Right then, Materena notices a young man in the corner, a young Tahitian man wearing a beanie with a ripped T-shirt and pants falling down his derriere. Looking like he’s waiting for an opportunity to sneak the purse he’s looking at under his shirt. The shop assistant, eyeing him with suspicious eyes, seems to be thinking the same. Materena turns to Leilani, who’s staring at a young Frenchwoman wearing an immaculate office outfit with gold shoes and a silver handbag, admiring ornaments, and whispers, “Check that man there. He sure looks like he’s waiting for an opportunity to sneak the purse under his shirt, eh?”
Leilani looks at the man and whispers back, “Here you go assuming again.” In Leilani’s mind, the Frenchwoman looks more like a suspect. She just doesn’t fit the criteria of this shop’s customers.
Materena tells Leilani that the Frenchwoman is buying her cleaner a gift.
“How do you know this?” asks Leilani. “That man may also be buying his cleaner a gift. Just because he’s Tahitian doesn’t mean he’s a thief.”
“Did I say he was a thief?” Materena grinds her teeth. “Stop putting words in my mouth.”
“Mamie, these are your words.”
“I didn’t say he was a thief, I said he looked like a thief.”
“Where’s the difference?”
Aue . . . Materena is not interested in having an argument about thieves today. She goes on with her shopping, feeling . . . well, feeling a bit ashamed. She’d be the first to tell people, Don’t judge an orange by its peel, and here she was judging an orange by its peel. Pardon, Materena says in her head.
She calls out to Leilani to ask her opinion about some ornaments to put in the garden. Materena doesn’t know which one to choose.
Leilani comes over to give her opinion. “These gnomes look awful.”
Materena is about to tell Leilani that, actually, she thinks the gnomes look really nice, when the shop owner yells, “Somebody stole all the sunglasses!” and runs over to lock the door.
She’s onto the young Tahitian man real quick, who takes his shirt off at her request as she goes on about how she only took her eyes off him for ten seconds. The young man is not saying anything. He just does what he’s told. He takes his beanie off. He takes his pants off. No sunglasses are found.
“Will you be checking that Frenchwoman too?” asks Leilani. But the Frenchwoman has already checked herself out.
Later, Materena and Leilani are walking to the snack not far from the trucks for Materena to buy Tamatoa his coconut lollies and Leilani a lemonade. Materena doesn’t say a word, deep in her thought. Meanwhile, Leilani is going off at those French people giving Tahitian people a bad reputation, making them look stupid.
“We can’t even look around in stores without being suspected of stealing! We have to sell coconuts to feed our children! French doctors don’t tell us anything! French priests order us around! And look at . . . But do you see what I see?”
Materena looks to where Leilani is pointing. She can’t believe her eyes! Sitting on a bench, the popa’a woman is taking a pair of sunglasses out of her silver bag and putting them on the Tahitian man’s nose. And they’re laughing their heads off, those two!
Unbelievable! I knew he wasn’t innocent! Materena yells in her head. What an actor!
For the first time in weeks, Leilani, her eyes wide open, is speechless.
Sometimes the Fruit Does Fall Far from the Tree
Instead of catching the truck straight home from the market today on this beautiful afternoon, Materena walks to the cathedral in Papeete. She needs to talk to somebody.
And not to her mother, who’s only going to say, “I don’t understand, girl, you were not like that when you were Leilani’s age. Don’t worry, it’s the new generation.”
Not to Cousin Rita, who’s only going to say, “She needs something, that girl . . . I don’t know what, but she needs something. It’s normal, it’s the hormones.”
Not to Pito, who’s only going to say . . . who’s going to say nothing. Materena has learned a long time ago that Pito is deaf when it suits him. He’s definitely deaf when she talks to him about problems. Problems regarding his daughter? Let’s not talk about it. She might as well be talking about the moon and the planets! As far as Pito is concerned, his daughter is fine. It’s Materena who has got a problem. She takes things too seriously.
Materena walks into the cathedral, crosses herself, and looks around. She counts four women. Four women who, just like Materena, need somebody to talk to, or perhaps they have something to ask. She’s not surprised to find no men. The church for men is the bar.
