Frangipani

by Célestine Vaite

  “Don’t you make anyone think I’ve been a bad mother to you,” Materena says, “that I didn’t raise you proper.”

  Another nod from Tamatoa as he puts his arms around his mother.

  “You’re a number-one mamie.” He sniffs.

  Aue, Materena thinks, it’s so nice when the children make such confessions, even if they are drunk. She puts her arm around her son and is about to go on with the rules when the door of the bedroom swings open.

  It’s Pito, also drunk.

  “Son,” he says, jovial, “come outside with the men.”

  “Eh, I’m telling him about the rules,” Materena says, holding her son tight.

  “What rules? What are you going on about?”

  “Well, the rules! The rules when you’re a visitor, when you’re in another country!”

  “Materena, it’s me who can talk about all that, okay?” With his hand, Pito summons his son to get up. “I’ve been in another country, I’ve traveled. You’ve never left Tahiti.”

  “Eh, I’ve been in more countries than you, I watch documentaries!”

  Pito bursts out laughing. “Come on, son,” he repeats.

  And like he’s done many times before, Tamatoa abandons his mother for his father’s company.

  The airport is packed. Tamatoa is the grandson of Loana, the relative who never says anything bad about anybody, and the son of Materena, the relative who is nice to everybody. By the time he’s walking through customs, he has about one hundred shell necklaces around his neck, his shoulders, in his hands. He’s less drunk than he was four hours ago (Materena made him stand under a cold shower for thirty minutes), but he still looks like he’s falling asleep. According to Pito, speaking from experience, catching a plane drunk is better than catching a plane sober. First of all you don’t get scared, and second, you sleep and so the time goes faster.

  There’s crying all over the place. The grandmothers are crying, the aunties and the cousins are crying, the sister is crying, the brother is crying. The sister’s girlfriend (alias Tamatoa’s secret lover) is wailing and digging her long fingernails into Moana’s arm, scratching it too, and punching it, twisting it . . . Moana takes it all on. Anything to help his brother’s ex-girlfriend.

  But everybody knows that the woman suffering the most is the mother.

  Aue, Materena needs to hold on to someone, her legs are weak, she’s going to faint in a minute. Here’s Ati on her left. No, not him, the relatives will gossip about how she held her husband’s best mate instead of her husband, even if he was closer to her than her husband, who is hiding behind a pillar several yards away.

  Here’s Cousin Mori on her right. Oui, he’ll do.

  Mori puts an arm around Materena and says, “One son leaves, another son arrives, eh?”

  Materena doesn’t understand. She lifts her crying eyes to her cousin. “What are you saying?”

  “One son leaves, another son arrives. Your son leaves, your daughter brings home a boyfriend,” says Mori.

  “What boyfriend?” asks Materena.

  “But Leilani’s boyfriend, the one with the motorbike.”

  “Boyfriend?” Materena says again. “Motorbike?”

  “Ah,” Mori says, realizing that once again in his life he didn’t look where he was walking. He quickly moves back to the subject of Materena’s son. What a fine man he’s going to be, that one, Materena must be so proud . . .

  There’s a Boy on the Horizon

  When you’re angry and you ask questions all you do is shout and demand an answer there and then. Overreact.

  Well, it’s the same when you’re sad.

  Materena went so close to confronting her daughter at the airport about that boyfriend who has a motorbike, but she was too sad. It felt like her heart was being crucified.

  In the days after Tamatoa left on military service, Materena moped around the house with her broom like a lost soul, brooming sad, long strokes here and there. She did feel a bit better when her son called to let her know that he had arrived in France and all was well, all was fantastic. He sounded so happy, and that was a real comfort to Materena. But it still felt like her heart was being crucified. She spent hours smelling the pillow of her son and the shirt he wore the day before he left. She inhaled the sweat, she flicked through the family album and caressed every single photo of her boy Tamatoa puffing his chest and flexing his arms, doing his big eyes and poking out his tongue, with his rooster, his kite, winking at the camera.

  Cheeky boy, eh.

