 Lasting peace built on justice and understanding among nations. This is the objective of the United Nations. This is another program in the United Nations series of the Pacific story. One of the five special series presented by the National Broadcasting Company in a affiliated station to further world unity and world peace through understanding. For hundreds of years, the Pacific and the land it touches have been the scene of struggle, conflict for gain and power, people against people, and the millions caught in the political and economic cross currents. Today, with most of the world's population concentrated around and in the Pacific, the events of the Pacific are a vital world concern. The Pacific story dedicates this series to the objective of the United Nations. Lasting peace built on justice and understanding among nations. 365 days for a New Year's Eve revelry here. They welcome the New Year every 210 days and the festivities last two weeks. This is a scene to inspire any artist. I've tried many times to put it on canvas and still haven't done it justice. Before us is a big volcanic mountain. Around the rich green lawn is a profusion of hibiscus, orchids, bougainvillea, coconut palms and frangipane with its sweet jasmine fragrance. The fragrance that penetrates right through the gusty smells of roast pig and roast cow being prepared for the feast. My friend Maule is part of the Dalang or shadow show. I've seen some great pantomime artists in my time, but even the best of them would be thrilled by Maule's magnificent acting. I've been trying to get him to come back to America with me. Trying since I first came to Bali in 1938. Maule and Hans Vandermeer met me when I arrived. This is Maule, who might be able to help you. He has served artists before. Hello, Maule. Welcome to Bali. Maule is not for the inferior work, you understand. For this, you hire boys from the two lower castes. Maule is from the ruling class, next to the Brahmin priests. Oh, a Hindu. Yes, yes, Hindu. Most of the natives are Hindu. You have much luggage. Yes, I get boys' carry for you. Pick up stuff. Chop chop. Why are you sleeping? Good heavens. Why do they get down on their knees to pick up the luggage? Parish, their shirts will cost them this. They must presume to be at same levels as the better. It is our policy not to interfere with native religion. Well, I wanted to get away from it all. It looks like I've succeeded. Bali is a wonderful land for this mine here. On a map, you don't see much of Bali. Maybe a quarter of a thumbnail lying just east of Java across a shallow straight, which is only a mile wide if it's narrowest. But I was to learn that the Balinese are quite different from the Javanese and Hindus from whom they spring. Quite different, in fact, from any other people in the world. I intended that my few years retreat to Bali would be spent in painting and living a life far removed from what I had known. Guided by Maule, I came to the seaside villa where I was to live. An altogether charming place. Overhung with purplish pink bougainvillea blossoms. It faced a white sanded beach, fringed with palms. How'd you like your new home, Mr. Wellbeath? It's a gem, Maule. I couldn't ask for better. Oh, I'm glad. Glad. Sunshine in old rooms if you paint inside. Garden is also a fine place to make pictures. Artists live here before, a French named Leblanc. Leblanc? I don't believe I've ever heard of him. Oh, very fine man. Like one of us, he married with Balinese's wife. Oh. You take Balinese's wife, too? I hadn't given it any thought, Maule. What happened to your French artist? Did he leave the island? Oh, no, no, no. He gets sick and dies here. Everyone's very happy for him. Have wonderful celebration. What? You mean you enjoyed his death? Oh, yes. Very fine man. Like one of us. Everyone sees him playing when he dies. Just like Balinese does. You plan to die here? Well, I haven't counted on it. You think it's something to look forward to, eh? Oh, yes. Balinese is very happy when spirit passes from inferior body to superior one. Very glad to see you die here. Well, thanks, Maule. I think you will be one of us, too. Where is your home, Maule? I'm not far away on the edge of my Kampong village. You like meet my wife and baby? Why, yes. Very much. We're good. Tonight we start training zone for little one. You have very good time. Maule lived two miles inland in a little bamboo house with a patched roof. His wife was a tall, striking beauty. Her long, dark hair fastened up on the head like her husband. The baby was a little Maule. Sturdy, chubby and just beginning to walk with the uncertain step of the new toddler. This is my wife, Popo. How do you do, Popo? Welcome to our home. Popo, Mr. Welby is new artist in Seaside Village. I tell him he come watch while we train, little one. Oh, yes. We have very good time. I must find math. Come here, little fellow. Are you going to be as handsome as your dad and as beautiful as your mother? Yes, it is, Mask. How you like? Good heavens. What a huge, horrifying mask that is. Looks like the face of a demon. Oh, this face of very evil spirit. Maule makes himself sense. You're quite a craftsman. But what are you going to do with it? Maule, put on mask. You sit here and see how we train little one. All right. But what that mask could do for a baby except frighten it. I don't understand. You see, you are ready, Maule? Yes, wife. Yes, little one. Let him see me. Come to evil spirit, little one. Push him harder, wife. No, no, no, mother cannot tell you. Come to evil