Breadfruit (13 page)

Materena wants to talk to her godmother. She hasn’t seen her for almost a year because Imelda is always overseas now with
her husband, Hotu, Materena’s godfather, visiting their children.

Imelda looked after Materena and her little brother for a while when they were kids and she made them feel very welcome in
her life. Imelda, she’s got a gift for making people feel welcome in her life. Materena remembers the story of the Australian
surfer.

Imelda immediately liked the look of the tourist her man brought home. The tourist was from Australia, Imelda had never heard
of that country before then. The Australian had two surfboards and a backpack, a good-looking face, and good manners, and
his handshake was strong and honest.

That day, Imelda was going to cook lentils, but since there was a tourist, she changed the menu to barbecued fish and rice,
raw fish, and taro.

She forced the tourist to eat. He was shy, embarrassed to help himself a second time. There was a lot of giggling at the table,
Imelda had to tell her daughters to quiet down or they were going to scare the tourist away.

The tourist got up to clear the table. Hotu, using sign language, told him to sit down, digest well, the girls here do the
clearing. But the Australian went on with the clearing-up, smiling and nodding all the while. The girls hurried to beat him
to the clearing-up. It was the same with the washing-up.

The word around the neighborhood was:
Leave that tourist alone or you’re going to regret it. Steal his surfboards and no more teeth left in your mouth.

The tourist was protected and he didn’t even know it.

Imelda took her looking after that tourist kid seriously. When he wasn’t home by dark, she would worry herself sick. She imagined
a shark having attacked him or him having drowned. By the third day of his stay, she was giving him long hugs like he was
her son.

One Saturday morning, the whole family caught the truck to Papara with him. Mats,
glacière,
ten bread sticks, bits and pieces… they settled on the black sand. They watched him surf. “Good wave!” they cheered.
When he fell off, they sighed. Then Imelda’s daughters went for a swim in their shorts and shirts, and her son walked around
the beach showing off Andrew’s surfboard, pretending that he was a surfer.

That morning, Imelda thought how nice it would be if the Australian surfer stayed with one of her daughters. Good-looking
grandchildren with blond hair and green eyes would result, for certain.

As to her daughters, the three of them had an interest in the Australian, no denying it. They’d had an argument at the beach
and Imelda knew it was about him. If she were their age, she’d be fighting over him too. But he must have had a woman waiting
for him back in his country, because all he did to Imelda’s daughters was smile. Or perhaps the daughters weren’t his style.

Imelda really wanted the Australian tourist to be part of her family, but you can’t force these things.

The tourist stayed twenty-three days at Imelda’s house, a long time, more than enough for Imelda to grow very attached.

The day Andrew left was a sad day. Everyone in the family cried at the airport as they farewelled him with shell wreaths,
and they watched the sky until they couldn’t see his plane anymore.

Aue
… they missed eating with him at their table. The girls had trouble eating for a whole week.

Imelda never heard from her adopted Australian son again. No letters, no visits, nothing. It’s been six years now. Everyone
else who had ever stayed at her house sent Imelda photos and letters written in another language. And four of those tourists
came back for her daughters and her son.

But all Imelda got from Andrew McMahon was dead silence.

“He must have died in the surf,” Loana reassured her cousin. “You just don’t eat at someone’s table for twenty-three days
and give nothing in return. The poor kid must be dead—bless his soul.”

Every now and then, Imelda goes to the church to say a little prayer for Andrew McMahon. That is how nice she is.

Imelda is still listening to the woman talk, but her eyes are on Materena. She finally excuses herself and hurries to greet
Materena, her arms open wide.

“Materena, girl!” Imelda grabs Materena’s face and kisses her on the cheeks, the forehead, the eyes, the nose, and the mouth.
“How are you?”

“I’m fine, Godmother,” Materena replies as she hugs her godmother real tight. The two women go on with their hugging for several
minutes.

“How’s Mamie?” The women are no longer hugging, but Imelda is holding Materena’s hands.

“She’s good, Godmother. The legs are a bit stiff when she wakes up in the morning, but otherwise her health is good.”

