THE BONES AFFAIR: INDIGENOUS KNOWLEDGE

PRACTICES IN CONTACT SITUATIONS SEEN

FROM AN AMAZONIAN CASE
Carlos Fausto
Museu Nacional, Universidade Federal do Rio de Janeiro
This article explores the relation between beliefs and practices manifest in the interaction
between indigenous people and outsiders in contact situations. Drawing on oral history,
myth, and written documentation, it seeks to reconstruct the experience of the Parakan, a
Tupi-speaking people of Southeastern Amazonia, in their early stable contact with national
society. It focuses on some apparently implausible events in order to address the question of
how certain beliefs about the nature of the whites were put into action during the contact
process. The article also employs historical data from South America and comparative
ethnography from Melanesia to suggest new perspectives on the Sahlins-Obeyesekere debate,
making use of the Peircian notion of abduction to account simultaneously for the exibil-
ity and the resilience of magico-religious ideas.
Lavoisiers method was not to read and pray, but to dream that some long and complicated
chemical process would have a certain effect, to put into practice with dull patience, after
its inevitable failure, to dream that with some modication it would have another result,
and to end by publishing the last dream as a fact (Peirce 1940 [1877]: 6).
I once asked an old man: Are all stones we see about us here alive? He reected a long
while and then replied, No! But some are. (Hallowell 1960: 24).
In this article I revisit an old theoretical question, the rationality of beliefs,
through the analysis of the contact process of an Amazonian people. My initial
stimulus was Obeyesekeres (1992: 124) remark about the possibility of apply-
ing his deconstruction of Cooks deication to other famous apotheoses. I
intend to take up this challenge here, but in another direction. Drawing on
my ethnographic data and on written documentation, I seek to re-construct
the experience of the Eastern Parakan, a Tupi-Guarani-speaking people of
Southeastern Amazonia, in their early stable contact with national society. I
also make use of historical data from South America and comparative ethnog-
raphy from Melanesia so as to analyse the relation between beliefs and prac-
tice in contact situations.
Ever since Tylor, anthropology has been concerned with the explication
of apparently irrational beliefs, to use Sperbers expression (1982). Modern
anthropology provided a standard answer to the problem, which at the same
time derived from, and was directed towards, the eldwork situation: one must
explain natives beliefs in their own context, since they are part of a wider
Royal Anthropological Institute 2002.
J. Roy. anthrop. Inst. (N.S.) 8, 669-690
social system or a meaningful whole. Once in context, there is always a rea-
sonable reason to believe that witches can y, that twins are birds or that the
Bororo are parrots, and thus to act according to these beliefs.
1
The central
tenet of contextual understanding is that the justication for someone believ-
ing in something has to be evaluated according to the epistemic standards of
the community in question (Haack 1993: 190).
For most anthropologists, contextualism is both an epistemological belief
and a methodological instrument. Despite its theoretical aporias, it works well
as an heuristic principle for making sense of eldwork data, and I will resort
to it in my rendering of the Parakan contact experience. However, a con-
textualist response to Obeyesekeres challenge would not sufce, since his cri-
tique is Janus-faced: on the one hand, he contextualizes European myth-making
and, on the other, he universalizes Hawaiian behaviour on a cognitive basis.
These are not unrelated movements. They are part of a wider effort to
dispose of the category of totality, and related concepts such as culture or
society. If there are no bounded meaningful worlds, only worlds within worlds
connected in various ways, for whom then are twins birds; for whom do
witches y; for whom is Lono a god? One answer to this question has been:
for anthropologists. If the context to explain beliefs and practices cannot be
the natives, then it must be our own. Cargo cults, cannibalism, deications
are thus to be dismissed as gments of imperial imagination.
Obeyesekeres second move is of a different order, but it is also a way out of
the concept of culture. Experience has a residual epistemic status in cultural
theory: beliefs are interwoven into the great fabric of culture, they stand by
themselves and imprint themselves on peoples minds as if the mind was a blank
paper.
2
Obeyesekere adopts a cognitive universalism and a sort of empirical
foundationalism to counteract this idea. He assumes that there are basic repre-
sentations that stem from practical engagement, which are strongly constrained
by the objective properties of the world and by the structure of the mind.
3
In this article, I will reverse Obeyesekeres rst argument and offer a dif-
ferent interpretation of the second. Through the analysis of an empirical case
with no historical or geographical relation to the Hawaiian case, I claim, rst,
that the assimilation of conquerors to divinities is not only a pervasive trope
in European narratives but is also a recurrent and lasting interpretation of
the colonial encounter among indigenous peoples. It may thus correspond to
a structural feature of these historical phenomena. Secondly, I argue, as did
both Sahlins (1981) and Obeyesekere (1992), that this assimilation is not
immune to experience or alien to practice. By employing the Peircian notion
of abductive inference I hope to account for both the exibility and the
resilience of this assimilation. My general question is how to explain a phe-
nomenon which implies at one and the same time the practical engagement
and the stability of certain representations.
Before exploring this argument in full, let us consider the facts.
Setting the plot
Par, Brazil, 1970. The Transamaznica road cuts through the Eastern Parakan
territory, located some kilometres from the left bank of the Tocantins River.
4
670 CARLOS FAUSTO
Local Amerindian people ransack the working camps, obstructing one of the
major national projects of the time: a road traversing the whole of Brazilian
Amazonia. The military government had no time to waste, and sent the
Agency for Indigenous Affairs (Fundao Nacional do ndio, hereafter Funai)
to make contact with the Parakan and draw them into state administration.
This was not the rst time that a road had crossed the territory of the
Parakan people. In the rst decades of the twentieth century, the government
of the state of Par began the construction of a railway to connect the city
of Alcobaa (present-day Tucuru) to Marab, then a centre of rubber and
Brazil nut production. Amerindians, among them Parakan, plundered the
working camps, and the Agency for Indigenous Affairs was called in to resolve
the situation. In 1928, the Agency (then called Servio de Proteo aos ndios,
hereafter SPI) established a base at the 67-kilometre point on the railway,
which came to be known as the Tocantins Pacication Post. The SPIs idea
was to attract the indigenous population through the distribution of goods,
in the hope of bringing them to civilization (and hard, ill-paid work).
From this point onwards, the Western Parakan became regular visitors to
the Post, receiving hundreds of different items, particularly metal implements.