There are women of all ages here today, one kneeling, another sitting with her head bowed, another standing up, her eyes staring at Jesus Christ on the cross, another hiding her face behind her hands. And Materena thinks, Well, I’m not the only woman with a heavy heart today. That’s a bit of a comfort. Materena takes a seat right by the door opposite the statue of the Virgin Mary, Understanding Woman.
Materena looks at that woman, and just looking at her brings tears into Materena’s eyes. Materena doesn’t always cry when she looks at the Virgin Mary, but today she has to. Materena cries, all the while sighing.
It’s okay, when you’re in the church nobody judges you for crying on a beautiful afternoon. Nobody judges you for crying, full stop. In fact, only crying is allowed in the church. It’s disrespectful to laugh your head off in the church, but you can cry as much as you want. Nobody is going to chuck you out of the church. So Materena cries her eyes out, all the while wiping her eyes with the back of her hand and pouring out her problem to the Virgin Mary, Understanding Woman, who understands all kinds of trouble.
Troubles between a man and a woman, sisters, brothers, cousins; between a mother and a daughter.
Aue, Virgin Mary, moans Materena in her head. Give me strength. Materena reminds the Virgin Mary how she’s not the kind to annoy her about the littlest trouble and she’s not the kind to make unreasonable demands, such as the winning tombola number. And she doesn’t only speak to the Virgin Mary when she’s got troubles. She also speaks to the Virgin Mary to thank her for all her love, guidance, help, everything. She’s here today because . . .
She’s here because she’s that close to throwing her daughter into the street! That’s the reason Materena is here. She knows she needs help; the way she sees things, it’s not natural for a mother to want to throw her daughter into the street. It’s more natural for a mother to love her daughter no matter what, to stand by her daughter no matter what because, once linked with the umbilical cord, we’re linked for the eternity. But . . .
Aue, Virgin Mary, what is this challenge you’re giving me? She’s pushing me, that girl, she’s doing everything for me to . . . to . . . want to shove her clothes and her books in plastic bags and kick her into the street. Then she’s going to see where not respecting your mother takes you. It takes you into the street, that’s where!
Well, Leilani is never really going to have to live in the street. A relative is bound to rescue her and then Materena is going to get a bad name. When you throw your children into the street, it means you’re weak, you’re a bad mother. “Shame on you,” the relatives are going to say.
Oh, here’s a well-dressed Chinese woman with very high-heeled shoes holding about ten shopping bags, walking into the cathedral. What has she got to ask the Virgin Mary? Materena wonders. The well-dressed Chinese woman sits in the front row. Drops her shopping bags on the seat. Rearranges her bun. She makes a fanning movement with the palm of her hand and Materena understands that the well-dressed Chinese woman is here because it’s nice and cool.
But some people, Materena thinks.
You don’t go into the church to cool down! Anyway, about Leilani, is she supposed to be my cross to bear in this life? she asks the Virgin Mary. Was she born to give me miseries? My boys don’t give me half as much trouble.
These days, Materena can’t say anything to Leilani without Leilani finding the little beas
t. For example, when Materena says that the reason Rita can’t lose weight is because of her problems with hormones, Leilani says, “Auntie Rita eats too much.”
When Materena complains of her hands being so used up because of all the cleaning they do, and dares tell Her Highness that she wouldn’t mind another job because cleaning is so lonely sometimes, Her Highness says, “Get another job. Don’t just complain about it. Make a change. Take control of your life!”
When Materena gives her last eggs to a relative because the Chinese store is closed, even though Materena needed those eggs to make a cake, Leilani reminds her that charity starts at home and that the relative is old enough to remember what time the store closes.
The more Materena tries to justify her actions, the more Leilani makes her feel like she’s stupid.
Ah, the Chinese woman has had enough of cooling herself. She’s up, and off she goes with her shopping bags, stopping by the door to face the Virgin Mary and do a quick movement with her head because it’s disrespectful to walk out of the church without a little sign to the Virgin Mary or Jesus Christ.