spirit. Push him closer. Maule with that fantastic ferocious mask that would even frighten a grown-up kept advancing slowly towards the baby. The mother, screaming in mocked fright, kept pushing the infant towards Maule. And all the while, Popo pretended her own fright, she kept on pushing the baby towards the monstrous mask. The cool spectacle went on until the baby finally realized that his mother would not protect him and fell on the floor, screaming. Come, we all leave house now. But what about the baby? Aren't you going to pick him up and comfort him? Oh, no, no. What good would training be if the foils... Come, we go out now. My chickens and ducks, Mr. Willoughby, I have pigs too. Later we will roast one and celebrate. But Maule, I don't understand. What's the idea of frightening your baby like that? Oh, that's very old custom here. Very good fun too. But what does it accomplish? He learns not to trust anyone. He learns not to trust feelings also. He learns not to have feelings. That takes more lessons. You mean you deliberately repress emotions? Good heavens. What's the next lesson? That come before next baby is here. I brought our neighbor baby to nurse while our little one watched. When he tell us and try to get near, I put him away. Oh, yes. Very good fun for all. By and by, little one, not feel jealous. Not feel anything. Tell me, Maule. Yes. Are you ever angry about anything? Oh, no, no. Nothing to make angry in, Maule. But don't you ever hate anything or anyone? Maule needs have no hate. Maule means strong. I see. But certainly you must love. Oh, no. No love here. Well, you love Maule, don't you? You love your baby. No. Maule, my man, I do his work. No love. Must help baby become man. But no love. Well, Maule, do you love Popo? Oh, Popo, good wife. No love. Good body. Life good. Dance good. Feeling. No good. The Balinese grow up with their emotions almost completely frozen. The land that I had imagined the freest in the world is run according to strict ritual and so are the lives of its people. Their animals, too, are regimented. A few days later, I had set up my easel close by a terraced rice field and was starving away at the canvas. Maule, who seemed to have plenty of leisure, was watching me at work. Oh, look like patties. But you change color of mountain and trees. You make brighter. Oh, yes. I don't believe an artist should be a photographer, or he might as well trade in his paints for a camera. Oh, yes. You see, these hues heighten the emotional effect of the scene. Oh. Oh, oh. Here comes Regent. He comes to gather his rice. He has bird patties. But the ducks, they're marching behind him like an army. Five in a column. That must be about 50 of them. Oh, ducks always follow their shepherd's soul. More be here soon. Every day they come here. He plants his flag. They swim in patties. They pick up flag to go at end of day. They know it's time to go home, too. And I tell you, you put ducks in picture, too. By all means, marching in column formations. Nobody back home will ever believe it. I attended a celebration a few days later. There's always a celebration here. It was held in a village temple, and everyone seemed to be invited. The Raja enjoys some good show. Yes, my dear Vandermeer. Tell me, does he rule as part of the country? Yes. He act as his path forward for the Netherlands government. What about the land these people work? All land here is sent from father to son. You mean I couldn't buy any land if I wanted to? That will be very difficult, man, here. But why such idle conjunction? I know you do not intend to own land here. Besides, Bali is already working all land that can be cultivated. These people here are the best price goers in the archipelago. Do you give them any financial support? Yes, sir, they need it. They can get advances on their crops through our state bank. What a graceful dance, sir. Hey, isn't that Mali's wife? Yes. Opo is an accomplished dancer. So is Mali himself. He and one of the men will be on soon in that dagger dance. Mali is much of an actor. You must watch his art when he dances. There's Mali in his partner. Murderous-looking daggers they have. Let's all play pizza, my friend. They enjoy playing. Both are good dancers, but what's Mali? He certainly is working up to an emotional pitch. I thought these people avoided violence. This is only a play. And realize they are most calm and happy. At such celebrations, they let themselves go. Is this an improvised dance? By no means. It was formerly worked out a centuries ago. Mali has done it many times. Ah, what? They got ready for the stomach. It's uncanny. Mali seemed to have changed his personality completely. That's as fiendish a portion of a killer as I've ever seen. Good acting, huh? Acting. I could have sworn he actually stabbed him. That's realism and with affection. What an actor. You know, Vandermeer, if Mali would return to the United States with me, he could make a fortune there. Never would leave, Barley. Perhaps I can persuade him. Your confidence is amusing. Come, let us go outside. We're hosting a cow on the lawn. You mean Hindus eat their cows? Isn't that unusual? Not for Barley. For the Hindus of India, that will be impossible. Hmm, there seem to be plenty of dogs in this village, everywhere in Barley. The smallest village will have many hundreds of dogs. It is said there are more dogs here than anywhere in the world. Ah, that Kamali and Puppo. We must feast now. That is good food. Oh, Mr. Wilbig, you watch our dances. You like them, yes? You are marvelous. Both of