Frangipani

by Célestine Vaite

  “I’ll meet you at Chez Patrick at twelve o’clock.” That’s all Leilani is prepared to tell her mother on the telephone.

  By twelve thirty, at table 7, which her daughter has reserved, Materena is still waiting and looking very much like she’s been stood up by her boyfriend. She’s drunk all the water in the carafe and eaten all the olives on the plate, and she’s getting crankier by the second.

  This announcement of Leilani’s better be important, she growls in her head, smiling to the people happily stuffing themselves. Meanwhile, the waiters (four in total) are busy taking dishes to tables, and none of them notices Materena’s discreet wave. She’d like more olives if possible. She only ate a little piece of bread this morning, saving herself for the restaurant food, but the waiters are so preoccupied, she understands. Ah, la-la, and plus it’s so hot in here. And the jazz music is a bit too loud. But the nets on the ceiling are nice, they give the restaurant a bit of a Tahitian atmosphere. Materena makes a mental note to tell Moana about the nets. He might be interested in this idea when he opens his own restaurant.

  Materena wonders what Leilani’s announcement is about.

  Could it be a marriage announcement? Leilani and Hotu are still madly in love (so their neighbor is always kind enough to report to Materena). As a matter of fact, last week the neighbor saw Hotu and Leilani dance cheek to cheek on the veranda. They were dancing to “A son insu je caresse son ombre.” That woman sure has big eyes and ears. Materena is not complaining.

  Now, where’s that girl of mine? Materena asks herself yet again. She hopes Leilani hasn’t forgotten the rendezvous. Leilani could be having lunch in the park with her boyfriend right now, as they’ve been doing for the past two years, leaving her poor mamie stuck in this restaurant.

  But wait a minute, how long is a person allowed to wait at the table for? What’s the protocol? The man with the bushy eyebrows sitting behind the cash register doesn’t look too happy, considering the glances he keeps throwing Materena’s way. He’s not doing Materena’s cranky mood any service.

  Ah, finally! Here she is, that cachottière!

  The mad mood of Materena disappears in a flash. First, because she’s going to be eating soon, and second, because Leilani is her daughter.

  “Mamie!” Leilani calls out, walking in. “I’m so sorry! We had an emergency at the surgery, a kid fell off his bike. Eight stitches!”

  All heads turn to Materena’s daughter. She’s young, she’s loud, and she’s just had an emergency at the surgery. Nothing to do with the very conservative brown pants and top she’s wearing. She looks so much older than her age in this outfit, but then again, as Rita pointed out many years ago, Leilani could wear a potato sack and still get attention because she has long legs and a beautiful face.

  Leilani gives her mother a big embrace, falls on her chair, and calls out to one of the waiters, “Ouh-ouh! Excuse me!” The waiter promptly attends to Leilani.

  “Could we have more olives, please?” she says, flashing her white teeth. “And some water too, that would be great, merci.” Then, turning to her mother, she asks, “So? What do you feel like eating?”

  “What’s the announcement?” Materena is too curious to wait for Leilani to be ready to spill the bucket.

  “Let’s eat first, Mamie.” Leilani is already looking at the menu.

  “Is it a good announcement or a bad one?” When it comes to announcements Materena is very impatient. Never tell her you’ve got a surprise for her either. She’ll hound you until you crack, and then she’ll be cranky at you for telling her about her surprise.

  “Do you feel like chicken?” Leilani asks. “Or meat . . . Fish? I think I’ll have the grilled mahimahi served with salad.”

  “Me too.”

  “You don’t have to order what I order.”

  “Leilani, you’re not the only one who likes fish.”

  The grilled mahimahi rates ten out of ten with both Materena and Leilani. Their only criticism is that the portion is too small. In fact, according to Leilani, that dish should have been called salad served with mahimahi. Materena agrees on that one. But anyway, at least there was lots of bread and Materena isn’t famished anymore.

  “So?” she says picking at a tomato. “What’s the announcement?”

  Leilani fills her glass with water, along with her mother’s glass. “A toast to you, Mamie,” she says. “You are the most inspiring woman I know.”

