Although the next day (protective brothers notwithstanding) I did get hit by a bus. It was sort of a smallish bus, but nevertheless it did knock me off my bicycle as I was cruising down the shoulderless road. I got tossed into a cement irrigation ditch. About thirty Balinese people on motorcycles stopped to help me, having witnessed the accident (the bus was long gone), and everyone invited me to their house for tea or offered to drive me to the hospital, they all felt so bad about the whole incident. It wasn't that serious a wreck, though, considering what it might have been. My bicycle was fine, although the basket was bent and my helmet was cracked. (Better the helmet than the head in such cases.) The worst of the damage was a deep cut on my knee, full of bits of pebbles and dirt, that proceeded—over the next few days in the moist tropical air—to become nastily infected.

然而隔天（尽管有四兄弟保护），我却被巴士撞了一下。巴士不大，却仍让我在无路肩的路上骑单车时摔下来，我被抛入水泥沟渠。约有三十名巴厘岛机车骑士停下来帮我，他们目睹事故发生（巴士早已不见踪影），人人邀请我去家中喝茶，或提出载我上医院，他们对整件事故感到难受。尽管考虑到原本可能发生的可怕结果，这说起来不算是大灾难。我的单车没事，尽管篮子扭曲，头盔裂开（总比脑袋开花来得好）。损害最严重的是我的膝盖划了一道颇深的伤口，沾满碎石和泥土，后来——在其后几天潮湿的热带空气中——受到可怕的感染。

I didn't want to worry him, but a few days later I finally rolled up my pants leg on Ketut Liyer's porch, peeled off the yellowing bandage, and showed my wound to the old medicine man. He peered at it, concerned.

我不想让赖爷担心，但几天后我终究在他的阳台上卷起裤腿，撕去泛黄的绷带，让老药师看我的伤口。他忧虑地盯着伤口看。

"Infect," he diagnosed. "Painful." "Yes," I said.

"感染，"他诊断道，"很疼。""是的。"我说。

"You should go see doctor."

"你该去看医生。"

This was a little surprising. Wasn't he the doctor? But for some reason he didn't volunteer to help and I didn't push it. Maybe he doesn't administer medication to Westerners. Or maybe Ketut just had a secret hidden master plan, because it was my banged-up knee that allowed me, in the end, to meet Wayan. And from that meeting, everything that was meant to happen . . . happened. Eat, Pray, Love

这有点教人惊讶。他难道不是医生？然而出于某种原因，他并未主动提出帮忙，我亦未强迫他。或许他不给西方人看病开药。或者赖爷只是有个隐藏的锦囊妙计，因为撞伤的膝盖让我最终认识了大姐（Wayan）。从那回见面后，注定发生的一切……都发生了。