Materena goes back to her misery.
Ah, what misery when your daughter thinks she knows better than you do. You’re always on the defensive, on edge, and you can’t relax. The problem with Leilani, so Materena analyzes, is that she’s too much like her father. She’s not diplomatic at all.
Materena smiles a faint smile to a middle-aged woman walking into the cathedral. The middle-aged woman also smiles a faint smile and sits right in front of Materena.
And now she’s crying her heart out.
Fifteen minutes later she is still crying. Everyone else has left the cathedral except for Materena, who is asking herself if she should reach out to the woman. Because sometimes crying to the statue of the Virgin Mary, Understanding Woman, is not enough. You’ve got to cry to a woman in the flesh.
“Girlfriend?” Materena says quietly. “Can I help you?” The woman turns to Materena and holds on to Materena’s hand. She tells Materena her name and how, ten minutes ago, she nearly died.
She was walking to the market when a concrete beam fell off a construction site and crashed onto the concrete path, missing Vairua by only half an inch. A woman on the other side of the road called out to Vairua, “Eh, girlfriend! You’re okay?”
Vairua called back, “Oui, I’m fine! Thank you for asking!” But she was not fine at all. She was in shock. She stared at the concrete beam and saw herself crushed underneath it with blood dripping down her temples. She saw a crowd of people looking at her dead body. She heard them say, “Poor her, she’s dead and she was just walking by.”
Vairua stepped over the beam and kept on walking, all the while visualizing her wake. She saw herself in a coffin, dressed in a long white frilly robe, a thick wreath of tiare Tahiti flowers around her head, her hands resting on her chest, and she had no shoes. She’s in her house, in the living room, and there’s a crowd of people crying and shaking their head. In the far corner, an auntie is telling the kids to be quiet and to show some respect.
The moment has now come for the coffin to be nailed shut, and the mourners start to sing the Paea song to farewell this Catholic woman who belonged, who still belongs, here in Paea. One by one they kiss Vairua’s cold forehead and tell her a few words.
Vairua’s mother shoves her fist in her mouth for that daughter gone before her. Vairua’s youngest son openly sobs on his mother’s bare feet until his older brother pulls him away and says, “Mamie wouldn’t want us to cry like babies.”
As for the daughter . . . she is not here. That was when Vairua stopped visualizing her wake.
“My daughter was not at my wake.” Vairua cries on Materena’s hand. Materena doesn’t know what to say, but she’s thinking that perhaps Vairua’s daughter lives in another country and couldn’t get home in time because the planes were full. Or perhaps she had no money.
But the reason Vairua’s daughter wasn’t at her mother’s wake, so Vairua tells Materena, was because Vairua kicked her out of the house six years ago. And the daughter never came back. Vairua just wouldn’t accept her daughter becoming a Protestant. She wouldn’t accept her daughter telling her that the Virgin Mary wasn’t a virgin since Jesus had brothers and sisters.
Vairua expects her children, whom she raised in the Catholic faith, to remain Catholic till the day they die. Shaking her head with sorrow, she looks into Materena’s eyes. “We used to be so close, my daughter and I,” she says. “When she started crawling she’d always crawl to me, never away from me, and now she doesn’t even come to my wake.”
Vairua talks about the curse that makes all mothers believe that the fruit has to fall near the tree.
Catholic mothers must have Catholic children.
Hardworking mothers must have hardworking children.
Giving mothers must have giving children.
Tidy mothers must have tidy children.
Serious mothers must have serious children.
And on and on and on . . .
Smiling through her tears, Materena admits that it is a curse. “You know, girlfriend,” she says, “when pai we think about it, it takes courage for a fruit to fall far from her tree.”
“True,” the woman who nearly died today replies, “but life is easier for everyone when we just fall back to our roots.”
Nobody Is Getting Married These Days
It’s quiet around here at the cemetery this morning. People haven’t started visiting their loved ones, and Materena can sure do with a few moments on her own weeding her grandmother’s grave, but she bumps into Mama Teta, on her way home from her husband’s grave.
