Tiare in Bloom

by Célestine Vaite

  The grandchildren? Pito shouts in his head. She’s a grandmother!

  “Let’s go in the house.” This is Suzette’s answer to her husband’s question about the grandchildren. “I’m cold.”

  Okay, the coast is clear, but to make sure, Pito waits for a few minutes more, then sneaks out of the car and starts running. He stops a hundred feet further on for a few breaths and continues to run, stops again, runs, stops . . . until it’s safe to walk. He walks his normal walk. He walks and thinks about this and that, his little escapade, and how Materena will be greeting him.

  The light is on, and this means Materena is awake, but perhaps she left the light on out of consideration for Pito because she decided to be nice for a change.

  Pito takes a deep breath. This is what he plans to do. Walk in the house a different man. Walk in and take Materena in his arms, kiss her tenderly, and hold her tight, and say, “Materena . . . you’re the woman of my life, give me one more chance.” Something like that.

  Pito opens the door, walks in, and this is what he sees: Materena sitting on the sofa, crying her eyes out with a baby sound asleep in her arms. For a second Pito thinks that he’s hallucinating. He widens his eyes, but Materena is still sitting on the sofa, crying her eyes out with a baby sound asleep in her arms.

  “Who’s that baby?”

  Materena lifts her crying eyes to Pito and tenderly kisses the baby on the forehead.

  “Our mootua.”

  Fa’amu — to Feed

  Tiare, alleged baby daughter of Materena and Pito’s eldest son, Tamatoa, is fast asleep in her alleged Auntie Leilani’s bed, with pillows on both sides of her tiny body. Her name, Tiare, a flower name, the white, sweet-scented flower, is also the emblem of Tahiti.

  Materena softly kisses the baby’s head, wipes her eyes with the back of her hand, sighs, and, walking out of the room, gives Pito the let’s-go signal. She stops by the door to have one more look at that baby who fell from the sky, closes the door halfway, and whispers, “Pito, I’m going to make us a coffee, we need to talk.” Once in the kitchen she adds for good measure, “I know you don’t like to talk about serious things but —”

  “I’ll make the coffee,” Pito interrupts, which is as good as him saying, Stop talking merde, Materena, are you a mind reader or what? He fills the saucepan with water, puts it on the stove, grabs two cups, gets the Nescafé jar out of the garde-manger, all of this without a word. Meanwhile Materena, at the kitchen table, briefs him on the situation.

  Only two hours ago, Materena was looking at photos in the family album after coming home from finishing her show, when somebody knocked on the front door. Oui? she called out, thinking, Who’s that visiting me at this hour?

  A woman called out, “It’s me! Tiare’s great-auntie! I can’t talk for too long because my friend is waiting for me, and it’s her car!”

  Puzzled, Materena hurried to the door, opened it, and saw a woman of about fifty holding a sleeping baby in her arms.

  “Are you Tamatoa Tehana’s mother?” the woman asked.

  “Oui,” Materena replied. “Why?” The woman passed the baby to Materena, and Materena, used to having babies passed to her, automatically took the baby. Tenderly, so as not to wake it up.

  Now, about the situation, which the great-auntie was more than happy to explain to Materena, though she had to rush out of consideration for her friend waiting in the car. This baby belongs to her great-niece Miri Makemo and the baby’s father is Tamatoa Tehana. Miri met him in Paris, she was there on a dancing tour, and, well, what do you want, these two young people instantly liked the look of each other, they started doing parau-parau, went to bed, and conceived the little one.

  Miri came home from her dance tour five months pregnant, but her belly was very small, you wouldn’t have guessed she was pregnant at all, and so she didn’t tell anyone about it. When Miri started to wear loose dresses, the auntie didn’t suspect anything. She just thought that Miri had decided not to dress like a pute anymore like her mother, skirts so short men didn’t have to imagine, they could see what was underneath.

  Then about three months ago, very early in the morning, about two o’clock, Miri woke up with a bellyache and she was yelling so much that the auntie got scared and ran to the doctor who lives a mile away. She yelled from the grilled gate, “Doctor! Quick! It’s a matter of life or death!” By the time she finally got the doctor out of his bed, two hours had passed and there was a newborn baby in the house.