you. Thank you. Mali, how would you and Puppo like to get a fortune for dancing and acting? What is a fortune? Well, you know the gilder. I pay you for helping me. Oh, yes. You give us much gilder. Well, you too could make much more gilder than you could count. Enough to buy thousands of head of cattle and a great villa of your own. Oh, we have good house and plenty to eat now. Do you see? Mali, wouldn't you and your wife like to visit a strange new land far across the seas and then return to Barley richer than any Raja? Leave Barley. But this, this is where we belong. Mr. Wilbig only having fun, Mali. He not mean leave Barley. Come, we feast. Do not look so shocked, my friend. The natives of this island are the happiest children I know. You cannot permit them anything they want and do not already have. But nobody chucks a chance to be world famous and wealthy. Just to sit on a tropical little island thousands of miles from nowhere. Nobody but in Balinese, perhaps. And may I remind you that you yourself came thousands of miles to eat this little tropical island you find so onwardly. You're right. Oh, that is better, my friend. I too had an other standard of judgment when I first came to Barley. Come, let us try to grow scum. I had decided that Mali must return to America with me, however. And I was not discouraged. I was confident that I had planted a seed in his mind and that it would grow. With the aid of a few guilders I persuaded his wife to pose for me. Popo sat on a bamboo bench in my garden with a scarlet hibiscus in her hair. She sat straight and proud with an erect carriage most professional models would envy. But then professional models don't carry heavy baskets on their heads from the time they're seven, as the Balinese girls do. Mr. Welby. Yes, Popo? What will you do with a picture of me when you have finished? Oh, I don't know. Perhaps I'll exhibit it with other paintings. Maybe I'll hang it in my studio in New York until somebody buys it. Oh, but if you sell a picture, another will have it. You will no more see the likeness of Popo. That's true. But many others will get a chance to see it. Hmm. I don't think I want those orchids on this canvas after all. They look too civilized and hot-housed beside you. Oh. You don't like flowers? Oh, yes. Yes, I like them. But in my painting, only when they have something to say. Oh. You see? Oh, look, Popo. Do you see these women in this magazine? Oh, yes. Are those your wives? No, not my wives. They're American women, though. Women of my country. Aren't they beautiful and smartly dressed? Oh, yes. Wouldn't you like to be like them? Now, if you and Mauly come to America with me, you can have clothes like this, too. All the clothes you want. These are silk dresses? The richest silks and satins. Now, what do you say? Will you ask Mauly to let me take you both to America? No. But why not? Women in your land must wear too much clothes. More cosplay than Bali. I give up. No more painting today. Come back the same time tomorrow, Popo. Even before leaving America, I'd realized that the world was rapidly drifting toward war, which probably hastened my decision to leave the civilizations I had known and live with the less civilized but more peaceful people of Bali. In September of 1939, there was a declaration of war, and they brought me news of it. I didn't feel that it affected me. The English tourists whom I seldom met began leaving Bali. That was all. In a land where the normal population was 240 whites in a million and a half, that didn't seem to matter. Germany was fighting Britain, and I was sitting tight on an island far from war. I had plenty of supplies so I could keep on painting for another year. Besides, when I left, I wanted to have Mauly and Popo with me. In spite of their philosophy, I knew I could break down their resistance in time. And I wanted to complete my collection of Balinese objects of art. Mauly was of invaluable help in discovering these prizes for me and acting as my purchasing agent. Yes, Mauly, what is it? I have it. I have it for you. See? The little gold temple. Oh, this is superb. What a craftsman they are. Mauly, you're a wonder. How did you ever get the Raja to sell it? Oh, oh, Raja. Raja was gone to the west for Tiger Hunt. Oh. His man who writes letters and Count Gilder sell it. Say, Raja can use more Gilder. Marvelous. Oh, I got that pair of teakwood boxes while you were away, too. Oh? Yeah. How do you like them? Oh, very fine. Very fine carving. You spend much Gilder. Have much fine stuff of Bali. Raja. Mauly, come to America with me. With your talent, you'd be a sensation. Mauly have some new daughters. Oh, you can hire someone to take care of them for you while you're away. Or you can bring them along. No, no. They're too young yet. In strange land, they not grow up in good Balinese way. Well, one of your relatives or popos could take care of them while you're away. You once told me you have no love for anyone, didn't you? No love? No hate. Then why not come with me now before this European war begins hampering all travel? Why, why you wish? Leave Bali, Mr. Welby. No light here. Yes. I like it fine. It's a beautiful little island. Yes. And my home in Bali, I stay here. The European war, remote as it was, came closer. The Netherlands were invaded in May of 1940. The repercussions were felt on Bali. The leading citizens of Shingaraja, Denpasar, Kianja and Tabanon were arrested. Among the Dutch settlers were many Germans. Naturalized so long ago that most people have forgotten their origin. Pearl Harbor