Breadfruit

by Célestine Vaite

  They’re home now and Materena is still cranky at Mama Roti. Moana is only eight years old, and you don’t talk to your grandson that way. Still, Materena is trying to excuse Mama Roti. Perhaps her back was hurting, for real. And she’s a bit old.

  “Eh, but you don’t call my kids ‘coconut head,’” Materena mutters.

  As far as Materena is concerned, she is the only person who can call her kids “coconut head.” That Mama Roti, Materena thinks as she gets into peeling potatoes, she’s got no manners at all. Right this moment, Materena is glad that her last name isn’t the same as Mama Roti’s. She’s certain that people who know Roti Tehana think that she’s a rude woman, and Materena certainly doesn’t want to be associated with her.

  The following day, Mama Roti arrives unexpectedly (as she always does) with a banana cake.

  “Hello, girl!” she says to Materena. She’s all bubbly.

  Materena’s hello is bubbly too, but only just. Mama Roti goes on about how all the bananas in the bunch turned ripe on her overnight, so she decided to bake a banana cake.

  “Ah.” Materena doesn’t sound too interested in Mama Roti’s banana cake. She keeps on sweeping the kitchen.

  “Will I cut you a slice?” asks Mama Roti.

  “Not right now, Mama Roti. A bit later on.”

  Materena can’t eat Mama Roti’s banana cake right now. She’s still angry with Mama Roti. When Materena saw her, the words coconut head rang in her ears. And Materena doesn’t think that she’s overreacting. Her cousin Giselle, for instance, when Ramona’s maman said to her, “What a ridiculous name that name Isidore Louis junior is. It’s so ridiculous it makes me want to laugh,” well, Giselle threw an ashtray at her.

  All Materena is doing to Mama Roti is refusing a slice of her banana cake because she’s angry and because she’s never thrilled to eat Mama Roti’s cakes. Mama Roti puts too much sugar in her cakes.

  Mama Roti sits down and babbles on about the heat, the mosquitoes last night, and the ripe bananas.

  “It’s bizarre, eh?” she says. “All my bananas turning ripe during the night?”

  “It’s bizarre,” Materena says.

  “And where’s the kids?” Mama Roti asks.

  “In their bedrooms, I think.”

  “With that sun!”

  Materena sighs between her teeth.

  And Mama Roti calls out, “Eh, you lot, come quick, your Mama Roti baked you a banana cake and the bananas are from the bunch of Mama Roti!”

  But only Moana calls out, “I’m coming!” Usually Materena would be rushing into their bedrooms to order the kids to hurry up and come eat the cake Mama Roti baked for them. The order would have been discreet, of course, as it’s best that Mama Roti doesn’t know that her grandkids have to be forced to eat her cakes.

  But today Materena is just going to keep on sweeping.

  Mama Roti cuts a slice of her banana cake and Moana eats the whole slice.

  “Your banana cake, it’s very good, Mama Roti,” he says.

  Mama Roti cackles and throws her arms around Moana. She holds him tight and sighs. “Ah, you know how to make your old grandmother happy, eh.” She kisses Moana’s forehead. “My little duckling, my little chicken, my little treasure.”

  Materena goes to Tamatoa’s bedroom. He’s reading an Akim comic in bed. She orders him to go and eat the banana cake his grandmother baked.

  “I don’t like Mama Roti’s cakes.” Tamatoa flicks a page.

  Materena clips his ear and mutters, “Get off that bed now and go and eat Mama Roti’s cake, and if you tell her that her cake isn’t good, you’re going to have to deal with me later on.”

  Then Materena goes to Leilani’s bedroom. Leilani is cutting pictures out of the newspaper.

  “Girl,” Materena says quietly, “Mama Roti baked you lot a banana cake. Go and eat it.”

  “Otherwise?” Leilani looks at her mother.

  Materena shows her the palm of her hand, and Leilani puts her scissors away and gets up.

  “And don’t tell Mama Roti that her cake isn’t good,” Materena says.

