When I hop in the car with Wayan Balik, my driver, I know within minutes we will have some outlandish conversation about Bali, life, or the Gods. We egg each other on until some aspect of life becomes a take from my new film, “The Three Stooges Meet Fellini.” Anything is fair game, no matter how serious the subject, and the goal is to make each other laugh.
Yesterday I asked Wayan, “What will the topic be today?” He replied, “we’ll know in a few minutes when we’re not thinking.” How true. The conversation went something like this:
W: “I had to kill four chicken this morning for ceremony. I don’t like it.”
D: “Oh, right, it’s Metal Day, (the day when Balinese bless/honor everything made of metal, from cars to Kris knives). I thought your father killed the chickens.”
W: “No. He bought the chicken, organic chicken (ha ha), but he is really bad chicken killer! Last time he tried to kill one, blood everywhere, but chicken still alive running around. Bad.”
D: “So now you have to do it. Are you a good chicken killer?”
W: “Yes, but I hate it. At ceremony time, Bali is a legal killing zone. (We both laugh, followed by a long thoughtful pause). But such is life.”
D: “Can’t you just hire someone to do the killing?”
W: “No, Pak David, it’s bad in my village to do that.”
D: “Oh, you mean you look bad to the other people in the village, like you are a chicken, chicken killer?” (Laughing)
W: “Yes, everyone would talk and my family would be hurt. My sister came to help my Mother with the ceremony. She knew she would get half the chickens!”
D: “Do you have to kill pigs for the big ceremonies?”
W: “No, for that we can hire professionals, thank Gods.”
D: “Thank Gods! In America, if we had to kill our own animals to eat, I think we would be 95% vegetarian.”
W: “I would rather be vegetarian and not have to kill, but I do like chicken!”
D: ” Especially organic ones.”