  The auntie looked after the baby because her niece, who is too young to be a mother, barely eighteen, took off to New Caledonia with a boy (a Tahitian, but who was born and grew up there, his family owns an orange plantation) — but she has just too many babies to look after already, and she’s not young anymore. That’s why she brought the baby to her father’s family, to see if they can help and everything. It’s a good thing Miri told her the story of the baby’s conception, otherwise the auntie would have been forced to give the baby to strangers.

  Materena had no chance to ask any questions because the woman fled the house (her friend beeped the horn), but she gave Materena her address. They’ll talk more later on.

  That’s the situation, from the beginning to the end.

  “And you let that madwoman leave the baby with you?” Pito can’t believe it! Had he been home, he would have told the woman to come back tomorrow when she’d have more time to talk. You don’t just barge into people’s houses and leave babies like that!

  “She ran off!” Materena protests. “What did you want me to do, eh? Leave the baby on the road for the dogs? Until you came home from I don’t know where?”

  “Tamatoa has never spoken to me about a girl called Miri,” Pito remarks, sitting at the kitchen table with the cups of coffee.

  “And you? You told your mother about all the girls you slept with in France and Tahiti?” Materena fires. “The first time I met Mama Roti, she didn’t know who I was and I’d known you more than two years. And plus, I was pregnant!”

  “In France?” Pito asks, thinking, Why is Materena talking about France now? That was more than twenty-five years ago.

  “Ah,” Materena says, waving a hand in front of her face. “I don’t want to talk about that, I want to talk about the baby.”

  “We can’t keep that baby.” This is an order from the man of the house. Pito has had his babies, the diapers, the bottles, the whining, the crying. It’s not going to start all over again.

  Shrugging, Materena tells Pito that she really doesn’t understand why he’s all stressed out, it’s not as if he’ll be the one looking after the baby, because she will. Just as she has looked after their three children.

  “You’re talking like that baby is really our granddaughter!”

  “I prefer to believe that Tiare is my granddaughter and then find out that she isn’t than the contrary, okay, Pito?” Materena takes a sip of her coffee. “But I feel a connection with that baby, here, in my a’au.”

  “You’re like that with all babies,” Pito says. He’s seen Materena in action with babies many times. Let’s just say that whenever a baby appears, Materena melts. She wants to hold the baby, she wants to kiss the baby, and she wants to have another baby.

  “My son only slept with that girl one time,” Pito says. “Talk about bad luck.”

  “That’s all it takes,” Materena snaps. “One time, and there’s a score . . . and aue, let’s stop arguing, we’re going nowhere, we should talk about what we’re going to do.”

  By twenty past midnight, it is agreed that:

  1. As soon as Tamatoa calls the family, hopefully soon, he will be asked if he knows of a girl by the name of Miri Makemo.

  2. The Makemo family will be visited before Tamatoa calls the family (he usually rings collect whenever he feels like it) but Materena will call Leilani to track Tamatoa down and get him to call home.

  3. Should the baby be confirmed to be Tamatoa’s, then Materena and Pito will look after the baby until Tamatoa comes
home or until the mother decides to fulfill her duties. It will also be expected that Tamatoa recognizes his daughter. Tiare can’t have Father Unknown written on her birth certificate if her father is known. Materena feels strongly about this. In the meantime, Materena and Pito will be the fa’amu parents.

  Fa’amu, meaning “to feed,” is the traditional adoption, to help the mother while she gets herself together. You feed the baby, put clothes on the back, give a roof over the head, and you love the baby too — but all with the understanding that it is not your baby. It belongs to the mother. The fa’amu parents are only passing through the child’s life because the mother will come back and profoundly thank them for all their help. If the mother doesn’t come back, then the baby will go to the father, but if the father is not interested, well, then the fa’amu parents might become the parents.

  4. Now, should that baby not be baptized yet, then she will be as soon as possible. Should the baby be already baptized but not in the Catholic Church . . . Aue, let’s just pray that Tiare is not baptized yet.

