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On the Edge of a Dream. Michael Wiese
Читать онлайн.Название On the Edge of a Dream
Год выпуска 0
isbn 9781615931538
Автор произведения Michael Wiese
Жанр Контркультура
Издательство Ingram
Me? I feel softened being in Bali. In San Francisco I was assertive. I got it done. I invented midnight movies. At twenty-two, I’d made a film that went to Cannes! I was about to make another film until the draft got me. But here, I don’t have a clue. I think it’s better to cool out and watch until I’ve learned the ropes.
Not so for Eddie. He’s diving in head first. He’s always ‘on.’ Talking it up with the guys, flirting with the girls, coming up with ideas, excited, ready for action. He loves to be the center of attention, provoke a reaction, and make friends. I leave Eddie at the warung and go off toward the beach.
I walk a few kilometers down the beach, then circle back through the interior. Near Kuta village, I come upon two farmers. One is leading his water buffalo back to the village; the other carries a huge bundle of grass. We meet on a small path. Their faces are clamped tight as walnuts, until I say “salamat sore” (good afternoon), and then their faces explode with humor and love.
It takes an enormous amount of energy. The sights, the smells, the sounds. The strangeness of everything. I frequently have to stop, rest, just catch my breath. There are people everywhere. And they are always looking, watching, engaging us. Thousands of eyes upon us.
I head back to the homestay to refresh myself after my adventures.
As I walk in the door, I interrupt Eddie and the warung girl. Eddie has his back to me. The girl is lying on the bed naked. Eddie sits on the side of the bed and talks to her. She doesn’t seem to understand what Eddie wants and keeps trying to make love to him. Eddie backs away. I leave them alone and walk back down the beach.
A few hours later I return and say to Eddie, “congratulations.”
“Congratulations, what?”
“You slept with her?”
“Well, not exactly…but could have.”
“Could have?”
“If I wanted to.”
“You didn’t want to?”
“No.”
Chapter 7
FEVER OF DREAMS
I am reading the Ramayana, the great Hindu classic about Rama and Sita. The fever hits me when Rama shoots his magic arrow into the demon’s head. My whole body aches. My head is pounding. I can hear my heart pushing blood through my body. Ke-thump, ke-thump, ke-thump, ke-thump.
Everything goes fuzzy. I can’t hold the book anymore. I only make it to the toilet hole in the ground with Eddie’s help. I open my eyes as Eddie wipes my forehead. Sometimes he talks to me softly, but I can’t understand him. Other times, there are people I don’t know in the room. I try to talk but my throat is dry. I can’t hold my eyes open. I drift. Dreams and reality mix.
I am lost in a dark, earthy temple. Corridors stretch out in all directions. Flying a few feet off the ground, I touch the walls to steady myself. They are wet. I leave my handprint in the muddy wall as I pull myself forward floating. Behind me, my handprints turn into ancient texts and illustrated manuscripts thousands of years old.
My feet brush the ground, emitting sparks. I enter a bright courtyard. A large, fleshy man sits eating fruit. I sit in front of him. But as I look more closely, I see that he is filled with holes. The holes go right through him. Inside there is gold. I look up and see that he’s part puppet. He starts singing this wondrous melody in a woman’s voice. He stretches out his hand and opens it.
In it is a brick-size chunk of mud. He wipes it clean with his other hand revealing a beautiful silver box. Then all these chorus voices start reverberating. They are a gamelan made up of silvery voices. It’s very beautiful, and I want to stay and listen. A single voice becomes clearer and clearer. It’s Eddie, and I awake. He puts a glass of tea to my lips and helps me as I drink.
The tea revives me. I lay back down. “Man, I ache everywhere.”
Eddie rubs my shoulders, back, arms, and legs.
“That feels great.”
I ask what day it is. Eddie tells me I’ve been delirious for three days. I haven’t eaten anything and have been sweating like crazy. He makes me drink some more. It’s good.
We talk for a while. I tell him that we need to leave here. We’ve been on Kuta Beach too long. Maybe the black magic beach made me sick. After all, it is kelod here; we’re near the demons. Maybe it’s the rock and rollers next door. Whatever it is, the vacation is over.
“We have to leave. We’re still just tourists. We’ve hardly scratched the surface. I might as well be back in San Francisco.”
“Yeah, or in jail. Or did you forget? Hey, we’ve got the beach almost to ourselves. The food is cheap. Come on. It’s paradise here.”
“But it’s not Bali. Banana pancakes every morning just ain’t it. I’m looking for the real Bali, authentic Bali, not a hippie hotel.”
He starts to resist again.
“I’ll do it with or without you, Eddie, really I will.”
Too tired to argue, I try to sleep. The stuffy night air is like a heavy wool blanket. I sleep without a sarong. There is no breeze. I have a disturbing dream.
I am standing on a beautiful beach. Eddie and I are here for some kind of celebration. Balinese women line the beach dressed in magnificent golden headdresses and transparent sarongs.
The tide comes in and lifts me up. I look down. I‘m standing on the water. This is so amazing, I can’t believe it. I’m afraid if I move that my feet will break the surface and I’ll fall in. Below are large electric eels. I know they are electric because they have Eveready batteries built into their backs.
On the shore, Eddie has erected a bamboo tower. He’s just finished folding some palm leafs into a star design, which he is putting at the top of the tower like a Christmas-tree ornament. He begins to climb.
The bamboo tower is rotting before my eyes and cannot possibly support his weight. I am too far away for him to hear me yell. To warn him, I must move but risk falling through the surface of the water onto the electric eels.
In the morning, I feel a little better. Eddie sleeps in. He looks exhausted. He obviously was up all night. When he wakes he won’t say what he’s been doing. He goes out and doesn’t return until it’s almost dark.
Night. The Barong, the mythical, lionlike creature, will visit our homestay tonight as part of a ritual cleansing. I squat down and wash myself with several buckets of cold water, then put on a clean sarong. A fat lizard darts across the ceiling overhead, stops and stares down at me.
“Hey, Bubba.”
The house lizard brings good luck, according to Ketut. I just hope he doesn’t fall on me tonight.
I feel much better but am still weak. I rest in the doorway and wait for the Barong. Where did all these people come from? The dusty road behind our losmen is lined with our Balinese neighbors. Big Swede strides up and joins me and Eddie.
A walking gamelan of drums and gongs comes near. The repetitious, syncopated beat becomes louder and louder. It makes you want to move, groove, and trance out.
“I