On the Edge of a Dream. Michael Wiese
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shouts Eddie, becoming more and more curious.
“Like anyone else, they won’t come unless the entertainment is good.”
I look into the street. More people are gathering. The only other foreigner is an intellectual-looking woman in neatly pressed khaki shorts and a shirt. A large amber necklace is around her neck. She writes shorthand in a notebook, concentrating on one of the priests. She pushes her hair from her face.
The gamelan sends out waves and waves of intoxicating repetitions. Eddie looks spaced out. I feel a little light-headed myself.
Suddenly, the creatures rush out. Swede points out the ‘good guy,’ the Barong, a lion-like creature with a magnificent golden coat of glittery, swirling ornaments and a high-arching tail who stomps up clouds of dust. Then Rangda, a female monster, rushes from the shadows.
Big Swede, keeping his eyes on the performance, says, “This is the quintessential Balinese ritual where they observe the balance between life and death. Rangda represents death and decay and Barong, the life force. Everything must be kept in balance, that’s why there is no winner in this confrontation.”
Swede and I step closer to get a better view.
Suddenly Barong, the protector, and Rangda—the destroyer of rice fields, bringer of sickness and death—spring into a life-and-death battle. Gas lanterns cast a golden light across Rangda’s long fingernails, saggy breasts, and hairy body.
Surprisingly, Barong is overpowered by Rangda. From the side of the road, the half-naked, fully tranced-out warriors wave kris (magic swords) and attack Rangda.
Swede stumbles and falls somewhere behind me. A dozen men charge repeatedly, but each time Rangda’s power turns them back. Someone is going to get killed! The khaki woman is pushed into me. Her notebook bounces off my head. We are caught between the trance warriors and the beasts. Charging, then retreating.
It’s not a performance! The ritual play is clearly out of control. They’ve gone too far. At Rangda’s command, the trance dancers fling themselves onto the blades, turning and twisting, trying to kill themselves. The woman grabs my arm and screams, “My god!”
I think I see Eddie rush into the frey.
The warriors’ eyes roll back in their heads. Mass hysteria?!! Suicide? The men lean hard into their swords, but their skin is not punctured. Somehow the power of the Barong protects them.
Barong charges again. Rangda is chased away and retreats into the cemetery behind the temple. A gang of children chase after the creatures; Eddie follows in hot pursuit.
As suddenly as it started, it’s over. The woman clings to me. We stand on the road dazed, a dozen trance dancers lying around us semiconscious in the dust. It looks like Custer’s Last Stand. Should I help? A priest walks among them and sprinkles holy water on the warrior-dancers. Jerkily they open their eyes, find their way out of trance, stand and walk unsteadily away. Swede is nowhere in sight.
The woman slowly releases her grip, her breast brushing my hand.
“I am sorry. I was scared,” she apologizes.
“It’s okay. You all right?” I ask.
She nods. “I didn’t expect this.”
I pick up her notebook and hand it to her. She’s dazed and confused.
The lanterns are carried off to the family compounds, as the crowd disperses. We leave the dark street and return to my room in the losmen. We are brought some tea.
“I guess balance has been restored,” I joke, as I light the oil lamp.
Her name is Anna. She just arrived from Sydney. Her first trip. She’s a grad student in anthropology and doing her thesis on rites of passage. Although very young and brave, she’s definitely over her head.
“I should go,” she says putting down her tea, not knowing that her bemo ride back to the Bali Hai Hotel is long gone.
I explain she has no chance of getting a ride from anyone this late. “The Balinese are afraid of the dark.”
“So am I,” she says, still shaken from the trance dance. Gradually, the adrenaline wears off and we lay back on the lumpy mattress and talk. The night breeze is cool. The palm fronds rustle above. A gekko snaps at moth, catching it in its jaws.
Anna pulls closer. Before long we are in an embrace and our bodies begin a dance of their own. She surprises me. Her lovemaking betrays her demure appearance. She strains, twists and turns, releasing her deepest feelings.
Eddie wakes me up in the middle of the night. He barely notices the naked woman in my bed. He’s all excited about something.
“Nick, I followed Rangda and watched. This old guy took off the mask,” Eddie says. “He gave it to a priest who hung it in a wooden closet in the temple. It was surrounded by offerings.”
Anna wakes up startled. “Who’s there?!”
“Just Eddie.
“Come on, Eddie, let us sleep.”
“No, listen, Nick,” Eddie persists, “when they left I waited for awhile and then snuck into the temple.”
I sit up. “You what?”
“I want to go,” says Anna afraid, looking around and grabbing her clothes.
“To get a better look at it,” Eddie explains. “It had a necklace of entrails. Nick, I put it on. It stank. Then I could feel it breathing! The mask was breathing, and I started breathing with it. I could see into the darkness. Then my blood got hotter and hotter. So I took it off.” Eddie is shaking. Shadows from the oil lamp lick the wall.
“Jesus, Eddie, are you nuts?”
“No, listen,” he says. “I know where it is. You’ve got to try it.”
“I’m going,” says Anna.
I tell Eddie that I have no intention of breaking into their temple.
Anna screams for attention, “I want to go back to the hotel, now!” It takes me a hour to calm her down. She’s really losing it. In a strange land, with a strange man, who has a strange friend.
Chapter 8
GUARDIAN ANGEL
In the morning, a wrinkled-khaki Anna joins me for banana pancakes and coffee in the courtyard. She’s embarrassed by her intense feelings.
“About my flip out. I just got very frightened. It was dark, then Eddie…”
“It’s okay. Could happen to anyone,” I say.
“You must think I’m pretty green,” she says, shaking her head.
“Think of it as a rite of passage,” I joke.
Eddie comes in and joins us. He greedily downs his own pancakes, then mine, then Anna’s, which she hasn’t touched.
Anom, the manager, stands at the doorway and talks with some older men. They seem to be looking for someone. They peer in at us suspiciously and then leave. Anom comes over. Apparently someone broke into the temple. Do we know who did it? Anna bites her tongue. Eddie feigns innocence.
Now we’re really fried.
“Time to go, Eddie,” I whisper to Eddie. He agrees. But where?
I find a bemo for Anna that will take her back