Breadfruit

by Célestine Vaite

  But what happened with the piano lessons? Something did happen, because otherwise Tapeta would have said, and right from the beginning, “You know what? Rose, she can play the piano!” Materena waits for her cousin to carry on with her story.

  But first Tapeta has to fan her face with her hands, and after several long, annoyed sighs, she continues. “I asked Rose after the third lesson what song she could play and she told me that she had to do a bit of study about the notes of music first. And I said to her, ‘You tell me when you can play a song, and I’m going to come to the school to listen to you.’ And Rose said, ‘Okay, Mama.’ I paid another month. And there was still no okay. So one day, I decided to go to school on my way to work to listen to Rose play the piano. I stayed outside the piano-music-lesson room and opened my ears and what I heard . . . Ah hia hia, let me just tell you that it wasn’t a melody. And I said to myself, ‘Twenty thousand francs for that horrible noise!’ Eh, I wanted an explanation. I waited for the lesson to finish. When Rose got out of the piano-lesson room, I hid behind the wall. Then I went to see the music teacher.”

  Materena listens intently.

  “I asked that woman how come, my daughter, she’s not playing good. And the woman said, ‘Your daughter must practice every day, she must dedicate herself to the piano… playing the piano must become an obsession.’ And I said, ‘My daughter, she must practice every day?’ ‘Absolutely,’ the piano teacher said. And I said, ‘Practice on what?’ And the piano teacher said, ‘On her piano, of course!’ I was getting more and more confused by the second. ‘What piano are we talking about here?’ I asked.”

  Tapeta looks into Materena’s eyes. “You know what that Rose did?”

  Materena guesses that Rose lied to her music teacher that she had a piano to practice on, but it’s best to act like you don’t know the rest of the story. “Non.”

  “That coconut head lied to the piano-music teacher that her grandmother bought her a piano! Ah, I tell you, I was so cranky with Rose. When I got home from work, I went straight to her and said, ‘And how are your piano lessons?’ Rose said, ‘Everything’s going well, Mama.’ And I said, ‘So, you’re practicing every day on the piano your grandmother bought you?’ Rose, she looked at me and then she started to cry on me. You know how kids cry on you when there’s trouble coming their way. You haven’t even done anything yet and they’re bawling. Eh, I slapped Rose full on the face… It’s okay now. Rose gave me some explanations. She realized from the third lesson that you’re supposed to have a piano when you’re learning to play the piano, and she was going to tell me that she didn’t want those piano lessons anymore, but I’d already paid for another month.

  “And when the piano teacher asked Rose if she had a piano, Rose thought she better lie. She thought if she told the truth, the music teacher was going to stop the music lessons and then my hard-earned money would be gone in the wind.”

  “Kids, eh.” Materena smiles, thinking how nice Rose is, inventing that story about her having a piano so that her mother’s hard-earned money wouldn’t be wasted.

  Tapeta must get on with her shopping now. So the cousins wheel their carts into the Cash & Carry store.

  But Tapeta has one more thing to add. “You can draw a piano on a piece of cardboard and practice on that… but you need to hear the sound.”

  “Ah, true, Cousin,” says Materena. “With music you need to hear the sound.”

  Inside the Cash & Carry, Materena thinks about how, Tapeta, she’s by far the greatest singer at St. Joseph Church. There’s always a bit of showing-off at Mass, with one cousin trying to sing higher and better than another one. But when Tapeta decides to go to Mass, no one dares try to surpass her, not even their cousin Loma, who has quite a beautiful voice herself.

  Tapeta’s voice is deep, powerful, and very moving. It comes from her soul and it is impossible to compare. When Tapeta sings “Ave Maria,” mamas cry, papas cry, the priest cries, everybody gets goose bumps. As she pushes her cart, Materena hopes that Tapeta won’t mind singing “Ave Maria” for her as she enters the church to get married. That would be a wonderful wedding present and an honor for Materena.

  And Tapeta won’t have to spend money she doesn’t have.

