The Photo<\/p>\n
By William Chen<\/p>\n
One morning in 1975, I went to see the Le Mayeur museum in
\nSanur, Bali. It was still early. The museum had just opened its
\ndoors to the public. I walked into a quiet empty courtyard. A
\nlone gardener was piling up dead leaves and fallen Cempaka
\nflowers into small heaps. Many tall Cempaka and some withering
\nBougainvillea trees were still growing on the site where a gazebo
\nhad once stood.<\/p>\n
Its foundations were all what was left standing on the spot
\nnear the wall which separated the museum from the public beach. I
\nclimbed up the crumbling foundations which were about a meter
\nhigh above the ground. A good spot to watch the white waves
\ncolliding gently against the coral reef off the shore. It was a
\npensive moment, I stood there alone realizing that a great love
\nstory was once spun out on this very spot between La Mayeur and a
\nyoung beautiful Balinese dancer, Ni Polok.<\/p>\n
Later, I went on to explore other parts of the museum.
\nUnknowingly, I entered a tiny study room through a narrow but
\nnicely carved wooden door. It was dim and stuffy inside; dark
\ncolored carvings decorating the place made it even dimmer.<\/p>\n
But something caught my eyes. A framed photo placed on the
\nbookshelf near a small window; the light from outside showed
\nclearly a half-naked woman. I was immediately captivated by her.
\nI moved closer and gazed at her sensual face and her beautiful
\nbody with smooth shoulders and lovely long arms.<\/p>\n
But I couldn't keep my eyes off her alluring bare breasts in
\nfront of me. It was intriguingly seductive alone with a half
\nnaked woman in a darkened room. I couldn't suppress my urge; my
\nfingers reached out to the photo and I touched her lightly.<\/p>\n
A strange tingling feeling coursed through my body, as if I
\nhad caressed her tender nape and fondled her breasts. I don't
\nknow for how long I stood motionlessly in front of that woman,
\nletting my wondering mind drift into the old romantic world of Ni
\nPolok.<\/p>\n
It was the chattering sound of some women outside the window
\nthat finally disrupted and jolted me from my semi-trance, leaving
\na slight dizziness in my head. But the morning sun and the fresh
\nsea breeze soon revitalized me.<\/p>\n
As I was resting on the steps of a building, I saw a woman
\nwalking toward me. At first, she looked familiar so I waited for
\nher to come closer, but the closer she came, the more uncertain I
\nbecame. She appeared so much older and thinner than the last time
\nI saw her.<\/p>\n
Her thin gaunt face was almost expressionless. Her tired
\nlooking eyes refused to look at me as she moved slowly and
\nstiffly, her bony shoulders and thin arms particularly
\nnoticeable.<\/p>\n
I nearly suffocated on seeing her flattened sagging breasts
\nhidden timidly under her shabby-looking clothes as she walked
\npast in front of me. I was so stunned by her sad and pitiful
\nappearance. I cried in my heart for her.<\/p>\n
Perhaps, the intoxicating fragrance of cempaka flowers
\naffected me. I felt again some drowsiness but I made an effort to
\nget up and run after her. I asked gently if I could take a photo
\nof her for my own memories.<\/p>\n
When I aimed the camera at her and looked through the
\nviewfinder, strangely, I saw the old sad looking woman's fuzzy
\nimage start to fade away. In its place, a vibrant young beautiful
\nwoman danced into view accompanied by a deafening cacophony of
\nGamelan music.<\/p>\n
Her fluid, graceful, and sweeping movements circled the moon-
\nlit small stage surrounded by tall cempaka and bougainvillea
\ntrees. The flickering flames of the bamboo torches planted in the
\ndarkness cast a magical spell over me.<\/p>\n
I was hypnotized and transfixed by her swaying body and
\nquivering shoulders. Her lovely long arms were raised high above
\nher head with her slender fingers twisting in the warm night air.<\/p>\n
Then without warning the gamelan music came to a sudden stop;
\nsilence fell upon the stage. The dancer paused. I seized that
\nrare moment to catch the profile of her sensual face with a faint
\ntouch of arrogance from the corner of her sparkling eyes. I saw
\nher pale shoulders partly covered by her thick black long hair,
\nand her firm breasts heaving softly under her colorful costume.
\nIn a twinkle of an eye, she disappeared into the darkness.<\/p>\n
Some years later, the sad news of her death reached me. I knew
\nthat she had finally lost her fierce battle against her cruel,
\nmean, unforgiving and merciless enemy; the passage of time. Since
\nthen I have not been back to that museum, but her sweet and
\nsorrowful impressions return to me again and again. Indeed, that
\nphoto of her on that bookshelf still haunts me to this day.<\/p>",
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