  5. Materena must get some formula milk tomorrow morning for Tiare. The poor baby only came with a bottle and the clothes on her back, but luckily it so happens that Materena kept most of her children’s clothes, including their quilts and cloth diapers, in cardboard boxes for her grandchildren. She is very glad she thought about that. Many times Pito told Materena to get rid of all those clothes. She is very glad she didn’t listen to him.

  And with this verbal agreement Materena and Pito go to bed, she sighing worried sighs, he aged by fifty years.

  At five thirty the following morning, the old man is woken up by a baby’s cry. For a second Pito thinks he’s gone back to the past and that the baby crying is one of his children. Then he remembers Tiare. Grumbling, he turns to the other side of the bed and notices that Materena is not in bed. Good, Pito tells himself. That baby is going to stop crying soon. But the crying gets louder and louder.

  “Pito.” Materena is at the door, the crying baby in her arms. “Bébé has done a caca, I’m going to wash her, you go to the Chinese store to get her formula milk, and a new bottle too, that one is dirty, I need to sterilize it in boiling water. I can’t believe she slept all through the night, she must be so hungry now.”

  Pito half opens an eye.

  “Allez, Pito,” Materena commands.

  Pito stays still. It’s too early to be getting up, Materena can be in control like she was with her own children, Pito doesn’t mind.

  “Okay, I’m going to the Chinese store,” Materena says, placing the smelly baby next to Pito. “You can wash Tiare.”

  Pito springs to his feet. There is absolutely no way he’s going near that baby’s derrière. He’d rather crawl to the Chinese store. So, muttering curses under his breath, he puts on his shorts, slips his feet in his thongs, grabs a banknote from Materena’s purse, and he’s out of the house in a flash, swearing.

  “Pito!” Materena’s Cousin Tapeta calls out from the other side of the road. “Is that you? What are you doing up at this hour? Is Materena sick?” Pito waves a distant wave, meaning, why don’t you say what you really want to say, you big-mouth?

  Another relative-in-law, this time bigger-mouth Loma, stops Pito at the door of the Chinese store. “Pito?” Loma does her I’m-so-shocked-am-I-dreaming? look. Is this Pito I see in the flesh before my very eyes? “What are you doing here?” she asks.

  “Same thing as you,” Pito snaps as he darts up an aisle. He looks back and here’s Loma still standing at the door watching him. If she sees him buy formula milk and a bottle, she’ll . . . Pito carefully selects a can of peas and strolls back to the cash register.

  There, it did the trick, Loma is gone. There’s not much to say about a can of peas. Right, now Pito can go on with his mission, running up and down the aisle until finally, bingo, he finds the baby section with the diapers, the bottles, the baby-food jars, the whole lot. So, tack, tack, tack, Pito grabs what he needs and heads straight to the cash register.

  “How old is your baby?” the young woman, whom Pito has never seen before, asks, a big friendly smile on her face.

  Pito shrugs. He remembers Materena mentioning something about the baby’s age, but the information has already gone out of his head. The young woman gives Pito a strange look, the look that says, You don’t even know how old your baby is? You should be shot!

  “Deux mille et six cent quatre-vingt francs.” Pito doesn’t get a smile anymore. He gets a cold look. Well, anyway, there’s no time to dwell on this. There’s a baby to feed. With the groceries in the bag, Pito runs back to the house.

  Baby Tiare is nice and clean now, with her hair neatly combed to the side, and she’s wearing one of her Auntie Leilani’s pretty floral baby dresses. The dress is a bit big but it’ll do for now.

  “Here,” Materena says, passing him the baby. “I’m going to make the bottle.”

  Minutes later . . .

  “Here,” Materena says, thrusting the bottle into Pito’s hand. “She looks happy with you.” Pito doesn’t have the chance to complain. That bottle automatically goes from his hand into the hungry baby’s mouth. Here is bébé Tiare sucking on her new bottle as if this was her last feed, her eyes staring into Pito’s eyes. Very soon the bottle is empty but the baby is still sucking and checking out that grown man.

