Breadfruit

by Célestine Vaite

  “Your marble is getting closer to the hole,” says Moana, looking at his mother with pity.

  Pito rolls his marble in the palms of his hands and spits into his hands. He’s about to shoot his marble when Materena starts to whistle a happy tune. Pito complains that he can’t shoot when there’s whistling around him. It affects his concentration.

  “Pito, eh,” Materena laughs. “It’s not a marble competition. You’re not going to get a medal.”

  “Why are you whistling? Are you whistling to make me lose my concentration?” Pito looks into Materena’s eyes as if he’s trying to read her mind.

  “I’m whistling because I feel like whistling,” Materena says.

  “Whistle after my marble is in the hole,” Pito says.

  He flicks his marble—of course, straight into the hole.

  “I’m the best.” Pito snaps his fingers.

  It is now Materena’s last marble and she’s glad the game is almost over. She’s got work to do.

  “Materena —,” Pito says.

  She holds up her hand, meaning she’s not interested. Pito goes on anyway. In his opinion, Materena shouldn’t attempt to flick her marble straight into the hole—it’s an unrealistic goal. She should instead concentrate on flicking the marble as close to the hole as possible.

  “Ah really?” Materena says. “We’ll see about that.”

  Materena doesn’t roll the marble in the palm of her hand. She doesn’t focus her attention on the hole.

  She just flicks.

  The marble shoots straight into the hole. Materena cannot believe her eyes. Her boys run to her, shouting, “Mamie’s marble, it’s in the hole!”

  Leilani pokes her head out and yells, “What’s in the hole?”

  “Mamie’s marble!” Moana yells back.

  “Ah.” Leilani goes back to whatever she was doing.

  “How did you do that?” Pito asks Materena.

  Materena winks. “Ah, I’ve got a technique too. You’re not the only one with a technique.”

  Pito would like her to do it again.

  “Another time,” she says. Materena knows that when you shoot one like that, you don’t try to do it again. She also applies this rule when she plays bingo. As soon as she wins, she collects her prize and goes home. There’s nothing like quitting a game with a win.

  Materena bows gracefully to her cheering sons as Pito gives her a suspicious look that says, it’s really bizarre, your marble going in the hole like that.

  “Mamie’s a champion,” Tamatoa calls out, pumping a fist, and Materena smiles at her eldest son, thinking, He’s still only a kid.

  Ah, the circumcision business, Materena thinks again, looking at her son, fast asleep now. It’s a lot of connerie.

  The day her brother got circumcised, he started to act tough and talk back to their mamie. He was much more polite before he had his moa operated on.

  The same thing happened with Pito, so Mama Roti lamented to Materena. Apparently Pito used to be a really sweet boy who would do anything for his mama, and he would cuddle her all the time, but then his papi took him to the hospital to get circumcised and Pito became a tough. There were no more cuddles for Mama Roti. Pito was too busy flexing his muscles in front of the mirror.

  But not all boys change after the circumcision.

  Mori, for instance, he’s still very sweet to his mama. When he walks past a garden and there are lots of beautiful flowers, well, Mori goes and picks them. Then he makes a lovely bouquet and gives it to his mama with the words “For my beautiful mama.” Some days Mori’s mama says, “Ah, my son, bless the day I gave birth to you.” And some days Mori’s mama says, “Stop stealing flowers and go get a job.”

  Materena brushes her fingers through Tamatoa’s hair and kisses him on the forehead.

  It is past eleven o’clock and she’s kissed her kids already, when they went to bed at eight. But she always gives them a kiss on the forehead before she goes to bed. Just to make sure.

  The Swimming Pool

  It’s hot and humid and ants have invaded the kitchen.

  Materena places the sugar bowl into another bowl, half-filled with water. The ants get into the bowl and drown. It’s going to rain soon, but for the moment the heat is unbearable.

  It’s the weekend. Tamatoa and Leilani are arguing in the living room about a pencil that Tamatoa took without asking permission, and Materena is trying to ignore their shouting.

  “Give my pencil back!”