  “Okay. I’ll tell Mama Roti that her cake is superb.” Leilani smiles at her mother. The last time Materena ate Mama Roti’s cake, which was a butter cake, she had to rush to the bathroom and spit the piece of cake out.

  Materena cackles, and smiles back at Leilani. “You don’t have to say to Mama Roti that her cake is superb. Just say it’s good.”

  Marae

  There’s a school excursion to the marae and Tamatoa asks his mother to sign the school note and to give him the money.

  “You’re sure you want to go to the marae?” Materena isn’t even looking at the school note.

  Ah yes, he wants to go, the whole class is going and the teacher said everybody should go, because marae are part of our history.

  Materena asks for a pen and Tamatoa goes off to find one.

  She thinks about the excursion, she’s uneasy. Tamatoa likes to fool around too much. At Mass, he’s always coming up with some plan to disturb his brother and sister, and everyone sitting nearby—instead of sleeping quietly, like Leilani and Moana do. He pinches, he kicks, he whispers jokes, he makes fun of the priest. Sometimes he’s so bad Materena ends up sending him outside. Most of the time, though, she just whacks him on the head or flicks his ears or threatens to make him sit next to her auntie Celia if he doesn’t behave.

  How is Tamatoa going to act at the marae?

  Tamatoa comes back with the pen, but Materena isn’t ready to sign the note yet.

  “You know the marae is a sacred place?” she asks.

  Ah yes, of course he knows. They studied marae in class and there’s a whole page about marae in his schoolbook—he’s going to read it tonight. Materena asks to see that page. Tamatoa drags himself to his schoolbag and drags himself back to the kitchen with the book. Materena commands Tamatoa to read her the page, and he falls on the chair beside her and sighs.

  “‘Marae are sacred sites, and there are six types of marae,’” he begins.

  Then Tamatoa looks at his mother.

  “Don’t look at me,” Materena says, “look at your schoolbook.”

  “‘The first type is the marae built in Opoa and dedicated to the god of war,’” Tamatoa continues. “‘It is an international marae, as chiefs from many archipelagoes were linked to that marae. The second type is the national marae, with a high priest associated with a prince—human sacrifices could be done on a national marae. Then there are the local marae, for villages run by a chief with a high priest. No human sacrifices could be done on that kind of marae. Then we have the ancestral marae, built on the land of each family; the social marae, dedicated to the gods of great importance; and, finally, the marae dedicated to specialists such as doctors, canoe builders, and fishermen.’”

  There’s more to read, but first Tamatoa wants to make sure that his mother wants to hear more about marae.

  Materena gives Tamatoa her most serious look. “Of course I want to hear more. But first I want to know, what kind of marae is the marae Arahurahu?”

  “What’s the marae Arahurahu?” Tamatoa shrugs like he couldn’t care less what kind of marae the marae Arahurahu is.

  “It’s the marae you’re going to visit!”

  “Ah.”

  Well, Tamatoa doesn’t know what kind it is—it could be a local marae.

  He continues his monotonous reading. “‘Here follows a list of ceremonies that would take place on the marae: The beginning and the end of a war. The king’s recognition of the power of the gods. The maturation of the year. The reparation of the sins committed by the priests—such as violating their sainthood by doing domestic work, making mistakes during rituals, demonstrating gluttony as they ate the head of a turtle. These offenses committed by the priests could bring bad luck on the priest himself, the population, and the island. Therefore the guilty had to recognize his fault and be punished by being reduced to common social status. There was a ceremony at the mara
e for every single important event linked to the royal family: birth, illness, and death.’”

  Tamatoa snaps his schoolbook shut. “That’s it,” he says.

  Materena decides to add a bit of information.

  “Open your ears.” Again, she gives Tamatoa her most serious look. “Even if the marae isn’t used nowadays, the spirits who guard the marae, they’re still in action. They circle the marae and make sure all the people that visit the marae show respect. The spirits’ eyes are wide open and their ears too are wide open. Beware of upsetting these spirits, because there’s always payment.”

