Tiare in Bloom (27 page)

“You’re a better father than I was.” Admitting this is killing Pito, but sometimes you’ve got to be honest. Then, cackling,
he adds without bitterness, “Since your son is born, I rarely see you. I should —”

“Eh, Pito,” Ati whispers, nodding towards two old men sitting on the bench talking about . . . Well, seeing their enthusiastic
gestures, they could be talking about the size of a very big fish or the width of a very big house, or perhaps the size of
a very big woman’s arse. “That’s us in thirty years.”

What Pito meant to say before Ati interrupted him was this: I should have been like you when my kids came.

But he won’t say a word about this now, he’ll just take a moment to wipe away that tear that has sprung out of his left eye.

T
he promenade with Ati has made Pito feel very bizarre. Perhaps he’s just tired. He’s never walked for that long before, forty-five
minutes. He might have a nap, like Tiare. On second thought, he might call his daughter.

A young man answers the telephone.

“Can I speak to my daughter?” Pito asks, thinking, Who the hell are you?

“Eh, Pito!” It is Hotu, the boyfriend. “
E aha te huru?
”

“Eh, Hotu,
maitai,
” says Pito, then in his head: You’re there again? Weren’t you there only two months ago?

“Leilani!” Pito hears Hotu call out.

“
Oui, chéri!
” Pito hears his daughter call back.

“Your papa is on the telephone!”

“I’m coming,
chéri!
”

“Would you like a coffee,
chérie?
”

“
Oui,
thanks,
chéri.
”

Chéri
this,
chérie
that, and Pito is thinking, Why don’t you two live together?

“Papi?” This is a grown-up independent clever woman speaking, the first future Tahitian woman doctor, but she still sounds
like a little girl to her father.

“
Oui.
” That is all Pito can physically say for the moment.
Merde,
what is the matter with him?

“You’re fine?” says Leilani; then to her boyfriend bringing her a coffee, “
Merci, chéri.
” She takes a sip. “Papi?”

“
Oui.
” That is still all Pito can physically say for the moment.

“Papi, are you sure you’re okay?”

“Well, if you need to know,” Pito admits, forcing a chuckle, “your old man is feeling a bit bizarre today.”

“What do you mean by bizarre?”

What does Pito mean by bizarre? What’s this bizarre question his daughter is asking? He’s feeling bizarre, that’s all. You
can’t explain bizarre. Bizarre means what it means, doesn’t it? It means bizarre.

“Are you having mood swings?” Leilani asks.

“Eh?”

“Are you feeling happy one minute and then sad the next?”

Pito hesitates for a few seconds. “Today,
oui.
”

“Are you also tired a lot these days?” Leilani continues her questions.

“Today,
oui,
I’m tired.”

“Are you losing your hair?” she goes on.

Pito proudly rubs his mop of mixed black and gray hair. “
Non,
I’m not losing my hair.”

“Papi, I’m going to ask you a question, but please, don’t be offended. I’m not speaking as your daughter here, okay? I’m speaking
as a medical student . . . Now, are you experiencing a decline in your sex drive?”

“What?”
But!
The questions that girl asks! Pito shrieks to himself. He didn’t call his daughter to be interrogated . . . and about that
subject! It’s not a subject to talk about with your daughter, not even your friends, not even your doctor! And he only called
to say
Iaorana.
“So all is fine?” he asks.

“All is fine.” The daughter senses she’s offended her father, so she quickly changes the subject. “And how is my adorable
niece?”

“She’s a numero uno, that one,” Pito chuckles and goes on about Tiare’s new saying. Well, when the mademoiselle gets up (from
the sofa, chair, table, the floor), she says, “
Parahi,
” meaning stay seated. This is the Tahitian way to say good-bye, more Tahitian than the word
nana
everyone uses.

Leilani chuckles along. “Soon Tiare will be teaching me to speak Tahitian!”

“It’s her acquaintances, I tell you, the old women from Mama Teta’s nursing home.”

“Her great-great-aunties, we can call them like that.”

“We can,” Pito agrees. “How long is Hotu staying with you?”

“Ten days.”