  Aue, Materena is going to cry in public, and plus, everybody is looking at her. Leilani talks so loud that they all know now that she’s an inspiration for her daughter. Aue . . . what pride. Materena raises her glass, her other hand on her chest. “Tchin-tchin.”

  “Tchin-tchin.”

  Mother and daughter gently knock their glasses together. Then they go on drinking their water. There, done.

  “So? The announcement?” asks Materena.

  “Mamie, I’m leaving.”

  “Pardon?” Materena wasn’t expecting that kind of announcement. “Leaving . . . leaving what? Your job? Your boyfriend?”

  “I’m leaving Tahiti.”

  “To go where?”

  “Mamie”—Leilani places a hand on her mother’s hand —“you know how you always tell me that things happen for a reason?”

  “Things happen for a reason sometimes, not all the time,” Materena replies. “What happened to you?”

  Leilani recapitulates:

  She’s called after Leilani Bodie, a medicine woman.

  Biology and chemistry were her favorite subjects at school.

  She met a boy with whom she could explore these subjects.

  She got a job at a doctor’s surgery facing her boyfriend’s surgery.

  Under the guidance of the wonderful Dr. Bernard, Leilani grew very fond of dealing with people in need and helping them.

  Leilani now has all five of her left-hand fingers down, and she gives her mother the see-what-I-mean look.

  “And . . . ,” Materena says.

  “Mamie, I’ve found my purpose in life!”

  “To be . . .”

  “But to be a doctor!”

  “A doctor!”

  “Oui!” Leilani takes her mother’s hands and squeezes them tight, grinning from ear to ear. She goes on about how she owes Dr. Bernard so much. He’s the one who made her fall in love with a career in medicine. Watching Dr. Bernard and listening to him talk with his patients made Leilani realize how fulfilling life as a doctor can be. “Doctors don’t just write prescriptions and sign death certificates,” says Leilani. “They investigate, they repair, prevent, nurture, educate, warn, help, love . . . Being a doctor, a good doctor, is a mission, not just a job. It’s a purpose in life, you know, Mamie . . . it is mine.”

  Materena is very happy her daughter has found her purpose in life, but . . . “How long does it take to become a doctor?” Materena hesitantly asks.

  “Seven years.”

  “Seven years!” Materena guessed it was something like that. “That’s so long.”

  “Mamie, I don’t want to be forty like you and realize I should have done what I wanted a long time ago.” Leilani continues about how she’s never seen her mother so happy since she got that job at the radio. “Look at you, you’re radiant, you’re beautiful, you’re so happy.”

  “I was happy before.”

  “You’re the one who’s always pushed me to know what I want and to make it happen.” Materena nods in agreement. But seven years . . .

  “What about Hotu?” she asks. “What does he say about it?”

  Leilani confesses he’s very upset but he understands that this is what she wants to do. The same as she understands that he won’t be following her to university in France, having already spent five years of his life there pursuing his own studies.

  Materena looks down at her salad, thinking that young people today are so understanding. “It’s finished between you two, then?” she asks, even sadder now. Despite his annoying habits, like chewing food for such
a long time, Materena has grown very fond of Hotu over the past three years. He’s like family. And he’s such a good man. Three times Materena has looked at him, thinking, what a wonderful father he’s going to be for my daughter’s children.

  Leilani informs her mother that it is indeed finished.

  “Aren’t you sad?” Materena asks, looking at Hotu’s initials tattooed on Leilani’s hand.

  “Of course I’m sad! I’ve been crying for days!”

  Materena looks up. She doesn’t think Leilani looks like she’s been crying for days. When you cry for days your eyes swell, and Leilani’s eyes aren’t swollen at all.

  “Mamie, we both cried, Hotu and me. But there’s no other solution than to go our own ways.” Leilani explains that Hotu’s life plan is to enjoy his work, row three days a week (which he loves so much), continue to rediscover his island, and start a family. And she refuses to ask him to consider altering his plans to suit her plan.

  “I thought it was you he loved,” Materena says, wishing Leilani had made her announcement at Materena’s kitchen table and not in this crowded restaurant.

  “He hasn’t asked me to change my plan,” Leilani snaps. “This is the best proof of his love for me.”

  “What about his initials tattooed on your hand?” asks Materena.

