Chapter One - Richard Lewis

Nol didn't like the sounds of this at all. "But that deal was with Mantera, not
Raka," he said.
"Raka's taking over his father's affairs," Dharma said. He shook his head. "I knew
this day would come. Mantera's not a man you can fully trust. He should be keeping his
word, not letting his son break it. But like father like son and like son like father."
Dharma unclipped his pen and added a name underneath Raka's. "Anak Agung Mantera
as second defendant," he said. "Now that will surprise the old prince. But we'll wait until
after the tooth filing. I want to invite him one last time as honored guest."
As Nol squatted on the steps of the kitchen, eating a late lunch of rice and pork, a
scooter hummed up the lane, and a moment later Putu popped through the gate. This was
a change, Nol thought. Not only was his son home during prime sun-baking time but he
was dressed in trousers and shirt and shoes, looking like he had a regular office job, and
he had in his hand a manila folder. He nodded at his father, took off his shoes, and
padded into the kitchen to get his own meal, a plate of food piled like Mount Agung
They ate silently and quickly. Putu took the dirty plates to the sink and brought
out a pitcher of water to wash their fingers over the side of the steps.
"Tomorrow we're going to the Temple of the Crater Lake for your homecoming
blessing," Nol said. "And we're asking for holy water for your tooth filing ceremony."
Putu scowled. "Why does everything have to be so feudal? Today we have
computers that can think like a person and we send satellites to space and we know how
the world was made and how we evolved but we still make offerings and have rituals like
we did a thousand years ago, when there wasn't any science at all, just superstitions."
Nol swung on his son, astounded. "What is this nonsense?"
Putu didn't reply. He handed the folder to Nol. Within was a computerized form
from the Civil Registry. "I was there all morning," Putu said. "You need to sign it right
there at the bottom."
It was an application for a legal change of name. Nol had assumed that Putu's idea
was just a passing jet-lagged whim. He hadn't given it any more thought. Now he traced a
line with his finger. Requested new name, and then Putu's carefully inked letters. Johnny
Putu.
"That's my screen credit for the short movie I did," Putu said. "I want to keep it."
"But if you change your name this way, it's permanent."
"Don't worry, Bapa. This is just for America."
"You think when I was growing up people didn't make fun of my name? Madé
Ziro? I can't begin to tell you."
"People aren't making fun of my name, Bapa. I get hate mail. Threats."
"I sometimes wondered what my father would have named me if he'd been alive.
But I decided early that I was who I was. If people were going to make fun of my name,
then I would be proud of it. I was always proud of it and am proud of it now. Madé Ziro.
That's who I am. Why, I'm even starting a company with my name. Product Ziro."
"My name though, Putu Swastika, with Americans, they think it's like saying I'm
proud to be a Nazi. That's how it is over there. They spit at me. Even Zoe thinks—"
"This bulé girl says you should change your name, is that it? A perfectly good and
respectable and proud Hindu name that your own father gave you?"
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