“Ah, that’s good, it’s better than the last time, what was it, only five days?”

“Papi, you are going through andropause,” Leilani cuts in, speaking fast, without giving her father the chance to protest.
“It’s like the female menopause, and it’s because there’s a drop in your hormone levels. It’s normal, millions of men in the
world go through this stage —”

Pito is speechless, so Leilani goes on, and urges her father not to panic. He must remain calm, okay? He must not hurry to
do irrational things like leave her mother for a younger woman. It’s normal, she insists, for her father to feel lost and
believe that he hasn’t accomplished much in his life, but this is simply not true. He may not earn a lot of money but he’s
a wonderful, wonderful person. True, he may have faults. Many faults . . . but who is perfect?

A younger woman is not the cure, gambling neither, nor breeding fighting roosters, whatever. And it’s no use tormenting himself
with the past, all the things he didn’t do and should have done. It’s the past, done, out of the way, swept away. Only tomorrow
counts. The other advice Leilani offers her stunned patient is for him to increase his physical activity. This means less
sitting on the sofa and maybe some more walking. Serious walking, not promenades. “Walk to work, Papi,” Leilani says, after
a big breath.

“Walk to work?”

“
Oui,
and why not? It’s only six miles. Get up earlier and walk instead of catching the truck. We don’t walk enough in Tahiti.
We go from A to B but only if it is less than seventy-five feet, when we should really walk at least two miles a day. It’s
good for the heart and for the head too. Papi, please promise me that you will do some exercise . . . And try to drink less
too.”

Here we go again, Pito thinks. It’s very easy for Leilani and Hotu to ask drinkers to drink less. Those two are allergic to
alcohol. Normal people aren’t that lucky.

“I’m not asking you to stop completely,” the daughter goes on, “but try to drink less, that’s all. Drink two glasses of water
for each glass of beer . . . Papi?”

“Hmm.”

“You can’t die before I have children.”

And Pito, a hand on his heart, smiles.

I’m going to start my exercising program. Pito is not being Monsieur Monday here, so many people make new resolutions to start
on Monday, but the problem is that when Monday comes, the new resolution evaporates until the following Monday. But Pito is
being serious.

Monday I’m going to walk to work, I’m going to be in shape! I’m going to lose my gut. Pito chants his new hymn over and over
again. He gulps two glasses of water, punches a fist of victory, and rewards himself with a few sips of his beer, which by
now is warm. That’s the problem when you don’t drink your beer in one go, it goes warm, especially on a hot day like today.

He starts to jump around, one foot up on the sofa . . . now the other, alternate, keep jumping . . . breathe, well, try to
. . .

Purée,
it’s hot today, sweat is rolling profusely down Pito’s temples. He sits on the sofa to recover a little, take a few proper
breaths, and stop the panting.

The front door swings opens. It is Tamatoa, covered in sweat and red in the face, his bag slung over his shoulder.

“Eh?” Pito is pleasantly surprised. “I thought you said that you were coming home on Tuesday.”

“Her husband is a gendarme, I’m not playing with a gendarme’s wife,
non merci.
As soon as I found out, I ran home.” Then, noticing his father panting, he asks, “What’s with you?”

Pito spreads his arms across the sofa. “Your sister says I have to start exercising, I’m trying,
copain,
I’m trying. I’m walking to work on Monday.”

“Walking?” Tamatoa grins. His father has never called him
mate.
“Running is better.”

“For young people,
oui,
but for us old men —” Pito shrugs and cackles.

“You’re not old, Papi.” Tamatoa sits next to his father. “I can run with you . . . if you want.”

Pito considers the offer. “I’m not going to shame you? I’m warning you, I don’t run like the wind.”

“Eh,” Tamatoa says, giving his father a man’s tap on the leg. “As long as you don’t crawl,
c’est le principal.
”

T
here are many things a father can learn when running with his son. Well, first, he learns
how
to run: how to pace himself, breathe right, how to hold his arms up so that they don’t dangle and take up energy. But most
important, he learns to trust his son.