Although for many decades Parakan people had made peaceful visits to the
Post, they remained outside the control of the Brazilian authorities until the
1980s. The Eastern Parakan, for their part, never discovered this wonderland
of desirable objects. Apart from occasionally attacking and plundering the few
whites who ventured into their territory, the group had little access to com-
modities until the Transamaznica road crossed their lands.
In 1970, the Funai abandoned the static posture that had characterized
SPI activity in the region and mounted four Penetration Fronts (Frentes de
Penetrao) to contact the Amerindians who were jeopardizing the advance-
ment of the road. Their orders were to track them and nd their villages. But
the Parakan made the rst move. On 12 November they ransacked one of
the Funai campsites with displays of erceness. Tracking them, the agents
penetrated deep into Eastern Parakan land, nding and entering numerous
campsites and gardens. The sertanista Joo Carvalho headed the Funai team
and had some knowledge of the Parakan language since he spoke a related
Tupi-Guarani tongue.
5
On 30 November he wrote in his diary:
we arrived at a camp where the re was still lit. We were so euphoric that we didnt
examine everything; we wanted to meet the Indians soon and see their reaction. At 3.00
p.m., we arrived at a place where they had gathered honey We came along cautiously
[When] we were at 100 metres [from them], we dropped our stuff, leaving the ries and
keeping the revolvers, since our shirts covered them. I opened my backpack and got out
the gifts When we were at some 50 metres, we stood in a row to shout altogether. As
soon as we did so, the Indians stopped speaking We shouted a second time; they answered
with anger, uttering a war-cry and running in our direction with the arrows in their bows,
telling us to go away, otherwise they would kill us. The Assurini Indian [the interpreter]
wanted to run away, but we didnt consent to it. They stood at 20 metres from us, shout-
ing, while we spoke We spoke for ve minutes until they put their arrows down and
came out to meet us. We distributed the gifts and they gave us three land-turtles and the
young of an agouti. Then we noticed that we were surrounded because more Indians
appeared from all sides. Our encounter lasted twenty-ve minutes. In the end the inter-
preters had calmed down and were talking. So we asked to stay with them. But they revolted
once more, ordering us to leave (Carvalho 1971: 30 Nov. [1970]).
CARLOS FAUSTO 671
Three weeks later, Parakan men and women started visiting the Funai
camp. They received gifts and paid (-wepy) for them with land-turtles. This
was a pattern followed by both Parakan branches since the end of the nine-
teenth century. Parakan say that they learned how to pay for metal instru-
ments from Moakara, who is considered to be the rst master of the whites
(Torijarypya). Moakara was the leader of a tiny Tupi-Guarani community living
near the Parakan territory which maintained sporadic contact with Brazil nut
collectors down river, at a time when the Parakan were completely isolated
from the whites.
6
During the rst months of 1971, the interaction between the Parakan
and the agents intensied, and some trust pervaded their relationship. Men,
women, and children visited the camp, where they obtained axes, knives, glass
beads, dogs, and food. The agents worked intensively for the Parakan, hunting
for them with guns, cooking for them in aluminium pots, and sharpening
their metal tools. In all encounters the natives asked the agents to sing and
dance with them, but refused to allow them to visit their village. In April,
they nally agreed to a visit.
Another visit followed, and the contact process advanced at a steady pace.
On 6 May, Parakan men and women came to the Funai camp.
I saw a woman carrying our bottle of Especco Pessoa [a regional phytotherapeutic against
snake venom]. I said it would have no use for her, since it was a medicine against surucucu
[Lachesis sp.]. Then Picaua asked me to put some of it on his wounded foot. I cut the skin
with a Gillette blade and pressed a piece of cotton wool soaked with Especco against the
wound. When I nished, Jauarauaqua said: Let us raise him/her who is interred. At rst,
I didnt understand. Then the captain [the headman] invited me to go When we arrived
at the grave, he ordered Gerson [a Funai agent] to remove the stuff placed on it and dig.
He began digging with his hands, but they told him to use a stick My curiosity was
roused. I told [another agent] to fetch a hoe When we uncoverd the patellae (it was
buried with the knees upward), and Gerson held the bones, and then the shins, I asked what
they were going to do, and the captain said it was for me to murrem, which means to take
out. It was to make the body raise up. I understood the goal. I was to revivify the dead
(Carvalho 1971: 6 May).
This little episode, narrated by a Brazilian civil servant, resonates with some
long-standing anthropological questions concerning irrational beliefs. What
were the bones really for? Were the Parakan seriously considering the pos-
sibility that the whites could bring the dead to life? And why the whites?
Myths of immortality
In Parakan mythology, whites are associated with shamanism and super-
human creative powers. Their very origin manifests special transformative
capacities. The myths narrate how the whites-to-be differentiated themselves
from a common humanity through a process of self-transformation and body
renewal, a process which is often associated with immortality and the capac-
ity to bring the dead back to life. In a well-known myth, the white-to-be
dances around his mothers grave, while blowing the smoke of his cigar. He
raises the skeleton and dances with it. The boys grandmother, however, dis-
turbs him and the revivied dead escapes to the forest as a big rodent. Later
672 CARLOS FAUSTO
CARLOS FAUSTO 673
Figure 1. Two Parakan men and a Funai agent (left foreground) during the distribution of
knives. Photo: Y. Billon.
on, having become a full white, he brings his mother back and takes his new
kin out of the earth.
The image of the boy-shaman dancing with the skeleton is a compelling
one. The same motif appears in almost all Tupi-Guarani versions of the myth
of the twins, who are children of the same mother but have different fathers:
one is the son of Mara, the great primordial shaman, the other is the son
of Opossum, the sign of death and decay. Maras son tries to resuscitate their
mother, but his brother disturbs him, preventing the revivication. The
Parakan narrative is a transformation of this myth, in which the white-to-be
plays the role of Maras son, conveying his association with shamanic power.
7
For the Parakan, the main icon of the whites creativity is the objects
they make. Axes and machetes are not only useful and desirable, but are also
signs of their producers powerful agency. The objects stand as evidence of
shamanic capacity.
8
Another narrative illustrates this point well. It was origi-
nally told by a woman captured during the attack on Moakaras group, at the
end of the nineteenth century. It goes like this. Two of Moakaras sons died
of fever and their kin decided to take their bones to a Brazil nut collector
who was on friendly terms with them. Upon arrival, they shouted to him
from the opposite river bank, and he came to their meeting in a canoe full
of goods.
Moakara enquired of the white man:
Is it you who makes the axes?
