So I was kind of surprised the next night when—after he'd made me dinner at his house and after we'd sprawled on his couch for several hours and discussed all manner of subjects and after he'd unexpectedly leaned into me for a moment and sunk his face toward my armpit and pronounced how much he loved the marvelous dirty stink of me—Felipe finally put his palm against my cheek and said, "That's enough, darling. Come to my bed now," and I did.

Yes, I did come to his bed with him, in that bedroom with its big open windows looking out over the nighttime and the quiet Balinese rice fields. He parted the sheer, white curtain of mosquito netting that surrounded his bed and guided me in there. Then he helped me out of my dress with the tender competence of a man who had obviously spent many comfortable years getting his children ready for bathtime, and he explained to me his terms—that he wanted absolutely nothing from me whatsoever except permission to adore me for as long as I wanted him to. Were those terms acceptable to me?

Having lost my voice somewhere between the couch and the bed, I only nodded. There was nothing left to say. It had been a long, austere season of solitude. I had done well for myself. But Felipe was right—that was enough.

"OK," he replied, smiling as he moved some pillows out of our way and rolled my body under his. "Let's get ourselves organized here."

Which was actually pretty funny because that moment marked an end to all my efforts at organization.

Later, Felipe would tell me how he had seen me that night. He said that I seemed so young, not in the least bit resembling the self-assured woman he'd come to know in the daylight world. He said I seemed terribly young but also open and excited and relieved to be recognized and so tired of being brave. He said it was obvious I hadn't been touched in such a long time. He found me teeming with need but also grateful to be allowed to express that need. And while I can't say that I remember all that, I do take his word for it because he seemed to be paying awfully close attention to me.

What I mostly remember about that night is the billowy white mosquito netting that sur-rounded us. How it looked to me like a parachute. And how I felt like I was now deploying this parachute to escort me out the side exit of the solid, disciplined airplane which had been fly-ing me during these few years out of A Very Hard Time in My Life. But now my sturdy flying machine had become obsolete right there in midair, so I stepped out of that single-minded single-engine airplane and let this fluttering white parachute swing me down through the strange empty atmosphere between my past and my future, and land me safely on this small, bed-shaped island, inhabited only by this handsome shipwrecked Brazilian sailor, who (having been alone himself for far too long) was so happy and so surprised to see me coming that he suddenly forgot all his English and could only manage to repeat these five words every time he looked at my face: beautiful, beautiful, beautiful, beautiful and beautiful. Eat, Pray, Love

因此，隔天晚上我有些讶异——他做晚饭招待我，我们瘫在沙发上几个小时谈论各种话题，他出人意外地扑身把脸埋入我的腋窝，说多么喜爱我奇妙的臭味，之后——斐利贝用手掌贴住我的脸颊，说："够了，甜心。现在来我床上吧。"我就跟他去了。

是的，我和他上了床；那间卧室面向夜间寂静的巴厘岛稻田。他拨开床架周围透明的白色蚊帐，引导我入内。而后他以多年来惯于准备为孩子们入浴的温柔能力帮我脱去衣裳，并向我说明他的条件——他绝对不想剥夺我任何东西，除了容许他一直爱慕我，只要我愿意。这些条件是否合我意？

从沙发到床上的这段时间，我哑口无言，只是点头。没有什么可说的了。我已度过一段漫长苦涩的时期。我为自己做得很好。但是斐利贝没说错——够了。

"好吧，"他回答，移开一些枕头，把我的身体移到他底下，"我们让自己组织起来吧。"

这其实很好笑，因为那一刻终止了我企图组织的一切努力。

后来斐利贝告诉我那天晚上他眼中的我。他说我看起来很年轻，丝毫不像他在白昼世界里所认识的那个自信女人。他说我看起来年轻得很，却又开放、兴奋，因被认可而感到宽慰，厌倦于勇往直前。他说我显然很久未被人碰过。他看见我充满需求，却又感激能表达这种需求。虽说我并非完全记得这些，但我却相信他的话，因为他似乎对我相当关心。

那一晚我最记得的是四周浪涛般的白色蚊帐，在我眼里像是降落伞。我觉得这把降落伞护送我从侧门跳出坚固的飞机；这架飞机过去几年来载着我，飞离生命中的艰困时期。但是如今这架坚固的飞行器在半空中已用不着，于是我步出这架专用的单引擎飞机，让这飘舞的白色降落伞载我穿越我的过去与未来之间的奇特空气层，让我安全降落在这座床形小岛，岛上只住了这位帅气的巴西遇难水手。我的出现让他（本身也孤独许久）又惊又喜，突然间忘了英语，只在每回看着我的脸时重复五个词：美啊、美啊、美啊、美啊、美啊。