But first Johno gave his mama the latest news about his kids; all is fine and how this happened and that happened. Mama Teta was enjoying hearing about her grandkids, but Johno diverted the conversation to a weird dream he had the night before about his mama falling off a cliff. “So, is everything okay with you, Ma?” he asked.
“But of course!” Ah, Mama Teta likes it when her kids are worried about her. “You know, sometimes,” she confides to Materena, “I wish I could be dead for one day just to give those kids a kick, make them realize I’m not immortal.”
Materena, who has not had a phone call from Tamatoa for nearly three weeks, gives a snort. “And so, about Johno’s dream?”
“Well, he said I was walking and next minute I was falling, and then he opened his eyes. He says to me, ‘Is everything okay with you, Ma? Have you had a checkup recently?’ and I told him, ‘Your dream has got nothing to do with my health, it’s got to do with my future, because I have a business idea.’”
“A business idea?” Johno looked a bit perplexed by this, reports Mama Teta. “A business idea,” she confirmed, offering her son a beer. “And it’s a good business idea, let me tell you about it.”
She did, and for Materena’s information here’s what Johno said. Mama Teta uses her fingers to tick them off:
(1) “But you’ve already got a business, Ma.”
“You mean my bridal-car driving business?” Mama Teta asked. “Bof, I’m going to stop that business. Nobody is getting married anymore, that kind of business is way too slow; plus, my eyes are going a bit funny on me and you need good eyes to be a driver.”
“Just get glasses and advertise some more,” Johno replied.
(2) “Your house is not a good location for a nursing home. You can see the cemetery.”
“And so?” Mama Teta didn’t see where the problem was.
“Ma, think a little, eh? Think about the cemetery.”
“What about the cemetery? It’s not like my old people are going to sit and admire the cemetery, they’re going to be too busy playing cards, planting vegetables, and enjoying themselves.”
“Ma . . . do you think your old people are going to be happy with a cemetery next to them?” He went on about how the cemetery was going to make the old people sad because the cemetery was going to remind them of their death. In his opinion, the old people will be waking up happy, and then one look at that cemetery and they will be sad. They will think, One day it’s going to be me in that cemetery.
Mama Teta shrugged. “Eh, Johno, how many old people do you know? Old people don’t go around thinking they’re immortal, it’s up to the young people to think that.”
(3) “Do you want my honest opinion?” Johno asked before he left.
“Oh, you know, give me your opinion, don’t give me your opinion, I’m still going to do my new business.”
“Well, if it’s what you want”—Johno said this like he didn’t believe his mama’s new business idea was going to become a reality—“but you know, it’s hard work looking after old people.”
He went on about other unimportant things meant to discourage Mama Teta, but what happened was the opposite. Mama Teta was even more excited about her idea. As far as she’s concerned, this is her life, she says to Materena, and she believes in herself. After all, she passed her driver’s license at the age of fifty-six years old, when most women think their life is over.
She overcame her fear of running a child over and learned not to worry so much about all the gendarmes roaming around the island. She passed her driving test with flying colors and became a bridal-car driver.
But Mama Teta is now ready for a change. “Looking after old people is less stressing than driving on the road, especially these days,” she tells Materena. Before Materena can agree or disagree with this statement, Mama Teta informs her that she feels very positive about her new business idea. She feels positive because whenever she thinks about it, she gets all happy inside. And this means she’s on the right track. “I used to be very happy driving brides around,” she adds, “but I’m not anymore. Eh, things change, girl, and life is short. We’ve got to do what we love.”
That’s what Mama Teta told Johno too, and this is what Johno said before he left: “You’re going to have a lot to do in the house.”
Mama Teta asked, “Are you telling me that your bank is going to lend me the money?”
“It’s not my bank, it’s not my decision.”
“Well, see what you can do, okay?” Nodding vaguely, Johno walked to his car, and after a quick wave to his mama, smiling from ear to ear, he drove off, shaking his head.