Yes, it is me. We do it, he answered.
Well then, revive my sons for me! I brought my sons so that you can resuscitate them for
me, replied Moakara.
(Akaria Parakan, recorded in 1995, tape 9)
The connection between technical knowledge and the resurrection of dead
persons may escape us, because our notion of creativity is different from that
of the Parakan. For us, an invention is the result of a cummulative historical
process and a brilliant insight. For them, it results from eventful interaction
with others (enemies, animals, and other entities) in their condition as
persons.This interaction is realized by those who truly dream, and the dream-
ing experience is an integral part of the Parakan lived world. The profusion
of objects is thus a sign of a rich oneiric life and the promise of immortal-
ity: Is it you who makes the axes? Well then, revive my sons.
The identication of whites with powerful shamans and immortality has a
long history of its own. It is a theme that pervades the very rst information
about Brazilian Indians, written by missionaries and other colonial agents
in the sixteenth century.
9
The term Caraba, by which the Europeans became
known among the coastal Tupi-Guarani, expresses this identication: the
Caraba were shamans who circulated among villages, curing, foretelling the
future, and talking about a life with no death, no labour, no incest taboos,
and many enemies to eat.
10
Brazilian historiography channeled this identication into a classic inter-
pretation of the Conquest, according to which the European expansion was
seen, from the western side of the Atlantic, as the coming of god-like people.
Frei Vicente do Salvador, who was the rst to write a history of Brazil, thus
narrates the arrival of Pedro lvares Cabral in 1500:
The said captain disembarked there with his soldiers armed for combat, because rst he sent
a boat with some men to discover the lie of the land and they brought news of the numer-
ous gentiles they had seen. However, the weapons were not necessary, because just from
seeing clothed men with shoes, white, and with beards (all of which they lack), they took
them as divine and more than men, and in this way, calling them caraba, which means
divine thing in their idiom, they came peacefully to our men (Salvador [1627] 1982: 56).
This interpretation of the rst encounters between indigenous peoples and
Europeans is not unique to Brazil, nor even to the New World. It is a classic
674 CARLOS FAUSTO
CARLOS FAUSTO 675
Figure 2. An Eastern Parakan woman holds an axe given by the Funai servants during the
contact process (1971). Photo: Y. Billon.
theme in the colonial process, whose conformity to the natives point of view
was challenged by Obeyesekere (1992) in his critique of Sahlins (1981; 1985).
Obeyesekere claims that the equation between gods and whites is a self-
aggrandizing European myth, which must be dispelled in the name of a prac-
tical rationality, dened as the process whereby human beings reectively
assess the implications of a problem in terms of practical criteria (1992: 19).
Let me rephrase Obeyesekeres problem with our case in mind: how can
we reconcile the Parakans supposedly irrational belief in the whites capac-
ity to resurrect the dead with their rational behaviour in their practical daily
affairs with the same whites? Is this belief a phantasmagoria of an imperial
imagination or does it also correspond to deep-rooted cultural assumptions
about life, power, and death among these Amerindians? Before answering these
questions through an analysis of the empirical evidence, some theoretical
observations are required.
Ontological assumptions and abductive inferences
I will follow here some propositions advanced by Boyer in his book, The
naturalness of religious ideas, to address three problems: rst, the conation of
epistemic and cognitive phenomena; secondly, the over-simplied character of
the opposition between representations and practical action; thirdly, the truth-
value of apparently irrational propositions. I begin with the rst.
Boyer (1994: 49-52) points to the necessity of distinguishing between two
levels of analysis, one epistemic, the other cognitive. According to him, anthro-
pology has tended mistakenly to conate them. The fruitful anthropological
procedure of understanding natives beliefs and practices in their own terms
led some to presuppose, or even postulate, different cognitive principles in
operation. Passing from cultural representations to thought processes or mental
states did not seem to pose a problem. Ever since Durkheims social con-
structivist interpretation of Kants transcendental aesthetic, the dominant
notion of the mind in anthropology is that of a poorly structured structure
upon which culture freely inscribes its meanings. We have hardly ever assessed
the implication of the distinction between being culturally reasonable and
conforming to reason. Rationality has come to mean both of these in anthro-
pological discourse.
When Obeyesekere talks of an area of cognitive life, a mode of thought
which he calls practical rationality, he is reversing anthropological common
sense by postulating a cognitive device in order to deny a cultural inter-
pretation. But if we cannot pass directly from culture to cognition, neither
can we do the reverse. Moreover, as Boyer (1994) suggests, what may char-
acterize a representation as religious is precisely its counter-intuitiveness; that
is, the fact that it violates intuitive expectations.
11
No anthropologist would
deny that religious representations have a special resilience which demands
explication, not dismissal.
My intention here is not to explain cultural beliefs in terms of cognitive
causes. I am concerned with knowledge practices and aim to understand how
a group of people, in a specic historical situation, puts certain beliefs in
motion in order to meet the needs of comprehending and acting upon the
676 CARLOS FAUSTO
world. And here is my second point: I claim that propositions like the whites
are superhuman or the whites are capable of reviving the dead are not the
mere projection of native cosmologies onto facts, but are based on empirical
inferences. As Boyer (1994: 142-8, 211-18) suggests for all magico-religious
representations, the main modality of inferencing here is neither deductive
nor inductive, but abductive.
12
From new data that demand explanation a
proposition is postulated, which, if conrmed empirically, accounts for the
observable data. Of course, what counts as evidence (and as experience) is
also culturally modulated.
13
The well-documented rst contact with New Guinea highlanders shows
how empirically orientated the process can be. When Michael Leahys team
traversed the highlands valleys in the early 1930s, the highlanders variously
assumed that they were dead relatives, mythological beings, sky-people, and so
on. They scrutinized the gold-miners, both to identify their deceased clans-
men and to determine whether their assumptions were correct. Any body
detail could be relevant: the colour of the skin, the size of the penis, the smell
of the faeces:
Leahy and Dwyer found it necessary to choose a secluded spot and post a guard when they
wanted to relieve themselves A screened latrine-pit was dug within the roped-off area.
But the highlanders curiosity could not be left unsatised for long. One of the people hid,
recalls Kirupano, and watched them going to excrete. He came back and said, Those men
from heaven went to excrete over there. Once they had left, many men went to take a
look. When they saw that it smelt bad, they said, Their skin might be different, but their
shit smells bad like ours. (Connolly & Anderson 1987: 44).
