“Mamie, it’s fine if you can’t tell me if I was an accident or not.”
“You were not an accident,” Materena says firmly.
“Was I a planned baby?” Leilani sounds like she doesn’t believe this.
“You’re here today,
non
? Doesn’t this mean anything to you?”
“Oh.” Leilani shrugs. “It’s just that I always thought I was an accident.” She now wants to keep talking about secrets—the ones she won’t be taking to her grave.
“Don’t tell me you have secrets to take to the grave,” says Materena.
“Mamie, every woman in the world has secrets to take to the grave.” Leilani says this with her very serious woman voice.
And now Materena is worried. Leilani is far too young to have secrets for the grave entrusted to her. Secrets for the grave usually come when you’re much older, when you’ve earned the trust of people, when you’ve proved that simple secrets are safe with you, when you can live with the responsibility that comes with keeping secrets for the grave.
Because it is a huge responsibility, a heavy weight on the conscience. You’ve got to know how to switch off so that the secrets for the grave don’t haunt you.
At fourteen years old Materena had no secrets for the grave to her name. She had to wait until she was twenty-nine to start collecting secrets for the grave, and she would have gladly waited twenty more years.
“How many secrets for the grave have you got so far?” Materena, even more worried, asks Leilani.
“Oh, about four.”
“And who are they about?”
“I can’t tell you.”
“Are they about me?”
“I can’t tell you.”
“That means they’re about me.” Materena would give everything to be able to read Leilani’s mind. “Are they about me?” But once again, Leilani refuses to divulge anything.
“Come on, girl,” Materena pleads, smiling. “You know me. I’m very good at keeping secrets. I’ve got about two hundred and fifty secrets in my head . . . Come on, just tell me one.”
“Who told everybody that I got my period?”
“Eh?” Materena didn’t expect that question. Plus, it’s not true at all that she told everyone. “Everyone?” she asks. “Who do you take me for? The coconut radio? I only told two people.”
“Didn’t I specifically ask you to keep the news of my period secret?”
“I only told two people!” Materena really can’t understand why her daughter is making such a fuss.
“It doesn’t matter if you’ve only told my secret to two people, Mamie.” This time Leilani is cranky. “What is important is that you didn’t respect my secret.”
Materena is about to defend herself, to explain that when your daughter has her period for the first time, you, the mother, are
allowed
to share your joy, your emotions, the news with the family . . . But she doesn’t want to get into an argument with Leilani about this. What Materena wants is for her daughter to reveal one of her secrets for the grave. The one that is about her.
But there’s no way Leilani is spilling the bucket.
What else can you expect from someone who writes things in a diary?
T
hese days, when Materena talks to her daughter she’s got to lift her head because Leilani’s grown by at least two inches since her fifteenth birthday, that girl! It means Leilani’s dresses, although still fine at the top, are far too short and need to be taken down. This is what Materena is planning to do today.
Materena carefully lays out Leilani’s dresses (seven in total: five brown, one yellow, one white) on her bed. Now all Materena needs to begin is the mannequin.
“Leilani! I need you!”
“In a minute,” Leilani calls. “I’m changing a lightbulb in my bedroom!”
“Make sure the light is switched off!”
“
Oui,
I know!”
All right, here’s the mannequin now. With a long, resigned sigh, Leilani slips into one of her too-short dresses. This particular dress, brown with thick straps, a zipper at the back and pockets at the front, is way above Leilani’s knees. Kneeling, and with one expert hand, Materena undoes the stitches at the bottom of the dress, lets the dress fall down below Leilani’s knees, and marks the dress’s new length with a pin.
“Everybody is going to know my dresses have been taken down,” Leilani says.
“And so?” Materena doesn’t see what the problem is. “At least you’ve got something to put on your body.”
“Why do you keep buying brown dresses?”
“Because they’re easy to wash.”
Okay, next dress.
Still sighing, Leilani slips into another dress, this one white with thick straps, a zipper at the back, and pockets at the front. It doesn’t need to be taken down too much. An inch should suffice.
“I look like a nun in this dress,” Leilani points out.
“
Ah non,
not at all,” says Materena. “You’re very pretty in this dress, you look respectable.”
Okay, next dress.
