Tiare in Bloom (19 page)

Right now, Tiare is on her grandfather’s belly. Every now and then Pito swells his belly and baby goes up and laughs. Materena,
nearby, working on a crib-size quilt for her granddaughter, cackles. “Pito, eh, you are a clown, you know.”

Pito winks at his wife, finding her very beautiful this morning. She used to make him shit bubbles on Saturday mornings. He’d
be on the sofa, trying to recuperate from a hangover, and she’d decide to do a huge cleaning, drag furniture around, sweep
like a madwoman. But here she is now, quietly embroidering her granddaughter’s name on a quilt, a serene look on her face
and a bit of rouge on her cheeks.

They had a joke earlier on about names on crib quilts. Most Tahitians have a crib-size quilt with their name embroidered on
it. Pito has, so does Materena, and each of their three children. And now Tiare. When they get old, Materena cackled, walking
around in circles at the nursing home with their quilt on their shoulders and forgetting their own name, they will ask someone,
“Pardon, do you know my name?” The person will take a quick look at the name on the quilt and say, “Well, if this is your
quilt, your name is . . .”

Ah, Pito is enjoying the new Materena. It’s fun when a man can share a joke with his woman without her getting all defensive
because she thinks he’s criticizing her.

Pito is now thinking about that night she didn’t spend in the marital bed . . . Where did she go? And with whom? They haven’t
had the chance to talk about that since Tiare came into their lives, and perhaps they haven’t wanted to either. Pito hasn’t
asked questions, and Materena hasn’t confessed. He knows there’s a confession. He knows his wife didn’t spend the night with
her invented girlfriend Tareva. He knows because he asked her a few nights ago, and very casually, “How’s Tareva?” and Materena
replied, “Who?” Well, all right, Materena was half asleep but still . . . you would remember a friend you stayed out with
all night.

Materena catches her husband checking her out. “What?” she asks.

“I’m just looking at you,” Pito says, giving his wife the hum-not-bad look.

“Papa, eh . . . ,” Materena cackles.

She used to have a girlie cackle when she was young, but the high-pitched cackle (the
hi-hi-hi
) has been replaced by a deep cackle (the
he-he-he
), the cackle of a mama. Not that Pito minds, the cackle of a mama is nice to listen to, it tells many stories. Unlike the
croaky cackle of a
meme,
which can be a bit freaky.

Pito was so afraid that Materena would turn into a
meme
overnight after finding out that she was a grandmother. Pito has witnessed this strange phenomenon in his own family. Lots
of his aunties transformed themselves into
memes
overnight.

One minute they were cackling the sexy mama cackle and doing the sexy mama walk, the walk that says, I may be past forty but
I’ve still got it in me, and next minute they were doing the freaky
meme
cackle and doing the slow walk with the dragging sound of thongs, accompanied by the long and exhausted sighs. The walk that
says I’m a
grandmère
now, don’t even think about getting ideas.

Luckily for Pito, Materena stayed a sexy mama. She kept on doing her fast walk, the walk that says, I may be past forty, but
I’ve still got it in me: the sexy loving, the energy, the enthusiasm — the package!

But it’s so nice when she’s sitting still instead. A man can look at his wife properly when she’s sitting still, like Pito
is doing right now. He’s really happy that his wife didn’t lose those fine ankles. Pito loves fine ankles. He loves Materena’s
wrists too, they’re so small, you wouldn’t believe they belong to a strong sexy mama. As for Materena’s body, well, it is
a bit larger than when he first met her, there’s a bit more flesh around the waist, but she’s still a sexy mama.

Pito feels very grateful his wife looked after herself. Many of his cousins were very cute when they were young but as soon
as they popped that first baby out, they started to eat like crazy. Every dish had to be drowning in coconut milk, and every
serving had to be multiplied by two, sometimes three. But Materena . . .

“Eh, Pito,” sexy mama cackles. “Stop looking at me like you’ve never seen me before.”

“You know when I was in France for military service,” he says. For some reason Pito feels these two missing years must be
clarified today.

“And I was crying on my pillow for you and you didn’t even send me a postcard, and you had six girlfriends,
oui,
I know.” Materena’s voice is not angry. She has resigned herself to the fact that it was a long time ago and she wasn’t really
Pito’s official girlfriend.

