“Yes. One of our film producers is already making a fascinating documentary about the indigenous cavemen of the area.”
“They’re not cavemen.”
“They look like cavemen.”
“Do they live in caves?”
“Well…”
“They live in huts.”
“Perhaps they’re having their caves redecorated,” called out a wag from the crowd.
Ford rounded on him angrily.
“Very funny,” he said, “but have you noticed that they’re dying out?”
On their journey back, Ford and Arthur had come across two derelict villages and the bodies of many natives in the woods, where they had crept away to die. Those that still lived were stricken and listless, as if they were suffering some disease of the spirit rather than the body. They moved sluggishly and with an infinite sadness. Their future had been taken away from them.
“Dying out!” repeated Ford. “Do you know what that means?”
“Er… we shouldn’t sell them any life insurance?” called out the wag again.
Ford ignored him, and appealed to the whole crowd.
“Can you try and understand,” he said, “that it’s just since we’ve arrived that they’ve started dying out!”
“In fact that comes over terribly well in this film,” said the marketing girl, “and just gives it that poignant twist which is the hallmark of the really great documentary. The producer’s very committed.”
“He should be,” muttered Ford.