Chapter 3 Indonesian Story (2)

"Not my real name," he said, "my real name is Nyoman." Ah, I should have known.I should have known that I had a one in four chance of guessing Mario's real name.Let me digress for a moment - in Bali, most people name their children only four names, regardless of gender.The four names are "Wayan", "Made", "Nyoman" and "Ketut".These names just mean the eldest, the second, the third, and the fourth, implying the order of birth.If a fifth child is born, the cycle of names starts again, so the actual name of the fifth child is roughly: "Second Boss".So on and so forth.In the case of twins, they are named according to the order in which they were born.There are basically only four names in Bali (the upper elite pick their own names), so it is quite possible (and quite common, in fact) for two "Wayans" to marry.Their first child was naturally named "Wayan".

This alludes to the importance of family in Bali and the importance of the positioning of members within a family.You might think the system would tend to be complicated, but the Balinese handle it just fine.Nicknames are understandably (and necessary) popular.For example, in Ubud there is a successful businesswoman named "Wayan" who runs a busy restaurant called "CafeWayan" (CafeWayan), hence the name "CafeWayan" - which means "operate". The boss of the boss cafe".Some might be called the "fat second boy" or "the third rental car boy" or "the stupid fourth boy who burned his uncle's house down".My new Balinese friend Mario simply calls himself Mario, thus dodging the question.

"Why Mario?" "Because I love everything about Italy," he said. I told him that I had been in Italy for four months not long ago, and to his surprise, he came out from behind the counter and said, "Come on, let's sit down and talk." I sat down and we talked.So we became friends. So this afternoon I decided to start looking for my pharmacist, and I asked my new friend Mario if he happened to know a guy named Old Si Lai. Mario frowned thoughtfully. I waited for him to say something like: "Ah, yes! Old Si Lai! The old pharmacist who passed away last week--the venerable old pharmacist passed away, what a pity..."

Mario asked me to say the name again, and this time I wrote it down, thinking I might have mispronounced it.Sure enough, Mario recognized it and beamed with joy. "Old Si Lai!" Now I'm waiting for him to say something like: "Ah yes! Old Si Lai! He's crazy! He went crazy and was arrested last week..." But what he said next was: "Lao Si Lai is a famous doctor." "Yes! It's him!" "I know him. I've been to his house. I took my cousin there last week. She needs treatment for a baby who has been crying all night. Let the old four be cured. I will take an American girl like you to Lai some time The house. The girl hopes to have magic to make herself more beautiful in the eyes of men. Grandpa Lai drew a magic picture to help her become more beautiful. After that, I joked with her and said to her every day: "The picture has worked!look how beautiful you are!The graph works! ""

I recalled the picture Grandpa Lai drew for me a few years ago, so I told Mario that the pharmacist also gave me a magic picture. Mario smiled. "The picture works on you too!" "My map is to help me find God!" I explained. "You don't want to look more beautiful to men?" he asked, clearly confused. I said, "Hey, Mario -- can you take me to see Lai someday? When you're not busy?" "Not now," he said. When I started to feel disappointed, he said again, "Can I do it in five minutes?" So on the afternoon of the day I arrived in Bali, I suddenly sat on the back of the motorcycle and grabbed my new "Italian Indonesian" friend Mario. He drove me across the terraced fields and headed for my grandpa's house.Despite thinking about reuniting with the pharmacist for the past two years, I don't know what to say to him when I arrive.Of course we didn't have an appointment, so it was a surprise visit.I recognized the same signboard at the door as last time, which read: "Lao Si Lai Ye - Painter".This is a typical traditional family house in Bali.A high stone wall surrounds the house, with a central courtyard and a temple at the rear.Generations live together in interconnected huts within the walls.We didn't knock on the door and went in (there was no door anyway), startled a few typical Balinese watchdogs (skeletal and fierce), and the old pharmacist Lai Ye was in the atrium, wearing a salon skirt and golf shirt, and I Exactly the same as when I first met him two years ago.Mario said something to Lai, I'm not familiar with Balinese, but it sounded like a brief introduction, "Here comes an American girl - come on" or something.

Lai gave me a barely toothless smile, the strength of a benevolent fire hose, so reassuring: I remember right, he was a great man.His face is an encyclopedia of inclusivity and kindness.He shook my hand excitedly and firmly.