Under the Bali Moon

“Your heart is without cover,” he said then to Zena. “He cover your heart. He give heart to you safe.” He reached over and patted the ground before Zena’s and Adan’s locked hands. “You together. You love.”

“But—” Zena tried, but her desired interrogation was met with a firm eye from Nyoman. There would be no more questions.

He lifted his hand and turned to Alton with his guitar and Zola with her wildflowers in her hair. He smiled at them as if they were children frolicking in a meadow.

“Love of flower in garden,” he said to them. “Flower no open. Flower closed. No pluck. No time. Soon time. Soon time pluck flower.”

Zena looked over at Zola to see her stare at Nyoman, drinking in his words.

Alton wrapped his arm over Zola’s shoulders and kissed her cheek, but she never once looked away from Nyoman.

“Well, we’re about to pluck it right now, right outside,” Adan joked in an attempt to break the stare between Nyoman and Zola.

Nyoman smiled and then reached into one of the copper bowls of water and uncooked rice on the floor between them. He uttered foreign words and placed the water and rice on each person’s forehead with his thumb.

Kadek appeared in the doorway to escort them to the gazebo for the nuptials.

As the caravan rose to depart, Zena noticed Zola lingering in the back, still looking at Nyoman sitting there in the lotus position with a satisfied smile on his face.

She caught Zola’s arm. “Are you all right?” Zena asked.

“I’m fine.” Zola looked at Zena, and in Zola’s eyes, Zena found some state of serenity, of enlightenment.

The sisters clasped hands and sojourned up the twisting strip of sand heading toward the plumeria-draped gazebo, where the civil registrar presiding over the ceremony was standing beside Adan and Alton, who was strumming his song on the guitar to entice his bride down the aisle to him.

While the melody was the same, he’d changed the words for that special day:

Kiss me and I know your heart is pure.

Love me and I swear I’ll give you more.

You are my love, my breath to carry me away.

You are my life—my days will be the same.

Some of the villagers who’d followed the procession to the beach had formed a thin circle before the gazebo. They waved and threw fresh-picked flowers at Zola and Zena as they walked by.

As Zena escorted Zola, she looked ahead at Adan standing beside his little brother. He was smiling, but unlike everyone else, his eyes weren’t on the bride; he was watching Zena. He was staring at her. His gaze was so focused, in fact, that Zena looked away. She felt that if she’d kept her eyes on him, she might walk straight to him, forget where she was and what she was supposed to be doing, and stand by his side.

* * *

When the women reached the men, Zena kissed Zola on the cheek and stepped to the side.

The registrar, a little man with seesaw shoulders, began to read through his legal proceedings, nodding to Zola and Alton to be sure both understood his shaky English.

He paused and announced that the couple wanted to state their own vows.

Alton spoke first: “Zola, I don’t remember any part of my life without you. Or else, maybe, all the parts before you, were me trying to get to you. Trying to make you see me. And when you did, when you finally saw me, it was like my life began again. And I never want it to end. Zola, I vow to be your partner. I vow to be by your side. I vow to be in your corner. You don’t have to look for me. You don’t have to call my name. I vow to just be there.”

Zola wiped tears from Alton’s cheeks and then stood still so he could wipe hers.

The registrar turned to her.

The sea breeze took on an expectant howl as new seconds ticked past. There was waiting for something to happen, and then there was this—awkward lagging where there should have been words—words from Zola.

There was near-inaudible chatter from the onlookers. Zena smiled at them and nudged Zola in the back.

/> The registrar lacked any Westernized notion of sympathy for those in contemplation at such times, so he kept a stare on Zola’s eyes, which were solemn and maybe mournful by then.