  “What?” Pito asks, a half-smile forming. “You want my picture?”

  The three-month-old baby spits the nipple out of her mouth and keeps on staring at that man for a few seconds before giving him her most beautiful I’m-shy smile.

  And that is when Pito notices the dimple on the baby’s left cheek. The dimple Materena has, and which she inherited from her French father.

  Welcome to Our Humble Neighborhood

  Since the matter about that baby who fell from the sky last night must be resolved as soon as possible, Materena decides to visit the little one’s maternal family now, today. And she’s expecting Pito to go with her. Firstly, because he could be the grandfather, but also she needs a man in case . . . Well, in case the little one’s maternal family is a bit zeng-zeng. Materena doesn’t want to deal with crazy people on her own.

  She also needs Pito so that he can hold the baby in the car. She sure doesn’t want to leave the baby on the backseat. What if she has to suddenly hit the brakes, and the baby rolls off? Non, it’s best for everyone that Pito goes too.

  “I know that Saturday is your day,” Materena says, “and that you do what you want to do, but —”

  “I’ll go and get changed.” This is Pito telling Materena that she can count on him. This is also Pito telling Materena that as of now, every time she assumes something about him, he’s going to prove her wrong. He sneaks to the car with Tiare hidden under a crib-size quilt that belonged to Tamatoa — you would think she was a celebrity baby! Materena, positioned behind the steering wheel, is ready to take off, and here they go — quick, before a relative sees what’s going on! They are now on their way to Purai, there, up in the mountains.

  “You know where the house is?” Pito asks, sitting in the backseat with the little one sound asleep in his arms.

  Materena throws him a glance in the rear mirror. “It’s a yellow house.”

  “A yellow house,” Pito repeats. “I hope you have more information.”

  “There’s a dog tied to a tree at the front of the house.”

  “And . . .” Pito is still hoping for more information.

  “There’s an old truck parked two houses away from the house.”

  “A truck?”

  “A red truck.”

  “A red truck.” Still no proper information.

  “Don’t worry, I’m going to find the house, I only have to ask.”

  “Ask who?”

  “The people in the street . . .” After a bit more driving, “Ah . . . I think we’ve arrived . . . Oui, the nice houses . . . and here’s the Chinese shop, bars on the windows . . . Keep going . . . Oui, garbage everywhere . . . and child
ren too.” Materena slows down, waves a friendly wave to the barefoot brown children playing on the road with sticks, marbles; some flying kites, others eating ripe mangoes. Pito looks at these children who stare suspiciously at the woman behind the steering wheel. He notices a child standing looking at him as if to say, And who are you? Get out of my neighborhood.

  “Ouh la la,” Materena whispers, still driving very slowly. “These children look so serious.”

  “They don’t know us, that’s all,” Pito says, eyeing the kids now lining up along the road to take a good look at that car they’ve never seen. He remembers doing the same thing when a car he didn’t know would drive into his quartier. He stared at the people in the car with suspicious eyes too. Once, he even showed them his angry fist — he just felt that he had to. It was his way of telling these foreigners, “Don’t even think about coming here to make trouble for us. I’m going to box your eyes.”

  His quartier was much cleaner than this quartier here, though. In fact, this quartier is disgusting. Look at the dogs knocking the garbage bins over and nobody cares. There are dirty disposable diapers lying everywhere, and rusty abandoned cars — that one looks like it has been set on fire. All around is filth. Pride does not live in this neighborhood.

  But Pito won’t get carried away being judgmental. His quartier doesn’t have what you call postcard houses either. To a foreigner’s eyes, Pito’s place, filled with fibro shacks, could also seem like a ghetto where no-hopers live. It is only when you get to meet the people who live in those fibro shacks that you realize that these people, far from being losers, have a strong sense of right and wrong.

  “What are you doing in our quartier?” one of the children yells, before hurling a mango at Materena’s car. She hits the brakes as another child also lets go with his mango.

  “But!” Materena shrieks. Another mango follows.

  “But!” Materena shrieks again, this time louder. “They’re going to put dents in my car! Pito, do something!”