  Materena tells Tamatoa about a man who pissed on the marae. Two weeks later he died in agony, his penis swollen with pus. (Her cousin Mori told her this story.)

  Tamatoa widens his eyes.

  Materena tells him about the kid who spat on a marae. Barely two minutes after the spitting, the kid suffered a convulsion, with white foam and spit dribbling out of his mouth. He died on arrival at the hospital, suffocated by his tongue. (Her cousin Mori also told her this story.)

  Tamatoa widens his eyes even bigger.

  Materena tells him that under no circumstances should he take anything from the marae.

  She tells him there was this tourist, and he took a stone from a marae. He wanted to show it off to his family back in his country. That night, he was woken up by a horrible nightmare in which he saw himself plunge to his death from a cliff. A voice commanded the tourist to take the stone where it belonged. Take the stone back where it belongs, take the stone back where it belongs, it said. The tourist ran all the way to the marae that same night, and the following day he caught the plane back to his country. (This story is common knowledge.)

  Tamatoa’s eyes are nearly popping out. “It’s true, everything you’re telling me, Mamie?”

  “Just show respect to the guardian spirits. They are out there, it’s not an invention.” Materena signs the note.

  Then she gets the coins from the money can and puts the note and the payment in an envelope.

  Tamatoa stayed in the school truck. He told his teacher his stomach was playing up a bit on him, but the truth was that Tamatoa didn’t want to walk around the marae. He was scared.

  And Materena isn’t angry about the excursion money she paid for nothing.

  “It’s best we leave the sacred places alone,” she says to Tamatoa.

  Circumcision

  Pito was twelve years old when he got circumcised. His father took him to the hospital and for a whole week Pito couldn’t wear shorts because his moa was bruised and swollen. He had to wear a pareu.

  And now Pito wants to take Tamatoa to the hospital for the circumcision, but he can’t do it without Materena signing the authorization paper, so he’s asking her to sign it.

  “Pito, you’re not taking my son to the hospital, his moa is fine as it is.” Materena continues to hang the clothes on the line. She’s not even going to look at the authorization paper.

  Pito goes on about how a circumcised moa is much easier to look after because you don’t have to pull the skin up to wash it. It’s more hygienic and the moa doesn’t stink. And, according to Pito, Tamatoa will be very grateful if she signs the authorization paper for him to get circumcised. No man wants to be stuck with an uncircumcised moa, except, perhaps, the popa’a.

  “There’s no need to bring the popa’a into this.” Materena gives Pito a furious look.

  “Ah oui, sorry,” Pito says. “I always forget that your father is a popa’a. The circumcision is a man’s business,” he goes on.

  “Ah oui,” Materena says. “We’re going to see about that.”

  Pito decides to give Materena a little bit of a history lesson about how in the old days, fathers would take their sons to the tahua’a tehe, the circumcision specialists, without the mothers having to put in their grain of salt.

  “Well, that was the old days,” Materena says. “Now it’s the new days. Now we have the authorization paper for us mothers to sign if we want to.”

  Pito curses the authorization paper and calls out to Tamatoa to come outside.

  From the living room Tamatoa’s voice calls back, “Papi, we’re playing marbles and I’m win—”

  “Here. Now!” This is Pito’s serious-business voice, and Tamatoa is by his father’s side within seconds.

  “You want to be a man?” Pito asks him.

  Tamatoa doesn’t understand the question. He does his googly-eyes expression.

  “What?” Pito snaps. “You don’t want to be a man?”

  “Ah oui, I want to be a man,” Tamatoa hurries to answer.

  “You know about the circumcision?”

  “Oui.” Tamatoa is a bit pale now.

  “You want to be circumcised?”

  Tamatoa looks like he’s having trouble swallowing.

  “You want a moa that stinks for the rest of your life!” Pito exclaims, annoyed.

  “Non,” Tamatoa mumbles.

  “So you want to be circumcised, then.”

  Tamatoa’s answer is a murmur. “Oui.”

  “Well, ask your mother to sign the authorization paper.” Pito gives his son the authorization paper and the pen.