The investigation could lead to disproof of the initial hypothesis, as hap-
pened with the people of the Asaro valley who believed that the dead could
take human form by day and become skeletons by night. A witness recounts
how two warriors managed to nd out if the whites turned into bones:
There were guard dogs in the camp during the night, but these two men were very careful.
They crept very quietly They spent the whole night trying to peep inside the tent
They watched and watched, and they expected to see bones in there, but they could see
none. They saw no changes taking place. The strangers stayed the same. So they said we
should stop this belief that they were dead people (Connolly & Anderson 1967: 43).
What was at issue here was what kind of being the newcomers were. New
facts generated new hypotheses, which put into motion a process of con-
tinual inferencing and debate. This leads to my third point. If propositions
like the whites are sky- or dead people proceed by abduction, and are not
divorced from experience, then their truth-value is necessarily conditional. I
refer here to the degree to which a belief is held to be true by a person, and
not to its truth-indicativeness or orientation. As Boyer (1994: 217-18) points
out, abductive explanations are conjectural, and the process of inferencing is
triggered by the explanatory needs of particular situations.
Conditionality thus implies exibility, but also resilience. Conditional truth-
value accounts for behavioural exibility and practical engagement, and at the
same time for the stability of magico-religious assumptions. No single piece
CARLOS FAUSTO 677
of evidence is sufcient. No particular situation can disprove a general assump-
tion. When a proposition is subjected to close scrutiny, the network of onto-
logical assumptions that sustains it is not thoroughly affected.
14
The proposition
is tested in context. Thus to say that Leahy and his team are not dead people
does not mean that the dead cannot assume human form and interact with
the living during the day. It may just mean that Leahy and his team are not
dead people (see also Sahlins, 1995: 185).
Even the belief that whites are ancestors or have a privileged relation-
ship with them can be re-actualized in new situations. Commenting on
Salisburys observation that the Papuans nally realized that the visitors were
men and not spirits, A. Strathern writes that one may wonder a little about
this, since in both Hagen and Pangia the idea that Europeans may be
spirits continues to be entertained along with the normal working assump-
tion that they are probably people (1984: 108). Tuzin suggests that as
interactions with whites become more intense and diversied, practical affairs
make the balance lean denitively towards this working assumption. However,
this was not yet the case for the Ilahita who took Tuzin himself to be a
returnee from the dead well into the 1980s (1997: 135-6; see also Leavitt
2000).
The trickiest question is how and when a network of representations
changes to such an extent that it no longer motivates certain actions. How
and when are the main ontological assumptions discarded or held as margin-
ally true? In epistemic terms, it may help us to think of this network as a
more-or-less coherent and integrated set of representations, some more basic
than others, which congures a world-view. The degree of supportiveness
within this set is called into question in practical situations, being either
reinforced or weakened. This process is continuous, and transformation is
necessarily part of it. Change, however, requires not only stopping the ow
of supportiveness among previous representations, but creating new connec-
tions and new ows among new ideas. It is the cumulative effect of this
process that may account for change.
Let me return now to our story and consider whether the notion of abduc-
tion illuminates the bones affair.
Crossing the Great Divide
Among the Tupi-Guarani-speaking peoples the assumption that some indi-
viduals, especially great shamans, can come back to life has been well docu-
mented since the sixteenth century. This belief is rooted in pre-contact
indigenous representations, but cannot now easily be distinguished from the
inuence of missionary Christianity and its discourse on immortality. Two
known examples manifest the equivocality of the encounter between Catholic
and shamanic imaginaries. In the seventeenth century, the Jesuit priest Ruiz
de Montoya found a house where the Guarani of Paraguay preserved the
bones of powerful shamans, who were believed to be capable of coming back
to life, recovering their former esh, now beautied by juvenile freshness
(Montoya [1639] 1985: 108). In the same period, the Tobajara, a Tupi-Guarani
678 CARLOS FAUSTO
people of northeastern Brazil, conserved the bones of the Jesuit Francisco
Pinto, whom they considered to be a master of the rain (Carneiro da Cunha
1996; Castelneau-LEstoile 2000).
According to the Asurini of Par, a contemporary Tupi-Guarani group, dead
shamans should not be buried, but rather put into a basket. After the cor-
ruption of the esh, the bones should be collected and preserved. The women
will then make sweet porridge for the soul, night after night, until the soul
gets used to the living again and comes back to life (Andrade 1992: 220-2).
I have never heard Parakan people refer to such a funerary practice, despite
their geographical and cultural proximity to the Asurini. They say instead that
a great dreamer can resurrect a person by dancing on his or her grave while
intoning songs of revivication ( ywy-jeengara, or songs of the Earth). In the
dreaming, he learns from an enemy how to make [the dead] leave (-mo hem,
precisely the term that Carvalho transcribes in his diary as murrem).
15
He then
repeats the act in a wakeful state, singing the songs he received from the enemy
of whom he dreamt.
Piawa, an old Western Parakan man, narrated one of these dreams to me.
In the dream, he went to see his fathers brothers grave and met a white man
who showed him how to resurrect the dead. By dancing and singing, Piawa
made his fathers brother come out of the earth. He stank, and demanded that
Piawa fetch some water. Piawa washed him and said, Very well, I made a
human leave [the grave]. Other resurrections followed suit. When Piawa
nished recounting the dream, he asked me: How do you make the dead
leave (-mohem)? I had no answer.
16
The ability to resurrect the dead is not attributed exclusively to the whites.
Other enemies (akwawa) are capable of bringing the dead to life because
they are held to be the real owners of shamanic knowledge.
17
Western
Parakan assert that they are ignorant of the technique for extracting the
pathogenic agents that cause diseases. For this reason, all true healings must
be performed by enemies, who are summoned to cure by the dreamers. There
is a type of dream called bringing in the enemy (akwawa-reroawa), which is
composed of two parts: in the rst, the dreamers double (-aowa) meets an
enemy and asks him to come and cure. Then the dreamer wakes, prompting
the second part of the dream, which the Parakan conceive of as a wakeful
state. In this part, dreamer and enemy meet in their real skin (ipiret), as they
put it, and the actions have the same existential status as those which occur
in waking reality.
This is a limit-case of a more general issue concerning the status of dream-
ing as a kind of experience.
