Chapter 82

           

           AsforKetut’swife,ittakesmeawhiletoalignmyselfwithher.Nyomo,ashecallsher,isbigandplumpwithastiff-hiplimpandteethstainedredbychewingonbetelnuttobacco.Hertoesarepainfullycrookedfromarthritis.Shehasashrewdeye.Shewasscarytomefromthefirstsight.She’sgotthatfierceoldladyvibeyouseesometimesinItalianwidowsandrighteousblackchurchgoingmamas.Shelookslikeshe’dwhupyourhidefortheslightestofmisdemeanors.Shewasblatantlysuspiciousofmeatfirst-Whoisthisflamingotraipsingthroughmyhouseeveryday?Shewouldstareatmefrominsidethesootyshadowsofherkitchen,unconvincedastomyrighttoexist.Iwouldsmileatherandshe’djustkeepstaring,decidingwhethersheshouldchasemeoutwithabroomstickornot.

           Butthensomethingchanged.Itwasafterthewholephotocopyincident.

           KetutLiyerhasallthesepilesofold,linednotebooksandledgers,filledwithtinylittlehandwriting,ofancientBalinese-Sanskritmysteriesabouthealing.Hecopiedthesenotesintothesenotebookswaybackinthe1940sor1950s,sometimeafterhisgrandfatherdied,sohewouldhaveallthemedicalinformationrecorded.Thisstuffisbeyondinvaluable.Therearevolumesofdataaboutraretreesandleavesandplantsandalltheirmedicinalproperties.He’sgotsomesixtypagesofdiagramsaboutpalm-reading,andmorenotebooksfullofastrologicaldata,mantras,spellsandcures.Theonlythingis,thesenotebookshadbeenthroughdecadesofmildewandmiceandthey’reshreddedalmosttobits.

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