Dancing Out of Bali

by John Coast

  At this stage, when my own head was beginning to feel a little woolly, and when my friends' faces were assuming frozen looks to conceal their throbbing heads, I shouted suddenly to the Anak Agung, "Adoh, Agung Adji! Bingung sekali kita! We are all in one hell of a muddle!" And the rehearsal swept on again, bringing escape and relief in its wake.

  On the following day we crowded into the jeep and drove to Klungkung, the seat of Bali's first Raja, the Dewa Agung, the Great God, whose dynasty dated from the time his Hindu ancestors fled from Java in the fifteenth century when it was being swept by the Moslem tide. But Klungkung is also the centre of the silver industry, and the area produces almost all the smiths who make the gamelan instruments, except for the big gongs which come from Java, and the Ahrenbergs wanted to buy a silver bowl from a man whom they could watch working.

  It was on the way home that we stopped near the house of Made Lebah, and I dragged them to the site which we had selected for the Pliatan "guest house for foreign artists" which we contemplated if we ever had any money to build it with.

  It was a broad corner of grassy land beneath coconut palms, which backed on to Pliatan itself, and was separated from the wood-carving village of Mas by several kilometres of slowly descending terraced rice-fields. The boundary between the site and the sawahs was an irrigation stream one long stride across, cool and rapid flowing. In the distance could be seen the blue sea, and breezes off the Indian ocean blew up off the water-filled rice-fields at all seasons, so it was never too hot.

  "This land would be perfect for us," I told them. "The Anak Agung has offered us his own Gamelan of the God of Love to keep here if we ever do build; Made Lebah's family owns part of the land; it is in Pliatan but not too much in the public eye, and there is a building club in the village which would do all the work for us, since we would build in real Balinese fashion. Our food would come from that princess of cooks, our own Rantun; Made Lebah has even sworn to keep down the leyak-spotting dogs! At its rowdiest, in the morning we would wake to the crowing of the fighting cocks, and when Rantun came back from the market there would be the pounding noise of her fourteen or fifteen spices being prepared for blending with her tingling yet infinitely varied food. On the hottest of afternoons we would always have that cooling and quite universal Balinese music—the sound of fresh water trickling and falling from one ricefield's terrace to the next. In the evening we could dip and pour in a bathroom, or lie in the stream which flows from the mountains. And at night the club would be rehearsing on the most gentle and heavenly of gamelans, the Semar Pegulingan..."

  Our Swedish visitors left only one day before the letter from Singapore arrived, asking me to fly there as soon as a plane vacancy could be found. On December 8th I left Bali, swearing to Luce that I would be home before Christmas, leaving her to the care of the Anak Agung, Sampih and Rantun, and, more distantly, our good friend Islam Salim. At all costs we would dine in Pliatan and know our Malayan fate by Christmas, and at mid-day our entire household would eat with us together for this family festival.

  I arrived in Djakarta after a five hours' flight via Surabaya and stayed at the Hotel des Indes, where I learned that I was to call on the President and the Foreign Ministry. They both asked me the same question: was I still their public-relations official, or had I consciously allowed my appointment to lapse? And to both of them I answered that I considered myself now a free individual, responsible to, and drawing a salary from, no official source. Difficulties arose only when the President asked me my present plans.

  “I am off to Singapore, sir," I said. "I have friends there who want to bring over a group of Balinese dancers for a tour. I'm flying there tomorrow to arrange all the details."

  "Splendid!" said he. "Your old idea still, I see. And which dancers are you taking?"

  "Why-our people from Pliatan, of course! We've been working like madmen for over a year for this very thing. If all goes well, I was hoping to ask for the honour of your patronage."

  Then came his gentle bombshell.

  "But please, please, John, do not take the three little girls from Pliatan."

  He looked at me with his orator's eyes, even raised his hands in an imploring gesture toward me. But the steel in the Indonesian velvet was there. I felt it, and began to perspire freely. For an extra half hour the next visitors waited while I tried to plead, argue, reason, wriggle.