But last week, Johno was pleased to advise his mother that he’d throw a couple hundred thousand francs into her venture, enough to repaint the house and fix it up a little. “I can get the rest of the money from the government,” Mama Teta tells Materena. “Johno already went with me to fill out the papers.”
Two days later, the whole population is talking about how Mama Teta changed all the curtains in her house and even bought two new single beds. “But, she’s serious, that one,” the relatives say. “And at her age! It certainly makes you think.”
Materena agrees with this 100 percent. Right now, Mama Teta is an inspiration for Materena.
At the Zizou Bar
Tonight Materena feels like going out, and why not? She’ll be forty years old next Wednesday. Isn’t it about time she experiences dancing in a nightclub?
How about at the famous Zizou Bar?
The house is clean and tidy, she doesn’t feel tired, and all her children are away. Tamatoa is in France, Leilani is with her boyfriend in Moorea for a romantic weekend, and even Moana is doing a bit of romance tonight after work with a mystery girl.
So Materena is going out to the Zizou Bar, where her mother and father met.
Materena has always wanted to have a quick look inside that bar but she’s never had the courage. The same as she’s never had the courage to search for her father. She didn’t have the courage because . . . well, because she didn’t have the courage. She thought, He’s not going to want to know me. I’m just a cleaner. Well anyway, that’s an old story and Materena isn’t interested in dwelling on it. She just wants to go to the Zizou Bar.
At the Zizou Bar, French militaires and local girls meet and dance, and when they get hungry from all the dancing they walk across the road to the quay for a little conversation and something to eat at the roulotte.
People say that the girls who dance the night away at the Zizou Bar wouldn’t be dancing one single dance at the local bar because they’re not good-looking enough for the local men. At the Zizou Bar, those girls are queens because the militaires are prepared to dance with anyone as long as it is a woman and she’s Tahitian. Well, that’s what people say today and that’s what people said in Loana’s day, when she used to be a regular at the Zizou Bar.
Tonight Materena is going to see all of this for herself, and she’s expecting Pito to escort her.
“I’m not putting my feet in that bloody bar.” Pito doesn’t even take his eyes away from the TV.
“And why not?” asks Materena.
Pito’s answer is a mumble. He’s not putting his feet in that bloody bar because . . .
Materena immediately guesses the reason. She gives Pito the death look. “Ah, it’s okay for you to have a wife who has a popa’a father and it’s okay for you to have children who have a popa’a grandfather, but it’s not okay for you to put your feet in the Zizou Bar!” Pito lifts his eyes to Materena for a second and says nothing.
Materena furiously rearranges things around the living room and goes on about how she will just have to go to the Zizou Bar by herself since her husband thinks that the beer they serve at the Zizou Bar is poison.
Pito sighs.
“Go on, sigh,” says Materena. “Why did I ask you, anyway? You wouldn’t even help your mate Ati when he had trouble with the militaires because you didn’t want to be seen near the Zizou Bar. What has the Z
izou Bar ever done to you?”
“Eh!” Pito is cranky now. “Leave me alone with that Zizou Bar story, okay? I don’t force you to come to my bar, so don’t force me to go to your bar!”
“Of course you don’t force me to go to your bar,” says Materena. “You don’t want me at your bar, full stop. You want to be with your copains and . . .” Okay, that’s enough about Pito and bars, thinks Materena. “Well, I’m going to go out with Cousin Lily,” she says. “Cousin Lily knows about bars and everything.”
Pito tells Materena that it is a very bad idea to go out with Lily because Lily is trouble. It’s best to go out with Rita instead.
Materena immediately gets the picture. “You know, lots of men wink at Rita when she’s walking around in Papeete, it’s not just Lily who can be trouble.”
Pito nods distantly, concentrating on the TV screen again. Materena is going to ask Rita to escort her, but just as she’s about to dial Rita’s number, something occurs to her and she marches back to the sofa, where Pito is sitting still like a statue. “What’s this about Lily being trouble, eh? And me? You don’t think I can be trouble?” Before Pito has the chance to comment, Materena is dialing Rita’s number again.