  “When I’m finished!”

  There’s more shouting and Materena’s nerves snap.

  She grabs the wooden spoon and marches into the living room. Tamatoa and Leilani are on the ground. One is punching and the other is biting. They see the wooden spoon and within seconds they are on their feet, running back to their rooms. Still, Materena manages to whack a couple of legs.

  It’s so hot!

  She’s back in the kitchen now.

  “What can I do?” Materena is talking to herself. “Ah, I’m going to make lemonade for the kids.” She gets a bottle of cold water and two lemons from the fridge. She pours the cold water into the pitcher and fills the bottle up again with tap water for another round of lemonade later on. She cuts the lemons and squeezes them into the pitcher until there is no more juice left. And as she’s mixing the sugar, she notices a few ants floating about. She scoops them out and once again complains about the heat.

  “Where’s that rain!”

  She calls out to the kids, but only Moana responds to the calling. He arrives with his pencil and drawing paper.

  “Have you been drawing?” Materena asks him.

  “Yes, and I’m drawing a swimming pool.”

  “You’re a good boy.” Materena is smiling and thinking how strange it is for Moana to be drawing a swimming pool. He usually draws trees. Trees and animals.

  “And why are you drawing a swimming pool?” She’s interested to know.

  “Because I’m hot!”

  Moana drinks his lemonade and goes back to his room to finish his swimming pool.

  And Materena decides to build a swimming pool.

  She’s still got those bathroom tiles sitting around—the ones that Lily offered to give away to the first person who went and got them when she retiled her bathroom.

  Materena gets a piece of paper and a pen and sits at the kitchen table to draw her swimming pool. It’s square. One yard by one yard, and twenty inches deep. Materena studies her plan for a while and concludes that her swimming pool is more a pond than a swimming pool.

  Well, a pond is better than a washtub, Materena thinks.

  The pond is going to be out the back, next to the frangipani tree, and Materena gets the shovel. Pito, who’s practicing on his ukulele outside, shakes his head as Materena walks past him, the shovel on her shoulder.

  “What are you doing with that shovel?” he asks.

  She explains the situation and Pito laughs.

  “So, you’re a pond expert now?”

  “I never said I was a pond expert.” Materena wishes Pito would just concentrate on his ukulele.

  “But you know what you’re doing?”

  “Oh oui!” And to prove to Pito that indeed she knows what she is doing, Materena begins to dig furiously.

  Pito calls out to the kids to come and look at their mother, who is building a pond, and within minutes the three kids are at the scene.

  “You’re building a pond?” Moana asks.

  Materena nods.

  Moana’s eyes widen with excitement, and he starts taking his clothes off. “When is it going to be finished?”

  “Soon.” Materena is very confident.

  Pito snorts, prompting Tamatoa to snort too. Circumcision or no circumcision, Materena has been noticing some changes in Tamatoa lately. Eh, it’s the age. But it makes her feel just a bit sad.

  “I better not see your behind in Mamie’s pond, Tamatoa,” Leilani warns him.

  “And the pond is going to be big?” Moana
asks.

  “Big enough for you, Leilani, and me,” Materena replies, looking straight into Tamatoa’s eyes.

  She keeps on digging. There’s sweat on her forehead, sweat under her armpits, sweat between her legs. She’d never known digging a pool would be so difficult. She keeps on digging and hums a happy tune to give herself energy. Materena can visualize the pond when complete. In her opinion, if you believe in yourself, you can’t fail. And she believes in herself. She wants that pond very much.

  She’s got the hole, and now it is time to place the tiles in it. She goes and gets the tiles, stacked at the back of the house. Leilani and Moana follow her. There are over one hundred tiles—plenty. Moana and Leilani immediately propose to help, and the three of them carry the tiles back to the hole.

  Materena places the first tile and pats it good into the soil.

  “You think the water is going to stay in?” Pito asks.

  “Of course.”

  “You are sure about that?”

  “Oui, I’m sure. I’m positive.”

  “You don’t think the water is going to leak?”

  Pito’s questions are starting to get on Materena’s nerves.

