Breadfruit

by Célestine Vaite

  Pito told Materena that what she buys and what he wants are always two different things, so it’s best she doesn’t get him a birthday gift at all.

  So Materena is not going to bother buying Pito a birthday gift this year. She feels a bit sad, because she likes to give birthday presents, but it’s like that.

  But, here, she’s walking past a clothing store and a shirt hanging on the rack at the entry to the store captivates her. She stops walking to inspect that shirt.

  It’s a beautiful shirt—yellow and green, with splashes of red petals. Materena goes inside the store and feels the fabric. It is soft and silky and feels wonderful on the skin.

  “Iaorana,” the salesperson says.

  “Iaorana, I’m just looking, girlfriend.”

  “Okay, girlfriend, it’s fine for you to look.”

  Materena gets out of the store. She stands outside to admire the colorful shirt. The salesperson is rearranging the rack, she glances at Materena and smiles. Materena smiles back and she wishes that the salesperson would go rearrange some other clothes. She’s a bit in the way.

  “It’s reduced by fifty percent,” the salesperson says.

  “Ah, okay.”

  “Normally, that shirt costs three thousand francs, but now it’s only one thousand five hundred francs,” continues the salesperson.

  “Eh—oui, thank you.”

  “It’s the last shirt in stock. It’s from Hawaii, girlfriend. It’s very popular, the whole stock sold in a week.”

  “Ah oui?” Materena is interested now.

  But she doesn’t have any money on her, and it really bothers her. She wants to buy that shirt—for Pito’s birthday. It doesn’t matter that he ordered her never to buy him a birthday gift ever again. She wants to give him a gift. She wants to give him that shirt. You can’t go wrong with a shirt. Pito can wear it on special occasions, like when there’s a function at his work. He can’t wear that shirt at the bar, though. She won’t permit it. Women are sure going to admire that shirt and then they’re going to admire the man who’s wearing the shirt—even if he’s married. They’re not going to care about any wedding band on Pito’s finger, because he’ll be so handsome with that shirt on. She’s got to have that shirt. If she doesn’t grab it now, another woman will grab it for her husband.

  “Eh, girlfriend, you accept a deposit?” says Materena, and goes on about how she usually has a couple of banknotes in her wallet. Today is an exception.

  The salesperson is willing to accept a deposit. Materena goes back into the store and takes the shirt off the rack.

  Materena rubs the fabric on her cheek. It is so soft. It is like a caress. She follows the salesperson to the counter. The salesperson opens a black book. She asks for the name and the deposit amount.

  “Materena Mahi, and it’s two hundred francs.”

  “Eh, girlfriend, you can’t give me a little bit more? Two hundred francs is not enough to hold the shirt.”

  “Three hundred francs.”

  “A little more, can you?”

  “Five hundred francs.”

  The salesperson writes Materena Mahi and Five hundred francs in the black book. “When are you coming to get the shirt and pay the rest?”

  “Tomorrow, girlfriend, after I get paid.” Materena counts her coins and gives them to the salesperson.

  The salesperson counts the coins and puts them in the cash register.

  Materena asks if she needs to sign the book.

  “Non, you don’t need to sign. Why do you want to sign?” asks the salesperson.

  Materena doesn’t particularly want to sign, unless her signature is required. No, her signature is not required.

  “That shirt is for my husband,” Materena says. Materena just can’t stop herself from thinking of Pito as her husband. They’re not married yet, but in her head and in her heart they are. “It’s his birthday in three days.”

  “Ah, it’s good. Lots of women bought that shirt for their husband.”

  Materena is pleased with the information. That shirt is popular.

  Materena goes and picks up the shirt the very next day. She wraps it in silver gift paper and ties a red ribbon around it. She hides Pito’s beautiful present under the mattress and pats the mattress. She’s happy. Pito thinks she’s not going to get him a birthday gift this year. He’s sure going to be surprised.

  Two more days and it’s Pito’s birthday.