“I didn’t know you were waiting for me,” Pito says.

“I told you that I was going to wait for you.”

“Well, I didn’t know you were serious.”

“Pito, you knew I was crazy about you,” Materena says.

“I didn’t know you were serious,” Pito repeats. “I thought to myself, Ah, she’s with someone else now, she’s not going to
wait for me for two years without playing around, she’s a pretty girl.”

“I didn’t look at any boys. The only boy in my head was you.” Materena puts her quilt down for a few seconds to sigh with
nostalgia, and confesses that she knew, she just knew in her heart, that it was her destiny to be with that boy Pito Tehana,
it was her destiny to have his children.

“I’m still the only boy in your head now?” Pito asks, taken by surprise by his wife’s confession. He knew she liked the things
he did to her under the frangipani tree behind the bank, but he had no idea that she was fantasizing about having his children.

Materena gives him a long look, a look that says, You ask a silly question. Ah, Pito loves those big brown eyes, especially
when they’re not cranky. Pito looks down to Tiare, staring at him with her big, beautiful brown eyes, the eyes of her grandmother.

“Tiare has your beautiful eyes,” he says.

“Beautiful eyes?” Materena smiles. “You’ve never told me that my eyes were beautiful.”

Ah, and when she smiles, she has that cute dimple on her left cheek. Pito looks down to Tiare again, still staring at him.
He smiles and she automatically smiles back. “And she’s got your cute dimple too.”

“Cute dimple? You’ve never told me that my dimple was cute.”

“
Bon ben,
today must be your day for compliments.”

“I accept them,
Maururu roa.
”

Pito waits for Materena to say something nice about him too, but she’s busy stitching. “What about me? You’re going to give
me some compliments too?” he asks. “That way we’re equal.”

Materena scrutinizes Pito. He’s now doing his not-bad-for-my-age-eh? expression. And-plus-I’m-exercising-these-days. Half
a minute passes and Materena is still scrutinizing Pito.

“
Allo?
” Pito says, half serious, sucking his belly in. “You’re sure taking your time with my compliments.”

“Pito . . . when I look at you I see . . .” It seems Materena isn’t sure if she should tell her husband what she sees or not.

“What do you see?” Pito is now worried. He knows that he’s not as handsome as he used to be, like his mother has been so fond
of telling him.
Oui,
the gut is a bit
tautau,
and the hair a bit gray, well, what do you want? People can’t look like they’re eighteen years old all their life. “
Alors?
What do you see?”

“I see a friend.” There, Materena has spoken.

“A friend!” Pito was hoping for a compliment. “Is that all you see? What about my body, hum? You think I need to walk further?”

“You’re fine as you are in my eyes.”

“
Ah bon?
You don’t want a man with more muscles?”

Materena informs her husband that she’s never been interested in muscles, so why should she be now? When she met him he didn’t
have any muscles. Pito informs his wife that,
excuse-moi,
he did have muscles when they met.
Non,
Materena insists, he was skinny like a nail when he used to come for his sandwich at the snack where she worked. Pito denies
this, and why on earth did she like him anyway if he was skinny like a nail?

“There was something about you . . . And then when you kissed me, I was gone.”

Pito smirks. “How did I kiss you?”

“Like you kiss me now.”

“And —” Pito is really enjoying this conversation.

“Well you kiss me good, your lips are very soft.”

“My lips are soft, eh?” Pito is really,
really
enjoying this conversation. “What else did you like about me?”

“The same things I like now.”

“And . . . tell me —”

“Well, I like the way you —”

“You . . . come on . . . spill the bucket.”

Materena cackles her sexy mama cackle and shakes her head. “I don’t need to do you a drawing Pito, you know what I mean. But
you’re becoming like a friend to me because —”

“So my lips are very soft,” Pito interrupts. He’s not interested in the friend story. He doesn’t want to be his wife’s friend.
He has enough friends as it is. He wants Materena to talk about his lips and everything.

“I don’t think I loved you before like I love you now, Pito.”

“Eh?” Pito is suddenly confused.