“Why can’t I get a new dress?” Leilani asks, slipping into another brown dress with a zipper at the back but no pockets at the front.
“Leilani . . . you know about our finances.”
Ouh,
Materena is having a bit of trouble undoing these stitches. She’s going to need the scissors. “I’m still paying your encyclopedia off . . . and I’m also paying for that window your big brother broke at school, and plus, your little brother wants an electric mixer. All of this costs money.”
Okay, next dress.
“Vahine got a new dress because she got ten out of twenty on the history test,” Leilani says as she slips into another brown dress with thick straps but with huge yellow buttons at the front. “I got nineteen out of twenty . . .” Leilani’s voice trails off. Materena lifts her eyes to look at her daughter for a second and shakes her head. She knows very well what Leilani is trying to say.
Now, it’s not as if Leilani’s excellent schoolwork is never rewarded. Materena often treats her daughter to an ice cream when they’re in town or she buys the kids a family-size container of ice cream. There’s always a reward. And yes, Materena was very proud when Leilani got nineteen out of twenty on her history test. It’s not everybody who knows that Louis XIV, alias Roi Soleil, was vain. He liked to admire himself in the mirror, and everywhere he went a servant followed him with a pot in case the king of France had to relieve himself. The teacher wrote
Fantastique!
on Leilani’s test sheet.
“Yesterday my math teacher told me I had a brain for mathematics,” continues Leilani.
“I already know you’ve got a brain for mathematics,” Materena says. “Your teacher told me at the last parents’ interview. He said, ‘Your daughter has got a brain for mathematics.’” Materena won’t go into what else the teacher said. The only sentence she understood from that man was, “Your daughter has got a brain for mathematics.”
“Yesterday, my French teacher told me I was very gifted with compositions.”
“I already know this. Your teacher told me.”
“My science teacher told me it’s a pleasure to teach me.”
“This was yesterday too?” Materena asks, suspecting that Leilani is starting to invent. At the last parents and teachers’ interview, Madame Bellard complained to Materena about Leilani being a very challenging student to teach. According to Madame Bellard, Leilani is a typical scientist. She questions and questions and questions until everything makes sense, everything is proven. “I’m not a professor,” Madame Bellard told Materena. “We are not at university here. This is a high school and I’m just a high school teacher.”
So it’s very unlikely for Madame Bellard to have told Leilani that she was such a pleasure to teach.
Okay, next dress.
“You know, the archbishop will be visiting our school next month, and do you know who will be reading him a passage from the Bible?” asks Leilani after a long silence.
Ah, now Leilani is going a bit too far, Materena tells herself. There’s no need to bring the poor archbishop into the story.
“Leilani,” she says, “that’s enough
ha’avare,
don’t you think?”
“I’m telling the truth! The archbishop will be visiting our school!” Leilani goes on about how preparations for his visit are already in place. Walls are getting painted. Flowers are getting planted. Students are rehearsing greeting the archbishop. You kneel and you kiss his ring.
Materena looks up at her daughter with tenderness in her eyes. Her story about the archbishop visiting sounds true and . . .
Aue . . .
Materena can’t believe her daughter has been chosen to read the archbishop a passage from the Bible. What an honor!
“Vahine is so nervous,” Leilani says.
“Oh . . . I don’t see why she needs to be nervous. It’s very easy to kneel and kiss a ring.”
“She’s not nervous about that . . . she’s nervous to read for the archbishop.”
“Ah,” Materena says, a bit disappointed. “I thought it was you who was going to read for the archbishop.”
“Me?” Leilani cackles. “Like . . .” One look from her mother and Leilani changes her tone. “Oh,
oui alors . . .
I wish I were reading for the archbishop . . . But I read in class yesterday . . . my English teacher said . . .”
“Don’t move, I’m making a mistake here,” Materena interrupts.
Okay, next dress.
“You know, Mamie . . . I won’t be able to wear any of these dresses once I have breasts.” This is Leilani’s declaration and Materena bursts out laughing. That Leilani, she thinks. She will stop at nothing to get a new dress. She’s so stubborn.
“Don’t laugh,” Leilani urges her mother. “This is serious.” She explains that when you have breasts, you’ve got to wear dresses that can accommodate them. You can’t wear dresses that are tight at the top.
