I blew out the candles of the birthday cake along with Little Ketut, the smallest orphan, whose birthday, I had decided a few weeks ago, would also be on July 18 from now on, shared with my own, since she'd never had a birthday or a birthday party before. After we blew out the candles, Felipe presented Little Ketut with a Barbie doll, which she unwrapped in stunned wonder and then regarded as though it were a ticket for a rocket ship to Jupiter—something she never, ever in seven billion light-years could've imagined receiving.

Everything about this party was kind of funny. It was an oddball international and intergenerational mix of a handful of my friends, Wayan's family and some of her Western clients and patients whom I'd never met before. My friend Yudhi brought me a six-pack of beer to wish me happy birthday, and also this cool young hipster screenwriter from L.A. named Adam came by. Felipe and I had met Adam in a bar the other night and had invited him. Adam and Yudhi passed their time at the party talking to a little boy named John, whose mother is a patient of Wayan's, a German clothing designer married to an American who lives in Bali. Little John—who is seven years old and who is kind of American, he says, because of his American dad (even though he himself has never been there), but who speaks German with his mother and speaks Indonesian with Wayan's children—was smitten with Adam because he'd found out that the guy was from California and could surf.

"What's your favorite animal, mister?" asked John, and Adam replied, "Pelicans."

"What's a pelican?" the little boy asked, and Yudhi jumped in and said, "Dude, you don't know what a pelican is? Dude, you gotta go home and ask your dad about that. Pelicans rock, dude."

Then John, the kind-of-American boy, turned to say something in Indonesian to little Tutti (probably to ask her what a pelican was) as Tutti sat in Felipe's lap trying to read my birthday cards, while Felipe was speaking beautiful French to a retired gentleman from Paris who comes to Wayan for kidney treatments. Meanwhile, Wayan had turned on the radio and Kenny Rogers was singing "Coward of the County," while three Japanese girls wandered ran-domly into the shop to see if they could get medicinal massages. As I tried to talk the Japan-ese girls into eating some of my birthday cake, the two orphans—Big Ketut and Little Ke-tut—were decorating my hair with the giant spangled barrettes they'd saved up all their money to buy me as a gift. Wayan's nieces and nephews, the child temple dancers, the children of rice farmers, sat very still, tentatively staring at the floor, dressed in gold like miniature deities; they imbued the room with a strange and otherworldly godliness. Outside, the roost-ers started crowing, even though it was not yet evening, not yet dusk. My traditional Balinese clothing was squeezing me like an ardent hug, and I was feeling like this was definitely the strangest—but maybe the happiest—birthday party I'd ever experienced in my whole life. Eat, Pray, Love

我和最小的孤儿小老四一同吹熄生日蛋糕的蜡烛；我在几个礼拜前决定，从今以后，她也和我一样在七月十八日过生日，因为她从前都不曾有过生日或生日派对。我们吹熄蜡烛后，斐利贝送给小老四一只芭比娃娃，她惊喜地打开礼物，把它当做前往木星的太空船票——这是想都想象不到的自己会收到的礼物。

有关这场派对的一切都有些诡异。古怪地混杂各种国籍、各种年纪的朋友，连大姐的家人以及几位我没见过面的她的西方客户与病患都到场来。我的朋友尤弟带来半打啤酒祝我生日快乐，还有个叫亚当的洛杉矶编剧家也来了。斐利贝和我某晚在酒吧认识亚当，邀请他过来。亚当和尤弟在派对上和一名叫约翰的小男孩说话；男孩的母亲是大姐的病患，是德国服装设计师，嫁给一位住在巴厘岛的美国人。小约翰——七岁的他说尽管自己从未去过美国，但因为老爸是美国人，因此他也算是美国人，可是他跟他母亲讲德语，跟大姐的孩子们讲印尼语——很崇拜亚当，因为他发现这家伙来自加州，而且玩冲浪。

"你最喜欢的动物是什么，先生？"约翰问。亚当回答："鹈鹕。"

"什么是鹈鹕？"小男孩问道，尤弟于是插嘴说："好家伙，你不晓得鹈鹕是什么吗？好家伙，你该回家问你老爸。鹈鹕可酷呢，好家伙。"

而后，算是美国人的小约翰转身和小图蒂说印尼话（或许问她鹈鹕是啥），图蒂正坐在斐利贝腿上读我的生日贺卡；斐利贝则和一位来找大姐治疗肾脏的巴黎退休绅士讲着漂亮的法语。同时，大姐打开收音机，肯尼?罗杰斯（KennyRogers）正在唱《乡下胆小鬼》，而三名日本姑娘不经意间走进店里，看看能否接受医疗按摩。我招呼日本姑娘吃生日蛋糕的时候，两名孤儿——大老四和小老四——拿着她们存钱买给我当礼物的大亮片发夹在装饰我的头发。大姐的侄子、侄女——庙会舞者，稻农子弟——安静地坐着，迟疑地盯着地板，一身金装，仿佛小小神明；他们让房间充满某种奇异脱俗的神性。我的巴厘岛传统服饰紧紧勒着我，好似热情的拥抱，我觉得这肯定是我有生以来最奇怪——却可能也是最快乐——的生日派对。