In 1949, Geraldine Cummins, a celebrated practitioner of “automatism,” whereby a person purportedly goes into a trance and writes down messages from spirits, described how Jack and Raleigh were massacred by Indians. “ Pain- stop pain!” Raleigh gasped, before dying. Fawcett, Cummins reported, eventually collapsed in a state of delirium: “The voices and sounds became a distant murmur as I now faced the greyness of death. It is a moment of unearthly horror… a time when the universe seems implacable and abiding loneliness apparent as the destiny of man.”
Although Nina dismissed such reports, she knew that she was facing her own mortality. Even before Cummins's prophecy, Brian Fawcett, who was caring for Nina in Peru, wrote to Joan, “I really don't think her days on earth will be many!… She herself would be the first to claim she was breaking up.” Once, Nina woke at two in the morning and wrote to Joan that she had a vision that she “must be prepared for ‘the Call' at any moment.” She thought, “Have you really and truly asked yourself: Have I any fear of Death and the Hereafter?” She hoped her passing would be easy- “perhaps I would go to sleep and not wake up.” Brian told his sister, “In a way it would be a good thing for her to go out here. There would be a rather pleasing thought in her leaving her remains in the same continent as her husband and… son.”
With her health deteriorating, Nina told Brian that she needed to give him something important. She opened a trunk, revealing all of Fawcett's logbooks and diaries. “The time has come to hand over to you all the documents in my possession,” she said.
Though Brian was only in his late thirties, his life had been scarred by death: not only had he lost his father and brother, but his first wife had died of diabetes when she was seven months pregnant. He had since remarried, yet there were no children, and he suffered spells of what he called “wild, despairing sorrows.”
Brian now looked at his father's papers, which he described as “the pathetic relics of a disaster whose nature we had no means of knowing.” Over the next several weeks, he carried the papers to work with him. After more than twenty years as a railroad engineer, he was bored and restless. “I feel that I am wasting my life, just going to a lousy office every day, signing a lot of stupid papers, and driving back again!” he confided to Joan. “It leads nowhere.” He went on, “Others can find immortality in their children. That is denied me, and I want to seek it.”
During his lunch break, he would read through his father's papers, picturing Fawcett “on his expeditions, sharing with him the hardships, seeing through his eyes the great objective.” Resentful about not being chosen for the expedition, Brian had once professed little interest in his father's work. Now he was consumed by it. He decided to quit his job and stitch together the fragmentary writings into Exploration Fawcett. As he worked tirelessly on the manuscript, Brian told his mother, “Daddy seems very close to me, as though I were collaborating at his conscious direction. Naturally, there are times when it tugs at my heart strings a lot.” When Brian completed a draft, in April 1952, he gave a copy to Nina, telling her, “It really is quite a ‘monumental' work, and I think Daddy would have been proud of it.” Lying in bed, Nina began to turn the pages. “I simply couldn't put it down!” she wrote to Joan. “I bundled into my night clothes after supper and read that book till 4 a.m.” It was as if her husband were right beside her; all the memories of him and Jack flooded into her mind. Upon finishing the manuscript, she exclaimed, “Bravo! Bravo!”
The book, published in 1953, became an international sensation and was praised by Graham Greene and Harold Nicolson. Not long after, Nina died, at the age of eighty-four. Brian and Joan had no longer been able to care for her, and she had been staying in a run-down boardinghouse in Brighton, England, demented and virtually penniless. As one observer noted, she had “sacrificed” her life to her husband and his memory.
In the early 1950s, Brian decided to conduct his own expeditions in search of the missing explorers. He suspected that his father, who would be approaching ninety, was dead and that Raleigh, owing to his infirmities, had perished soon after leaving Dead Horse Camp. But Jack-he was the cause of Brian's gnawing doubt. What if he had survived? After all, Jack was strong and young when the party had disappeared. Brian sent a letter to the British Embassy in Brazil, asking for help in securing permission to carry out a search effort. He explained that no one had legally presumed his brother dead and that he could not do so “without satisfying myself that all has been done.” Moreover, such a mission might bring about the “return to his own country of one who has been lost for thirty years.” British officials thought Brian “just as mad as his father,” as one diplomat put it in a private communiqué, and refused to facilitate his “suicide.”
Still, Brian forged ahead with his plans and boarded a ship to Brazil; his arrival there touched off a media storm. “Briton to Hunt Dad, Brother Lost in Jungle,” the Chicago Daily Tribune declared. Brian purchased an explorer's outfit and carried a sketchbook and logbook. A Brazilian who had been a friend of his father's gasped when he saw Brian. “But… but… I thought you were dead!” he said.
Brian told his sister that he was becoming an explorer in spite of himself, but he knew that he would never survive trekking in the wilderness. Instead, relying on the means that Dr. Rice had pioneered decades earlier and that were now more affordable, he rented a tiny propeller plane and, with a pilot, canvassed the jungle from the air. He dropped thousands of leaflets that fluttered over the trees like snow. The leaflets asked, “Are you Jack Fawcett? If your answer is yes, then make this sign holding arms above your head… Can you control the Indians if we land?”
He never received a response or found any evidence of Jack. But on another expedition he looked for the object of his brother and father's quest: the City of Z. “Fate must surely have guided my steps along this path for a purpose,” Brian wrote. Peering through binoculars, he spied on a distant ridge a crumbling city with streets and towers and pyramids. “That looks like it!” the pilot shouted. But, as the plane got closer, they realized that it was simply an outcropping of freakishly eroded sandstone. “The illusion was remarkable-almost unbelievable,” Brian said. And, as the days wore on, he began to fear what he had never allowed himself to consider-that there had never been a Z. As he later wrote, “The whole romantic structure of fallacious beliefs, already rocking dangerously, collapsed about me, leaving me dazed.” Brian started questioning some of the strange papers that he had found among his father's collection, and never divulged. Originally, Fawcett had described Z in strictly scientific terms and with caution: “I do not assume that ‘The City' is either large or rich.” But by 1924 Fawcett had filled his papers with reams of delirious writings about the end of the world and about a mystical Atlantean kingdom, which resembled the Garden of Eden. Z was transformed into “the cradle of all civilizations” and the center of one of Blavatsky's “White Lodges,” where a group of higher spiritual beings helped to direct the fate of the universe. Fawcett hoped to discover a White Lodge that had been there since “the time of Atlantis,” and to attain transcendence. Brian wrote in his diary, “Was Daddy's whole conception of ‘Z,' a spiritual objective, and the manner of reaching it a religious allegory?” Was it possible that three lives had been lost for “an objective that had never existed”? Fawcett himself had scribbled in a letter to a friend, “Those whom the Gods intend to destroy they first make mad!”