Pito really thought that Tamatoa was going to dump him halfway through the run, seeing that Tamatoa could run twice as fast,
if not three times. But Tamatoa remained by his father’s side, circling him and all the while giving him words of encouragement
like, “Just imagine you’re representing Tahiti at the Olympic Games!” Pito had to stop a few times to laugh and catch his
breath.

Still, he had not expected Tamatoa to run home with him later in the day after work as Tamatoa had promised him to. When Pito
saw his son at the gate, he thought, “
Eishh!
” He had hoped to catch the truck and stop it about three hundred feet away from home, and then run. But deep down, Pito was
really proud Tamatoa had lived up to his promise. Maybe his son is turning at last into someone you can rely on.

So that is why, a week later, Pito is proposing to his beautiful wife lying by his side to go camping for a night.

Materena ponders for a while before accepting the unusual invitation. I’ve never been camping in all my life, she thinks.
Well, why not try something new?

Materena doesn’t even bother asking Pito information regarding the camping equipment, doesn’t fire one thousand questions
about where he is going to get the tent et cetera. She just kisses him on the mouth, saying how romantic it will be, and how
she can already visualize the three of them sitting around a campfire, with Pito telling stories to their granddaughter and
. . .

Pito hurries to mention that the little one will be staying at home with her father.

“Eh?” Materena stops kissing Pito. “Leave Tiare with Tamatoa?” Her smiling face drops. “Pito, are you serious?” She goes on
about her son’s inability to look after himself, let alone a child. “He can’t even cook rice!”

“So what if he can’t cook rice, it’s not the end of the world.”

“Pito . . . what if Tamatoa leaves
bébé
at the house and goes out dancing . . . and then something happens —”

“He’s not going to do that! Trust him.”

“Pito!” Materena is now cranky. She gets out of bed and declares that he can go camping if he wants to but she’s not going.

“Materena —”

“My answer is
non.
” Materena is adamant about this. “You go camping, I’m staying right where I am, we can have romance here, we don’t need to
go camping, and plus, I don’t like camping.”

“How do you know?” Pito asks. “You’ve never been camping in your whole life.”

“I know. I saw it in a movie once, and it doesn’t look comfortable.”

“We can stay in a
pension
if it’s more comfortable for you.”

“
Non,
I prefer my own house.” With this firm statement, Materena fluffs her pillow, she’s going to sleep.

“Materena, listen to me, okay? Listen.”

“I’m listening.”

And so Pito fires away. He doesn’t care if he never gets to go camping with Materena, he says, because, true, you don’t need
to go camping to have romance. You can have romance in the marital bed. You can have romance in the kitchen, bathroom, anywhere,
because it’s all in the mind.

The real reason behind his idea to go away for one whole day and a whole night is to give their son a chance to be with his
daughter, alone.

“I —”

“Materena, let me talk, I haven’t finished.” As he was saying, he’d like to give Tamatoa the chance to be with his daughter,
alone, the chance to see what he can do. Pito didn’t get his chance to realize what he was capable of until two years ago,
when his granddaughter came into his life and Materena gave him her trust. It was very difficult for Pito to adapt to his
new role as a grandfather, guardian, and godfather, but he learned quickly and everybody survived.

The way Pito sees his situation, he was never given the chance to prove himself, women always took over. For example, when
Pito was a young boy, his mother would always serve him his dinner so that he wouldn’t spill rice everywhere — but maybe she
should have let him serve himself, she should have let him spill a few grains of rice on the floor.

Then later, Materena would always get out of bed for a crying baby — but maybe she should have pretended to be fast asleep.
Pito would have eventually gotten up because the sound of a crying baby would have gotten on his nerves. But
non,
the years passed and Pito stayed a little boy in his head.

Well, says Pito, this is not going to happen to his son,
non,
no way — but Tamatoa is sure to be making the same mistakes as his father did if something isn’t done about it now.

“You women,” says Pito, “you do your complaining because men don’t help with the children, and at the same time, you don’t
give us men the chance to see that looking after children isn’t voodoo! You make us believe that children need magic, special
touch, and everything, because they’re so delicate, they’re like porcelain dolls. All of this is
conneries.
Wake up, you women!”