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Music of Kebyar
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Story of Bali, Indonesia

sign of a bemo. Soon it would be too hot for me to go to the village. I sighed. The woodcarver caught my eye and pointed to his bike:
" Nyonya want a ride to town? I go now to pasar. "

Quickly he placed the carvings into his shoulder bag and jumped aboard, while I settled myself on the passenger's seat, thinking guiltily how many times I had rejected one of his pieces.
Half way to the village he called over his shoulder:
"Nyonya first come to my place and see good woodcarvings Very cheap."
"No," I replied, inwardly cursing myself for accepting a ride. "I have to meet friends at the market."
"Some other time, Nyonya come and see my carvings" he persisted hopefully.
As we were now pulling up at the market, I felt I could risk a hasty: "Thanks. Perhaps some other day," before I dived out of sight between the crowded stalls.
Two hours later I was heading back to the hotel. After the heat of the market I was dreaming of a long cool drink by the swimming pool. A motorbike revved up behind me. A hopeful voice inquired: "Like a lift back to the hotel, Nyonya"

Yes, like you've guessed, it was the woodcarver again A picture frame now hung around his neck like-a horse colllar.
"Hop on," he urged.
Well, why not The heat was getting more than I could handle. And one day, quite definitely, I would indeed look at his woodcarvings.
I was hardly seated on the bike, before he swiftly spun it round, away from the hotel, and I realised with a sinking heart, that "one day" was going to be today