18
I am convinced that Parakan people are being
literal when they say that the second part of the dream of bringing in the
enemy is waking reality (see Fausto 2001a: 355-84). In any case, even when
the dreaming is held to be an experience of a component of the person (the
double, the soul, and so on), it is not something that happens internally to
him or her. It is conceived as an experience of an exterior dimension of the
world, where the dreamer actually interacts with other people.
19
Facing a similar question, Needham wrote that dreams are real when we
are in them only then they are not dreams. They do not become dreams
until we wake, and it is then that we are faced with the question whether we
CARLOS FAUSTO 679
believe them (1972: 67). This is true in so far as one has an internalist theory
of dreaming. If not, the question of belief is posed differently. First, one can
lie about having dreamt, and it is for others to decide if the dream has taken
place. Parakan people have a simple method for judging these matters. If
someone knows a new song it means he or she has really dreamt, since songs
always result from interaction with enemies in dreams.
Secondly, a dream may be interpreted as forecasting coming events. In this
case, to believe it means to act according to its message. An extreme example
is the Iroquois practice of publicly acting out their dreams, even when this
involved acts of violence or sexual promiscuity. A dreamer who had a night-
mare about being captured by enemies would ask his fellows to torture him,
believing that after this imaginary captivity he would never actually be a pris-
oner (Wallace 1958: 240). Performing dreams by transforming them into ritual
action is a recurrent feature of ceremonial life in Amazonia and elsewhere. As
a guide for action, dreams may inect vital political and economic decisions.
Its importance tends to accrue during periods of rapid social change, because
it provides, along with mythical fabulation (Gow 2001), a creative device to
interpret new situations and act in new contexts (Stephen 1982). Hence its
centrality in indigenous millenarian movements observed throughout
Amazonia and Melanesia.
What I suggest here is that the dreaming provides an experiential basis
to support and motivate beliefs and practices. This is not only because it
is so lively and vivid an experience for the dreamer, but because its experi-
ential density can be communicated to others by means of narratives and
rituals (Graham 1995). It is thus turned into powerful embodied and shared
experiences, which constitute a signicant dimension of the lived world.
Moments of intense excitement or afiction, of great intellectual or practi-
cal bewilderment, tend to activate the memory of these experiences. Death
is one such moment, contact is another; both are part of our context
here.
The bones affair
Let us accept, then, that there is a network of beliefs, contextually motivated
by the necessity of acting and understanding, which supports the association
of the whites with shamanic power, and with the possibility of resurrecting
the dead. The question I wish to address now is: how was this nexus of beliefs
motivated in 1971 so as to result in some Parakan men asking the Funai
team to ressurect the dead? To answer this question, I will return to some
events that happened before 6 May, when the bones affair rst came into
question.
The rst visit of Funai agents to the village was on 17 April. Hitherto they
had not allowed the agents to visit their settlement. On that day some
Parakan arrived early at the Funai camp. They received bunches of bananas
and some machetes. Carvalho offered them a quarter of a large rodent. They
were puzzled by the smallness of the bullet hole in the animals esh, and
they asked how he had killed it. For the rst time Carvalho displayed his rie
and showed them how it worked. Then the Parakan invited the whites
680 CARLOS FAUSTO
to dance. The women cut the agents hair in the native style and painted
them. When they were about to leave, Carvalho asked if he could go with
them:
They asked me, What for?. I said that I wanted to stay with them. But before they
allowed me [to do so], they asked if I smoked tauary [the Parakan cigar], if I sang and
danced. I answered, yes, so they decided to take me with them. Nelson, Josias and Piau
were forced to go, and the others, they pushed them back, telling them to stay (Carvalho
1971: 17 Apr.).
The party arrived at the village at 3.30 p.m. and started to dance and sing.
Then they asked Carvalho to sharpen the blades of their axes. The women
brought food to him. At dusk, some men came to him carrying a metre-long
cigar, and the dancing began again. Eventually they went to sleep, but before
dawn he was called again: Before getting up, I spoke and my voice was hoarse.
The same happened to the Indians and I pulled at the throats of eight of
them, rubbing my hands and then blowing to throw off the disease (Carvalho
1971: 17 Apr.).
Carvalho thus acted as if he were extracting the pathogenic agent from
their bodies. After this fake shamanistic performance, he and Nelson started
to sing again, the former chanting songs of the Urubu-Kaapor people (among
whom he had served for many years) and the latter singing those of the Temb
people. Since both are Tupi-Guarani groups, the Parakan were probably able
to grasp some of the words.
After this visit, the headman Arakyt became Carvalhos ritual friend, a
special relationship that one has with cross-cousins and enemies. During the
CARLOS FAUSTO 681
Figure 3. Joo Carvalho (painted all over with genipa) shows a Parakan man a shot-gun
(1971). Photo: Y. Billon.
next months, Arakyt insistently asked Carvalho to sing: Before dawn, writes
the Funai agent, the captain always comes to my hammock and asks me to
sing. As I have said, songs are the sensory evidence of a special relationship
between a person and the akwawa. Songs can only be obtained through inter-
action with these alien persons in dreams, and are therefore a sign of shamanic
power. Names are obtained in the same way, and young parents usually ask
dreamers to name their child, as did Arakyts son to Carvalho:
Piriar arrived with his wife and his new-born son. I asked him what his name was. He
told me to give the name. I thought and gave the name of an Urubu-Kaapor warrior:
Tamer. They found it so beautiful that they asked me to name a girl of the same age
(Carvalho 1971: 13 July).
One week after the visit, the Parakan took them again to the village, to
the all-too-familiar routine of dancing and sharpening. But something new
happened.
Around 9.00 p.m., we were dancing and suddenly Miarin [another Funai agent] fell down
This was like a bath of cold water. Every young Indian got a machete and asked if he
had caruara (if he was a shaman). We said, No They ordered everyone to go to sleep and
they kept their machetes under their hammocks (Carvalho 1971: 25 Apr.)
Miarin had fainted. His faintness could be interpreted in two related ways:
he could have been attacked by pathogenic agents called karowara, or he could
have been dreaming as a result of the dancing and tobacco intoxication. Both
interpretations invited the same conclusion: for better or for worse, powerful
shamanism was on the scene. So the dancing stopped for a while, only to start
again before the break of the day:
By dawn, almost every single Indian was singing and dancing. They performed the song of
the howler monkey, the rail, the tayra, the anteater, the peccary and others, and in the end
the white-man song. This one, they requested me to sing with them until I learnt it fully
(Carvalho 1971: 25 Apr.).