  Imelda

  Later, waiting for the truck to get moving, with her Cash & Carry bags at her feet, Materena realizes that all of her relatives (well, 99 percent of them, anyway) are, like herself, struggling with their finances. It’s not like they have money to spare for a bed they’ll never sleep in.

  There’s no way Materena can ask her relatives to contribute to her bed now. She can’t believe she ever thought of asking them in the first place! How insensitive of her! It’s best she forgets about that bed completely. Or pays for it herself, though she’ll have to ask for an extension with the payments.

  In fact, Materena thinks sadly, it’s best she forgets about the whole marriage story too. No wonder only a few Tahitian people get married. Between the gifts, the food, the drinks… forget it. Might as well keep living in sin.

  Sighing, Materena looks out the window and recognizes her godmother, Imelda. Yes, that’s Imelda’s bleached pandanus hat and her missionary dress. Materena hops off the truck with all her stuff clattering and bumping around her and starts chasing her godmother. But another woman beats her to it. Imelda and the woman are now hugging and talking. Imelda sees Materena and waves, and now Materena has to wait for her to be free.

  Materena wants to talk to her godmother. She hasn’t seen her for almost a year because Imelda is always overseas now with her husband, Hotu, Materena’s godfather, visiting their children.

  Imelda looked after Materena and her little brother for a while when they were kids and she made them feel very welcome in her life. Imelda, she’s got a gift for making people feel welcome in her life. Materena remembers the story of the Australian surfer.

  Imelda immediately liked the look of the tourist her man brought home. The tourist was from Australia, Imelda had never heard of that country before then. The Australian had two surfboards and a backpack, a good-looking face, and good manners, and his handshake was strong and honest.

  That day, Imelda was going to cook lentils, but since there was a tourist, she changed the menu to barbecued fish and rice, raw fish, and taro.

  She forced the tourist to eat. He was shy, embarrassed to help himself a second time. There was a lot of giggling at the table, Imelda had to tell her daughters to quiet down or they were going to scare the tourist away.

  The tourist got up to clear the table. Hotu, using sign language, told him to sit down, digest well, the girls here do the clearing. But the Australian went on with the clearing-up, smiling and nodding all the while. The girls hurried to beat him to the clearing-up. It was the same with the washing-up.

  The word around the neighborhood was: Leave that tourist alone or you’re going to regret it. Steal his surfboards and no more teeth left in your mouth.

  The tourist was protected and he didn’t even know it.

  Imelda took her looking after that tourist kid seriously. When he wasn’t home by dark, she would worry herself sick. She imagined a shark having attacked him or him having drowned. By the third day of his stay, she was giving him long hugs like he was her son.

  One Saturday morning, the whole family caught the truck to Papara with him. Mats, glacière, ten bread sticks, bits and pieces… they settled on the black sand. They watched him surf. “Good wave!” they cheered. When he fell off, they sighed. Then Imelda’s daughters went for a swim in their shorts and shirts, and her son walked around the beach showing off Andrew’s surfboard, pretending that he was a surfer.

  That morning, Imelda thought how nice it would be if the Australian surfer stayed with one of her daughters. Good-looking grandchildren with blond hair and green eyes would result, for certain.

  As to her daughters, the three of them had an interest in the Australian, no denying it. They’d had an argument at the beach and Imelda knew it was about him. I
f she were their age, she’d be fighting over him too. But he must have had a woman waiting for him back in his country, because all he did to Imelda’s daughters was smile. Or perhaps the daughters weren’t his style.

  Imelda really wanted the Australian tourist to be part of her family, but you can’t force these things.

  The tourist stayed twenty-three days at Imelda’s house, a long time, more than enough for Imelda to grow very attached.

  The day Andrew left was a sad day. Everyone in the family cried at the airport as they farewelled him with shell wreaths, and they watched the sky until they couldn’t see his plane anymore.

  Aue… they missed eating with him at their table. The girls had trouble eating for a whole week.

  Imelda never heard from her adopted Australian son again. No letters, no visits, nothing. It’s been six years now. Everyone else who had ever stayed at her house sent Imelda photos and letters written in another language. And four of those tourists came back for her daughters and her son.