But Rita is not picking up the phone, not even with Materena calling with her code: three rings, hang up . . . three times. She must be out. “Ah hia hia,” Materena says to herself. “Eh well, maybe it was a silly idea for me to go to that bar.”
Later on, when Materena goes to get some cooking oil, she meets Cousin Mori outside the Chinese store. He’s just about to get out of his car. She can’t believe Cousin Mori drove to the Chinese store. He lives only two hundred yards away! But some people . . . they’re so lazy. Then again, these days Cousin Mori drives his car everywhere. He just wants to show off the painting of the Virgin Mary, Understanding Woman, that Rose’s Australian husband painted on the hood.
The two cousins greet each other with the usual Tahitian kisses on both cheeks. Cousin Mori doesn’t smell of beer and his eyes aren’t red from smoking paka. So Materena is going to have a quick chitchat with him, but first she is going to admire the painting on the hood of Mori’s car. “Eh, eh,” she says. “She’s so beautiful, Virgin Mary.” Cousin Mori agrees.
Okay, now time for a quick chitchat about this and about that, about how Materena wanted to go to the Zizou Bar but Pito didn’t want to escort her and Rita is not home. “I just don’t want to be at the Zizou Bar on my own,” Materena says. “It’s going to look like I’m after an adventure.” Mori nods knowingly and then proposes to be Materena’s chauffeur and bodyguard.
“You don’t mind to be seen at the Zizou Bar?” Materena asks.
Mori, shrugging with indifference, replies, “Beer tastes the same in all bars, and there’s going to be girls at the Zizou Bar, non?”
So here they are now on their way to the Zizou Bar, and Materena reminds Mori that he is not to start a fight at the Zizou Bar because some militaires are special militaires, they’re legionnaires, and they carry knives. They’re trained to defend. They’re trained to kill in the event of an attack.
Mori, bopping to a Bob Marley song, laughs.
Materena glances at Mori. He’s all dressed up and his hair is twisted into a heavy plait. He reeks of perfume.
“And your car?” she says.
“Oh, la-la!” Mori smacks the wheel. “Everybody is always asking me about my car! What’s the problem with my car?”
Materena wants to say, “The problem with your car is that it is a bomb, it’s always breaking down.” Instead she says, “There’s enough petrol?”
There is, and so Materena looks out the window and hums to the no-woman-no-cry song, all the while thinking that she’s done very well taking some extra francs with her for a taxi in case Mori’s bomb breaks down. Or in case Mori drinks too much, although he did swear not to. She’s also done very well wearing an old dress that falls all the way down to her knees.
Mori parks his car right in front of the Zizou Bar. He explains that it will be easier for him to check on his car during the night.
“We’re only going to be in there less than an hour,” Materena reminds Mori. “Nothing is going to happen to your car during that time.”
“I just want to be careful, Cousin.” Mori locks the steering wheel but leaves the windows opened. He says that he’s not concerned about what’s in the car since there’s nothing to steal, but he’s very concerned about somebody stealing the car itself because it is a collector’s item now, with that painting on the hood.
“Okay, fine, fine, let’s go in.” Materena is already marching toward the entrance of the bar. She can hear the thump-thump music.
The bouncer politely greets the middle-aged woman dressed like she’s off to church, but no way is he letting the big thug in. Looking into Mori’s eyes the bouncer says solemnly, “Policy, mate.”
Mori, his fists clenched and a mean look on his face, says, “Mate . . . are you telling me that I can’t get in because I’m not a popa’a but you’re going to let my cousin in because she’s a woman, even though she’s a Tahitian? Is this what you’re telling me, eh? You want me to report this to the radio? You want me to start a riot? You want my family to smash this bloody bar down?” After Mori has paid his way in and gotten his hand stamped, the bouncer opens the door and wishes the two cousins a very pleasant night.
