Under the Bali Moon

The next knock at the door was Kadek, the villa manager. He arrived ready to escort the sisters to the front gate. Adan and Alton were waiting there to begin the short walk to the beach hut where the Balian Tenung would bless Alton and Zola before the wedding ceremony. He was carrying a huge parasol made of iridescent silks and gold piping. Curly sheer fabric dangled from each corner.

“You ready?” Zena asked, looking at Zola standing in front of the mirror, nervously adjusting the crown of wild shore flowers she’d collected to decorate the goddess braids Zena put in her hair. The rose-gold lace sheath Lisa had picked out for Zola at Lucille’s Lace was simple yet ethereal.

“Guess I have to be,” Zola said. “Let’s do this.”

Zola began to walk to the door, but Zena suddenly felt she needed to add some words, some weight to the moment before Zola went to say her vows.

“I didn’t come here with the best of intentions,” she said.

“What?”

“I thought I was coming here to stop you from marrying Alton. I thought I could use my relationship with you as leverage to keep you from saying, ‘I do.’ But now, with everything that’s happened, I know I was wrong. I know I was just holding you back from getting what you really want. And I know it’s just my job to make sure you get that.”

Zola responded, “You were just trying to have my back. I can’t be mad at you for that. I’m only happy you’re in my corner right now.”

The sisters hugged, and Zena gave Zola a big kiss on the cheek.

“I wish Mommy could see you in this dress,” Zena said. “I really wish she could’ve been here.”

“Me, too.”

Zola pulled Zena out the door, and the two floated under the colorful celebratory parasol toward the front gate.

When Zola spotted Alton and Adan standing there, she ran ahead of Zena and Kadek, kicking up her dress so all could see her gold gladiator sandals. She ran so fast it was as if she hadn’t seen Alton in days or weeks, months. Or maybe it was as if she’d never seen him before and had only known him in dreams and this was their first time laying eyes on one another.

And he ran towar

d her, also. Standing beside Adan in his matching tan linen suit with a blooming bright yellow allamanda in his lapel that matched Zena’s dress, Alton dropped his guitar and ran to meet Zola halfway on the path to the gate. He picked her up and held her in the air as if she was light as a flower petal.

Pretending to fly, Zola spread her arms out and hollered, “I love you, Alton Douglass!”

“Come on now. You two aren’t even married yet. Calm down with the drama!” Adan joked from behind Alton and Zola. He walked over to Zena and kissed her on the forehead before putting one arm around her shoulder.

“Thank you!” Zena jumped in. “Let’s save all the mushy stuff until after the legal stuff.”

Alton and Zola guffawed at the elder siblings’ comments and got in line to walk to the beach. Alton picked up his guitar and set out in the back of the crowd, playing a simple and sweet melody he’d played on many nights to lull Zola to sleep.

Kadek led the party, carrying the parasol in the front as they paraded through the small, rude and rocky streets of the country town that was busy with afternoon business. Lean-to shop owners and smiling locals came out to see the party pass. Some offered their blessings and others came out to tie ornate ribbons to Zena’s and Zola’s waists, a symbolic blessing of good luck and prosperity. Small children wanted to shake Zola’s hand. One woman stepped up for a picture with the bridal party. This part of the journey appeared foreign from any wedding celebration they’d ever seen, but it also felt natural and intimate. As if it was the way that love ought to be celebrated, in the community, without excessive flair, with much love beneath the sun.

When they entered the portion of the beach that led to the Balian Tenung’s hut, Kadek lowered the parasol and pointed to a small temple that had been meticulously decorated with flowers and sitting statues by the Tenung’s followers and visitors throughout the years. It looked like a whimsical beach cabin or fairy-tale hideout. Two burning torches demarked the entrance. A little closer to the shore, a wooden altar and gazebo was overrun with fresh-picked fragrant plumeria. The Catatan Sipil, civil registrar, Adan hired to officiate over Alton and Zola’s vows stood awaiting the occasion of the nuptials beneath the gazebo.

“Before marriage, you see Nyoman inside. He ready for you,” Kadek said, pointing to the hut. “You go together. He bless you. Good for marriage.”

Inside the hut, the foursome found a short, plump man with a bald head and few teeth sitting in the lotus position on a torn wool mat. Draped in white muslin, he smiled politely, said a few words to welcome them and gestured for them to sit before him.

For seconds or minutes, he glanced at their eyes, moving from one to the next, peeking wisely and knowingly at something that made each of them feel awkward but lucky to be in Nyoman’s presence. He didn’t look like a wise man, though, not like the stereotypical truth teller most Western visitors expected to see sitting in the hut. Nyoman appeared cheerful yet studied. He might be a schoolteacher or a chef—judging from his stomach—if he wasn’t sitting in that hut.

“You love—you all love each other,” he said finally. “You together. Always stay together. Always.”

He signaled for Adan and Zena to join hands.

“Oh, no, we’re not the ones getting married,” Zena said as softly as she could, so as not to disturb the quiet in the space. “They are.” She pointed to Zola and Alton sitting beside her.

Nyoman looked down at his lap and waited.

“You here for marry,” he said as the sounds and breeze of the rolling tide outside crashed into the doorway. He looked up at Adan and added, “You here for love her. You here for marry her.” He pointed to Zena.

The words were a secret spoken aloud. There was an uncomfortable chuckle from the foursome, with Zena leading. But Nyoman did not budge. He did not smile.