“Ah, it’s good,” Materena says.
“So many people think that driving a bride to the church is just about driving, but it isn’t, let me tell you. You have to be a bit of a psychologist.”
Materena nods knowingly.
“And, plus,” Mama Teta goes on, “I offer extras. I’m the only one who offers extras on the island. The other wedding-car drivers, they just drive from A to B.”
“Extras?” Materena wouldn’t mind finding out what the extras are. “What, for example?”
“Well, I sing,” Mama Teta replies.
Materena nods.
“But my best extra,” Mama Teta continues, “is that I give a little gift to my bride.”
“Ah oui? That’s very nice of you, Mama Teta.”
“Ah, it’s only a little something, girl. It’s not of great value, but it takes me hours to get that gift. My gift is like a good-luck thing.”
“Ah, I’m sure the friend of my boss would appreciate your gift. And what is it? Can you tell me?”
“Well, I can tell you because you’re not the one getting married, but don’t tell the friend of your boss, because if the bride knows about the gift, then the good-luck thing might not work.”
“Don’t tell me!” Materena says, then hurries to add, “It might slip out of my mouth. Just tell me the price and include a tour around Papeete.”
Mama Teta gives Materena a slightly suspecting look, but then she says the price. Approximate, she says. It will depend a little on whether the boss’s friend is from Faa’a or somewhere else.
Materena now has all the necessary information, and she’s quite happy about Mama Teta driving her to the church, even if Mama Teta’s driving is a bit wobbly when there’s a gendarme on the horizon. Materena still laughs out loud when she remembers the story of Mama Teta and the gendarme.
One day, just a little while after Mama Teta got her driver’s license, a gendarme started following her, and she wasn’t doing anything wrong. She was just taking her son and her grandkids for a little drive and driving way below the speed limit. Sure, Mama Teta was driving a rusty old car, and, yes, a car that made funny rattles and clunking sounds, but she had passed her driving test first go. In fact, Gilbert, the driving instructor, had told Mama Teta many times that he had never seen anyone drive with such confidence as her. Mama Teta, she doesn’t hesitate before passing or putting her foot on the brake. She’s a quick thinker, which is very important when you drive in Tahiti, because in Tahiti there are lots of unconfident drivers and there are lots of drivers driving without a driver’s license.
Ah, true, Mama Teta is a confident driver, but back then that gendarme following her was sending her into a panic attack and making her forget all that she had learned during the two weeks of driving lessons with Gilbert. Here she was, welded to the steering wheel, hands shaking, legs shaking, unable to concentrate 100 percent, unable to think—panicking.
Johno said to his mama, “You’re driving like someone who can’t see the bloody road, Ma.” Then, checking the speedometer: “This is a sixty-five-mile-an-hour zone and you’re going twenty-five.”
“It’s that gendarme following me. He’s making me nervous.” Mama Teta was so nervous her hands were sweaty and she had to wipe them on her pareu.
Johno turned around and there was indeed a gendarme following them.
“You want me to drive?” he asked, hoping his mother would say yes, as he was a bit fiu of this twenty-five-mile-per-hour drive.
“I don’t want nobody else to drive! I’ve got my driver’s license, and why did your old mama have to get her driver’s license at bloody fifty-six years old, eh? Because my kids never come and visit me!”
It was the eternal argument. Mama Teta’s children didn’t come to see her often enough, she wanted them to visit her every day, but the children were always so busy. So Mama Teta had got her driver’s license and now she visited her children without warning them of her arrival. Like this afternoon, when she came to take Johno’s kids for a drive in the old Citroën. She didn’t invite Johno along, he just jumped in. His woman, she didn’t like the kids driving with Mama Teta, full stop, especially not by themselves.
All Johno wanted now was for the car ride to end. At his house. It was twenty past five, Josianne would have dinner ready and she was going to be mad if Johno and the kids didn’t turn up soon. Like, in five minutes. The kids were restless, tired of the little drive, which was taking such a long time. Because their grandmother Mama Teta was too scared to stop in case the gendarme stopped his car too to ask her questions.
