Barnes. Pdf

Letter 12
Caracas 2lst July 
Pippa love, I don't believe it, I mean I just don't believe it. We finally reach what we laughingly call civilization, we finally 
reach a telephone which is capable of handling transatlantic calls, I finally get my turn in the queue, I finally get through to 
home, and you're out. `Number no answer, sir.' Try again. `Number sti no answer, sir.' Try again. `OK sir, number sti no 
answer.' Where are you? I don't want to ring anyone else. I don't want to ring your mum and say look we had a spot of bother 
but now we're back in Caracas and Matt's dead, yes, you heard it on the news but I don't want to talk about it. I just want to talk 
to you, honey, and I can't. 
Tried again.
Tried again. 
All right, so I've got a bottle of Scotch which costs about 50 quid and if the studio doesn't pay for it I'll never work for them 
again, and a big pile of this flimsy hotel notepaper. The others have gone out on the town. I couldn't face it. I keep 
remembering the last night we were here - same hotel and all - and how Matt and I went out and got stinko-paralytico together 
and ended up doing the Zorba dance and got thrown out and Matt pointing at me and saying to the waiters Hey don't you 
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recognize Mista Rick from Parkway Peninsula and they didn't and made us pay for the plates. 
We'd had our rest days, just three days work left. The first morning we rehearsed in the white water, pretty gingerly I don't 
mind saying. Vic and the crew were on the bank, Matt and I were on the raft with about a dozen Indians paddling and poling. 
Just to be on the safe side we had a long rope attached to the raft and tied round a tree on the bank so that if the Indians lost 
control the rope would pull it to a stop. Matt and I had ropes on us as per contract. So we did a run-through in the morning 
which was OK, then had an afternoon in the shallows with the churning machine. I thought we didn't need another day of 
rehearsal but Vic insisted. So the second morning we all went out again only this time wearing radio mikes as well. Vic hadn't 
decided whether to dub or not. The rope was attached to the tree, the crew set up on the bank, and we got ready to do three or 
four runs past the camera with Matt and me so busy arguing about baptising the Indians that we couldn't see the danger behind 
us which the audience could see for themselves. I've thought about what happened next a million times and I still don't know 
the answer. It was on our third run. We got the thumbs-up, started our argument and then noticed something odd. Instead of a 
dozen Indians on the raft there were only two, each with just a pole at the back of the raft. I suppose we thought Vic must have 
said try it this way because Matt and I were already into our quarrel and it shows what a pro he was to his fingertips that he 
carried on as per normal. So did I for that matter. Then at the end of the scene we noticed the Indians weren't doing what they 
normally did which was stick their poles in to stop the raft. They were just poling away and Matt shouted `Hey, fellers, cut' but 
they didn't take any notice and I remember thinking maybe they're testing the rope to see if it works, and Matt and I turned at 
just the same moment and saw where the Indians were heading us - straight into a pile of rocks and foaming water - and I knew 