  “I’m keeping them . . .” Leilani’s voice trails off. She looks away for a second and adds that he’ll always be a part of her life.

  Materena looks down at her salad again. Tears are falling into the lettuce. “Seven years,” she whispers sadly.

  “Why are you sad? What would you have preferred? That I left you for a man?”

  “Leilani, stop.”

  “Please be happy for me,” Leilani pleads, her voice breaking up. “I will be leaving all the people I love behind . . . If you think this is easy for me to do, it’s not, merde. Mamie, it’d be easier for me to go on doing what I’m doing, but you showed me the way . . . Please say you’re happy for me.” Leilani bursts into tears.

  Materena is on her feet. Mother and daughter fall into each other’s arms.

  “I’m happy,” Materena says, crying, “but I can’t help it if I’m sad.” She goes on about how it’s like that when you’re a mother. Sometimes you cry but deep down you’re happy.

  Materena goes on agreeing with her daughter that it makes sense that she wishes to give something back to the world, having had such a fortunate childhood.

  Before she walks through customs, Leilani, struggling with her shell necklaces, turns around to look at all the people who have come to wish her well in her journey.

  She sees her father hiding behind a pillar.

  Auntie Rita is rocking her adopted three-month-old baby girl to sleep.

  Moana and Vahine are holding hands.

  Grandmothers Mamie Loana and Mama Roti are competing to cry the most tears. There’s Mama Teta, Mama George, Auntie Teresia, Giselle, and another auntie, and another auntie, and more mamas. Nieces and nephews are yawning because they’re not allowed to run around and because everybody is crying. It’s so boring.

  Leilani sees the man who will always be her inspiration in her journey as a doctor—Dr. Bernard, who never assumes anything.

  Her ex-mother-in-law, the one and only Constance, is all made up and the only one not crying.

  She sees the man of her life and her heart feels like it’s being crucified. She wants to run out to him and say, “Come with me, I beg you.” But like that song says, if you love somebody, set them free. Sometimes, people who are so meant for each other don’t meet at the right time.

  She sees her mother presently, holding on to Uncle Ati, and Leilani bursts into tears. She walks to her mother, arms opened, for one more of her legendary hug-and-kisses.

  “I will miss you, Mamie.”

  “Go on,” Materena says, smiling through her crying and holding her daughter tight. “Faaitoito, girl, be strong. We’re not women for nothing, eh? Bless the day you came into my life.”

  Acknowledgments

  This book follows the challenging yet rewarding relationship between a mother and her daughter. It also celebrates the strength, beauty, talent, humor, and commitment of women. I was blessed to have a whole team of such women behind me during the writing of Frangipani.

  My mother, strong and passionate woman, thank you for your patience with me. I must have driven you crazy with my questions!

  My daughter, who fed me (sometimes without even knowing it) many ideas. My sisters, Turia and Virginie—I love you! Friends Terri Janke, Jo Buckskin, Santi Mack, Leonie Higgins, Hayley Hansen, and Lisa McKeown.

  Then there’s Louise Thurtell, friend, editor, and agent with a mission. I will always remember our rides in the truck in Tahiti, walking through the streets of Papeete, chitchatting with the mamas, and that famous snorkeling session! Thanks to you, my book landed in the hands of a first-class publishing house, and I got to work with yet another passionate and dedicated editor, Amanda Brett. Mandy, your mind amazes me, it is always thinking and thinking, but I love your energy, you gorgeous girl!

  As for Patty Brown . . . well, vahine nehenehe . . . beautiful woman from the outside and the inside, you’re like an auntie to me!

  To you all, maururu . . .

  About the Author

  Célestine Vaite was born and grew up in Tahiti. At age sixteen, she fell in love with a spunky Australian surfer. They now live on the south coast of New South Wales, Australia, with their four children.

  Frangipani is Vaite’s first novel to be published in the United States. It will be followed by two other novels about Materena Mahi and her family: Breadfruit, which has already been awarded the Prix littéraire des étudiants (Vaite is the first native Tahitian ever to receive this prize), and Tiare.

  Reading Group Guide

  Frangipani

  A novel by Célestine Vaite

  A conversation with the author of Frangipani

  Célestine Vaite talks about writing, about family, and about her native Tahiti

  You grew up in Tahiti and lived there until you were a young woman. Can you talk a little bit about your family, and about where you lived as a girl?