  Aue . . . Materena could not stop the tears and she felt so guilty. How many times had she told Tamatoa, “I really can’t wait for you to move out of the house!” after he’d made a mess of the house or come home drunk and woken her up. But she only meant next door, or the next suburb. She never meant the other side of the planet. Aue, the regrets, eh. What about that time Materena yelled at Tamatoa because he ate all the cookies? She yelled, “You think you’re the only person in this house! You think you’re the only person who likes cookies in this house! Bloody selfish!”

  If Tamatoa were here today, Materena would go and buy him a packet of cookies. And not the plain, cheap cookies but his favorites. Delta Cream.

  Aue, the agony, eh!

  She got lots of embraces from Pito, Moana, and Leilani.

  Pito’s hug was a quick embrace. He tapped Materena on the shoulder and said, “Okay, mama, we stop crying.”

  Moana’s embrace was tender and cuddly. Materena felt like a teddy bear in her son’s arms. He said, “Mamie, we’re all sad.”

  Leilani’s embrace was strong and positive. She said, “Mamie . . . we’re the strongest creatures on earth, don’t forget.” Materena laughed for two or three seconds and then she got sad again.

  Nobody who saw Materena by the side of the road waiting for the truck to go to work dared call out a happy greeting to her, such as, “Eh! How are you today, Cousin? You’re fine?” A nod is much more appropriate in such situations. A nod that is polite and full of compassion and that says, “I’m with you in your suffering, Cousin.” Even Loma, the cousin voted most insensitive by the family, made sure to remain low-key.

  Also, nobody has been visiting Materena except for Loana, herself the mother of a son who took off to the other side of the planet for military service and stayed there. Loana came by to hold her daughter’s hands, caress her daughter’s hair, cry along, and to say, “Girl, you’ve got other children to look after. Get up and walk.” By this Loana meant: Stop the crying, full stop. It’s time to cut the umbilical cord once more.

  But Materena wasn’t ready to do this yet. She had to cry for a little bit longer and remember those days when Tamatoa was a sweet little boy before he turned into a cheeky boy and, later on, a hoodlum.

  It is only after a week that Materena starts to feel better. She realizes that military service is good for young men. It keeps them out of trouble. Okay then, time to cut the umbilical cord once more and get on with the day.

  First on Materena’s list is to find out about that boy who has a motorbike.

  No more believing Leilani’s stories that she spends two hours after school comforting Vahine because she still can’t accept that Tamatoa has left to do his military service in France instead of doing his military service in Tahiti and marrying her.

  Materena marches to her daughter’s bedroom. After two knocks, she walks in just as Leilani is shoving something under her shirt.

  “Mamie,” she says, scribbling in a copybook, “I’ve got a lot of homework to do.”

  Okay then, Materena is not going to turn around the pot, beat around the bush. “I’ve heard you’ve got a boyfriend and that he’s got a motorbike.”

  Leilani’s response is an exclamation. “Who told you?”

  Ah-ha, Materena thinks, now she tells me. Materena sits on her daughter’s bed. “I just hope that you’re protecting yourself. You don’t want to fall pregnant with the wrong boy, a boy who’s using you for his pleasure. Not counting the diseases
and everything.”

  Leilani has stopped scribbling, and an angel must be passing through, because it’s very quiet around here. Nobody is talking, nobody is moving.

  “So?” Materena says to break the silence. “Who’s the boy on the horizon?”

  The silence continues until Leilani turns to her mother, who is patiently waiting. She confirms that there is a boy on the horizon and he does have a motorbike, but she can’t really call him a boyfriend.

  “Ah oui?” And why not? Materena asks herself. He’s a married man? He’s, like, thirty? “And how come you can’t really call him a boyfriend?”

  Leilani informs her mother that she doesn’t really want to be his girlfriend and she’s trying very hard to resist him, but it’s so difficult.

  “Ah oui?” And now Materena is really worried. And why does Leilani have to resist that boy? He’s a cousin, that boy? He’s a foreigner? He’s a Protestant? “And why do you have to resist him?”

