Frangipani

by Célestine Vaite

  “Ah.” Materena chuckles. “Now I understand why you’re so mature.”

  “Mamie . . . you’re so rigolote.” Chuckling too, Leilani helps her mother peg a sock. “You know what I mean.”

  Well, that is the last piece of clothing to hang. Materena picks the clothes basket up and, walking toward the house, she says, “Girl, you’ve got plenty of time to go to boums when you’re older.”

  “Mamie!” Leilani follows her mother, stomping her foot along the way. “You were young once, you used to go to boums.”

  Materena informs her daughter that actually she didn’t go to boums at Leilani’s age. She went to baptisms, weddings, and funerals.

  “Oh . . .” Leilani searches for the right word to say. “Oh . . .”

  Leilani, elbows on the kitchen table, is openly admiring her mother sewing buttons on Tamatoa’s shirt.

  “Tamatoa always loses his buttons, doesn’t he?” says Leilani.

  Materena lifts her eyes and says nothing.

  “You’re such a good sewer.” Leilani is still on her mission to persuade her mother to let her go to the boum this Saturday. She moans that she’s so hopeless with sewing, she’s not patient enough, she’s not the kind to pay attention to the little details, whereas her mother is so talented with sewing—with everything she does, actually.

  “Merci, chérie,” says Materena, smiling. She doesn’t mind the compliment, even if there’s an agenda behind it. However, Materena feels it’s important to remind Leilani that she’s offered to teach her to sew on several occasions.

  “Oh.” Leilani waves a hand. “Sewing is not really important for our new generation because we care about other things.”

  “What, for example?” Materena asks, very interested in what Leilani will say.

  “Well . . .” Leilani looks into her mother’s eyes. “The death penalty. The starving children in Africa. The laws. Empowering women. The alarming birthrate in Tahiti and in the world. Our generation has so many issues to worry about, Mamie. We need to loosen up, otherwise we’d go mad.”

  “Ah, I see.” Materena nods knowingly. “And are you saying that the women of the old generation had nothing to worry about?”

  “Of course I’m not!” Leilani exclaims, on the defensive. She explains that the women of Materena’s generation paved the way for the women of her new generation. They said no to arranged marriages. They said no to work without pay. They said less sewing, please.

  Materena bursts out laughing. And that is when Leilani attacks her mother with her request about the boum.

  Materena stops laughing. “Girl . . . sometimes children have to accept their mother’s decision.” Then, smiling, Materena adds that she has her reasons for not letting Leilani go to the boum.

  “What are they?”

  Materena stops smiling and puts her sewing on the table. “Do I need to draw you a picture?” she asks.

  “But what are your reasons?” Leilani insists.

  Materena shakes her head with disbelief. She can’t understand Leilani’s generation. Her generation wouldn’t dare ask their mother to justify her decision. What mamas said was the law, the final word. Well anyway, this is the new generation, and so Materena explains the situation, which has everything to do with danger.

  “Danger?” The situation is still not clear for Leilani. “What do you mean? What’s so dangerous about dancing?” Before Materena has the chance to explain that the danger she’s talking about has got nothing to do with dancing, Leilani is passionately defending the art of dancing, this wonderful art that is part of Tahitian culture. She’s raving about the Arioi, the professional dancers from a long time ago, who traveled from one island to the next to entertain the people and bring peace.

  How does my daughter know about the Arioi? Materena asks herself. I’ve never told her about the Arioi. Someone else must have told her. “The Arioi, eh?” Materena says. “And did the person who told you about them also mention how the Arioi were forbidden to have children, they had to kill their babies, all they were allowed to do was dance? Love was forbidden. Family was forbidden.”

  “All right, you win,” Leilani says. “At least we both agree that dancing is not dangerous.”

  “Of course dancing is not dangerous! I’ve never said that! When I said danger I meant boys and girls, they drink, they do conneries . . .” Materena’s voice trails off.

  “Mamie, you know I’m allergic to alcohol.” Leilani reminds her mother about the first and last time she had half a glass of beer, on her fifteenth birthday. She vomited. She was sick for three days. “Mamie, you know about the problem with my liver. It can’t handle alcohol.” Materena nods a vague nod and starts sewing again.