  “Mamie, can you sign the authorization paper?” Tamatoa doesn’t sound convincing at all.

  Materena looks at her son and sees the fear in his eyes. She can guess that Tamatoa is thinking that she’s going to give in to Pito, because she has done it so many times. It’s true that she has given in to Pito many times, but it is not going to happen today.

  Materena is thankful there’s an authorization paper. She’s sure a woman invented it.

  “There’s no need to ask me to sign the paper, Tamatoa,” Materena says. “My answer is no. The day you can look after yourself, then go do whatever you want with your moa. Until then, your moa is my business.”

  Tamatoa smiles discreetly at his mamie and passes the authorization paper and the pen back to his father. “Can I go now?”

  Pito waves Tamatoa away. “Yeah, go. But every time you get called moa taioro, you’ll be able to thank your mother for it.”

  Leilani calls out from the kitchen, “Is Tamatoa getting circumcised?”

  “Mind your own business, Leilani!” Pito calls back.

  Leilani comes out and asks her brother if he’s getting circumcised. Tamatoa informs his sister that he would like to be, but Mamie doesn’t want to sign the authorization paper.

  “It’s just that, my friend,” Leilani says, “her brother got circumcised and the doctor did a mistake and now my friend’s brother’s penis is like that.” Leilani shows the size of her friend’s brother’s penis. It is about one inch. “He’s twenty years old now,” she continues, “and he can’t get a girlfriend.”

  “Is this what you talk about at school? Penises!” Materena is half-serious and half-laughing.

  “Non, Mamie,” Leilani says, all embarrassed now. “My friend, she just told me.”

  “I’m never going to get circumcised!” Tamatoa puts his hands on his penis area.

  Pito, crunching the authorization paper, looks like he doesn’t know what to say. Eh, he’s going to get himself a cold beer.

  Materena turns to Tamatoa. “Well? What about a game of marbles with me? Go on, go and get the marbles. It’s better to play outside than inside the house. And get your little brother too.”

  Materena likes playing marbles with her boys. She used to play marbles at school, but she always lost. Some people can shoot their marbles straight into the hole and some people can’t. It’s a mystery to Materena.

  Her cousin Lily was very good at playing marbles at school, before her hormones started racing. She never really shot her marble straight into the hole, but her marble was always the closest to it. Lily’s success might also have had something to do with her only playing marbles with boys and them being a little bit distracted by her long, muscular legs.

  Materena played marbles with boys too, but her marble was never the closest one to the h
ole.

  Materena’s not expecting to win today. She’s not playing to win. She’s only playing for something to do with her boys.

  Tamatoa distributes five marbles to each player. Materena is given the honor of flicking her marble first.

  So, her eyes focused on the hole, her concentration 100 percent, she flicks her marble. Materena’s marble does a zigzag and shoots straight past the hole.

  “Not bad, Mamie,” the boys say.

  “Materena, you don’t do it like that.” Pito has wandered back outside clutching a beer. He advises her to watch him in action. Apparently he was the best marble player at school, and he’s sure his record is still unbeaten.

  “Watch the professional.” He puts his beer down, then rolls the marble in the palm of his hand. He flicks, and his marble shoots in a straight line toward the hole. Pito’s marble rolls neatly into the hole and Pito smacks his hands.

  “I’m such a crack shot,” Pito says.

  The boys have their go. Moana’s marble misses the hole and he just shrugs. Tamatoa’s marble also misses the hole and he kicks the ground.

  It is Materena’s turn again. She rolls the marble in the palm of her hand. She does this for quite some time and Pito asks her if she’s going to shoot today or tomorrow.

  “Pito, I’ll shoot when I’m ready,” she replies.

  She flicks her marble. It zigzags and goes way past the hole.

  “It’s better than your last shot, Mamie,” says Moana.

  But Pito shakes his head. “Materena, you don’t do it like that.”

  The boys have their go, then it’s Materena’s turn again. She flicks and the marble shoots straight past the hole.