wire. Directly beneath the bridge on the left bank where we rested, a sparkling spring gushed from a hollow in the cliff-face. Here might Artemis herself, wearied by the chase, have come with her attendant train of heavenly nymphs in order to disport and perform her secretive ablutions.
To this selfsame spot had I often repaired in the course of my regular wanderings, and according to custom, I quickly stripped and leapt into the cooling flow, exhorting my companions to do likewise. Neither Hector nor Hermione needed any second bidding. In a trice they were both naked and jumped in to join me. And in that brief, delirious instant when Hermione revealed her all, I could not help wondering whether the goddess herself was endowed with such perfection of form; and I recalled the terrible story of Actaeon, the hunter, who quite unwittingly surprised the chaste Mistress of the Bow while she was bathing. His one unintended glance so offended her modesty that she caused him to be changed into the object of his pursuit—a stag—and so he was hunted down and torn to pieces by his own hounds. Anyway, I reflected, even though my glimpse of her had hardly been involuntary, Hermione was clearly anything but outraged by it. After all, this was Bali; not ancient Greece, where gods and goddesses were so easily affronted. When Rajapala came upon Soepraba, the divine nymph, washing herself, he not only feasted his eyes on her but also resolved to make her his bride by stealing her selendang or mythical wings, thereby depriving her of the means to return to heaven. I rather fancied myself in the role of Rajapala.
The water, composite flux of countless mountain sources, was several degrees cooler than the surrounding air. It was so invigorating that I could happily have resigned myself to its embrace for the remainder of that afternoon. There were other attractions besides. All things considered, there is no rational explanation for what happened next. A demon had taken hold of me. I dashed out of the river and up the bank, and donned my shorts in a flash, before turning to address the others.
“I will lead you to the realm of Faerie,” I said.
It is a kind of Fairyland or Middle Earth, that region which extends beyond the Great Divide. A place unfrequented by tourists or outsiders, I had made the journey there a mere half dozen times before, returning as the Wedding-Guest after hearing the Ancient Mariner ‘like one that hath been stunned, and is of sense forlorn.’ If nothing is predestined, it was a singular chance that took us there this sultry afternoon.
As we picked our way gingerly over the rotting stems of bamboo, carefully watching each step whilst trying not to notice the brown flood swirling below, I wondered aloud if we had chosen the most propitious route. As if to echo my concern, one of the poles disintegrated with a hideous splintering crack directly under Hector, sending him sprawling, one leg dangling through the gap.
“Good grief!” he cried, clinging for dear life to the swaying handrail which looked as if it too was about to explode in a cloud of sawdust, “if this one goes then I’m a goner!” To her considerable credit, Hermione who was already safely across, collapsed on a rock, shaking with laughter.
“God, you’re a clot, Hector!” she blurted out comfortingly: “why is it that you must always draw attention to yourself in every situation?”
“Oh do shut up!” was all Hector could manage by way of strangled reply. “You’ll get yours by and by.”
No one could have foretold then that we were all going to get ours before the day was out.
The way up was much steeper than on the other side, in places precipitous, so that we were obliged to handhold perpendicular steps cut from the living rock. To our amazement, a lone grass-cutter scrambled cheerfully up behind us, then quickly overtook us, on his head a huge basket of grass that must have been his equivalent in weight. At last we got to the top and paused to survey the view which, like the scene that greeted Alice when she had passed through the looking-glass, was much the same as that on the other side, only reversed, with one or two subtle and not so subtle differences, such as the procession of modern and plainly not very Balinese structures that protruded through the curtain of green surmounting the opposing slope. To the south one could clearly see the distant ocean and the white oscillating line of breakers on the reef: to the north the prospect was hazier and the uplands were obscured under a lowering leaden sky. High above us there came the piercing scream of the Serpent Eagle, at once reassuring of survival, yet disquieting in tone. Everything was strangely still.
We strode along a grassy track, past portals of mud-brick and walls of stone. In spacious compounds the tall trees stood motionless. Not a sign of activity anywhere. Not a sound.
This all-pervasive silence was all the more obtrusive and oppressive for its alien existence in a sphere thronged by all manner of stridulating creature and peopled by inhabitants whose very being was predicated on ceremony and commotion. Were there no children here to chatter and clap hands and shriek with merriment; no churls to curse, nor dogs to bark?
The contagion of this malady of noiselessness reached out and sealed our lips; and all attempt at conversation was as futile as contrived.
With atmosphere so charged, it came as barely a surprise and almost a relief when, in a blinding blue flash followed by an instantaneous crash which shook the earth beneath us, Zeus proclaimed an end of elemental truce. We stood stupefied, our ears singing.
“That was a near miss.” Although I had spoken these words, they seemed to have been beamed through the ether from another world. “Perhaps we should try and find some shelter.”
By this time we had progressed beyond the village and were lingering at the edge of a grove of gigantic cotton-trees, associated with the community’s pura dalem, Temple of the Dead. It was not an auspicious spot in which to seek refuge. Skirting the temple, a narrow, muddy track led through an enclosed area of cultivation towards the river valley. Before us lay the open fields. We could either retrace our steps to the nearest habitation or proceed along the way to the gorge, and thus in the general direction of home, finding presently some shed or projection in the rock which would afford protection from the storm, should such prove really necessary. As yet there was no hint of rain: our one immediate concern was to retreat from these trees in the event that lightening should strike again. We determined to press on.
All I cared about was keeping my binoculars dry. Nothing else mattered. We hastened down the track.
The way dipped down between moss-encrusted walls, ever more deeply and darkly, with scant room to admit anyone of above average stature. Emerging on a sudden from this claustrophobic passage, we found ourselves on the brink of an abyss. Below us the river churned and foamed in tumult, passing out of sight beneath our very feet; whilst the limit of its upper reach was shrouded in an impenetrable gray veil of advancing rain. A wooded eminence rose to obscure the southern horizon, our path descending abruptly under the sheer side of the craggy outcrop rearing ahead. There was no sign anywhere of hut or hole in which to hide. If we were to escape a soaking, then our only hope lay in making haste, the while keeping our eyes skinned for a suitable overhang or opening in the rock.
Audible above the constant rush of river, raging in its headlong flight towards the sea, now was heard the ponderous roar of the approaching storm, relentless in its steady march and blotting out all form and movement between earth and sky. The first large spats hissed down like hail and kissed the dust.
To the right of our path, the embankment fell away to, reveal a fault or hollow, forming a shallow valley of partly cultivated terraces. Bound on three sides by a scarp clad in dense vegetation, the lower end debouched at the river’s brink. A narrow ledge led down to the uppermost level, which appeared to terminate in a declivity hard under the overhanging cliff face. Of somewhat sinister aspect, this sunken enclave would not normally have invited closer inspection. I myself had passed it by previously, without giving it a backward glance or second thought. One had the definite feeling that it was a place to be avoided. On the other hand, our present situation was anything but normal, and with the rain now cascading around our ears, in all that rugged and remote terrain, it was the sole and more than likely last resort that seemed to offer some protection.
“Quickly!” I shouted unnecessarily, edging slowly along the slippery, sloping ledge: “follow me, if you want to keep dry.” We were all already soaked. I had stuffed my binoculars in their purse