  I’m the eldest of four children—born from different fathers and all popa’a — raised by a strong, passionate, and loving mother, a professional cleaner with a vision. I grew up in Faa’a, in the Mai quarters, in a fibro shack behind a petrol station next to the international airport, the church, the Chinese store, and the cemetery, and with breadfruit trees galore growing nearby. And relatives (also living in shacks) by the hundreds. When I look back on my childhood, I feel very blessed to have had so many extraordinary women as part of my life. Telling stories, laughing, minding babies, raking, working on quilts, dancing, singing at Mass, cleaning, crying, climbing the breadfruit tree to put food on the table, growling at dogs, worrying, sitting quiet and exhausted. Often in interviews I’m asked, “But where were the men?” Who knows! Probably drinking by the side of the road and counting cars driving past.

  The Tahiti you write about is an amazingly matriarchal place, and a place deeply rooted in folklore and traditional wisdom. Is this the Tahiti of your childhood or the Tahiti of the present day? Has Tahiti changed a lot in recent years?

  The Faa’a of my childhood has physically changed; the fibro shacks are run down, the trees are either huge or gone, the cemetery holds more dead, the church has more followers, the little Chinese store is a big supermarket; but the everyday life is still the same. Women share stories, inspire one another, fall and get up stronger. Young men come and go. Older men become fabulous grandparents. And children are gifts from the sky.

  In what ways was your mother like Materena when you were growing up? Was the “welcome to womanhood” talk Materena has with Leilani in Frangipani similar to a talk your mother had with you?

  Like Materena, my mother loves her broom—she calls it her faithful companion. Both women left school at fourteen years old for a career as a professional cleaner, and
both women have a vision for their children. My brother, for example, is a fabulous cook (his chicken curry melts on your tongue!), and he’s never stayed at the Five Star Hotel, our polite name for prison. And our house was the only fibro shack in the neighborhood with an encyclopedia set. I loved my encyclopedia set! When the electricity was disconnected, no worries, Mum had the candles and flashlights under control.

  My welcome into womanhood lecture began with the usual line—don’t wash your hair during your period, otherwise the blood is going to turn into ice and you’re going to be mad—moved to social etiquette, customs, and how being a woman was an honor. Then it was straight to the hormones, and contraception, contraception, contraception! “If you’re going to play around in the dark, be armed!” Mum drove me mad about my hormones, but when they did start to kick in, I was armed. Though Mum often said that her unplanned children were gifts from the sky, she wanted her daughters to have different kinds of gifts, like papers, degrees, a job that had nothing to do with a scrubbing brush.

  Who were your idols when you were a girl?

  My mother. I had a picture of her in my copybook. It always made me refocus whenever I was tempted to do something stupid like wag school. She was my idol because I had watched her overcome so many obstacles, but always with gusto. Nothing was a problem, only a chance to grow stronger. She didn’t wait for help to fall from the sky (I must mention here that although Tahiti is a French colony, there was no financial help from the government), and she didn’t need any man in his shiny armor to rescue her. She just took matters into her own hands. I was in awe of my mother, the hardcore feminist!

  You have children of your own now, and your experience with motherhood must have had a lot of influence on this book. Can you talk about that a little?

  The idea to write a mother-daughter story came to me a few days after my daughter, Turia, became a woman. I decided then to dedicate the book to Turia but changed my mind about this many times during the writing of Frangipani. My daughter has always been a strong-willed child, but turning into a woman really went to her head! Her Royal Highness became very good at dismissing me with the back of her hand, and as in the book, we had a major screaming match about a pen. Writing about it was very therapeutic! Meanwhile my mother was reminding me that, as an adolescent, I was very good at dismissing her with sharp nods, and she advised me to foster this new strong woman because being a strong woman is a blessing, not a curse. By the time Frangipani was completed, I had accepted my very strong-willed daughter and was even finding her very inspiring. When Turia read the book, she burst into tears at the passage of Materena crying in the church, and said, “Mum, is this how you used to feel?” I replied, “This is how mothers all over the world feel!”