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Chapters 
64
were all different when they came back. It's a bit like that with me, except that instead of going into the technological future I 
had to go back in time. Actually, I don't really mean that, back in time. All the crew here think the Indians are fantastically 
primitive just because they don't have radios. I think they're fantastically advanced and mature because they don't have radios. 
They're teaching me something without knowing they're doing it. I'm beginning to see things a lot more in perspective. God 
I'm damn sorry about Linda. 
Monday. A long time setting up, then it rained. One of the girls is teaching me the language. Don't worry, chipmunk, 
riddled with diseases I'm sure.* Tried to find out what they call themselves, you know, name of the tribe. Guess what, THEY 
DON'T HAVE A NAME FOR THEMSELVES!!! and they don't have a name for their language either. Isn't that 
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amazing!! Incredibly mature. It's like, nationalism out of the window: 
*Sort of catch-phrase with the crew. If anyone starts talking about sex or looking at the Indian women, someone always 
says, `Riddled with diseases I'm sure.' Probably not so funny in London. 
Tuesday. There's a really good feeling now we've started. Everyone pulling together. None of this silly bloody union rules. 
Everyone contributing. I'm sure it's the influence of the Indians. It's how things should be. 
Wednesday. I think my accent's improving. There's a big white stork sort of bird called a thkarni. I think that's how you 
write it down. Anyway, I say thkarni when one takes off or lands on the water, and the Indians think this is jolly funny. They 
fall about laughing. Well they aren't any better at saying Charlie. 
Thursday. Not much. Bitten by 80000000000000 mosquitoes. Matt makes stupid joke. If you look closely, he's bandy-
legged, I swear. 
Friday. It's amazing when you think about it. Here's this tribe of Indians, totally obscure, don't even have a name for 
themselves. A couple of hundred years ago two Jesuit missionaries trying to find their way back to the Orinoco stumble across 
them, get them to build a raft and then pole the two Godmen several hundred miles south while the said Godmen preach them 
the Gospel and try to get them to wear Levis. Just when they get near their destination the raft capsizes, the missionaries nearly 
drown and the Indians disappear. Melt into the Jungle and no-one sees them again until Vic's researchers track them down a 
year ago. Now they're helping us do exactly the same thing a couple of hundred years on. What I'm dying to know is does the 
tribe remember? Do they have ballads about transporting the two white men dressed as women up to the great watery anaconda 
to the south, or however they might put it? Or did the white men vanish from the tribe's memory as completely as the tribe 
vanished for the white man? So many things to think about. And what will happen when we've gone? Will 
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they disappear again for another two or three hundred years? Or disappear forever wiped out by some killer bug and all that 
will be left of them is a film in which they're playing their own ancestors? I'm not sure I can get my head round that. 
My blessings on thee, daughter, sin no more.*
Love, Charlie 
*Joke!!
Nothing from you Sunday or Wednesday. Hope Rojas has something tomorrow. Didn't mean you not to write whatever I said. 
Will send this anyway. 
Letter 5 
Darling - 
This priest outfit must be the most uncomfortable garment ever invented for Jungle travel. Makes you sweat like a pig, 
comme un porco. How did old Father Firmin keep his dignity, I ask myself. Still I suppose you could say he suffered for his 
religion in the same way I suffer for my art. 
Sunday. My God, guess what? Fat Dick the sound man was peeing in the river last night when one of the Indians came up 
to him all agitated, making lots of gestures, sign language, sort of swimming with his hands and so on. Dick doesn't follow him 
- in fact he thinks the bloke is trying to get off with him which is a bit of a laugh if you've seen the Indian women, until the 
Indian runs off and fetches Miguel who's one of the guides. Lots more gestures and explanations and Dick zips up his trousers 
pretty smartish. Guess what? The Indian was telling him about this little fish that lives in the river and - you can guess the 
rest!!! Not much chance of this particular member of this particular tribe watching British telly the same night Fish Sparks was. 
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And not much chance of Fishy learning enough of the local lingo to set up a sting like this. So we just had to accept he was 
right all along! Boy did he have the last laugh. 
Monday. Here's a funny thing. While the Indians appear to understand roughly what we're doing - they're happy to do 
retakes and don't seem at all put out by this great big eye being pointed at them - they don't seem to understand about the idea 
of acting. I mean sure they're acting their ancestors and they're quite willing (in exchange for some Mickey Mouse presents) to 
build us a raft and transport us upstream on it and be filmed doing this. But they won't do anything else. If Vic says could you 
stand in a different way or use the pole like this and tries to demonstrate they simply won't. Absolutely refuse. This is how we 
pole a raft and just because a white man is watching through his funny machine we aren't going to do it any differently. The 
other thing is even more incredible. They actually think that when Matt and I are dressed up as Jesuits we actually are Jesuits! 
They think we've gone away and these two blokes in black dresses have turned up! Father Firmin is just as real a person for 
them as Charlie, though I'm glad to say they like Charlie more. But you can't persuade them about what's going on. The crew 
think this is pretty stupid of them but I wonder if it isn't fantastically mature. The crew think they're such a primitive 
civilization they haven't even discovered acting yet. I wonder if it's the opposite and they're a sort of post-acting civilization, 

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J
ULIAN 
B
ARNES
: A History of the World in 10 ½