  Leilani sighs a long, resigned sigh. “I know I shouldn’t,” she says. “I mean, resist him . . .” She looks to the wall, her eyes squinting like she’s trying to look at something in the distance, far away. “He’s got everything on my list.”

  List? Materena is intrigued. She doesn’t know anyone in the family who has lists. The only person she knows who has lists is her boss.

  Madame Colette has lists for everything: appointments with her doctor, her dentist, the headmistress, her husband, people’s birthdays, her exercises, her son’s school marks, and her dinners. Madame Colette is constantly writing lists. She’s got notepads all over the place, and she’s always stressing out because of them.

  Materena never writes lists. All she knows is that . . . sometimes you remember and sometimes you forget and you decide what you’re going to eat ten minutes before the Chinese store closes. You ask around, “Hey, Cousin! What are you eating tonight?” And then you run to the Chinese store to buy the ingredients. If, for example, a cousin calls back, “We’re eating a baked chicken,” and you don’t have enough money to buy a whole chicken but suddenly the desire to eat chicken comes to you, well, you buy chicken wings. Materena has never, ever heard the relatives say, “We’re eating this because it’s on my list!”

  But imagine writing a list for a boyfriend. Materena has never heard of such a thing! “List?” she asks. “What list? What’s this?”

  Leilani puts a hand under her shirt, fumbles for a few seconds with her bra, and now she’s holding a folded piece of paper. Hesitating, she passes it to her mother. “Here. Read.”

  “You keep pieces of paper in your bra these days?” Materena asks with a cackle. She just wants to lighten up the vibes a bit. “I thought only old women kept papers in their bra. Money, most of the time,” Materena continues as she unfolds the mysterious piece of paper. “Money and handkerchiefs.”

  And with that, Materena begins to read.

  My boyfriend must be a reader like me.

  Materena glances at her daughter for a quick second.

  My boyfriend must not be an alcoholic. One beer or two per day is fine, but not ten.

  Materena smiles. That boy on the horizon sounds like a very good catch.

  My boyfriend must be a nice person.

  Materena nods. She agrees. One hundred percent.

  Being handsome is definitely optional.

  Materena reads on, agreeing over and over again. And she thinks, Who would have thought of a list like this but my own daughter, eh? It’s very clever. But it’s a bit unrealistic. When you’re in love, you’re in love, you don’t see properly. Everybody could be telling you that he’s not for you, but you believe that he is and so he is. “That boy,” Materena asks just to make sure, “he’s like on your list?”

  Leilani nods, her eyes twinkling with delight. “He’s got the most beautiful body.” She sighs. “He rows three days a week.”

  Oh, it’s very easy to have a beautiful body when you’re young, Materena thinks. But what is there to resist? Materena asks in her head. Whoever that boy is must be Monsieur Perfect. Too good to be true.

  “Where does he live?” Materena asks out of interest.

  Leilani casually replies that the boy she’s trying to resist lives in Punaauia PK 18.

  “Punaauia PK 18!” Materena is exclaiming, because it costs millions to live there. The houses have electrical gates and access to the white-sanded beach. Then, at PK 21, where Pito’s family is from, you’ve got the fibro shacks.

  “Oh, Mamie, you’re impossible. So what if he lives in Punaauia PK 18? He’s not a king.”

  “I know that . . . but tell me, why do you have to resist that boy?” As far as Materena is concerned, there’s some news coming, some news that is going to make her go silent. Some news like, The boy is a Casanova, a heartbreaker.

  But the news is that he’s too nice.

  “Eh? What?” Materena asks, confused. “That’s the reason you have to resist him?”

  Leilani confirms this with a slow nod. “Sometimes I wonder if it’s just an act to get into my pants,” she continues.

  Materena bursts out laughing. “One minute you’re telling me nothing and next minute you’re telling me everything!”

  “But what do you think, Mamie?” Leilani asks. “How can I tell if he’s being nice because he is nice or if he’s being nice because he wants to get into my pants?”

  Materena looks up to the ceiling. “Let me think a little.”

  “Was Papi really nice to you at the beginning?” Leilani asks.