  But all Imelda got from Andrew McMahon was dead silence.

  “He must have died in the surf,” Loana reassured her cousin. “You just don’t eat at someone’s table for twenty-three days and give nothing in return. The poor kid must be dead—bless his soul.”

  Every now and then, Imelda goes to the church to say a little prayer for Andrew McMahon. That is how nice she is.

  Imelda is still listening to the woman talk, but her eyes are on Materena. She finally excuses herself and hurries to greet Materena, her arms open wide.

  “Materena, girl!” Imelda grabs Materena’s face and kisses her on the cheeks, the forehead, the eyes, the nose, and the mouth. “How are you?”

  “I’m fine, Godmother,” Materena replies as she hugs her godmother real tight. The two women go on with their hugging for several minutes.

  “How’s Mamie?” The women are no longer hugging, but Imelda is holding Materena’s hands.

  “She’s good, Godmother. The legs are a bit stiff when she wakes up in the morning, but otherwise her health is good.”

  “Eh,” Imelda says. “It’s from all the dancing your mamie did when she was young, but better the legs being a bit stiff in the morning than something more serious.”

  “Ah oui, Godmother.”

  “I’m going to see Mamie, if not tomorrow, the day after,” Imelda says.

  “Ah oui, Mamie will be very happy to see you.”

  Imelda looks at Materena and there are tears in her eyes. She hugs Materena again. “My girl, eh,” she says. “But you’re not a little girl anymore.”

  “Eh oui, Godmother,” Materena says. “I’ve got gray hair now.”

  The hug tightens before Imelda gently pulls away.

  “And you? You’re fine?” Materena asks.

  “Oui, girl, health is good, but I’m a bit tired. Godfather and I have just come home from Australia yesterday. You know it was our twenty-ninth wedding anniversary last week. Chantal, she took us to that restaurant on top of a tower. We could see the city of Sydney.”

  “Ah hia!” Materena has no idea what the city of Sydney looks like, but it must be impressive to see it from the top of a tower.

  “And you, girl”—Imelda rubs Materena’s hands—“any marriage plans?”

  Materena frowns. “Marriage plans?”

  “Don’t forget: when you get married, Godfather and I, we will be paying for the wedding.”

  “Really?” Materena beams. “You’re serious?”

  “Of course I’m serious. That’s what godmothers are for.”

  Materena squeezes her godmother’s hands. “Thank you, Godmother!” But she can’t resist asking, “Ah… and how do you know I’m going to get married one day?”

  Imelda smiles and wags her little finger. She always does this when she means to say, “My little finger told me.” And when Imelda’s little finger tells her, she’s never wrong.

  New Carpet

  Since Imelda’s generous proposition to pay for the wedding, Materena has been very conscious about her house. Well, she’s always been conscious about her house, but more so since she’s decided that’s where her wedding reception will be. People might say, “We’re not here to look at the house,” but people always snoop around for things to notice. Materena certainly intends to have the bathroom tiled before her wedding. She’s got a few hundred tiles her cousin Lily gave away, but there’s not enough to tile the bathroom.

  But today Lily is giving away some carpet to the first person who comes and gets it from her house. Materena can hide the old linoleum underneath the carpet that Lily doesn’t want anymore, and that’s a start. So Materena gets the wheelbarrow—Lily’s house is only about two hundred yards away.

  It’s a good thing Pito and the kids are out visiting Mama Roti.

  Materena looks strange pushing the wheelbarrow on the side of the road, and people look at her. Materena doesn’t care—all she’s thinking about is her brand-new carpet. That carpet falling from the sky is a chance and she’s grabbing it.

  Someone toots the horn and Materena waves without paying attention to the driver of the car—it must be a relative. She doesn’t recognize the white Fiat, though—it must be a relative who has a driver’s license but doesn’t have a car, and that relative must have borrowed the car from a mate. It’s not important to Materena who tooted the horn.

  But, here, the car stops, right in the middle of the road, and a voice yells out, “Materena!”

