The Photo

By William Chen

One morning in 1975, I went to see the Le Mayeur museum in Sanur, Bali. It was still early. The museum had just opened its doors to the public. I walked into a quiet empty courtyard. A lone gardener was piling up dead leaves and fallen Cempaka flowers into small heaps. Many tall Cempaka and some withering Bougainvillea trees were still growing on the site where a gazebo had once stood.

Its foundations were all what was left standing on the spot near the wall which separated the museum from the public beach. I climbed up the crumbling foundations which were about a meter high above the ground. A good spot to watch the white waves colliding gently against the coral reef off the shore. It was a pensive moment, I stood there alone realizing that a great love story was once spun out on this very spot between La Mayeur and a young beautiful Balinese dancer, Ni Polok.

Later, I went on to explore other parts of the museum. Unknowingly, I entered a tiny study room through a narrow but nicely carved wooden door. It was dim and stuffy inside; dark colored carvings decorating the place made it even dimmer.

But something caught my eyes. A framed photo placed on the bookshelf near a small window; the light from outside showed clearly a half-naked woman. I was immediately captivated by her. I moved closer and gazed at her sensual face and her beautiful body with smooth shoulders and lovely long arms.

But I couldn't keep my eyes off her alluring bare breasts in front of me. It was intriguingly seductive alone with a half naked woman in a darkened room. I couldn't suppress my urge; my fingers reached out to the photo and I touched her lightly.

A strange tingling feeling coursed through my body, as if I had caressed her tender nape and fondled her breasts. I don't know for how long I stood motionlessly in front of that woman, letting my wondering mind drift into the old romantic world of Ni Polok.

It was the chattering sound of some women outside the window that finally disrupted and jolted me from my semi-trance, leaving a slight dizziness in my head. But the morning sun and the fresh sea breeze soon revitalized me.

As I was resting on the steps of a building, I saw a woman walking toward me. At first, she looked familiar so I waited for her to come closer, but the closer she came, the more uncertain I became. She appeared so much older and thinner than the last time I saw her.

Her thin gaunt face was almost expressionless. Her tired looking eyes refused to look at me as she moved slowly and stiffly, her bony shoulders and thin arms particularly noticeable.

I nearly suffocated on seeing her flattened sagging breasts hidden timidly under her shabby-looking clothes as she walked past in front of me. I was so stunned by her sad and pitiful appearance. I cried in my heart for her.

Perhaps, the intoxicating fragrance of cempaka flowers affected me. I felt again some drowsiness but I made an effort to get up and run after her. I asked gently if I could take a photo of her for my own memories.

When I aimed the camera at her and looked through the viewfinder, strangely, I saw the old sad looking woman's fuzzy image start to fade away. In its place, a vibrant young beautiful woman danced into view accompanied by a deafening cacophony of Gamelan music.

Her fluid, graceful, and sweeping movements circled the moon- lit small stage surrounded by tall cempaka and bougainvillea trees. The flickering flames of the bamboo torches planted in the darkness cast a magical spell over me.

I was hypnotized and transfixed by her swaying body and quivering shoulders. Her lovely long arms were raised high above her head with her slender fingers twisting in the warm night air.

Then without warning the gamelan music came to a sudden stop; silence fell upon the stage. The dancer paused. I seized that rare moment to catch the profile of her sensual face with a faint touch of arrogance from the corner of her sparkling eyes. I saw her pale shoulders partly covered by her thick black long hair, and her firm breasts heaving softly under her colorful costume. In a twinkle of an eye, she disappeared into the darkness.

Some years later, the sad news of her death reached me. I knew that she had finally lost her fierce battle against her cruel, mean, unforgiving and merciless enemy; the passage of time. Since then I have not been back to that museum, but her sweet and sorrowful impressions return to me again and again. Indeed, that photo of her on that bookshelf still haunts me to this day.