“Ma… why are you scared of the gendarmes?” Johno was serious.
“Who said I’m scared! I’m not scared.” Mama Teta’s voice lowered into a whisper. “Why are you talking nonsense to me?”
“You can talk normal, Ma. It’s not against the law. You can even sing!”
“Sometimes you make me so mad, Johno! Who’s going to pay the fine if we get arrested? I just want to be careful. Why don’t you just shut it!”
Johno smelled panic in the air. “Ma?”
“What?”
“Stop the car—I’m driving.”
“What are you saying?”
“I said, stop the car now. I’m driving.”
“It’s my car, I’m driving.” Mama Teta gripped the steering wheel tighter.
It wasn’t really Mama Teta’s car. It belonged to her niece Lily, who had gone to France with her latest boyfriend. There was a possibility Lily wouldn’t come back soon, depending on whether she got sick of the new man in her life. If she didn’t, Mama Teta would buy the car for a reasonable price.
Actually, Mama Teta knew Lily was more likely to come back home within two weeks, because Lily is easily bored when it comes to boyfriends. She loves partying too much to settle down. Mama Teta already had her eye on a new white Fiat—but no need to tell Johno all that.
“Ma, stop the car! I want to ask the gendarme why he’s following us. There has to be a reason,” said Johno.
Mama Teta shrieked, “You leave that gendarme alone! No way I’m stopping my car now. No way.”
Johno sighed. No way? Well, we’re going to see about that.
Then suddenly Mama Teta accelerated. She had a mean look on her face—she meant business.
“What are you doing, Ma?”
“Going faster. Now shut it. I’ve got to get away from that gendarme.”
Johno sighed again. Did his mama actually think that Lily’s rusty, clunking Citroën would lose the gendarme’s brand-new car? Yes, she did. Mama Teta was even pressing her chest on the steering wheel—to make the car go a bit faster, no doubt. Faster. Faster. Then came the inevitable siren.
Mama Teta jumped, the kids clapped, Johno was relieved. “You have to stop, Ma,” he said.
“I’m not stopping for anybody. I didn’t do anything wrong.”
The Citroën kept speeding away, faster and faster.
“Are you serious, Ma?”
Mama Teta didn’t answer.
“Ma!” Ah, now Johno was quite annoyed with his mama.
Mama Teta started mumbling, “There’s too many gendarmes here… watching us… waiting for us to do something wrong so they can lock us away in prison… I see them… with guns in their pocket… to scare us little people. They think they’re better than us, in their uniforms. They don’t watch the rich people, because the rich people give them money … but, us little people, we have to be good, good all the time. That gendarme, he can tell I’m a nobody… I’m a little person he can push around for a joke… he can scare people with his gun… I’m not stopping, you hear? I’m not stopping for anybody.”
Johno had to think fast. When his woman got out of control (like his mama was right now), he never tried the talking-sense technique, because that technique didn’t work in these situations. He had a better technique, and it was called the shock technique. Johno had never screamed at his mama before. He had told her off a few times but always between his teeth. B
ut right this moment, he had to scare his mama. Shock her. Wake her up. Make her stop that bloody car before she killed them all.
“STOP THIS FUCKING CAR NOW!” It was an order.
And Mama Teta, calm and composed, put her foot on the brake. She made sure the blinker was blinking, and carefully swerved to the side of the road, then she turned the motor off. Not long after, the gendarme parked his car next to Lily’s car.
Johno, sweating and trembling, got out of the car to explain the situation to the gendarme. This little drive might cost him a few thousand francs. He had to win the gendarme’s sympathy. Surely the gendarme would understand. He had a mother too. And a woman, perhaps. He must know that women, on the whole, do bizarre things.
“Good afternoon, monsieur.” Johno was all respect for the skinny little gendarme walking toward him.
“Good afternoon.” The gendarme went straight past Johno to the driver.
