include Just Miss Art, and Léa Charbonnier. I greatly appreciate Thistle Artworks for the beautiful cover art of the paperback, and working with me to give these characters the illustration they deserve. I also want to thank Crossroad Art for their hard work on this special edition, and all the projects we've worked on together.
The Right Here Write Queer crew, my beloved fellow indie authors, were instrumental in helping me with this book, from researching to marketing and everything in between. Historical projects require a party, after all, and I am forever grateful for them. Also, without Luna Daye this book would not exist, for it was the gay along the way Tumblr post that she sent me which started it all.