“Mama Teta, at what time did you arrive at the cemetery?”
Auntie and niece hug each other tight. “Are you all right, girl?” Mama Teta asks, looking into Materena’s eyes.
“I’m fine, Mama Teta.”
“You don’t look fine to me. I’ve never seen you with cernes under your eyes before. What’s going on?”
“Oh, I have problems with my daughter.” Then, smiling, Materena adds, “Small ones.”
“Better small problems than big problems,” Mama Teta says, putting a comforting hand on her niece’s shoulder.
“True.”
“But better no problems full stop, eh?”
“Aue, Mama Teta, do you think this is possible?” Materena’s eyes fill with tears. After meeting that woman in the cathedral last week, Materena has been very easygoing with Leilani. She stopped expecting her daughter to be like her. When Leilani didn’t thank her mother for the cup of Milo she made her, Materena didn’t say anything about it. When Materena complained about her sore belly (she was having her period) and Leilani rolled her eyes, Materena didn’t say anything about it.
Anyway, lately Materena has been trying really hard to keep her cool, but last night she borrowed a pen from her daughter and said, “Thank you, girl,” and Leilani got cranky. “Mamie,” she said, “I don’t care, it’s only a pen!”
“So what if it’s only a pen!” Materena shouted. “I can’t say thank you? What? Do I have to be like you? Ungrateful?” And Leilani shouted again, “It’s only a pen!”
Next minute, Materena and Leilani were shouting at each other, and Pito told them both to shut up. “You two are driving me crazy!” he shouted for the whole neighborhood to hear.
“Do you want to do a little parau-parau, girl?” Mama Teta asks. “I’m not in a hurry.”
“I’m trying so hard to be a good mother, Mama Teta,” says Materena, her voice trembling. “I don’t know what to do anymore. I’m pulling my hair out. It doesn’t matter what I do, it’s always the wrong thing, you know. I’m going taravana.” Materena goes on about how she really can’t wait for Leilani to get married and leave.
“Girl,” says Mama Teta, “I’ve got bad news for you, nobody is getting married these days. Come, we sit in the shade and I’m going to tell you what happened to me last Saturday.”
Saturday morning an
d what a beautiful morning it was. It’s a good day to get married, and Mama Teta, yawning, forces herself to get out of bed. She starts the day with her usual café, makes herself a little something to eat, grabs her cosmetics bag out of the fridge, and heads for the bathroom.
The first thing she does is check in the mirror for the bits of gray hair that have grown during the past twenty-three days, since her last bridal driving job. No bride wants her chauffeur to look like she’s on the age pension.
She plucks her eyebrows, blow-dries her hair, puts cream on the face, blue eye shadow, eyeliner, mascara, lipstick; the hair goes up in a neat chignon, and plastic white flowers go into the chignon. There, finished. Mama Teta is an expert at transformation after years dancing at the Pitate Club, where she’d go for a bit of fun to forget about her smelly sons for a few hours. Okay, now the suit, zipper, buttons, shoes. All right, time to go.
Mama Teta hops in the bridal car, all decorated with plastic red roses. She checks that the bride’s gift is still in the glove box. Mama Teta is the only bridal-car driver on the whole island who gives brides a gift. She cares. It’s only a little something, a little something for good luck with the marriage. She reverses out of the driveway and recites a little prayer for all the lunatic drivers not to be on the road at the same time as she is, and drivers without a driver’s license, and drunk drivers, and drivers with poor eyesight, and stressed-out mothers, and cranky gendarmes.
Ouh, it’s so dangerous on the roads.
No wonder Mama Teta hardly drives these days. She’s glad today’s bride doesn’t live too far away.
Ah, here’s the house of the bride’s parents, right at the end of the dirt track. Yes, it’s the only brick house around. Mama Teta parks the car and she can smell roasted pig, there’s a party in the air. She slowly gets out of the car and waits for a family member to come and greet her. But nobody is coming out of the house, and so Mama Teta walks to the brick house, all the while calling out, “The chauffeur of the bride is here!”
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