EPILOGUE
By Harold Reimer
“HAROLD, how would you like to visit the Xavante Indians again?” The person asking this question was Neto, a pastor in a remote town on the fringe of the Amazon valley, where I had gone for a week of special meetings. “How would I like to? There’s nothing I’d like better,” I replied. “I certainly wish there were some way we could get out there. But it’s pretty difficult now. You know, the government has asked all the missionaries to leave, and it’s almost impossible to get in there.” But Neto explained he had gotten a pilot’s license and was flying with a Christian doctor to meet the medical needs of that remote part of the country. He thought we could borrow the plane and fly over to the Xavante Indian village. “At least it’s worth a try,” Neto said. Stopping only long enough to get some extra clothing, a few cans of food, and a loaf of bread to take with us, we flew to the last point of civilization before entering Indian territory. We needed permission from the government official to continue and, when we arrived at his office, the man said it would be a very difficult
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