Mama Teta looked up to the gendarme and did her air of pity. Then she looked at him properly and flashed a big smile like we do when we recognize somebody.
“Good afternoon, monsieur.” Mama Teta’s voice was singing.
“Madame.”
Johno stood still, quite stunned with his mama.
“May I see your driver’s license, please, madame?” the gendarme asked.
Again, singing, “Certainly, monsieur… here, monsieur.” There was a twinkle in Mama Teta’s eyes.
The gendarme checked that the woman in the photograph was the woman sitting behind the wheel. Then, obviously satisfied, he handed the driver’s license back.
“Do you own the car?” he asked.
And Mama Teta cackled. “Do I own the car? Ah non, monsieur. It’s the car of my niece and her name is Lily. She’s in France now… just for a little holiday. Lily, she asked me to look after her car until she comes back. And I’m just taking my son and my grandchildren for a little drive.”
The gendarme briefly glanced at the three very silent kids sitting in the back of the car. Then he looked at Mama Teta again. “When is… Madame Lily… coming back? Any idea?”
“Oh, Lily is coming back very soon.” Mama Teta nodded several times.
The gendarme smiled. He pulled his wallet out of his pocket and handed his business card to Mama Teta. She thanked him for giving her his card.
“Would you care to tell your niece to give me a call as soon as she comes back?” the gendarme asked. “There are a few things I need to discuss with her… about her car. For example, she must replace the two front tires. This is a rather urgent matter.”
Mama Teta put the gendarme’s business card in her bag. “Certainly, monsieur, it’s a very urgent matter. I told my niece Lily to get a new car. This one is a bit hard to drive. I’m going to make sure that Lily calls you as soon as she comes back.” Mama Teta spoke louder every time she said “Lily.”
“Thank you for your cooperation.”
“Oh, it’s nothing, monsieur.” Mama Teta made a little movement with her hand.
Johno, even more stunned now, got back in the car, and Mama Teta waited for the gendarme to do a fast U-turn and disappear.
Johno was silent. He had expected his mother to cry, beg the gendarme for mercy, tell him about all her financial problems, her heart problem, her whole life, but she did none of these. She just smiled and cackled.
Mama Teta whistled, then she began to laugh. “Ah hia hia… that Lily, eh? Playing around with gendarmes, eh? I’m going to give her plenty when she comes back. And that stupid gendarme, thinking I don’t know anything. Every time I said ‘Lily,’ his eyes sparkled, and I bet his thing was hard.”
“What are you talking about?” Johno asked.
“Eh, look in the glove box.”
Johno opened the glove box. There was a bundle of photographs. The photographs were all of Lily with a man at her side. Johno flicked through the photographs and there was the gendarme, holding on to beautiful, naughty Lily and grinning with pride like a fisherman who has caught a big fish.
Johno put the photographs back in the glove box and shook his head.
Women… they sure do bizarre things.
One-Minute Visit
After a week gathering quotes and thinking about food, drinks, the wedding dress, the wedding rings—all the things that need to be organized before you actually say “I do”—Materena has a headache.
Aue, there’s so much to be organized!
But today Materena isn’t going to think about the organization. She’s just going to think of nothing. Blank the wedding out of her mind. Relax on the sofa. It’s so rare she’s on her own, but today she’s managed it. She looks at the ceiling, enjoying the peace and quiet. She might have a nap or she might just stay in a horizontal position on the sofa with her eyes open.
She’s going to do whatever she wants.
Pito is on a visiting tour with Ati, which means he won’t get home until dark. The kids are at her mother Loana’s house until she gets sick of them and walks them back—in two hours, maybe three if Materena is lucky. She has told the kids they better behave or they’ll be in big trouble. She’s hoping they will stay with their grandmother till late afternoon.
Materena has cleaned the whole house, everything smells nice, everything has been put away, there are no clothes to wash, no clothes to hang, no clothes to iron, and the sheets have been changed.
Materena feels blissful.