“Eh,” Imelda says. “It’s from all the dancing your mamie did when she was young, but better the legs being a bit stiff in
the morning than something more serious.”

“
Ah oui,
Godmother.”

“I’m going to see Mamie, if not tomorrow, the day after,” Imelda says.

“
Ah oui,
Mamie will be very happy to see you.”

Imelda looks at Materena and there are tears in her eyes. She hugs Materena again. “My girl, eh,” she says. “But you’re not
a little girl anymore.”

“
Eh oui,
Godmother,” Materena says. “I’ve got gray hair now.”

The hug tightens before Imelda gently pulls away.

“And you? You’re fine?” Materena asks.

“
Oui,
girl, health is good, but I’m a bit tired. Godfather and I have just come home from Australia yesterday. You know it was
our twenty-ninth wedding anniversary last week. Chantal, she took us to that restaurant on top of a tower. We could see the
city of Sydney.”

“
Ah hia!
” Materena has no idea what the city of Sydney looks like, but it must be impressive to see it from the top of a tower.

“And you, girl”—Imelda rubs Materena’s hands—“any marriage plans?”

Materena frowns. “Marriage plans?”

“Don’t forget: when you get married, Godfather and I, we will be paying for the wedding.”

“Really?” Materena beams. “You’re serious?”

“Of course I’m serious. That’s what godmothers are for.”

Materena squeezes her godmother’s hands. “Thank you, Godmother!” But she can’t resist asking, “Ah… and how do you know
I’m going to get married one day?”

Imelda smiles and wags her little finger. She always does this when she means to say, “My little finger told me.” And when
Imelda’s little finger tells her, she’s never wrong.

S
ince Imelda’s generous proposition to pay for the wedding, Materena has been very conscious about her house. Well, she’s always
been conscious about her house, but more so since she’s decided that’s where her wedding reception will be. People might say,
“We’re not here to look at the house,” but people always snoop around for things to notice. Materena certainly intends to
have the bathroom tiled before her wedding. She’s got a few hundred tiles her cousin Lily gave away, but there’s not enough
to tile the bathroom.

But today Lily is giving away some carpet to the first person who comes and gets it from her house. Materena can hide the
old linoleum underneath the carpet that Lily doesn’t want anymore, and that’s a start. So Materena gets the wheelbarrow—Lily’s
house is only about two hundred yards away.

It’s a good thing Pito and the kids are out visiting Mama Roti.

Materena looks strange pushing the wheelbarrow on the side of the road, and people look at her. Materena doesn’t care—all
she’s thinking about is her brand-new carpet. That carpet falling from the sky is a chance and she’s grabbing it.

Someone toots the horn and Materena waves without paying attention to the driver of the car—it must be a relative. She doesn’t
recognize the white Fiat, though—it must be a relative who has a driver’s license but doesn’t have a car, and that relative
must have borrowed the car from a mate. It’s not important to Materena who tooted the horn.

But, here, the car stops, right in the middle of the road, and a voice yells out, “Materena!”

Materena looks at the person who’s driving the car. It is Mama Teta. Mama Teta toots the horn again and she’s all smiles.

“
Iaorana,
Mama Teta!” Materena waves at Mama Teta and glances at the two cars stuck behind the Fiat.

“I just bought this car for my business,” Mama Teta says. “It’s beautiful,
oui?
”

“Ah, it is, it is.” Materena mentally counts the cars now stuck behind Mama Teta’s Fiat. There are seven.

“And where are you off to with that wheelbarrow?” Mama Teta asks.

But the angry drivers are now tooting their horns and a few of them are yelling obscenities. And so Mama Teta waves to Materena
and speeds away.

Materena goes back to pushing the wheelbarrow as fast as she can.

When Materena arrives at her cousin’s house, she’s sweating already. When there’s something free, you can be sure lots of
cousins are going to want it, and the news about that free carpet must already be on the coconut radio. Materena stops at
the grapefruit tree—about five yards away from the house—and calls out, “Cousin!”

It’s not recommended to stand at the front door and call out—you should always stand away from the house. Cousin Lily might
be doing something of a private nature—something only
she
needs to know about—and Lily might get real cranky at Materena for finding out about her private business. And the last thing
Materena wants is her cousin to get cranky at her and decide that she’s not really giving her carpet away.

