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Returning to the rain forest, the documentary built skillfully to the horrific climax at the village of the Yomamas. The gasps were audible as the chain saw did its bloody work. Cut to dark, green jungle, bird sounds, moving water.

Music over and a distant shot of Swift Chapel along with close-ups of obituaries and snippets of local news coverage documenting the belief that Corny has been killed and eaten. Another drive to the museum and an actor somewhat resembling me reenacts my foolhardy journey out to the monster’s lair in the Hays Mountains, where I rescue Diantha and kill the miscreant Freddie Bain with my father’s revolver.

Then Corny’s apparent resurrection and return to Seaboard in a blaze of media glory. Articles and interviews galore, one pundit calling him “The risen Christ of anthropology,” who had “suffered for the sins of anthropologists.”

The interview with Barbara Waters or someone of that name is the most egregious. In the course of it, she flutters her eyes and lowers her voice, intimating that a really difficult question is about to be asked but one that she, we all know, has the courage to ask.

“Professor Chard, what was going through your mind when you smelled your own flesh roasting?”

“My mind? Well, you might say I didn’t have much of a mind at that point.”

“And, after they cut you down, it’s reported that you asked for some … of yourself. Just to try it.”

“Well, I was offered some actually. The Yomamas are very hospitable in their own way.”

“What part was it?”

“A piece of the lower thigh, if I’m not mistaken.”

“And what was going through your mind when you actually bit into a piece of yourself? How did you taste?”

“A little like lamb. Or, rather, mutton. A bit chewy, actually. Like shank when it’s not quite done enough.”

“It’s not the first time that you’ve tasted human flesh?”

“Right.”

“There was the young man on Loa Hoa …”

“Right.”

“How did you compare?”

“In taste?”

“Yes.”

“Well, I was cooked differently to begin with. He was baked in a hole in the ground using heated stones. I was flame-broiled.”

“It’s not an experience you’ll want to repeat?”

“Well, I don’t have that many limbs left.”

“Professor Chard. Thank you very much.”

The scene then changed back to the village where, with some trepidation, a camera crew returned with Corny. He was carried up the steep path by well-paid porters to a ceremony where he was welcomed with great acclaim.

As Corny recounted in the book and as the narrator retold it in the film — his voice over the welcoming rituals — just after the amputations, a harpy eagle soared above the village with a huge snake in its talons. This was taken for a sign from the gods, and Corny was medicated as best they could and asked to join the feast. It was seen as significant that the old chain saw wouldn’t start, either.

“I think they should make a real movie out of it,” Merissa said to Harvey Deharo after the film ended and we were standing around with coffee. “I think Dennis Hopper should play Professor Chard.”

Harvey laughed. “I think it would be difficult to get any more real than what we’ve just seen.”

“Yes, but don’t you think a really good movie …?”

Alfie Lopes of all people chimed in, “Wouldn’t Anthony Hopkins be a better choice? It would serve him right to get eaten this time.”

“But who would play Norman?” Diantha asked. “I mean, he has a big part.”

I tried to hide my pleasure. “Oh, come on, they’d probably write my part out of the script.”

“Oh, don’t believe it,” put in Lotte Landes, taking hold of my elbow. “I still find it hard to believe, Norman, that you actually shot someone dead.”

“But sure it’s extraordinary what we’re capable of,” said S.J. — Father O’Gould — with a philosophic sigh.

To one side, I glimpsed Lieutenant Tracy watching and listening as he so often does.

6

Mere anarchy has been loosed upon my world. My humiliation is complete. I scarcely know where to begin this account of a debacle so sudden and total that I have hesitated