  “Non, he was like he is today.”

  “And you still went with him?” Leilani sounds like she can’t believe her ears.

  “What do you want,” says Materena, shrugging. “Love is like that. You can’t explain. What’s the boy’s name?”

  “Hotu Viriatu.”

  And before Materena can say anything about this piece of information, Leilani advises her mother that he’s Catholic, he’s not from an enemy family, and he’s not a cousin.

  He’s just Hotu Viriatu: twenty-two, handsome, smart, and nice.

  “You’re nice too,” says Materena. “Nice people sometimes attract each other.”

  “He’s had five girlfriends.”

  “Five,” calmly repeats Materena. Five! she yells in her head. But he’s worse than Ati, that one! At least Ati had had only two girlfriends by the time he was Hotu’s age.

  “Is this a lot?” asks Leilani.

  “Oh . . . it depends.” These days Materena is very careful with what she says to Leilani. Leilani goes on about Hotu’s ex-girlfriends. The first one was when he was seven years old, and the next four were from when he was eighteen years old to twenty-one. As she names those four girlfriends, Materena exclaims.

  Hotu was the boyfriend of last year’s Miss Tahiti!

  And before her there was the champion rower from Hawaii! And before her there was one of the nieces of the president of Tahiti! And before her there was the daughter of the man who owns the Vaima building!

  Each time Leilani confirms with a nod, and before Materena has the chance to say that Hotu might have exaggerated a little bit, Leilani informs her mother that she didn’t find out about these women from Hotu but from his mother.

  “Ah, because you met the mama?” Materena is so surprised. It is unusual for the mama to want to meet her son’s girlfriend so soon! Materena met her mother-in-law when she was pregnant with her first child with Pito. Materena’s cousin Giselle met her mother-in-law the day after she gave birth to her first child. On the whole, in Tahiti anyway, mothers are pretty selective when it comes to meeting their son’s girlfriends. The romance must be over a year, at least. “Hotu’s mama invited you to her house to talk?” Materena asks.

  “Non, she just walked past the restaurant and saw us.” Leilani adds that Hotu ducked under the table, but it was too late. His mother had seen him. So she came in and made herself comfortable at the table. She looked Leilani up and down. She talked about the weather and this and that, H
otu’s famous girlfriends, whose photos are hung in the living room.

  Now, Materena understands that when a girlfriend becomes an ex-girlfriend it doesn’t mean you put all her photos in the trash. No, you put her photos in an album. The only girlfriend who gets to be in a frame and on the wall is the current girlfriend. That is what Mama Teta does with her youngest son’s girlfriends. When the girlfriend is current, she’s in a frame on the wall, and when she ceases to be current, she gets transferred into the album.

  And the girlfriends Mama Teta was very fond of and is still very fond of get their pictures downsized so that they fit in Mama Teta’s purse.

  But it’s one thing doing this and it’s another framing your son’s ex-girlfriends and putting them up in your living room.

  “Hotu’s mother sounds like a bizarre woman,” Materena says, getting up. “What does she look like?”

  “A Christmas tree,” laughs Leilani. “Mamie, she’s got so much jewelry, it’s ridiculous.”

  “Hum.” Materena nods.

  “And you know what they say about people who wear a lot of jewelry,” Leilani goes on.

  “Non.” Materena wouldn’t know this. She doesn’t know anyone who wears a lot of jewelry.

  “They have a low self-esteem,” Leilani informs her mother. “They’re not confident. That’s why you are confident, because you don’t wear any jewelry except for your wedding ring.”

  “Ah.” Materena agrees with a nod, although she’s not really following her daughter’s explanation. In her mind, the reason some people wear a lot of jewelry is because they can afford to buy a lot of jewelry.

  “She’s Tahitian, she’s brown as, but she speaks like she was born into the French aristocracy,” says Leilani. “She has a French accent, Mamie! She does the reuh-reuh!”

  “Ah.” Anyway, let’s go back to Hotu’s ex-girlfriends, Materena would like to know who broke up with whom. She’s not particularly interested in Hotu’s mother right now.