  "But we need this experience, sir. This is the only way we can find it. We just hope this preliminary thing will lead to an offer from Europe or America. Our sponsors are waiting for me, are paying for my fare. I feel committed to them."

  But to all my words he turned a charming smile and a deaf ear. His mind was made up. His asking me not to take these three children of ours was as concrete an order as he cared to give.

  "What shall I tell my friends in Malaya?" I asked. "And how shall I ever face the Pliatan club again? Sir, you are cutting the very earth away from under all my work."

  He answered, "You may take any other group you like. Take the group here in Djakarta, or take Saba—but those three small girls in your club in Pliatan are Bali's best. In my mind there is again that old plan we discussed before. You go to Singapore now, try to excuse yourself to your friends, use my name if it helps, see if they would accept another group—and then come back here and we will talk together again."

  And hoping the doors were still open, I left.

  On the flight to Singapore I tried to think out how best to explain the strange dilemma I was in, for it was clear to me that there existed only the slenderest chance of changing the President's mind. If I discovered that the desire in Malaya to see Balinese dancers was great, I thought that it might be appeased if we were to send over some other village group-though Luce and I would not dream of associating with any except Pliatan.

  Both Noel Ross and Ben Joppe met me at the airport, and when I sat talking with them I at once had the feeling of a betrayer; for my friends here had everything ready for us and were so embarrassingly enthusiastic. As I watched Noel's animated face beaming behind horn rimmed glasses, and heard how he planned not only to play in Singapore and Kuala Lumpur, but to get out into Kelantan and play to some Malay villages, I saw that I might have to let down an excellent and prepared plan.

  Percy McNeice, in whose house we all stayed, was not only the overworked chairman of Singapore's Municipal Council, but his wife, an elegant and distinguished Chinese girl, was the sister of the Loke Wan Tho who was to help float the project financially.

  So that very evening I outlined bluntly to Noel and Ben, to McNeice and Loke Wan Tho, exactly how things had developed in Djakarta. And when we went on later to the house of the head of the broadcasting station, and I showed there a film of our Legong and Kebiar made long ago in colour by the Nielsens, I had to tell Malcolm Macdonald, who was present, that the dancers he had just seen might not be able to come in the flesh, but could perhaps be represented by another group. This he accepted with surprise, for it seemed that the reception committee was formed already and that under his chairmanship leading personalities of the Malay, Chinese and British communities were sitting on it.

  Yet worse coals were heaped on my head late the next night. After an official engagement, Macdonald met us half an hour before midnight in the stadium of the Happy World Amusement Park. This was a great concrete arena that could hold nine thousand people, and George Lee, its owner, generously offered us its use for two nights in February free of charge, giving us this help as a gesture of good will. When I said tactfully to Macdonald that this would be a cold and gigantic place for our group to dance in, he laughed at me with most practical arguments. The arena, he said, could sell five thousand seats to the local population at very cheap prices indeed-then the ordinary man in the street would be able to see it; and the remaining four thousand seats could be sold for high prices, and in these two nights we would be able to cover all our financial outlay, so
that for the rest of our tour we could travel and play to the real people of Malaya as much as we all wished. The thoughtfulness of these sponsors of ours was increasingly shaming.

  Then we left for Kuala Lumpur in a very British manner. This city lay about two hundred and fifty miles north up the Malay peninsula. The road generally ran through rubber plantations and low-lying villages, though nearer Kuala Lumpur itself dense jungle descended from the hills steeply to the very border of the twisting, rising road. And Noel, who was one of Malaya's senior civil servants, had a shining black Humber limousine for his use. Instead of carrying an ordinary number, its plates advertised it as "B.A. SEL."—British Adviser, Selangor State. And fixed at the radiator cap I saw two short masts, paired like a V, for flying standards. Somewhat hesitantly I asked Noel about the road up, for this was only a few weeks after Sir Henry Gurney, the High Commissioner in Kuala Lumpur, had been ambushed and assassinated on a jungly road in spite of an armoured car escort. Things were not going well at this time in Malaya.

  "Do you carry a gun, Noel?" I asked.

  "I used to, but now I've given it up. If we were ambushed what could we do with a pistol? I don't like firearms."