Materena stops fussing over the stitches to meditate a little. But! It makes sense, what Leilani is saying. Once Leilani is going to start having breasts, she’s not going to fit into any of her dresses. Materena can’t believe she didn’t think about that. She could be wasting her time taking down all these dresses today because Leilani’s breasts are sure to be arriving very soon. They’ve already popped out a tiny bit. It’s only a matter of time before they erupt.
Sitting in the back of Auntie Rita’s car on the way to town the next day, Leilani can’t stop grinning with delight. She’s getting a new dress today and Rita, being an expert with fabric, is going to help her and Materena, who’s not an expert with fabric.
“And what’s the budget?” Leilani asks her mother, who is sitting in the front discussing fabric with Rita.
Materena, looking over her shoulder, replies, “The budget, the budget . . . there’s no budget . . . If I have the money, I’ll buy a nice dress, it’s simple.”
Then Materena goes back to discussing fabric with her cousin.
“And I get to choose the dress, okay?” Leilani says.
Materena glances at her daughter for a second and says nothing.
Back to discussing fabric with her cousin. “So, Rita? When is the sale at your shop?”
“I wouldn’t mind a dress with thin straps,” Leilani says. “I used to have dresses with thin straps when I was little.” Leilani sighs with nostalgia.
Rita glances at her niece in the rear mirror and smiles. “Ah,” she says, “I would give anything to be able to wear a dress with thin straps.” Rita goes on about how much she envies women who can wear dresses with thin straps. Rita can’t wear that kind of dress. Her arms are too fat. But to wear a dress with thin straps once in her life at least would make Rita so happy.
Materena puts a comforting arm on her cousin’s shoulder. “Cousin, your beauty is on the inside and that’s more important than the beauty on the outside.”
“What do you mean to say here?” Rita asks. “That I’m not beautiful on the outside?”
“But
non
!” Materena exclaims in protest. “Rita . . .”
Rita chuckles.
Ouf . . .
luckily Rita is in a good mood today.
Anyway, they’re in town now and after driving around for twenty minutes looking for a free parking spot, Rita scores one at last. Rita can’t stand paying for parking spots. She’d pay thousands of francs for an ornament, but there’s no way she’d pay hundreds of francs for a parking spot. It’s against her nature. That free parking spot puts her in an even better mood. Okay . . . all women out of the car. Let’s go and get that dress.
First stop is a little shop where dresses don’t cost the eyes of the head, dresses that are on sale all year round. Leilani drags her feet walking into the shop, which is crowded with mamas, young girls, and babies in carriages. Pop music is blasting out of wrecked
haut-parleurs.
Ah! And what does Materena see hanging at the back of the shop? A dress that has not only been reduced by 50 percent but that is so beautiful. Feel the fabric! And check out the large pockets! Materena takes the dress off the rack and gives it to her daughter for her to go and try on, all the while praising large pockets. In Materena’s opinion, women can always do with large pockets. You can put all sorts of things in large pockets: money for the truck, pens, sandwiches, bottles of lemonade.
Materena is still holding the dress, waiting for her daughter to grab it.
“So?” she says. “Go and try that dress on, girl. I can’t wait to see you in it. You’re going to look so beautiful.” Then, looking at Rita, she adds. “Eh, Rita? What luck, eh?”
Rita looks at her niece and sees the desperation in her eyes. She smiles with compassion. Yes, she knows how it is when your mother chooses the dress you’re going to wear.
“The pockets aren’t ripped?” Rita asks Materena. She explains that when a dress is on sale it is usually because there’s something wrong with it. Rita always pays full price for her dresses.
Materena checks the pockets. No, they’re not ripped.
“And the zipper?” Rita asks. “It’s not stuck?” Materena checks the zipper.
Non,
it’s not stuck, it works perfectly. Rita feels the fabric and grimaces. “That’s cheap fabric,” she says, shaking her head with regret. “That dress is going to tear in the washing machine like that.” She clicks her fingers.
“Ah, you think?” Materena asks. “And if I wash it by hand?”
Rita feels the fabric again and looks up to the ceiling for a moment, as if deep in thought. “Three washes. After that the fabric is going to tear. But you decide, it’s your money.”