  “Non,” she says, “I don’t think the water is going to leak, I think the water is going to fill my pond.”

  “The way you talk about that pond, it’s like it’s already a reality,” Pito says. “Well, I’m telling you, woman, what you’re doing now, it’s a waste of time. You need concrete.”

  Materena shrugs. Pito’s words—in one ear and out the other. “You can’t build a pond with tiles, Papi?” Tamatoa just wants to confirm the situation.

  “You need concrete,” Pito says. Tamatoa looks at his mother and shakes his head.

  Materena spends quite some time neatly laying the tiles into the dirt. And now it is time to get the hose. Moana rushes to the outside tap, turns it on, and runs back with the hose, grinning.

  Materena fills the pond with water. The water escapes through the tiles, into the dirt. Pito and Tamatoa glance at each other and smirk. Materena readjusts the tiles but the water keeps escaping. Plus, it’s mud in there.

  She’s getting very upset, but, looking at her face, you wouldn’t know she feels like crying. Looking at her face, you would think she doesn’t care if her pond is going to be a reality or not.

  “Oh well,” she says casually. “It’s not for today.”

  “You need —,” Tamatoa begins.

  But with one look Pito commands his son to be quiet.

  Materena wants to smash the tiles with the shovel, but there’s no need to overreact. It’s best to walk away and deal with the tiles later on. She’s going to go and have a long, cool shower. She marches away with dignity as Pito and the kids look on.

  Moana puts his clothes back on. “Poor Mamie.”

  Materena cries under the shower. She punches herself too—she’s so angry about the situation. What got into me, wanting to build a pond? A pond, eh! Silly andouille. She grinds her teeth. You stupid woman. Why didn’t you just get into the family-size washing tub, like you usually do? Why create complications? The washing tub is perfect!

  Materena is not sure if she’s crying because her pond didn’t become a reality or because she thought about her wedding last night, the wedding that will never happen, meaning she will die without a ring on her finger and a framed certificate on the wall. Materena doesn’t understand why the wedding came into her head last night. She really believed she was completely over all that—cured. Well, maybe she’s not crying about that at all. Maybe she’s crying now because she just feels like it. Because crying feels good sometimes.

  A clap of thunder breaks, shortly followed by another. Fat drops of rain begin to splatter on the tin roof and within minutes it is pouring. There’s excitement outside.

  “Mamie!” Leilani calls out. “Come and see!”

  Materena, thinking that Pito has done some magic with her pond, wraps a towel around herself and runs to the back door to investigate.

  The rain has filled up the pond.

  Leilani and Moana are squeezed into the pond, laughing and splashing each other with the muddy water and pushing Tamatoa out of the pond every time he tries to get in.

  Materena stops feeling sorry for herself.

  Who needs concrete when there’s rain?

  The Adoption

  It is still raining, and just listening to the rain spattering on the tin roof is making Materena melancholic. And when Materena feels melancholic, she cries. This week she finds that tears are coming easily to her and sometimes there’s no particular reason. She’ll be sweeping, for instance, and then, just like that, she’ll start feeling sad.

  But today she’s crying for her cousin Tepua.

  Tepua’s nickname is po’o neva-neva, head-in-the-clouds. Her cousin James said to her one day, “Tepua, the Pope is in Tahiti and he’s celebrating Mass at the cathedral in Papeete this Sunday morning.” Sunday came and Tepua scrubbed and dressed her kids all nice and they caught the truck to Papeete to see the Pope at the cathedral.

  But since her tragedy, nobody calls Tepua head-in-the-clouds anymore. It happened almost a year ago to this day.

  It was a Sunday after Mass when Tepua came in contact with the popa’a woman for the first time. The popa’a woman gave Tepua compliments about her kids looking adorable in their white Sunday clothes. Tepua didn’t mind that woman saying nice things about her family, and they got talking more right next to the church about the weather, the priest’s sermon, Tepua’s sixth child, due in four months… the popa’a woman’s inability to have children.