Then Mama Roti’s head appears at the louvers. “Hou-hou!”
Materena springs to her feet like the sofa is burning hot, and her hands automatically rearrange her uncombed hair. Ah, fiu! Materena is so annoyed.
Mama Roti bangs on the door. “What’s this locking the door in the middle of the day! What’s this pulling the curtains closed!”
Materena is determined to tell Mama Roti that today it’s impossible for her to have a talking session. She’s going to say her doctor has prescribed rest. She doesn’t want to talk.
Materena unlocks the door and Mama Roti barges into the house. There is a woman with her whom Mama Roti introduces as “someone I know.” And to the Someone Mama Roti Knows, Mama Roti says, “This is Materena. Pito’s half.”
Pito’s half! Materena thinks, What! I’m a mango now? Ah, that woman! What a nerve! No manners! But Materena can’t really be too cranky at Mama Roti, because when Loana talks about Pito to someone, she calls him Materena’s shadow.
“I won’t stay long, girl,” Mama Roti says. “Just one minute. I’ve got so many things to do. So many things to do, but it’s so hot.” Then she looks at the floor.
“Eh, what’s this? Where’s the linoleum?”
“It’s at the dump,” Materena lies. She doesn’t want to hear about that story of how you don’t put carpet on top of linoleum again.
“When did you put carpet down?” Mama Roti is now bending over and feeling the carpet with the palm of her hand.
“Four days ago.”
Mama Roti gives Materena a suspicious look and makes herself comfortable on the sofa. There and then Materena guesses the visit is not going to be a one-minute visit, it’s going to be more like a few-hours visit. Mama Roti fans herself with the palm of her hand. Materena invites the woman Mama Roti has brought with her to sit and gets them a cordial.
The woman sips her cordial and Mama Roti gulps hers.
“Can I have another one?” Mama Roti hands her empty glass to Materena.
Materena goes and gets Mama Roti another glass of cordial. After gulping her second glass of cordial, Mama Roti goes on about how she feels so much better. It’s less hot, all of a sudden.
“I bought a lottery ticket last week,” she says.
“Ah oui?” Materena is not interested at all.
“Girl, if my numbers were three, seven, and nine instead of eleven, four, and two, you’d be facing a millionaire right this second.”
“Ah.” Materena has heard too many stories about Mama Roti nearly winning the lottery and what she would do with her millions.
On and on Mama Roti goes about how she would have spent her millions. New house, car, a trip to Lourdes, a speedboat for Pito, one hundred thousand francs into Materena’s bank account—the one for the kids.
“Thank you.” Materena always has to say thank you when Mama Roti distributes the millions of francs she nearly won.
Mama Roti drifts into a reverie, which nobody interrupts. She smiles and sighs. Her friend is still sipping her cordial and looks like she’s going to fall asleep, so she jumps at Mama Roti’s exclamation.
“And where’s Pito!”
“He’s with Ati,” Materena replies. “They won’t be back until late tonight.”
“And the kids?”
“They’re with Mamie. They won’t be back until tonight.”
“So you’re all by yourself, girl,” Mama Roti says. “I’m glad I came to visit and keep you company, but I can’t stay long. I’ve got an appointment in town in an hour—an important appointment.”
Well, Materena is sure happy about that important appointment.
But two hours later Mama Roti is still talking.
“Mama Roti,” Materena says, “what about your important appointment?”
Mama Roti shrugs, and admits that it’s fine if she’s late for that important appointment. In fact, it’s fine if she doesn’t go to that important appointment at all. And the important appointment isn’t really an important appointment—it’s just an appointment with the dentist. And Mama Roti is not in the mood to have a noisy drill in her mouth today.
“I’ll make another appointment with the dentist, he’s a good friend, almost family—don’t be concerned, girl.” Mama Roti pats Materena on the leg.
And now, she says, she’s a bit hungry.
Materena goes and makes sandwiches. As she’s cutting the tomatoes, she’s tempted to escape through the back door and go hide on the roof.
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