And this is how I ended up participating in the blessing of a baby who had reached the age of six months, and who was now ready to touch the earth for the first time. The Balinese don't let their children touch the ground for the first six months of life, because newborn babies are considered to be gods sent straight from heaven, and you wouldn't let a god crawl around on the floor with all the toenail clippings and cigarette butts. So Balinese babies are carried for those first six months, revered as minor deities. If a baby dies before it is six months old, it is given a special cremation ceremony and the ashes are not placed in a human cemetery because this being was never human: it was only ever a god. But if the baby lives to six months, then a big ceremony is held and the child's feet are allowed to touch the earth at last and Junior is welcomed to the human race.

This ceremony today was held at the house of one of Ketut's neighbors. The baby in question was a girl, already nicknamed Putu. Her parents were a beautiful teenage girl and an equally beautiful teenage boy, who is the grandson of a man who is Ketut's cousin, or something like that. Ketut wore his finest clothes for the event—a white satin sarong (trimmed in gold) and a white, long-sleeved button-down jacket with gold buttons and a Nehru collar, which made him look rather like a railroad porter or a busboy at a fancy hotel. He had a white turban wrapped around his head. His hands, as he proudly showed me, were all pimped out with giant gold rings and magic stones. About seven rings in total. All of them with holy powers. He had his grandfather's shining brass bell for summoning spirits, and he wanted me to take a lot of photographs of him.

We walked over to his neighbor's compound together. It was a considerable distance and we had to walk on the busy main road for a while. I'd been in Bali almost four months, and had never seen Ketut leave his compound before. It was disconcerting watching him walk down the highway amid all the speeding cars and madcap motorcycles. He looked so tiny and vulnerable. He looked so wrong set against this modern backdrop of traffic and honking horns. It made me want to cry, for some reason, but I was feeling a little extra emotive today anyway.

About forty guests were there already at the neighbor's house when we arrived, and the family altar was heaped with offerings—piles of woven palm baskets filled with rice, flowers, incense, roasted pigs, some dead geese and chickens, coconut and bits of currency that fluttered around in the breeze. Everyone was decked out in their most elegant silks and lace. I was underdressed, sweaty from my bike ride, self-conscious in my broken T-shirt amid all this beauty. But I was welcomed exactly the way you would want to be if you were the white girl who'd wandered in inappropriately attired and uninvited. Everyone smiled at me with warmth, and then ignored me and commenced to the part of the party where they all sat around admir-ing each other's clothes.

The ceremony took hours, Ketut officiating. Only an anthropologist with a team of interpreters could tell you all that occurred, but some of the rituals I understood, from Ketut's explanations and from books that I had read. The father held the baby during the first round of blessings and the mother held an effigy of the baby—a coconut swaddled to look like an infant. This coconut was blessed and doused with holy water just like the real baby, then placed on the ground right before the baby's feet touch earth for the first time; this is to fool the demons, who will attack the dummy baby and leave the real baby alone.

There were hours of chants, though, before that real baby's feet could touch ground. Ketut rang his bell and sang his mantras endlessly, and the young parents beamed with pleasure and pride. The guests came and went, milling about, gossiping, watching the ceremony for a while, offering their gifts and then taking off for another appointment. It was all strangely casual amid all the ancient ritualistic formality, sort of backyard-picnic-meets-high-church. The mantras Ketut chanted to the baby were so sweet, sounding like a combination of the sacred and the affectionate. While the mother held the infant, Ketut waved before the child samples of food, fruit, flowers, water, bells, a wing from the roast chicken, a bit of pork, a cracked coconut . . . With each new item he would sing something to her. The baby would laugh and clap her hands, and Ketut would laugh and keep singing.

于是我参加了六个月大的小娃准备首次碰触地面的赐福仪式。巴厘岛人在孩子出生六个月内，不让他们碰触地面，因为新生娃被视为上天派来的神，你不该让神在满是指甲屑和烟屁股的地板上爬来爬去。因此巴厘岛人在小娃头六个月时抱着他，尊他为小小神明。倘若小娃在六个月内夭折，便举办特殊的火葬仪式，骨灰不摆在人类的墓园，因为这小娃不曾是人类，一直都是神明。但倘若小娃活到六个月，即举办盛大仪式，终于准许孩子的脚碰触地面，欢迎幼子加入人类的行列。

今天这场仪式在赖爷邻居家举办。主角是女娃，已取了"普嘟"的绰号。她的母亲是位漂亮的少女，父亲是同样漂亮的少年，而少年是赖爷某侄儿的孙子，可能是这样。赖爷盛装出席——一袭白色丝绸纱龙（镶金边），一件白色长袖前扣外衣，带有金色钮扣及尼赫鲁式的衣领，这使他看起来像车站搬运工或豪华饭店的小巴司机。他头上裹一条白色头巾。他骄傲地让我看他戴满金戒指与魔法宝石的手，全部约有七只戒指，每只戒指都具有神力。他带着祖父晶亮的铜铃，用来召唤神灵，他要我为他拍很多照片。

我们一同走路前往他的邻居的宅院。有好长一段路程，而且必会途经繁忙的主街一阵子。我在巴厘岛已待了近四个月，却未看过赖爷离开自家房子。看他走在飞速行驶的车辆与疯狂的机车阵当中，教人感到困窘。他看起来如此矮小、脆弱。在车阵与喇叭声的现代背景衬托下，使他看起来非常不协调。出于某种原因，这让我想哭，但也许今天的我原本就有些激动。

我们到达时，邻居家中已经来了约四十名客人，家庭祭坛堆满供品——装满米、花、檀香、烤猪、几只鹅、几只鸡、椰子等的一堆堆棕榈篮，以及在微风中飘动的纸币。大家都以最优美的丝绸与蕾丝装饰自己。我的穿着显得过于随便，身体因骑单车而汗湿，而在这些华服当中，我也意识到自己很显眼的破烂T恤。但他们却照样欢迎我，就像一个衣着不当、不请自来的白种姑娘所希望受到的欢迎那样。人人热情地对我微笑，而后迳自开始坐在附近赞赏彼此的衣装。

仪式进行数小时，由赖爷执行。只有那种有口译人员随行的人类学家才能告诉你所发生的一切，但从赖爷的说明和读过的书上，我能了解部分仪式。父亲在第一轮的祈福中抱着小娃，母亲则抱着模拟小娃的椰子，襁褓中的椰子看起来就像婴儿。这颗椰子像真正的婴儿般受到祝福、以圣水浸洗，而后在小娃的脚首次碰触地面之前放在地上：这是为了骗过恶魔，让恶魔侵袭假娃儿，放过真娃儿。

然而，在真娃儿的脚碰触地面之前，必须进行数小时的吟唱。赖爷摇铃，不断诵唱咒语，年轻父母的脸上绽放出喜悦和骄傲。客人来来去去，转来转去，说长道短，观看典礼一会儿；送礼之后，出发前往另一场邀约。在这场古仪式的礼节当中，却是出奇地不拘礼节，就像后院野餐与礼仪教会的综合体。赖爷对小娃吟唱的咒语十分动听，结合神圣与亲爱之心。母亲抱着婴儿，赖爷在孩子面前挥动一样样食物、水果、花、水、铃、烤鸡的鸡翅、一点猪肉、剖开的椰子……他随着每个新项目为她吟唱一段。小娃笑着拍手，赖爷也笑，继续吟唱。