Carvalho had to learn a song given by a white man in a dream. He was
representing the dream enemy in his real skin. This conation between
dreaming experience and wakeful interaction was fuelled by the positive
responses of Carvalho and his team.
20
Finally, on 6 May, the Parkan asked Carvalho to murrem the dead; that is,
to mo-hem, to make leave. More precisely, they asked him to make a specic
person alive again. As far as I know, it was a young woman who was recently
deceased and much mourned by the Parakan people. This is Carvalhos
response, which I omitted from the rst quotation:
the captain said it was for me to murrem, which means to take out. It was to make the body
raise up. I understood the goal. I was to revive the dead. I informed them that I was no
shaman. They told us to arrange the grave as it was before, and ordered Gerson to wash his
hands (Carvalho 1971: 6 May).
682 CARLOS FAUSTO
Were these Parakan men convinced by Carvalhos answer? Apparently,
since they told him to close the grave. But it might have been that he was
merely unwilling to display his powers. Perhaps it was just too early to ask
him to do this. In any case, Carvalho seemed to know that a great shaman
could revive the dead, otherwise he would not have said that he was no
shaman.
One who dies never lives again
May 1971 was a sad month. The epidemics that would kill 30 per cent of the
Eastern Parakan population began to ravage the country. At least nine out of
some one hundred and forty people died within a couple of weeks. The
Parakan stopped visiting the whites. By the end of the month, the agents
had decided to track them. They found abandoned camp-sites full of squeezed
pieces of Brazil nut tree bark, a native treatment for fever. They also found
graves and a corpse, covered only with cloth.
In the rst days of June, some Parakan people reappeared at the Funai
camp, and Carvalho noted in his diary that the captain [headman] said
something about taking the bones out. I didnt fullly understand what he
meant. So many deaths in so short a time had probably motivated this new
comment, since the losses were difcult to bear. But the contact process went
on. The agents resumed their visits to the village, and even began to stay there
for more than one night at a time. Whenever they passed near a grave,
Parakan men ordered Carvalho to sing, probably not to ask questions, he
writes.
By 18 June, a new gadget was introduced to the Parakan: a radio con-
necting the camp to the Funai network. Carvalho made them listen to it and
speak into it.
they were happy, everyone wanted to listen to it, even the children. Every man said his
name to hear the radio responding. Whenever a word imitating their names came out, it
was sheer bliss. I turned on the radio at 8.10 a.m., and at 11.30 the captain [the headman
Arakyt] told the women to leave. As soon as they left, he invited me to remove some bones
from a grave. When we arrived there, he asked me to dig and the other Indians encircled
the grave. The captain started to blow the smoke of his cigar I asked him why he wanted
the bones. He told me he was going to take them and brought a basket to put the bones
inside, all the while blowing smoke. When I had already laid the arm and leg bones [inside],
I noticed that they were still clammy I told the captain it was not good to take them
out yet, since they were stinking. He said [I was] to return the bones to the grave and asked
me to come back later, remove the bones and bring them to him. I think they are going
to perform a symbolic burial into those large pots Ive seen in the village (Carvalho 1971:
21 June).
This was not the case, however. The Parakan do not practise secondary
burial. Carvalho was judging what he saw by what he knew about other
Amerindian peoples. For the Parakan, the deaths and the radio once again
raised the issue of the powers of whites and motivated them to act. This time,
however, Carvalho did not deny that he was a shaman. He was uncertain of
CARLOS FAUSTO 683
Arakyts purpose, and said that it was not yet the right time (implying that
there is a right time). If we assume that it is possible to cross the Great Divide
between us (the living) and them (the dead), the crucial question is: Who can
do this, and when?
From July to August, Carvalho was absent from the eld, and the diary is
written by other Funai agents. During his absence, there was an outbreak of
inuenza.This time Parakan men and women came immediately to the Funai
camp, asking for medicines. It was the peak season for anti-u, anti-catarrh,
and antibiotics injections. On 13 August, for instance, twenty-two people
(among them children) received injections, and an agent writes that all of
them accepted the medication well (Carvalho 1971: 13 Aug.). By the time
Carvalho had returned, the outbreak was already under control. More con-
dent, Parakan men begin to ransack a nearby town that had grown up along
the Transamaznica road. The government instructed the agents to put an end
to the contact process, moving the Parakan to a new village near the Funai
camp.
Meanwhile singing continued to be a daily activity. Now the Parakan
invited Carvalho to participate in the all-male nocturnal reunions in the
tekatawa, the plaza. When they nished smoking the 20-centimetre-long cigar,
they asked me to sing I sang songs they didnt know, in other words, I
invented them. Then it was Nelsons turn, he imitated me, and in this way
we sang many pieces without repetition (Carvalho 1971: 23 Sept.). The
Parakan were about to perform the opetymo ritual. The stage witnessed by
Carvalho is known as the nurture of the jaguars ( jawara-pyrotawa). It consists
of the dreamers giving the songs (called jaguars), which they had received
from the dream enemies, to those who were to dance in the festival. By asking
Carvalho to sing in the plaza, Parakan people condensed these two gures
into one, treating him again as the dreamer and the dream enemy.
The ritual was aborted by an outbreak of conjunctivitis. The Eastern
Parakan had already suffered from many diseases in the previous months.
They now eagerly took medicines, particularly penicillin injections whose
rapid effect had a great impact on them. On 30 September, Arakyt called
Carvalho to come to the village and give his sick little daughter an injection.
Finally, by 2 October, they abandoned their village, moving to a new one built
by the Funai agents near their campsite. During the trip, the bones affair came
to the fore for the last time:
When we passed alongside the grave of an old shaman, which has a beautiful shelter over
it, we sat to rest and talk. I asked the captain [Arakyt] who was there. He said it was
my grandfather and asked if I were going to take him out. I said it was not the right
time yet, since he would still stink. He agreed, but asked me to give him [the dead shaman]
an injection. I said that it was impossible to inject into the bones, and besides one who
dies never lives again, and the medicines only cure when there is still life. They agreed, but
even so wanted me to take the bones out. I questioned them as to why they wanted the
bones, but obtained no satisfactory answer, and I still remain in doubt (Carvalho 1971: 2
Oct.).
Arakyt asked Carvalho to open the grave and inject medicines into the
bones. They were both uncertain. Carvalho questioned his rst assumption
that he was to murrem the dead. Arakyt wanted to know if the injections
684 CARLOS FAUSTO
were the whites well-guarded secret of immortality. This time Carvalho was
peremptory: death is irreversible, one who dies never lives again.