“Well,
oui,
I loved you, but not like I love you now, you know what I mean?”

Non,
Pito has no idea what Materena is going on about!

She explains what she’s going on about, and it’s fairly simple. Before, when their children were little, she was adamant about
not letting the father of her children escape, she wanted a father at the kitchen table, a father in her children’s lives,
she was prepared to keep him no matter what. No matter how insensitive he was, if he forgot her birthday, preferred his
copains
to her; but now the children are big and —

“You can chuck me out,” Pito cackles. “And go with your Chinese boyfriend.”

“What Chinese boyfriend?”

“The boyfriend you met at Kikiriri.”

“Pito.” Materena bursts out laughing. “I was with Cousin Lily.”

“The whole night?”

“
Oui,
the whole night, we slept at the hotel.” Materena is still laughing.

“Why didn’t you tell me that you were with your cousin instead of lying about that girlfriend?”

Materena puts the quilt down to look Pito in the eye. “Pito . . . do you know how angry with you I was? I was so angry I wanted
to divorce you.”

“Eh?” The room becomes black for a quick second, and baby Tiare, sensing her grandfather’s shock, begins to cry. “
Non, non,
” Pito hurries to say, lovingly tapping the baby’s bottom. “Don’t cry,
chérie
—” And giving Materena the questioning look, he says, “Divorce me?”

“Divorce you,” Materena confirms. “Pack your bags, send you back to your mama, and never speak to you again.”

“Why? What did I do?”

“It’s not what you did, it’s what you said.”

Pito is even more confused now. “What did I say?”

“You don’t remember?”

Pito searches his memory. He remembers Materena not talking to him for six days because, so he concluded, she was just
fiu
of seeing his face, as it happens with couples. And then she acted like she hated him for all that time but . . .

“What did I say?”

“When I told you that I wanted to look for my father, you said —”

“You want to look for your father?” This is the first time Pito hears about it.

“You said,” Materena continues, “‘you think he’s going to want to know you?’”

Pito widens his eyes with stupefaction and again baby Tiare starts to cry. Pito sits up and holds baby on his knees. He needs
some fresh air. His head is spinning a little.
Non,
he did not tell Materena these words, no way. “Did I really —”

Materena sadly nods.

“I was
taero?
” Pito asks, although he already knows the answer.

Another sad nod.

Pito is flushed with shame. “Forgive me,
chérie,
I was —”

“I have already forgiven you,” Materena smiles. “Otherwise you wouldn’t be here today, you’d be at your mother’s house going
taravana.
”

“But . . . Materena, your father is going to be so proud to know you!” Pito exclaims, dumbfounded at how close he came to
being ejected — and over something he had no idea about. “He’s going to think you are amazing!”

Materena shyly lowers her eyes and cackles. “I think you’ve given me enough compliments for today.”

“It’s not compliments, it’s the truth. I can help you look for your father.”

Materena picks up her quilt and shrugs. “I’ve got too much in my head at the moment. Work, the children . . . Our
mootua
who doesn’t have her mother and her father.”

“
Chérie,
as soon as Tamatoa is home,” Pito says, thinking, That boy
will be
coming home, “we can start the search for your father together.”

Smiling, Materena continues stitching. “Eh, Pito . . . one thing at a time.”

She’d like to enjoy her new man for a while first.

A
fter Tiare arrived, Pito was the man in Materena’s eyes for two blissful years. But there’s a new man in the house now — Materena’s
golden boy, her firstborn, her adored eldest son, Tamatoa.

Since he’s been home, thanks to his father paying the fare on his
carte bleu,
Tamatoa goes out dancing and drinking with his
copains
and cousins, and then he comes home and expects a feed waiting for him at the kitchen table. He does the clown and makes
his mother and daughter laugh with those stupid dance moves he’s learned God knows where. Here, his last trick is to dance,
pull out his comb from the back pocket of his jeans, and comb his hair — still dancing.

After eating, he lies on the sofa in front of the TV like a corpse . . . for hours! Either that or he goes out for the whole
night to the nightclub to dance his stupid disco moves, comes home in the early hours of the morning, and doesn’t get out
of bed until the afternoon.