---

J
ULIAN 
B
ARNES
: A History of the World in 10 ½
 
Chapters 
69
the rope must have broken or something. We shouted but what with the noise of the water and not knowing their language of 
course it wasn't any use and 
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then we were in the water. I thought of you as we capsized, Pippa, honest I did. Just saw your face and tried to think about you. 
Then I tried swimming, but what with the current and the fucking cassock - and then bang I got hit in the ribs like someone had 
kicked me and I thought I was a goner, it must be a rock I thought and I gave up and sort of passed out. What happened was 
that the rope they'd put on me suddenly pulled tight. I don't remember anything else until I was on the bank throwing up water 
and puking in the mud while the sound-man thumped on my back and put his fists in my stomach. My line held, Matt's line 
broke. That's how it was, that's my luck. 
Everyone was in shock, as you can imagine. Some of the crew tried getting along the bank - you know how people are 
sometimes found clinging to the branches of trees overhanging the river a mile or so downstream. But it wasn't like that. That 
sort of thing is strictly for the movies. Matt was gone, and anyway the crew couldn't get more than 20 or 30 yards beyond 
where they'd set up because they don't exactly have towpaths in the Jungle. `Why were there only two?' Vic kept saying. `Why 
only two?' They looked around for the Indians who'd helped them set up but they weren't there. Then they went back to camp 
and the only person there was Miguel the interpreter, who'd been having a long conversation with one of the Indians and when 
he turned round all the other Indians had scarpered. 
Then we went to see what had happened to the rope round the tree and there wasn't anything left, it had just gone. Which 
was pretty odd as it was fixed with one of those fancy knots which simply can't pull out. No doubt as per contract. Bloody 
suspicious. Then we talked to Miguel again and it turned out the Indian had started this long conversation with him before we 
could possibly have had the accident. So they presumably knew what was going to happen. And when we looked in the camp 
they'd taken everything - clothes, food, equipment. What did they take the clothes for? They don't even wear them. 
It was a bloody long wait for the copter, I can tell you. The Indians had taken the radio telephones (they'd have gone off
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with the genny if they'd had a crane) and Caracas thought they'd just broken down again so came as per normal. Two days 
waiting like two bloody months. Me thinking I'd probably got some filthy fever in spite of the jabs. Apparently when they 
pulled me out of the river and bashed the water out of my belly the first thing I said as I came round was, `Riddled with 
diseases, I'm sure' and the crew broke up in this hysterical laughter. Don't remember, but it sounds like Charlie. Thought I 
might be in for beri-beri and co. Ouch in spades, I thought. 
Why did they do it? That's what I keep coming back to. Why? Most of the others think they did it because they're primitive 
- you know, not white men, never trust a native and so on. That's no go. I never did think they were primitive and they always 
told the truth (except when they were teaching me the language) and were a damn sight more trustworthy than some of the 
white men we had on the job. The first thing I thought of was that we'd offended them in some way we didn't know - done a 
terrible insult to their gods or something. But I simply couldn't think of anything. 
The way I'm looking at it, either there's some connection with what happened a couple of hundred years ago or there isn't. 
Perhaps it's just a chance coincidence. It so happens that the descendants of the original Indians whose raft capsized were also 
in charge of another raft that capsized at about the same point in the river. Maybe these Indians can only take so much of 
poling Jesuits upstream and just instinctively snap and turn nasty and shove them overboard. Not very likely is it? Or there is 
some connection between the two incidents. This is what I think anyway. It seems to me that the Indians - our Indians - knew 
what had happened to Father Firmin and Father Antonio all those years ago. It's the sort of thing that gets handed down as the 
women are pounding the manioc root or whatever. Those Jesuits were probably quite big in the Indians' history. Think of that 
story getting passed down the generations, each time they handed it on it became more colourful and exaggerated. And then we 
come along, another lot of white men who've also got two chaps in long black skirts with them, who also want to be 
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poled up the river to the Orinoco. Sure, there are differences, they've got this one-eyed machine and so on, but basically it's the 
same thing, and we even tell them it's going to end in the same way with the raft capsizing. I mean, it's hard to think of an 
equivalent, but say you were an inhabitant of Hastings in the year 2066 and you went down to the beach one day and these 
longships were coming towards you and lots of people in chainmail and pointy helmets got out and said they'd come for the 
Battle of Hastings and would you rustle up King Harold so they could shoot him in the eye and here was a huge wallet full of 
money for you to play your part. First of all, you might be inclined to do it, wouldn't you? And then you'd get thinking about 
why they wanted you to do it. And one thing you might come up with - this is just my idea, Vic isn't so sure about it - is that 
they (i.e. us) have come back to re-enact the ceremony for some reason that's tremendously important to their tribe. Perhaps the 
Indians thought it was a religious thing, like celebrating the 500th anniversary of a cathedral or whatever. 
And there's another possibility - that the Indians were actually following the argument between the Jesuits and 
understanding it a lot better than we thought. They - Matt and me, that's to say - were arguing about baptising the Indians, and 
at the point the raft capsized it looked as if I was winning the argument. I was the senior priest, after all, and I was against 
baptism - at least until the Indians pulled their socks up and stopped some of their filthy practices. So maybe the Indians 
understood this and tipped up the raft because they were trying to kill Father Firmin (me!) so that Father Antonio would 
survive and baptise them. How about that? Except that the first time round the Indians saw that Firmin survived and they ran 
away because they were afraid, and the second time round they saw they'd killed Antonio, which was quite the wrong result for 
them so they ran away because it had all gone wrong. 

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