  Materena keeps on nodding as Leilani talks about how young girls of today aren’t interested in getting drunk, anyway. They’re more interested in having fun, celebrating their youth with dancing, all the while exchanging ideas on the dance floor. “Please, Mamie,” Leilani begs. “You can’t keep me locked in a castle. I’m young. You always say life goes too fast . . . Please, Mamie. And plus, no boys will pay attention to me, I have a flat chest.”

  Aue, Materena thinks. If I say oui and something bad happens to my girl, I’m never going to forgive myself. If I say non . . . Ah, here’s Pito coming home from his walkabout. He’s jovial, of course. He’s whistling a happy tune.

  “Ask Papi,” Materena says.

  Materena usually doesn’t consult Pito in decisions regarding the children, the house, the food, etc., but there’s a first time for everything. Before Leilani has a chance to put her request forward, Tamatoa is in the kitchen.

  “Papi!” Tamatoa asks, smiling. “Can I borrow your nice shirt for Saturday?”

  “What’s happening on Saturday?”

  “I’m going to a boum.”

  “Ah, and can I go with you?” Pito chuckles. “Yeah, all right, you can borrow my shirt, but you better bring it back with all the buttons.”

  “Merci, Papi!”

  “Where’s the boum?” Materena asks.

  “It’s near Vahine’s house.”

  “Did she invite you too?” Leilani shrieks.

  “Oui, and so?” Tamatoa doesn’t see what the problem is.

  “You’ve been invited to the boum too?” Pito asks Leilani, sounding very surprised about this.

  “Well, oui, Papi. She’s my friend.”

  “Ah, okay . . . you two have fun.”

  By the time Materena arrives home after Mass with her youngest son, her eldest son is on the sofa telling his father his exploits. He got lucky, and Pito is very delighted. Here he is, shaking his son’s hand. Patting him on the shoulder. Welcoming him into manhood. Telling the new man that of course he doesn’t mind that a girl ripped three buttons off this shirt to get to his son.

  As for Leilani, she’s in bed. She tells her mother the boum was so boring. The music was way too loud. She couldn’t talk to anyone.

  When Breasts Open the Eyes

  To Materena’s great relief, Leilani’s growing breasts hasn’t turned her into a boy admirer, contrary to what her cousin Tapeta told her to expect.

  In Tapeta’s experience, the day her daughter Rose started getting breasts, she turned into a boy admirer. These days, so Tapeta complained to Materena two months ago outside the Chinese store, Rose can’t walk two steps without admiring a boy she likes the look of. These days, Rose is constantly smiling to boys, giving them the you’re-a-nice-looking-boy-you look.

  Tapeta is even more worried now that Rose got herself a weekend job at the Airport Café because, also in Tapeta’s experience, the Airport Café is filled with boys who are after just one thing. If only Tapeta didn’t need the extra money, she’d tie her daughter to a tree until she finished school.

  Well, Materena is sure glad Leilani’s getting breasts hasn’t turned her into a boy admirer. They have just made her even more outspoken. She’s never been afraid to speak her mind, and Materena doesn’t see anything wrong with this. But she’
s even more outspoken now. For example, Leilani told her father that if he kept drinking the way he did, he was going to die of liver cancer. Pito shrugged and went on about how we’re all going to die so we might as well die doing what we like. Leilani also told her father he was starting to look a bit yellow and that was because all his alcohol consumption was poisoning his blood. Pito laughed his head off, but then he went to check himself in front of the mirror. Materena had a good chuckle.

  Then last week, Materena and Leilani were walking out of Euromarché when a toothless woman carrying a flour bag over her shoulder accosted them to sell them coconuts. The woman explained, with her sad voice, that her children had nothing to eat and that she was selling her coconuts real cheap. One thousand francs for a packet of three coconuts. Materena reached for her purse in her pandanus bag and saw that she had only one thousand-franc banknote left. She said, “Ah, it’s your lucky day today, mama.”

  The woman dropped the bag on the floor and out came three coconuts, which she handed to Leilani, but Leilani, arms folded, didn’t take them. She asked, “Are you sure the money is for the children?” The woman hurried to nod and went on about her children having nothing to eat. As she walked away, one thousand francs richer, Leilani called out, “Have a good drink!”