What Poenakatu said
We can now understand the status of the proposition the whites can revive
the dead entertained by the Eastern Parakan during the contact process. The
proposition was based on deep-rooted ontological assumptions and on his-
torical and dreaming experiences, crystallized in narratives and represented in
rituals. Many other propositions were implicated in this one, such as one who
dies can live again, some shamans can resurrect the dead, shamans interact
with powerful enemies, the whites are powerful enemies, the whites may
be powerful shamans, Carvalho may be a shaman, and, nally, Carvalho may
know how to resurrect the dead. As one comes from the general to the spe-
cic, there is increasing conditionality on the truth value of these proposi-
tions, which sets into motion an inferential process based on empirical
evidences.
During the rst months of contact, the veracity of the latter propositions
was reinforced by some facts. Carvalho mastered songs and names as only
dreamers do. The question then for the Parakan was: how powerful is this
man? If he cures with injections, controls the ow of goods, operates the
radio, and is the head of the whites, he may be very powerful indeed. In 1999,
commenting upon these events, the headman Arakyt conrmed to me
that they envisaged this possibility: We asked ourselves: do the whites resur-
rect people? (oporowaa pa rimo Toria, oroja rakokwehe). This reasoning was
grounded in a series of assumptions about the nature of whites and enemies
in general, which were knit together into a shamanistic ontology. The nal
test was to ask Carvalho to resurrect the dead, but unfortunately he failed
three times.
What did this failure mean for the Eastern Parakan? They concluded that
either Carvalho himself or the whites in general did not know the shaman-
istic art of resurrection. But they remained impressed by the whites power to
cure, and even more by their power to cause diseases. For many years, the
Eastern Parakan suffered from acute epidemics, and many of them died. They
never asked the whites to resurrect their kin again.
In 1998, however, the death of a teenager caused a tremendous commo-
tion among them.They buried him and built a shack over the grave. For many
days his father and other elders danced on the grave, smoking their long cigars,
and singing the Songs of the Earth. The whites remained in the Indian Post
at a respectful distance.The elders danced again and again. In vain. No dreamer
succeeded in bringing the young man back to life.
Despite so many failures, there is no denitive disclaimer of the plausibil-
ity of crossing the Great Divide. So long as there are dreams and shamans,
there is hope. Poenakatu, an Asurini Indian, once explained to an anthropol-
ogist why his father who was a great shaman did not return to life: Our father
always told us not to bury him, but to make a basket and leave him in there
until all the esh was gone That is why our mother did not want to have
him buried. He was going to live again for us. The whites, however, urged
CARLOS FAUSTO 685
them to bury him, and Poenakatu laments, The Whites, they didnt know that
he dreamt (Andrade 1992: 220).
NOTES
This article is a version of a paper presented at The Ethnohistory of the So-Called
Peripheries Wenner-Gren Conference, held in London, Ontario in 2000: my thanks to
Marshall Sahlins, Manuela Carneiro da Cunha, and Neil Whitehead for the invitation and com-
ments. The present version has greatly beneted from the criticisms I received when present-
ing it at the cole Pratique des Hautes tudes, the cole des Hautes tudes en Sciences
Sociales, the cole Normale Suprieure, the Institute of Social and Cultural Anthropology,
University of Oxford, and the London School of Economics. I am grateful to those who invited
me: Patrick Menget, Philippe Descola, Benot de lEstoile, Laura Rival and Roger Goodman,
Peter Gow and Stephen Feuchtwang. I have also beneted from the suggestions made by
Aparecida Vilaa, Christina Toren, Carlo Severi, Adam Kuper, Luiz Antonio da Costa, and the
anonymous JRAI reviewers. I would also like to thank Yves Billon for granting me the right
to publish his photographs and the Instituto Socioambiental for making them available.
Research among the Parakan was nanced by Financiadora de Estudos e Projetos (FINEP),
Associao Nacional de Ps-Graduao em Cincias Sociais (ANPOCS), the Ford Foundation,
Universidade Federal do Rio de Janeiro (UFRJ), and the Wenner-Gren Foundation for Anthro-
pological Research. I completed this article during my stay at the Laboratoire dAnthropolo-
gie Sociale (CNRS/Collge de France) in 2001 my thanks to P. Descola for the invitation
and to the Coordenao de Aperfeioamento de Pessoal de Ensino Superior (CAPES) for pro-
viding the means for my stay.
1
The structuralist answer was different, for it focused on the mind, not on the socio-
cultural system. Lvi-Strauss (1962a; 1962b) universalized analytical reasoning and reread
ethnographic data through the lenses of classicatory and categorical thought.These two answers
together were so successful that the issue of rationality became a meta-anthropological question
rather than an anthropological one. See, for instance, the contributions to Wilson (1970) or to
Hollis and Lukes (1982).
2
Here I employ Lockes famous metaphor about the mind, which allowed him to afrm the
pre-eminence of experience as the source of human knowledge. Culturalism espoused a classic
empiricist theory of the mind without embracing its corresponding experience-dependent
theory of concept formation. Acquisition was thus seen as a simple process of inscribing ready-
made contents in the individuals mind.
3
In response to one of his critics, Obeyesekere denes practical rationality as a term that
helps me to see Hawaiians and others engaged in certain activities that show a rational means-
goal nexus and links them up with others engaged in the commonplace tasks of planning and
making do as they struggle with want and scarcity. I cannot imagine humans living without
such a mentality, call it universal if you will (1995: 272).
4
The Parakan split into two groups, East and West, at the end of the nineteenth century
(see Fausto 2001a). In 1999, the Western branch totalled more than 400 people, and the Eastern
branch just under 300 people.
5
Sertanista is the most senior position in the career of a Funai agent. The term comes from
the word serto, which during the colonial period denoted the Brazilian hinterlands and was
applied to a person who accompanied expeditions into the woods, in search of gold and native
slaves.
6
The Parakan are probably remnants of a large Tupi-Guarani population reported to have
lived in the region since the seventeenth century. The intensity of relations with colonial agents
in the remote past is impossible to determine. The forebears of the Parakan may have been
drawn into contact with missionaries and merchants. They may have suffered from the numer-
ous epidemics that ravaged the Tocantins valley during the rst centuries of colonization.
However, the Parakan have no memory of such events. Their view is that they had dis-
covered the whites by the end of the nineteenth century; they think of themselves as com-
pletely isolated until that time.