The Zizou Bar is packed and Materena can see within one second that the story about only ugly Tahitian girls dancing at the Zizou Bar is an absolute myth. The girls here tonight are young, tanned, full of energy . . . they are stunning! She says this to Mori.
“Oh, I’ve met lots of beauties in bars,” he says, “but for some reason, the next morning they’ve changed.”
Materena reminds Mori that he’s her bodyguard tonight and that he’d better not disappear on her. “I’m not paying for your two glasses of beer for you to go drinking with another woman,” she says. They head for the bar and Mori gets his beer, then they sit at a table away from the dance floor. Materena, sipping her water, looks around.
She feels strange . . . All those popa’a men, those militaires, those young men flirting with the young women. The romance in the dark, the French music, the French accent. Materena watches the couples dancing away on the dance floor, cheek to cheek, smiling the smile of love.
Was it like this when Loana was dancing with Tom? When they were young? Tears well in Materena’s eyes as Mori finishes his beer and gets up to buy his second.
There’s a woman sitting on her popa’a lover’s knee and they’re passionately kissing. Another woman, her back pressed against the wall, is also passionately kissing her lover. There’s drunken laughter all around. Mori is now talking to a woman standing against the wall in a dark corner. Well, as long as they’re only talking, Materena thinks, but Mori better not disappear.
Five minutes later, while Materena is busy looking at the couples dancing, Mori and the mysterious beauty make a quick exit, and not long after, three militaires sit down at Materena’s table. They ask her if she’d like a drink, if she’d like a dance, if she’d like to go for a little walk.
Materena’s answer is firm. “Thank you, but my cousin, the big tall man over there with the Rasta hairstyle . . . ,” she says, looking over to where Mori was standing seconds ago. “My cousin,” she continues, smiling at her militaire friends, “he’s going to be back soon.”
Materena thinks that those militaires must be pretty desperate, because she knows very well she looks like a middle-aged woman dressed like she’s going to clean someone’s house.
“You are so beautiful,” one slurs. “Are you happy?”
“My eldest son is in France.” Materena is trying to divert the conversation. “He’s in the army.”
“I love older women.” This militaire is drunk too.
“My youngest son is a chef at the Beachcomber.”
“I think I’m in love with you.” Another drunk militaire.
“My daughter is wi
th her boyfriend in Moorea, he’s a dentist and she works with Dr. Bernard.” Okay, that’s it, Materena is going outside to see what’s going on with Mori. But there’s no sign of Mori outside. She asks the bouncer if he saw her cousin, the big tall man with the Rasta hairstyle.
He shrugs. “It’s not my business what people do outside the bar.”
So Materena walks up and down the street, calling out, “Mori! Mori? Mori?” In the end, she gets into Mori’s car and waits, all the while muttering about how Mori is going to get it. Bodyguards don’t just go walkabout!
But here is a taxi pulling up in front of Mori’s car. Two young girls get out, giggling and blowing kisses to the Chinese taxi driver.
Materena is inside that taxi in a flash. “How much for you to drive me to Faa’a?”
The driver turns around and checks his passenger. “For you . . . half price.”
Materena gives the taxi driver a smile of gratitude, and to prove to him that she indeed appreciates the special price, she asks him questions about his family, if he’s got a wife, children.
“I’ve got four children,” he says.
“Oh, you and your wife are very blessed.”
“I’m not with my wife anymore,” the taxi driver says.
“Oh really? That’s sad, but maybe it was for the best, eh.”
“I’ve got a new wife, and my new wife, she”—the taxi driver glances at Materena—“my new wife, she likes sex, not like my old wife.” He goes on about how his old wife only ever gave him excuses and how the new wife is always chasing him all over the house.
Materena is tempted to say, “Well, that’s because she’s a new wife,” but she just nods in the way we nod to show that we totally understand the situation.
“You’re married?” the taxi driver asks.
Frangipani Page 23