Authors: Célestine Vaite
Now everything is fine with Rita.
She sometimes thinks about how someone may have died in her bed, but she much prefers her bed to be the souvenir of a dead
person than the souvenir of thousands of sweating women.
That is the story of Rita’s new bed, and so Materena is checking Pito’s bed, sniffing the mattress and looking for marks,
when Pito comes into the bedroom to get an Akim comic.
“What are you doing sniffing the mattress?” he asks.
“Did Mama Roti buy you this bed for your birthday?” Materena looks into Pito’s eyes.
“What! What is this story?”
“You bought the bed, then?”
“You want to know how I got the bed?” Pito challenges Materena.
“
Oui,
” Materena replies, although she’s not so sure anymore that she really wants to know how Pito got that bed, when he got it,
and how many women have slept in it.
Pito tells Materena that the bed belonged to an uncle who died. The uncle died in his bed (Pito is pointing to it), but it
was days before he was found dead in his bed, as he lived alone. There was vomit and caca in the bed and the family wanted
nothing to do with that bed, so Pito took it and washed it clean. He needed a new bed and free beds don’t come to you every
day.
Materena’s eyes are popping out of her head by this time, but suddenly Pito bursts out laughing.
“You silly woman, my auntie Agathe gave me her bed when she moved to France.”
Pito grabs a comic and Materena is about to inquire further about the bed but on second thought decides she doesn’t want to
know anything more about it.
Nobody died on Pito’s bed and, as far as Materena is concerned, that is the most important thing.
But here she is now, at Conforama shop, where they sell really nice beds and you can take one home today and only start paying
the installments in three months’ time. Materena only wants to have a quick look on her way home from work. There is a young
couple in search of a very hard bed. They sit on a bed, hop up and down with their bottoms, giggling at the same time, and
at each bed one of them says, “
Non,
it’s too soft.” Materena thinks the couple is so cute.
But the salesperson doesn’t think so. “Eh, you two,” she calls out from the office. “How about you buy a bed and try it for
real in your own house!”
The couple burst into laughter as they get out of the shop.
Then the salesperson spots Materena and she forgets all about the young couple. Materena is lost in admiration in front of
a wooden queen-size bed that has a carved-wood headboard. She’s never seen such a beautiful bed. She can visualize herself
sleeping a beautiful sleep on that bed, and she’d like to sit on it, but after the salesperson’s comment to the young couple,
she just runs a hand over it.
“Good afternoon.” The salesperson is now standing beside Materena.
Materena smiles at the salesperson. “I’m just looking,” she says politely. Materena is always polite to salespeople, but even
more so when the salesperson is older than she is, and she guesses that the salesperson is over fifty years old.
“Instead of just looking,” the salesperson says, “why don’t you make yourself comfortable on the bed? Come on.”
“You’re sure?”
“Of course. That’s what the showroom is for. Our top-quality beds aren’t just for looking at.”
Materena takes her thongs off, rubs her feet clean with her hands, and hops onto the bed. Ah, she’s in heaven.
“It’s so comfortable,” she says. “Ah, it feels so nice on the back.”
“After a hard day at work, let me tell you, a woman can always do with a comfortable bed.”
“
Ah oui,
that’s for sure.” Materena has to drag herself away from the bed.
“Stay a bit longer,” the salesperson says. “It’s okay.”
Materena falls back onto the bed.
“Beds aren’t just for reproducing,” the salesperson says. “Beds are for recharging the batteries, especially when you’re a
woman, with all the things we do. You’ve got kids?”
“
Oui,
three.”
“You must be busy.”
“
Ah oui,
there’s always something to do.”
“I’ve got five kids,” the salesperson says. “They’re grown up now, but when they were little, I was always running from one
kid to the other. You know what I’m saying?”
Materena nods.
“I tell you,” the salesperson continues, “if it wasn’t for my bed, I wouldn’t be able to get up in the morning to start another
day. I didn’t have much money, but I’ve never cut costs with my beds. For me, my bed was and still is today an investment.
When you have a good night’s sleep, the next day is not so bad. And you cannot have a good night’s sleep, I mean a
good
night’s sleep, when you’ve got a cheap bed.”
“True.”
“Your bed at the moment, is it comfortable? You sleep well?”
“Ah, it’s okay.”