  "How is the road we are travelling? Doesn't it seem a little crazy for the British Advisers all to label their number-plates with "B.A. SEL.” or "B.A. some other state” stuck out in front of them as an encouragement to snipers?"

  Noel laughed.

  "Don't worry, John. It's not as bad as people think. We believe that we have to show the flag otherwise all the villagers we pass will think the British are afraid of the damn bandits."

  "Hell's bells! Do you literally fly a flag as well?"

  "Of course. Two. The Union jack and the Selangor State flags."

  "If I were a senior civil servant I'd use a small Morris and change its numbers every day."

  "We'll be all right. There's only one bad stretch just south of K.L. itself. Last week there was a nasty incident there. They ambushed a car and stabbed its passengers to death through the windows with bamboo spears."

  And off we went up the hot west coast road, both flags flying merrily, the white-uniformed Malay driver smiling happily. And because we were late, we crossed the pass well after dark; and because it was dark, we couldn't be bothered to lower the flags. I felt that this was magnificently foolish, and probably quite right psychologically, proclaiming the only spirit with which to encourage the village people against the jungle-infesting Communists. In fact, Bali's petty and insular murders paled away and I found a great admiration for the stoicism of all Malaya's nationalities, who carried on as usual under tense and brutal strains.

  Kuala Lumpur was as ready for us as Singapore. The Straits Times even published a news item about the coming of the dancers while I was staying at Noel's Residency, and though I did try again to paint a faithful picture of conditions in Djakarta to him, he could not believe that the trip would be cancelled at this stage. I promised him at any rate to try to send another group if the edict on Pliatan stood firm.

  From K.L. I flew to Penang, and in Penang changed to a Siamese Airways Dakota and went on to Bangkok, my former home. Here I stayed with friends, and for three blissful days imbibed again the atmosphere of the one traditionally independent kingdom in this part of Asia. It was the cool month, and the city was gay with the equivalent of Balinese temple festivals. And though the smells of Bangkok's klongs, those pink lotus-covered waterways, and the yellow robes of the shaven-headed Buddhist monks, and the glittering tiles of the gold, green, blue and russet-brown roofs of their naga-gabled temples were as attractive to me as ever, I also found out very soon that the visit of a group of dancers to Siam could never pay its way. Bangkok is too cinema conscious a city, and Bali is too kindred. And exquisitely petite though the girls of Bangkok still were, I found my mind straying more and more concentratedly toward Kaliungu and my very dear partner, Luce.

  Quickly I left Siam and spent one night only in Singapore where I learnt that Malcolm Macdonald had sent a letter to Sukarno about the dance group, and next morning I was bunched up between Chinese businessmen on a Catalina flying boat, headed for Djakarta through the Rhiouw Archipelago of smugglers' islands and via the isle of solid tin, Bangka. That evening I telephoned my old foe, the Palace Secretary, and contrived to get an appointment with the President before the weekend when he would leave for his palace in the mountains of West java.

  Sukarno welcomed me calmly, offering me coffee, and I began to explain to him the embarrassments I had met with. But very soon he interrupted me with: "But you did manage to cancel the trip?"

  "I thought, sir, I was to find out what had been prepared first, and then ask for your ruling? If you will forgive my saying so, I am in grave trouble with my friends in both Malaya and Bali."

  "I must ask you to cancel the Malayan trip," he said. "But later on we will send there another group--perhaps the group that goes to Colombo can visit Singapore on its return."

  "That is a clear order, sir," I said, and sighed deeply, for in one sentence he was not only dooming Pliatan but handing the fruits of our work over to this very mediocre Colombo company. "I don't know how to face my friends in Bali," I added.

  "Wait here five minutes” said he, and left the room without a further word. Presently he came back again, a pen still in his hand, waving a sheet of paper in the air to dry it, and this he handed me, smiling, but again without comment. I read what he had written, and a conflicting flood of emotions poured over me. For what I read was an official letter in the President's own hand, recommending the Ministers of Foreign Affairs and Education to give me their full and immediate help in sending a group of Balinese dancers abroad to Europe and America. "You understand the last paragraph, John? I have said that besides you there must also be one 'fellow impresario' of Indonesian race. You know how Indonesian sentiment is these days. Do you have any objection to that?"