  But she’s going to give him his birthday gift right now. Two days, it’s too long to wait. Materena is impatient to see Pito with that shirt on. And what if the shirt doesn’t fit him? It’s better that she finds out about it now rather than in two days in case she has to take the shirt back to the store and exchange it for another shirt. She hopes the shirt is going to fit Pito. That shirt will really suit him. She can picture him wearing it.

  So here she is, standing behind the sofa, hiding the silver specially wrapped gift behind her back. Pito’s watching the TV.

  “Pito,” Materena says.

  “I’ll take out the garbage tomorrow morning,” Pito says before she can continue.

  “Ah oui, it’s fine.”

  He turns his head to look at her, and she gives him a look of tenderness. She knows that he thought she was going to annoy him about the garbage.

  Usually she pesters Pito to take the garbage out at night, because when you take the garbage out in the morning, you can miss the garbage truck. The garbage truck doesn’t always come through at the same time. Sometimes it comes late and sometimes it comes very early. And when it comes very early, Materena is stuck with a full garbage can and she has to jump on the plastic bags to fit more plastic bags of trash in the can.

  And usually there’s a little argument—which Pito always wins because nothing can make him take the garbage out at night, because he prefers to take the garbage out in the morning. When you take out the garbage at night, the dogs knock the garbage cans over and there’s a mess and you have to clean up the mess illico presto because everybody in the neighborhood knows which garbage can belongs to whom.

  Materena chuckles.

  “What’s with you?” Pito asks.

  Ah, it’s so nice when you’ve got a gift for someone and that someone isn’t expecting it. She hands Pito his birthday gift.

  “What’s this?” he asks.

  “It’s your birthday gift.”

  “Eh, didn’t I already tell you —”

  She doesn’t let him finish his protestation. “Just open that present, you’re going to like it.” Materena’s heart is beating with excitement. She can’t wait to see the look of joy in Pito’s eyes.

  He prods the package. “Is it a towel?”

  She wonders why he would think she’d get him a towel for his birthday. “Why, do you want a towel?”

  No, he doesn’t particularly want a towel. He was only guessing.

  “It’s not a towel. Open the present and you’re going to see.” Materena’s eyes are sparkling.

  Pito rips the silver gift paper. He scratches his head and grimaces. There’s no look of joy in his eyes.

  “What? You don’t like the shirt?” Materena’s eyes are furious now.

  “Materena, this… it’s not my style,” Pito starts.

  In Pito’s opinion, the colors scream out, Admire me! I’m beautiful! I’m a flower!

  In Pito’s opinion, raeraes wear that kind of shirt, and, actually, Pito saw a raerae in town yesterday and that raerae was wearing the exact same shirt. And Pito doesn’t want to be mistaken for a raerae and he doesn’t want to be mistaken for someone who likes raeraes.

  He’s never going to wear that shirt, not even for cent mille francs.

  Materena snatches the shirt away. “Eh, you don’t need to say you’re never going to wear that shirt, not even for cent mille francs, you know well nobody is going to pay you cent mille francs to wear that shirt.”

  Materena’s disappointed, she’s angry. She scrunches the shirt and gives Pito a dirty look.
r />   “Did I ever ask you to buy me a shirt?” Pito asks. “No, I never asked you to buy me a shirt, because what I like and what you like, it’s not the same.”

  Pito likes to buy his own shirts. He knows best what suits him.

  “It’s like that love-song tape you got me last year,” he says.

  “You already told me about that love-song tape,” Materena snaps.

  “And that straw hat you bought me the year before. I never wear it. It’s you who always wears that hat. You know I prefer caps, so why did you give me a straw hat—plus, a woman’s straw hat?”

  “You already told me about that hat.”

  “Take that shirt back to the store and give me the money for a case of Hinano.” Pito goes on watching the TV.

  Materena drags the ironing board into the bedroom to iron the shirt, as you can’t take a scrunched shirt back to the shop. It must be crisply ironed.

  She was going to get Pito to show off that beautiful shirt on Saturday at the birthday party at Mama Roti’s place, but it’s not going to happen, since he thinks only the raeraes wear that kind of shirt.