  The popa’a woman, Jacqueline was her name, had known about her sad condition for years and said she’d accepted it until her man got transferred to Tahiti. But here, everywhere Jacqueline went she saw children. Children came into her dreams too.

  Tepua felt sorry for Jacqueline and she invited her to visit her house for a little more talk sometime. She gave her all the necessary directions: behind the snack, fourth house, green and yellow, and there’s a washing machine out the front. Tepua explained how it didn’t work anymore.

  Tepua cleaned her house from top to bottom, which was good, because Jacqueline came the next morning. They talked some more and when Jacqueline left, Tepua said to herself, “I like that woman—poor her, eh.”

  Jacqueline came back two days later, then two days later again, then it’s a brand-new family-size washing machine that came. Tepua told the delivery people that they better check the address, because she sure didn’t order a brand-new family-size washing machine. But her name was on the delivery docket, along with the name of her popa’a friend—Madame Jacqueline Pietre.

  Tepua got a bit mad at Madame Jacqueline Pietre because not once had she complained to her about not having a washing machine, and you don’t give people you don’t know well a brand-new family-size washing machine. Tepua was going to give that washing machine back, but she was tired of washing by hand, and since her new friend (her sister, almost, now) had plenty of money in the bank . . .

  Tepua asked her popa’a sister to be the godmother of the baby, and that lady, Jacqueline, accepted in a second. In fact, she fell to her knees and blessed Tepua.

  It was after this that the weirdness began. Jacqueline, she started to talk strange—pain in her lower back, swollen breasts, nausea, cravings for strawberries and pumpkin. She started to act strange too, always wanting to caress Tepua’s belly and reading poetry to the baby like it could hear. Tepua was concerned her popa’a sister was going mad on her.

  Jacqueline dedicated a whole bedroom of her house to her godchild. She bought a brand-new cot with a mosquito net, mobiles to hang from the ceiling, toys, toys, and more toys. The layette too was under control, made of expensive embroidered fabric.

  Two months before her baby was due, Tepua visited her popa’a sister’s house for the very first time. Jacqueline showed Tepua around; then, speaking softly and holding Tepua’s hands, she mentioned the word adop
tion.

  Tepua snatched her hands away. “I’m not the kind of mother who gives her children away.”

  Jacqueline insisted that adoption didn’t mean “give away.” The child, she insisted, would be Tepua’s still. But the food, the clothes, the education, she would pay. Jacqueline insisted that she was only trying to be a perfect godmother.

  For nights, Tepua considered the proposal, wanting and not wanting—thinking about the washing machine, thinking about the bedroom, her life, her difficult life, all the other children coming her way, six, maybe seven. Tepua asked God for a little sign, and the next day she went to see the priest about getting an operation to stop children coming her way, but the priest wouldn’t give Tepua the authorization because she was in good health.

  So Tepua agreed that Jacqueline would get the baby and Tepua would get unlimited access to the baby—at Jacqueline’s house, secured behind an electric gate.

  “My house is your house,” Jacqueline swore.

  And to prove this, Jacqueline revealed to Tepua the code of her electric gate.

  Some papers had to be signed—just a formality for the inheritance—and Monsieur Pietre took Tepua’s husband to the bar and paid his fare home.

  Madame Pietre’s adoptive daughter was born on a Saturday morning. Madame Pietre felt the contractions and pushed her baby into the world. And when the doctor gave her the dark-haired and brown-skinned newborn, she cried out, “Oh, she looks just like me!”

  It was two weeks after the birth that Tepua paid Madame Pietre a visit, her second. She entered the code and the electric gate opened. Then she heard her baby wail and ran to her rescue.

  Jacqueline didn’t kiss Tepua, she just looked at her up and down, all the while holding the baby tight. Jacqueline wouldn’t let Tepua hold the baby. “It is for the best that you don’t come to my house again,” she said.

  Tepua went home. She felt a bit lost. She didn’t understand Jacqueline speaking to her like she was a stranger. They were friends. They were sisters. Maybe my sister is tired from lack of sleep, she thought. It can make you aggressive—not sleeping and a crying baby.