  "Not only do I have no objection, I would prefer it that way. And sir-thank you a million times for this confidence you are showing in me.".

  "Good! That's settled then. Now you had better take up once more that matter of an appointment with the Foreign Ministry. This will mean full-time work. Go and discuss the whole idea with Dr. Subardjo, the Foreign Minister."

  "Excuse me, sir—I swore I'd be back in Bali before Christmas. May I come back again to Djakarta soon after Christmas when I've told this momentous news to the Pliatan club?"

  And again I thanked him for his kindness, and promised to send him a copy of the letter of cancellation that I would have to send to Noel and to Malcolm Macdonald, and in which I would tell them the compromise solution which meant that the Colombo group would probably soon visit Singapore. With powerful, yet very mixed feelings, I booked my passage for Bali on December 24th.

  As the plane flew in over Kuta Bay, our former hut was easily visible, and as we bumped down onto the grass strip, I could see the staunch old jeep, D.K. 1682, waiting in the small car park. I could hardly suppress my many excitements when Luce and Sampih met me at the immigration barrier, but in oriental fashion we all waited until we were in the jeep and on the way home, while I sucked in deep breaths of Balinese sea air once more.

  "Well, the Malayan trip is cancelled," I told them at last. "The President himself would not permit it." A tangible silence of despair filled the jeep. "But—he proposed something else. He has offered Government help to send our group to Europe and America." From Sampih came a deep and explosive "Beh!" and an ear-splitting grin; he was as eager and excited as a human being could be. Luce, however, reacted as I had done, and was thoughtful. Then she said, "Is this really good or bad news, Johnnie? I don't know. How free are we going to be artistically now? How many ties will officialdom tag on to us?"

  "That, dear Luce, is exactly the question. But don't you see—I was caught! I had to accept. He stopped our going privately to look for our own contacts, but he
's had the vision and confidence in our taste to back my old, old plan which has already been torpedoed once. So of course I accepted—and cheerfully, too. Heaven knows there'll be hurdles galore to trip us, but let's take them when we come to them. Next month I'll be going back to Djakarta to arrange an appointment once more at the Foreign Ministry and we'll be solvent again."

  "What will the club say, Pih?" asked Luce.

  "What will they say? Beh! They will be crazy with joy. This is the biggest victory for Pliatan. Who would want to go to Colombo now?"

  He crowed in his own delight.

  "All right, Pih," I said "Here is your lesson number one from your elder brother. Don't even talk about this outside the club. Don't arouse jealousy now—there'll be enough later on. just say that some such possibility exists, if people ask you, but insist that nothing is certain at all."

  Sampih, quick on the uptake, at once saw the point and agreed. His eyes gleamed, though. And then we were back in Denpasar's one street of wooden shops, passing the Bali Hotel, bumping along the Kaliungu lane, and running up the steep bank into our garage. Here, according to a pleasant Indonesian custom, I at once opened my bags and produced the oleh-oleh I had brought home, little presents for every member of the household from Luce to Rantun's Ketut.

  And that evening the club did go mad with delight; but I made them swear not to brag with loud mouths in front of even Pliatan villagers, and over and over again we cautioned them against inviting envy. Then alone together at last that night I spoke with Luce of another great problem that had finally presented itself to me. Partnership in our venture, I told her, was not enough; for in Bangkok I had known my dependence on her. Suddenly and to my indignation this had been made very clear to me. I now asked her to marry me according to the complicated Moslem-Christian, Indonesian-British regulations: which would make it doubly binding, doubly certain. And never knowing which way she would jump, I waited with a vast anxiety for her reply. But she looked at me very calmly and rather tearfully, but said coolly, "Yes.” For the period when we had fought violently together, neither willing to give up our equally prized independence, was past; and already we had discussed and inspected and faced the difficulties that would arise from a finalising of our mixed marriage, and we had decided that for us it would be workable, though children we might not dare to have.