  Materena plugs the iron in, berating herself—and Pito. It’s the last time I’m buying that Pito a birthday gift! You andouille, Materena. She knows what Pito really wants for his birthday. He wants a speedboat. Eh, as if we have the money for a speedboat. It costs a lot of money to buy a speedboat. Plus, there’s the repairs and the petrol, and the motor. And what are we going to do with a speedboat?

  Materena takes the shirt back to the store the following morning on her way to work. She smiles a big smile to the salesperson. “Eh, iaorana, girlfriend, it’s a beautiful day today, eh? I thought it was going to rain, but it doesn’t look like it’s going to rain. And are you fine?”

  The salesperson just glances at the shirt.

  “Girlfriend, I have to give you that shirt back. It doesn’t fit my husband. It’s too small.”

  The salesperson gives Materena the do I know you? look.

  “I was here yesterday,” Materena says. “Check in your black book.”

  Ah yes, the salesperson remembers. But she can’t take the shirt back—it is the store’s policy.

  Ah, now Materena is annoyed. “I can’t exchange the shirt for a dress?”

  The salesperson gives Materena the I’m sorry look.

  Materena wants to say that it is the last time she buys something from that store, but it’s not the fault of the salesperson that there’s a store policy. The salesperson is just an employee—she doesn’t own the store.

  Materena leaves the store.

  She could give that shirt to her cousin Mori. It’s not money lost. But first, she’s going to try it on. She tries it on as soon as she gets to her work. The fabric feels really nice.

  She inspects herself in the mirror in the room of her boss. Eh, the colors suit her. The shirt is a bit big but it still suits her fine. Materena lifts her arms. It looks a bit like a blouse on her. That can be my uniform, she thinks. A blouse and a pareu—it matches.

  She leaves the blouse on. It’s nice working with that blouse on. You don’t sweat as much. She checks herself in the mirror again before leaving the house of her boss. Ah yes, it’s her style.

  And now, she’s noticing how people are looking at her as she’s waiting for the truck at the market. People—men especially. She knows it is because of the colorful shirt. Nobody looks at her when she’s wearing her clean, ironed oversize T-shirt.

  A tall, lean woman walks past Materena and smiles a big bright smile at her. Materena smiles back. They’re wearing the same shirt. The tall, lean woman is wearing it with bright red tights, though—she’s got nice legs. Nobody is looking at Materena anymore. The tall, lean, muscular woman is more interesting because she’s wriggling her bottom and swinging her bright orange handbag.

  Then the suspicion that the woman is a man comes into Materena’s mind.

  It’s not always obvious—a raerae. Some of them are hopeless at disguising themselves as a woman. One look at the face and you know it’s a man—there’s the spiky hair.

  But some of them are experts, and the only thing that gives the truth away is the deep man voice.

  There’s a street in Papeete for the raeraes to wait for their clients. Materena had been past that street one night. Her cousin Mori was driving the car. And Mori yelled out from the window, “And it’s how much?” And the raerae called back, “Come see me, my little cabbage, and I’ll show you what love is all about.”

  They’re quite flamboyant, the raeraes. They like to show off.

  They like colors.

  Was that woman a raerae?

  Materena looks down at her chest. You can’t see the form of her breasts with that shirt.

  Eh—people, they’re thinking she’s a raerae?

  Materena chuckles and gets into a truck.

  Mori and Teva, another cousin of Materena, are drinking under the mango tree at the petrol station when Materena gets off the truck. Mori is playing “Silent Night” on his accordion and Teva is humming, but they stop to call out, “Iaorana, Cousin,” to Materena.

  “Iaorana,” says Materena. She wants to add, “Are you still waiting for a job to fall out of the sky?” But they are nice cousins. They just like the drink a bit too much. There are quite a few empty bottles of Hinano in the beer case.

  “Eh, Materena, you’re flamboyant today,” Mori says.

  Teva laughs.

  Materena stops walking. She demands to know what Mori means by flamboyant.

  “Well, you’re colorful. I can see you really well,” Mori says. “You’re like, how can I say this, you’re like —” Finally, Mori finds the word. “Like a peacock, Materena, Cousin.”