7
For an analysis of this myth and its transformation, see Fausto (2001a: 470-82). For
the other Parakan myth on the origin of whites, see Fausto (forthcoming). For this same
686 CARLOS FAUSTO
theme among the sixteenth-century Tupinamb, see Thevet (1575 [1953]: 39; 1576 [1978]:
100).
8
In Amazonian mythology there is a recurrent motif that explains the technological asym-
metry between natives and whites. In primordial times, they had to choose between two tech-
nical items offered by the culture hero. The ancestor of the Indians made the wrong decision
(choosing, for instance, the bow instead of the rie), condemning future generations to tech-
nological inferiority. This myth was rst recorded in the seventeenth century among the
Tupinamb (Abbeville 1614: 60) and appears today among other native peoples. Its structure is
identical to that of the myths which explain how death entered into the human world (see
Lvi-Strauss 1964). We have thus only one motif that accounts for both mortality and tech-
nological inferiority. On this topic, see Hugh-Jones (1988: 143-4); Viveiros de Castro (1992:
30-1); Giraldo-Figueroa (1997: 280-1); Goulard (1998: 464-515); Gow (2001: 205-18); Fausto
(2001a: 469-531).
9
For a splendid analysis of the Tupi-Guarani assimilation of Europeans to great shamans and
the cultural hero Mara, see Viveiros de Castro (1992).
10
This designation was generally applied to the Europeans, whereas Pero was used for
the Portuguese and Mara for the French. Some of the shamans known as Caraba
headed messianic movements during the rst centuries of colonization. There is much con-
troversy concerning the status of these movements, especially in what concerns the impact of
the colonial process upon them: see inter alia Clastres (1975); Vainfas (1995); Fausto (1992;
2001c).
11
Boyer claims that religious ideas are at the same time natural (because they depend on
universal properties of the human mind) and perceived as unnatural by human subjects (because
they violate intuitive expectations). The cultural transmission of religious representations would
depend on a certain combination of intutitiveness and counter-intuitiveness, that is, on a cog-
nitive optimum, in which a concept is both learnable and nonnatural (1994: 121).
12
Abductive inferencing is not peculiar to magico-religious explanations. For Peirce, who
introduced this notion into epistemology as a third term, to be situated between induction and
deduction, it was a perfectly rational procedure. Today it is recognized as a step in the con-
struction of knowledge, although some hard empiricists contest its legitimacy (see Boyd 1995:
212). See also Peirces distinction between strong induction and abductory induction (1940
[1901]).
13
I am aware of the implications of this statement, and would like to avoid an ultra-
relativistic reading of it. I am cautious about the idea that standards of evidence depend only
on the epistemic community to which one belongs. I do not want to dwell on this problem
here and will merely quote from Haack: There is a relevant ambiguity in what counts as evi-
dence. In one sense, there is much divergence in what counts as evidence; in what one
counts as relevant evidence, which depends on ones other beliefs. In another sense, perhaps,
after all, there is not much divergence in what counts as evidence; in appraising the security
of a belief, pre-scientic as well as scientic peoples may be assessing its t to their ex-
perience and to their other beliefs If we think of criteria of justication at the appropriate
level of generality, of framework principals rather than material content, of the constraints of
experiential anchoring and explanatory integration rather than of specic judgements of rel-
evance, there may, after all, be commonality rather than divergence (1993: 207).
14
The expression ontological assumptions should not be confused with the cognitive notion
of intuitive ontology. The former refers to a set of cultural categories about the beings exist-
ing in the cosmos, while the latter refers to a natural set of ontological categories built into
every human mind.
15
Among the Parakan, the default gender of a dreamer is male. Old women, however, do
dream and give songs for the festivals, although not to the same extent as men: see Fausto
(1999; 2001b).
16
Compare Piawas question and my reaction with Leavitts (2000) analysis of similar situa-
tions involving anthropologists in Melanesia.
17
Akwawa is the general category for all entities, in their condition as persons, who do not
belong to Egos community. I translate it as enemy. Animals are akwawa when considered as
subjects endowed with intention and verbal communication (as happens in dreams and mythi-
cal narratives). As game, they are classied in the general category for objects, maejiroa. For
details, see Fausto (2001a; 2001b).
CARLOS FAUSTO 687
18
I thank P. Menget for calling my attention to this question.
19
When narrating a dream Parakan people employ the same epistemic marks, indicating
direct witnesses and not hearsay, which they use to communicate events on a day-to-day basis.
Another Tupi-Guarani people, the Parintintin, employ a specic epistemic mark to differen-
tiate dreaming experiences from wakeful ones: rauv (Kracke 1987), which is a cognate of
the Parakan term for double (-aowa). I do not interpret it as a mark of irreality or inter-
nality, but rather as an indication that the events narrated were experienced by the persons
double.
20
The Parakan seem to have entertained the idea that the whites were like people you see
in a dream long before stable contact. The dreamers generally address the dreamt enemies with
a formal vocative for father and fathers brothers, miang. The Parakan originally employed this
very same term to address the whites. It already appears in SPI reports as far back as the 1930s,
and reappears in Carvalhos diary as the way the natives addressed him.
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Laffaire des ossements: une interprtation des pratiques
de savoir indignes dans les situations de contact daprs un
cas amazonien
Rsum
Cet article examine le rapport entre les croyances et les pratiques manifestes au cours de
linteraction entre des populations indignes et des trangers dans des situations de contact.
Avec des matriaux tirs de lhistoire orale, de la mythologie et de documentation crite, cet
article a pour but de reconstruire lexprience des Parakan, un peuple de langue Tupi de
lAmazonie du Sud-est, au commencement de leur situation de contact stable avec la socit
nationale. Lexamen de certains vnements apparemment implausibles permet daborder la
CARLOS FAUSTO 689
question de savoir comment certaines croyances au sujet de la nature des blancs entrrent
en action lors du contact. Cet article utilise aussi des donnes tires de lhistoire de
lAmrique du Sud et de lethnographie compare de la Mlansie an de suggrer de
nouvelles perspectives sur le dbat entre Sahlins et Obeyesekere. La notion Peircienne
dabduction sert rendre compte de la exibilit et de la rsilience simultanes des ides
magico-religieuses.
Museu Nacional-PPGAS, Quinta da Boa Vista s/n, Rio de Janeiro, RJ, 20.940-040 Brazil.
cfausto@alternex.com.br
690 CARLOS FAUSTO