  Now, Materena also suspected that woman was going to drink the money because she did look a bit . . . a bit like a woman who drank. But sometimes, so Materena explained to Leilani, who was criticizing her for having given that alcoholic money, sometimes you have to believe people are telling you the truth.

  On the way home, a woman was smoking in the truck. People have been smoking in the truck for centuries and people who don’t smoke just bear it. Nobody wants to have a fight in a truck because of a cigarette. That day, Leilani, looking at that woman (and she was not little), coughed and waved her hand in front of her face. Then she read (and not in a low voice) the announcement written next to the tariff. It is forbidden to drink, smoke, and eat sandwiches in the truck. Not only did she read the announcement written in French, she also read the one written in Tahitian. Then she went on again with her coughing. Materena discreetly tapped her daughter to be quiet. That woman was sure going to get annoyed very soon and start insulting Leilani, and then Materena would be forced to do something. It wasn’t in Materena’s plan to fight a big woman that day. It wasn’t in Materena’s plan to fight anyone, full stop. She tapped her daughter again to be quiet, but Leilani coughed even louder.

  And the woman went on with smoking her cigarette, drawing on the butt several times before chucking her cigarette out the window.

  Now, as far as Materena was concerned, Leilani had the right to let that big woman know of her discomfort, but . . .

  Ah, one more example: yesterday, Materena and Leilani met Cousin Giselle at the Chinese store, where she told them about taking Isidore Louis junior to the doctor last week. He had a skin disease that looked like chicken pox, but it was something else Giselle couldn’t remember the name of. Anyway, Giselle took her son to the doctor, who gave him some antibiotics and a cream. And now Giselle’s three children have that skin disease!

  Next thing, Leilani was asking her auntie why didn’t she ask her doctor if her son’s skin disease was contagious. In Leilani’s mind, that should have been her auntie’s first question to her doctor, and if she had done so, she might have been able to prevent the contagion. She would have made sure Isidore Louis junior didn’t share his towel with his siblings. “Girl,” Giselle said, not laughing anymore, “the doctor should have told me. It wasn’t up to me to ask.”

  Materena dragged Leilani away before she started opening her mouth again and angered Giselle more.

  But this didn’t stop Leilani from talking about it later on at home. Leilani was so cranky with her auntie Giselle, her doctor, and everyone who doesn’t think.

  “Are we stupid or what?” Leilani exclaimed, putting the groceries away.

  “Who’s we?” Materena asked.

  “We, us, Tahitian people.” Leilani went on with her comments about how it’s so stupid that a mother doesn’t ask her doctor if her child’s skin disease is contagious. It’s so stupid that we let a stupid woman smoke in the truck when it is clearly forbidden. It’s so stupid that we drink instead of feeding our children. It’s so stupid that a priest can decide how many children we can have. It’s so stupid that a woman covers her bruised eye with a bandage instead of leaving her husband. It’s so stupid . . .

  Materena went outside to water the plants. She needed time to think.

  Anyway, Materena can do with a no-comment day today, and so she isn’t going to ask Leilani to come with her to her favorite shop, Ah Kiong.

  That Chinese store wouldn’t survive without women like Materena, Tahitian women, Tahitian women without a husband, Tahitian women with too many children, Tahitian women who don’t mind that their sunglasses don’t protect their eyes, their towels don’t dry the skin very well. Ah Kiong has been Materena’s favorite place to spend her hard-earned money for five years now. Nothing there costs the eyes of the head.

  The moment Materena announces that she’s off to Ah Kiong, Tamatoa, doing sit-ups, says he wants coconut lollies.

  “Where’s your please?” Leilani, reading a book as thick as a Bible, asks. “That word doesn’t exist in your vocabulary?” Of course Tamatoa tells his sister off, and of course Leilani tells her brother off. Materena grabs her bag.

  Leilani, up and marching toward her room to get her shoes, tells her mother to wait. She’s going to town too.

  “Eh!” Materena calls out. “I’m going to that shop you don’t like!”