“How long have you had your bed for?”
“I’ve been sleeping on that bed for over twelve years,” Materena says.
The salesperson does a horrified look. “Twelve years!” She shakes her head. “You should get a new bed at least every five
years, because your body changes. Is it a single bed or a double bed?” The salesperson is now speaking softly, and Materena
guesses that the salesperson doesn’t want to offend her. The size of a bed can say a lot about a woman’s situation.
“It’s a queen-size,” Materena says. “It came with my man, but . . .” Materena hesitates. She doesn’t want to tell the salesperson
the whole story about new bed, new beginning. The salesperson is waiting for Materena to continue. “Well,” Materena begins,
“my man and I, we’re getting married this year, and —”
“Congratulations!”
“Thank you,” Materena says shyly. “We’ve been together for over twelve years, it’s about time, eh?”
“Better late than never.” The salesperson sits on the bed. “I totally understand why you’d want a new bed, because it’s a
new beginning for you and your man. Well, why don’t you put that beautiful top-quality bed on your wedding-gift list?” She
pats the bed several times.
“A wedding-gift list?” Materena has never heard of such a list. All she knows is that you accept what you get. You accept
the salad bowls, the pillow quilts, the sheets, the dishes… a gift is a gift.
“Haven’t you heard of wedding-gift lists?” asks the salesperson.
“
Non.
”
“Ah, the Chinese and the
popa’a
have them, and I think it’s a wonderful idea, that way the married couple gets what they want.”
Materena wonders who could afford to buy her that bed. It looks like an expensive one. She can’t think of anyone except, perhaps,
her mother. “It might be a bit too expensive for my guests,” she says.
“You can have more than one person paying for it,” the salesperson says. “But it’d have to be cash on delivery, because we
can only do installments with one bank account.”
“So how do I go about it?” Materena is certainly very interested.
“I explain.” The salesperson clears her throat. “You give us a deposit and we’ll hold that bed for you, because if not, I
can’t guarantee that by the time you get married, that bed will still be in the shop. But, your marriage, is it for this year?
We can’t hold the bed for an eternity.”
“It’s for this year,” Materena confirms.
“Okay,” the salesperson continues. “You give me a deposit and I give you a receipt and make copies of it, and you just give
them out to the people you want to contribute to your new beginning. They will feel very special that you’ve chosen them.”
A
fter that nice saleswoman’s passionate speech on wedding gifts—the kinds you want to receive—Materena signed her name in a
blue book, giving Conforama the authorization to withdraw the deposit for the new bed: five thousand francs per month for
the next three months, starting next month. And now, half-comfortable in the old bed, next to Pito complaining about mosquitoes,
Materena is thinking of relatives who will feel honored to contribute to her new beginning. Who will she ask?
Pito kicks the quilt, but Materena is just going to ignore him.
She forgot to buy a new packet of mosquito coils. There was only one mosquito coil left in the packet, so she put it in the
boys’ room and Leilani dragged her mattress in there for the night.
But Materena doesn’t tell Pito about that last mosquito coil, because if Pito knows there’s a mosquito coil smoking away in
the house, he’s going to make sure that it is smoking away for him. All he knows is that there are no mosquito coils left
in the packet and Materena forgot to buy a new packet.
Materena wraps herself with the quilt from head to toe, except for her mouth and nose. She doesn’t like to breathe in the
quilt. It makes her claustrophobic.
She can hear the irritating flying of the mosquitoes and she stays still like a coconut tree. She thinks, Soon, these mosquitoes,
they’re going to realize they can’t get through the quilt. Now, back to the relatives and the new bed.
“
Eh hia
—these mosquitoes!” Pito growls. He hides his head under the pillow. “These mosquitoes!”
“Eh, Pito,” Materena says. “The more you think about the mosquitoes, the more they’re going to annoy you.”
Pito slaps the pillow and kicks the quilt again. “How can anyone forget to buy a new packet of mosquito coils?”
“Do you think complaining is going to scare the mosquitoes away?” Materena asks.
“Damn mosquitoes,” Pito replies.
“Go drink a beer,” Materena says.
“What beer? There’s no beer.” Pito sits and rips the quilt off Materena to shake it.
“Pito, you’re really starting to annoy me now.” Materena rips the quilt back off Pito. Pito gets out of bed and switches the
light on.