  Materena looks at the person who’s driving the car. It is Mama Teta. Mama Teta toots the horn again and she’s all smiles.

  “Iaorana, Mama Teta!” Materena waves at Mama Teta and glances at the two cars stuck behind the Fiat.

  “I just bought this car for my business,” Mama Teta says. “It’s beautiful, oui?”

  “Ah, it is, it is.” Materena mentally counts the cars now stuck behind Mama Teta’s Fiat. There are seven.

  “And where are you off to with that wheelbarrow?” Mama Teta asks.

  But the angry drivers are now tooting their horns and a few of them are yelling obscenities. And so Mama Teta waves to Materena and speeds away.

  Materena goes back to pushing the wheelbarrow as fast as she can.

  When Materena arrives at her cousin’s house, she’s sweating already. When there’s something free, you can be sure lots of cousins are going to want it, and the news about that free carpet must already be on the coconut radio. Materena stops at the grapefruit tree—about five yards away from the house—and calls out, “Cousin!”

  It’s not recommended to stand at the front door and call out—you should always stand away from the house. Cousin Lily might be doing something of a private nature—something only she needs to know about—and Lily might get real cranky at Materena for finding out about her private business. And the last thing Materena wants is her cousin to get cranky at her and decide that she’s not really giving her carpet away.

  Materena waits for Lily to call back to her. Perhaps Lily is putting a pareu on. Every two seconds, Materena turns around to see if someone else is arriving.

  Lily is not at the house, she must have gone to the carpet factory to buy her new carpet, but Materena is not sure. Before, it was easy to know when Lily was home, because her old Citroën would be parked outside. But recently Lily sold her car and bought a Vespa. And Lily keeps her Vespa in the house. She keeps her Vespa in the house because she’s afraid it’s going to get stolen if she keeps it outside. She also keeps her Vespa in the house because she doesn’t want people to know when she’s home. She might be very busy with one of her many secret admirers.

  Materena slowly walks toward the house, all the while calling out, “Cousin, are you in the house?”

  There is a note taped on the door. Carpet out the back.

  Materena runs to the wheelbarrow and then runs to the back of the house. The carpet is neatly stacked on some old tin roofing. Materena grimaces. The carpet is bright green.

  Green carpet? she thinks. I
thought the carpet was brown. That carpet looks to me like the grass a bit, non? Eh, but we don’t care about the color!

  The carpet is cut into squares, and Materena is happy. It’s easier to load squares of carpet into the wheelbarrow than a roll of carpet. She takes a square and puts it under her feet to test.

  Ah, it’s so soft. It feels really nice on her feet.

  So Materena loads as many squares of carpet into the wheelbarrow as she can. Still, she will need to do quite a few more trips. There’s no time to waste. She pushes the wheelbarrow along the side of the house and stops at the front door to rip the note off.

  Materena is about one hundred yards away from her house when she hears a cousin calling out to her. It sounds like Loma. Materena walks faster because she doesn’t want to stop and have a little chitchat, and especially not with her cousin Loma.

  “Eh, Cousin! Cousin! Cousin!”

  Loma’s high-pitched voice is getting on Materena’s system and she could just keep on going and ignore it. But the thing with cousins is that once they’ve decided to talk to you—you can’t escape. And the thing with Loma is that once she’s decided to talk to you, she’ll follow you right to your house. Materena has to stop for a little talk, here, on the side of the road. She doesn’t want Loma to follow her home. It’s easier to cut a little talk short when you’re talking on the side of the road than it is in the house. She puts the wheelbarrow down and turns around.

  Loma’s face is all red from the running she’s had to do to catch up with Materena, which was difficult with the bags of groceries she’s carrying with both hands. Loma’s face is also all red from the blush she’s smeared on her face. Loma plonks the bags of groceries on the footpath and bends down. She’s got a stitch.

  Materena wonders why Loma wants to talk to her now instead of going straight home with her shopping. Her butter will melt.

  “Cousin—I can’t believe you didn’t hear me!” Loma puffs.

  “I was thinking about something,” Materena says.