  Mori is now laughing his head off. He’s laughing so much that his dreadlocks are trembling. Materena looks at him, then she looks at Teva, and she can see by the redness of their eyes that they’ve been smoking marijuana on top of drinking Hinano.

  Materena puts her hands on her hips. “Well, you two, I prefer to look like a peacock than to look like a good-for-nothing. Are you two still waiting for a job to fall out of the sky?”

  She marches away and hears her cousins say, “What’s wrong with Materena today?”

  “Ah, she’s just in a bad mood. Some days it’s best not to say iaorana. Some days, it’s best just to drink your beer and say nothing.”

  Materena marches back to the mango tree and asks her cousins if the shirt makes her look like… like a raerae.

  The cousins are perplexed by the question. Mori says, “Well, we know you’re a woman… so . . .”

  Teva says, “We know you’re not a raerae… so . . .”

  Materena waves a hand. “Ah—who cares about what you two say?” Then she stomps off again.

  Marching home, Materena thinks about how difficult gift giving is. There’s no guarantee. It seems that what people give and what people expect to receive are often two different things.

  Materena knows this will happen with her wedding gifts, but she will accept them gratefully because that is what you should do when somebody remembers to give you a gift. In Materena’s opinion, Pito should have accepted the colorful shirt that she bought him with such good intentions. He could just wear it at home if he’s so concerned about his image.

  Now, standing in front of the mirror, Materena asks herself if that colorful shirt is making her look like a raerae. No woman wants to be mistaken for a man.

  “Alors?” she says out loud. “You look like a woman or a man?”

  Later, Cousin Rita, visiting, reassures Materena. “Cousin, you have nothing to worry about. You look like a woman because you are a woman, and you are beautiful in that shirt, like in anything else you wear.”

  New Bed—New Beginning

  Materena is making the bed. It’s an old bed and it came along with Pito because Materena’s bed was single-size, meant for one body. Materena had never felt the desire to know the history of Pito’s bed, but Rita came to visit toda
y and told Materena that she’d bought a new mattress.

  Well, it’s not really a new mattress Rita bought. It didn’t come from the mattress store. Rita bought it at the secondhand store. But even if it’s not brand-new, Rita said it looks brand-new. According to Rita, the person who owned the mattress before must have only used it for a week.

  In fact, it’s not really a mattress Rita bought. It’s more a Japanese-style bed. It’s low and a bit hard to sleep on, but Coco will get used to it. Coco says he misses sleeping in his old bed, but Rita likes the new bed better than she liked the old bed.

  Here’s the story.

  Rita knew Coco had had lots of women before she caught his heart, and these women had never really bothered Rita until Coco’s mama said to her last week, “Ah, my son, he had lots of women. They used to sneak into my son’s bedroom, those women.” Apparently Coco’s mama had heard the clap-clap noise of the high-heel shoes. These women didn’t come barefoot.

  Coco’s mama cackled and Rita cackled along. Rita’s cackle was louder. And she said to Coco’s mama, “Eh, I know all about sneaking into a man’s bedroom. I’ve done lots of sneaking myself. Ah, all that sneaking us women do.”

  Coco’s mama looked at Rita and Rita could tell that she didn’t believe her story about sneaking into men’s bedrooms. Everybody in Coco’s family knew Rita was a virgin when she met Coco. Coco had told his mama about Rita being a virgin and his mama had made sure to pass this information on to the coconut radio. Coco’s mama was very proud her son caught a virgin.

  She’s always talking about Rita’s virginity. One day Rita asked her, “Why are you always talking about my virginity?” And Coco’s mama replied, “It’s so rare, that’s why I’m always talking about your virginity.”

  Rita wishes she hadn’t been a virgin when she met Coco.

  Anyway, back to the mattress story.

  Within two days of Rita finding out about all those women sneaking into Coco’s bedroom, she developed an allergy to the mattress Coco got from his mother for his seventeenth birthday.

  Rita tried to fight her allergy. It’s a bit silly to be allergic to a mattress just because other women used it before you, it’s only a mattress and there’s a sheet on it. Rita tried to be sensible about that mattress, but it was no use. There were just too many women linked to that mattress.