“Now what?” Materena sighs. Pito grabs the quilt off Materena again and starts to wave it around toward the open shutter.
“What is this?” Materena asks. Well, Pito informs Materena that he’s chasing the mosquitoes out of the bedroom. He waves the
quilt around for a while, then he closes the shutter and switches the light off.
“Okay,” Pito says as he gets back into bed. “Now try to get into the bedroom, you bloody mosquitoes.”
But it is so hot now with the shutter closed, and Materena can’t breathe. She’s suffocating. She needs air. She gets up and
opens the shutter, she’s not paying attention to Pito’s complaining.
She goes back to bed and wraps herself in the quilt.
And the mosquitoes fly back into the room.
Pito slaps his cheeks. “These mosquitoes!
Merde!
”
All right, that’s enough now. Materena is not staying in that room one more second. She refuses to accept Pito’s comedy any
longer. She gets out of bed. “If a mosquito, a tiny, miserable mosquito, is too much to bear… imagine, a little, the
contractions when us women give birth!”
“Eh-oh,” Pito protests. He goes on about how he’s had a mosquito coil by his side ever since he was a baby. You can’t go from
thirty-five years’ sleeping with a mosquito coil by your side to sleeping without one. If he’d been on the booze, maybe he
could, but he’s sober. And he can feel these bloody mosquitoes biting into his flesh.
Materena storms out of the room and sneaks into the boys’ room. She lies beside Leilani and closes her eyes, enjoying the
beautiful smell of the mosquito coil.
“Did you have a fight?” Leilani asks.
Materena tells Leilani that Pito can’t sleep without a mosquito coil and she can’t sleep with his complaining.
“Ah… but can’t Papi smell the mosquito coil?”
“Just go to sleep, girl,” Materena says. “You’ve got school tomorrow.”
The next morning Pito’s face is sparkling with mosquito bites.
He looks very funny and everybody at the table wants to laugh, but Pito also looks very grumpy, so everybody makes sure not
to look at him. But Materena has to look at Pito and she eventually bursts into laughter. The kids leave the table in a hurry
to laugh in peace in the living room.
Pito gives Materena a dirty look.
“
Aue,
my husband, eh,” Materena says amid her laughter. “You look so funny.”
“Eh,” he snaps. “I’m not your husband. I don’t see a wedding band on my finger.”
Materena keeps on laughing. She doesn’t pay attention to Pito’s remark. She knows well that when someone hasn’t had a good
night’s sleep, there’s grumpiness the next morning.
As for Materena, she had a very pleasant evening. The mosquitoes didn’t bother her at all, and she was able to think in peace
before falling asleep. She now has a list of possible contributors for her new bed.
C
ousin Giselle is one of the possible contributors to Materena’s new bed, and what luck for Materena to bump into her now!
But for the moment, Materena (with daughter, Leilani, on her way home from the Chinese store) is more interested in Giselle’s
newborn baby boy.
She puts the shopping bags on the ground and opens her arms, meaning: let me hold that baby right now. Giselle passes Materena
the baby. She’s going to have a smoke.
“And how are you, girl?” Giselle asks Leilani.
“I’m fine, Auntie Giselle.” Leilani is not even looking at the baby.
Giselle is all dressed up and she looks good for a woman who gave birth only a week ago. It’s a bit like that with the first
baby, Materena thinks, you lose the stomach quick. But past baby number three, and you still look pregnant two months after
the birth.
He’s so beautiful, Giselle’s baby, with his brown skin and flat nose. He’s all dressed up too, in a blue jumpsuit and a matching
blue beanie. The beanie looks nice but it’s a bit hot to be wearing a beanie. Materena lifts up the beanie a bit—that poor
baby is sweating. She should tell Giselle that it’s not a good day today for the baby to wear a beanie. But only Giselle’s
mama can tell her this and even then there’s no guarantee Giselle is going to listen.
Materena rubs her nose against the baby’s nose. The baby smells of talcum powder. Materena remembers when she used to put
talcum powder on her babies.
Aue
—it’s so long ago. Materena is feeling all bizarre inside—she’s got ideas of breast-feeding that baby. It happens every time
she holds a newborn baby, and she holds newborn babies on a regular basis. There’s always a cousin with a newborn baby.