Eat, Pray, Love

aro from the farmer (whose “wife” suddenly didn’t seem to mind breaking up the property).
There was no need, as it turns out, for any magic dreams or priestly interventions or taksu ra-
diation-level tests. Wayan even has the certificate of ownership already, in her very hands!
And it’s notarized! Also, she assures me, she has already ordered construction materials for
her house and workers will start building early next week—before I leave. So I can see the
project under way. She hopes that I am not angry with her. She wants me to know that she
loves me more than she loves her own body, more than she loves her own life, more than she
loves this whole world.
I tell her that I love her, too. And that I can’t wait to be a guest someday in her beautiful
new home. And that I would like a photocopy of that certificate of ownership.
When I get off the phone, Felipe says, “Good girl.”
I don’t know whether he’s referring to her or me. But he opens a bottle of wine and we
raise a toast to our dear friend Wayan the Balinese landowner.
Then Felipe says, “Can we go on vacation now, please?”
Eat, Pray, Love