Materena waits for Lily to call back to her. Perhaps Lily is putting a pareu on. Every two seconds, Materena turns around
to see if someone else is arriving.

Lily is not at the house, she must have gone to the carpet factory to buy her new carpet, but Materena is not sure. Before,
it was easy to know when Lily was home, because her old Citroën would be parked outside. But recently Lily sold her car and
bought a Vespa. And Lily keeps her Vespa in the house. She keeps her Vespa in the house because she’s afraid it’s going to
get stolen if she keeps it outside. She also keeps her Vespa in the house because she doesn’t want people to know when she’s
home. She might be very busy with one of her many secret admirers.

Materena slowly walks toward the house, all the while calling out, “Cousin, are you in the house?”

There is a note taped on the door.
Carpet out the back.

Materena runs to the wheelbarrow and then runs to the back of the house. The carpet is neatly stacked on some old tin roofing.
Materena grimaces. The carpet is bright green.

Green carpet? she thinks. I thought the carpet was brown. That carpet looks to me like the grass a bit,
non?
Eh, but we don’t care about the color!

The carpet is cut into squares, and Materena is happy. It’s easier to load squares of carpet into the wheelbarrow than a roll
of carpet. She takes a square and puts it under her feet to test.

Ah, it’s so soft. It feels really nice on her feet.

So Materena loads as many squares of carpet into the wheelbarrow as she can. Still, she will need to do quite a few more trips.
There’s no time to waste. She pushes the wheelbarrow along the side of the house and stops at the front door to rip the note
off.

Materena is about one hundred yards away from her house when she hears a cousin calling out to her. It sounds like Loma. Materena
walks faster because she doesn’t want to stop and have a little chitchat, and especially not with her cousin Loma.

“Eh, Cousin! Cousin! Cousin!”

Loma’s high-pitched voice is getting on Materena’s system and she could just keep on going and ignore it. But the thing with
cousins is that once they’ve decided to talk to you—you can’t escape. And the thing with Loma is that once she’s decided to
talk to you, she’ll follow you right to your house. Materena has to stop for a little talk, here, on the side of the road.
She doesn’t want Loma to follow her home. It’s easier to cut a little talk short when you’re talking on the side of the road
than it is in the house. She puts the wheelbarrow down and turns around.

Loma’s face is all red from the running she’s had to do to catch up with Materena, which was difficult with the bags of groceries
she’s carrying with both hands. Loma’s face is also all red from the blush she’s smeared on her face. Loma plonks the bags
of groceries on the footpath and bends down. She’s got a stitch.

Materena wonders why Loma wants to talk to her now instead of going straight home with her shopping. Her butter will melt.

“Cousin—I can’t believe you didn’t hear me!” Loma puffs.

“I was thinking about something,” Materena says.

“It’s hot, eh?” Loma is lifting her T-shirt up and down to let some air get in.

“And, Mama, she’s fine?” Materena asks.

“
Ah oui
—Mama is fine. Last night she wasn’t fine. Last night, she was a bit sick. But she’s fine now.” Loma is eyeing the carpet.

“Ah, that’s good your mama is fine,” Materena says, all the while thinking, What is it Loma wants to tell me? What’s the gossip?

“Is this the carpet from Lily?” Loma asks.

“
Oui.
”

“Lily is getting herself new carpet?”

“I don’t know,” Materena replies.

Loma feels the carpet. “That carpet is like new, why does Lily want to get new carpet?”

“Who said Lily’s getting new carpet? Eh, what if it’s new linoleum she’s getting? And that carpet is not really like new.
It’s an old carpet. Some of the squares are ripped—there, at the bottom of the pile.”

“
Ah oui,
” Loma says.

Materena doesn’t want Loma to think that the carpet Lily is giving away is of good value, because Loma will put the news on
the coconut radio and then cousins from everywhere will start invading Lily’s property for that carpet. At the moment, the
cousins might be thinking that the carpet Lily is giving away is old and ripped. Usually when you give something away, that
something is not top quality.