brought the war much closer to us. But we still couldn't believe that the Japanese would attack Bali. My nephew, are you there? Right here. What's the trouble? You must leave the coastal area at once. The Japanese come closer. This place must be fortified. But Bali is out of their reach. They say no. They give Balinese rifles to shoot. You mean you're getting up a Balinese army? We have 2,000 under arms already. The Japanese have started a southward march through the melee archipelago. Bali is an approach to the eastern part of Java and our great naval base at Surabaya. We must protect the island from attack. Yes. We must place coconut steaks and barbed wire entanglements throughout the beach. Where am I to go? There is a mountain top, Chalet. You must park quickly. I leave here today. But I can't get all my things together in one day. I have all my painting supplies. My finished work. What about all of the art objects I've collected? The furniture. There is no time for all these things. Your life might be lost if you hesitate. Travel as lightly as you can. I have arranged for a car to take you to your necessary items and your art supplies. Your other protection must remain here. I will keep good watch with Mr. Wellby. Thank you, Molly. All right, Vandermeer. I guess you know what you're doing. They say there must be no nights at night. And they say we cannot have the New Year celebrations. Well, there will be other celebrations later. I hope the enemy doesn't get this far. I'd better start packing. How long do I have? Your car will be here in one hour. The actual fighting reached Bali in February. For my mountaintop heathen, I could hear the boom of the ship's guns on the night of the 19th. I learned later that Dutch and American destroyers were fighting a superior Japanese invasion force in the state of Lombard. The next day, the Japanese took over Bali. I never saw the Japanese. Messengers brought me word of what they were doing. Many Balinese were tortured. The ever-plentiful rice at Bali was shipped out. In such quantities that rice rationing had to be launched on the island where there had always been enough for all. I had no word of how my friends were killed. I suppose I would have starved had it not been for the local Rajas who sent me beef and pork and the friendly neighbors who brought me rice and vegetables. I painted incessantly. But I could no longer paint tranquil landscapes. My brush would not stay remote from reality. And then one day, it was over. Like a Noah from an ark, I descended from the mountain. Miraculously, my seaside villa stood intact. But my precious objects of art, every stick of furniture, everything movable was gone. I stood there, sadly viewing the naked walls. Mr. Willoughby, Mr. Willoughby, you all right? You all fine? Oh, how good it is to see you. Yes, I'm fine. How did you and your family fare? Oh, not each good, but not hurt. We all fine, too. Molly has her child, another son. You have? Congratulations. Well, I guess the Japanese stripped my house of everything. Oh, no, no. I can't tell you. Molly buried everything. Buried? What do you mean? Your little golden temple safe. Silver and other stuff, too. I wrapped in leaves and cloths. Burying gardens till Japanese gold. In the gardens? Yes. Molly, you're wonderful. Your chairs, tables, benches, too. All safe. Come, we dig up some gardens. We dug up my priceless collection and my furniture. They've been well protected, all virtually intact. The intricate and beautiful work of master Balinese craftsman is still in my possession. So here I am, with my inspiration. And Bali hasn't changed too much, after all. Oh! It's true that Mary makes things just like before, eh, Mr. Welsie? Yes, Molly. It's like old times. Hello, Popo. Glad to see you. Welcome back, Mr. Welsie. I'm afraid I'm going to miss all this terribly when I leave. Oh, you leave Bali and go to America soon, Mr. Welsie? Yes, soon now. My year or two is stretched into eight. I want you and Popo to come with me, Molly. Oh, no, no. This is our home. Oh, leave Bali. Well, I know. Money couldn't buy anything as precious as this island life of yours. Why must you leave, Mr. Welsie? Yes. You like Bali. You stay. Well, I'll admit I do like it, but... You stay here, Mr. Welsie. Nobody calls you to America. You're right. Actually, there's no reason why I shouldn't stay. And every reason why I should. You warn of us, Mr. Welsie. You die here, too. So, I'm staying in Bali. We're celebrating. There's always some occasion for celebration here in the land where the angels fly low. You have been listening to the Pacific Story presented by the National Broadcasting Company in a affiliated independent station as a public service to clarify events in the Pacific and to make understandable the cross-currents of life in the Pacific Basin. For a reprint of this Pacific Story program, send ten cents in stamps or coins to University of California Press, Berkeley, California. May I repeat? For a reprint of this Pacific Story program, send ten cents in stamps or coins to University of California Press, Berkeley, California. Tonight's Pacific Story was produced and directed by Arnold Marquess. The original musical score was composed and conducted by Henry Russell. The principal voice was that of Herman Waldman. Programs in this series of particular interests of servicemen and women are broadcast overseas through the worldwide facilities of the Armed Forces Radio Service. This program comes to you from Hollywood. This is NBC, the National Broadcasting Company.