  “Oui, I know!” Leilani calls back. Leilani is ready and smiling, she nods to her mother the signal—Let’s go. These days, Leilani smiles so rarely that Materena melts. Leilani is so pretty when she smiles. So, smiling back, Materena nods to her daughter the signal—Okay then, girlfriend, let’s go.

  They sit side by side in the truck, which is packed, as you would expect it to be on a Saturday morning. People always have a reason to go to town on a Saturday morning, even more so when it’s the end of the month.

  Facing Materena and Leilani is a very young woman with a newborn baby sucking on her breast. Materena gives her daughter the you-better-not-say-anything-about-this look. Saying something to a woman breast-feeding is asking for trouble, you’re going to get your eyes scratched out. Plus, a woman breast-feeding is a beautiful thing to see. It’s one of the many miracles in life. Materena has never stopped herself from breast-feeding her babies in public. When baby is hungry, you feed baby, and people who don’t like it, well, look somewhere else, just as the American tourists are now doing.

  Materena tenderly looks at that baby sucking at his mama’s breast, and Leilani is doing the same, and Materena can’t believe Leilani’s eyes are full of adoration. Here she is staring at that baby with that beautiful smile that says, “Oh, but he’s so beautiful, that baby.” Leilani has always said that babies are ugly and that newborns remind her of little lizards. She must have changed her mind about this.

  Materena goes on admiring the newborn falling asleep on his mother’s breast and thinking how the father must be a popa’a because that is one very pink baby. Very soon, the young mother notices Materena’s and Leilani’s attention on her newborn. A smile follows, another smile, a word, and next minute she’s pouring her heart out to Materena about how she’s on her way to talk to her man, the father of that little one. She’s going to tell him that the baby is his and that the reason he looks popa’a is because she’s got an American ancestor. She’s also going to warn her ex-boyfriend that if he doesn’t recognize their baby, her grandmother is going to curse him. He’s going to die of a horrible disease. His left leg is going to swell on him.

  On and on the young girl goes about what her ex-boyfriend is going to get if he says again today that the baby she made with him on the sofa in the living room while his mama was at bingo is not his. He’s going to get a horrible puni
shment if her son ends up having Father Unknown on his birth certificate.

  Well, she’s here at her ex-boyfriend’s house now, she says as she presses the buzzer with one hand and takes her breast out of the baby’s mouth with the other hand. But before she steps down from the truck, she wants to show Materena her baby’s birthmark. Out come the baby’s blanket, the baby’s pants, the baby’s diaper, revealing the baby’s private part. Pointing to a tiny dot under one of the baby boy’s balls, she informs Materena that his father has the same dot and at the same place.

  So there. The young girl steps down from the truck with her head held up high.

  Leilani, looking at her mother, shakes her head and asks, “Why do people always tell you their stories? It’s amazing!” Materena tells her daughter that everyone is born with a gift and hers is to listen to people telling her stories. Leilani takes her mother’s hand. Materena squeezes it with all her heart and soul. The last time Leilani held her mother’s hand in public, she was ten years old.

  They walk into Materena’s favorite shop in a very good mood, making way for a dear old Tahitian woman. It’s a real Ali Baba cave here, with every single shelf packed with cheap things, past-due-date packets of lollies included, and with cardboard boxes shoved in everywhere there’s a space. And it’s hot and stuffy.

  Only a small price to pay. There’s always a treasure to find here.

  First, though, Materena leaves her pandanus bag at the counter (as always) and ignores Leilani’s comment, “Mamie, stop acting like you’re a thief.” Materena has good reason to leave her bag at the counter. When you walk around the shop with a bag, you can be sure you’re going to be followed by one of the shop assistants.

  Ah, and what does Materena see out there? Stuffed on one of the shelves? Reduced by 50 percent? Towels!

  Materena hurries to those towels reduced by 50 percent. Here, she’s going to grab five. You can always do with extra towels when unexpected visitors decide to have a shower. Materena rubs a towel on her face—it’s so soft. Is this silk, by any chance? Materena checks the label. Ah, she knew it. Polyester. Still, it’s very soft. Here, she’s going to buy three more. It’s not every day that towels of this quality are reduced by 50 percent! They’re almost giving them away. Here, let’s grab two more towels.