Now, when a woman and a man move in together, when they share the roof, the bed, and the kitchen table, it means they’re getting serious. Only time can tell how long these two will last—how long their respective families will be using the term
in-law
when referring to the lovebirds since they’re now an official couple, as good as being married—but it doesn’t mean the family can’t guess, the family can’t bet. “Who’s saying six months? Four months? Two months?”
Sometimes the family is right and sometimes the family is wrong. People they thought would pack up their bags and go back to the mama after three months of cohabitation sometimes stay together for two years. Others who the family thought were so perfect for each other have packed their bags and gone back to the mama after two weeks.
You can never tell with these things.
The word in Materena’s neighborhood is that Hotu will pack his bags in three weeks because his girlfriend can’t cook or iron, she can’t do many things that make a man happy. Her mother deliberately never taught her these things.
But when you are the daughter of a professional cleaner, you’re ahead of everyone else in the cleaning department. And when you’ve seen your mother cook over a thousand meals, cooking isn’t witchcraft. And when you’re a man who’s lived five years away from home, you’re ahead of all the men who’ve never left a home run by a woman (first the mother, then the woman).
Okay, Leilani and Hotu’s house is not as clean and tidy as it should be and the meals aren’t as delectable as they could be, but when passion is new, who cares about such things?
Ah true, according to Leilani and Hotu’s neighbor, it’s the big love between Leilani and Hotu. Apparently, when the neighbor sees the young couple chase each other in the garden and they fall on the grass and embrace, when she sees the young lovebirds sleep on the roof for a bit of romance under the stars and the moon . . .
eh hia,
she gets nostalgic. She remembers the days when she was young, when her man was hooked on her real bad. When she sees Leilani running up that hill with her boyfriend following on his motorbike and driving very slowly, taking a good look, whistling one whistle of admiration after another, the neighbor wishes she weren’t fifty-two years old.
But don’t think everything is always rosy out there on top of the hill, though, there have been some arguments, and big ones too. Ah yes, the neighbor confirmed to Materena that objects have occasionally been flying out of the house through the door. Here, one morning, so the neighbor dutifully repeats to Materena, Hotu and Leilani had a fight outside, right next to the motorbike. It was about his mother having a key to their house, or something like that. The neighbor was at her sink doing the dishes.
And another time, it was in the afternoon, so the neighbor also dutifully repeats to Materena, Hotu and Leilani were outside on the mat reading. One minute they were hugging and next minute they were yelling at each other, but the neighbor didn’t understand what they were yelling about. There were too many complicated words, but the neighbor was sure they were arguing about the death penalty.
And another time, it was about six o’clock at night, Leilani and Hotu were on the veranda yelling at each other, but the neighbor, unfortunately, had to race to the Chinese store to get some cooking oil, so she never found out why.
Well, all that yelling is reassuring Materena. When a woman yells, it means she’s not lying low taking shit. And Materena is relieved her daughter is the one paying the rent. When a woman pays, she has rights.
Still, Materena feels so lonely these days with Leilani no longer living at home. She spends her nights cleaning, going through the photo albums, listening to the radio, and getting cranky at that talk-back DJ who, really, has zero listening skills. He sure loves the sound of his own voice, that one.
T
apeta’s grandchild is definitely a boy. The sex of Rose’s baby wasn’t revealed using the needle test because Rose doesn’t believe that a needle hanging over a woman’s navel can predict what the sex of the baby is.
“Come on,” Rose said to her mother, “what’s this? Witchcraft? If the needle swings left to right, the baby is a boy, if the needle moves in a circle, the baby is a girl?”
Non,
Rose wasn’t interested in doing the needle test, but she’s 100 percent sure that her baby is a boy. She saw him in her dream. She saw her son.
In the dream, Rose was paddling a surfboard, paddling through a rough current, it was very dangerous, and she turned to tell her son, “Faster, my son!” The boy was about six years old, and he replied, “I’m doing what I can, Mamie!”
What a strange dream, Tapeta thought when her daughter told her about it. Rose has never paddled a surfboard in her life.
Anyway, that dream when Rose was paddling a surfboard with her son was, as far as Rose is concerned, a sign that the baby inside her is a boy. She doesn’t want to do the needle test to confirm this, she already knows she’s going to have a boy. She knows because of the dream, and she knows because she just knows.
And Rose’s son is going to be called Duke because his father, who called yesterday from Australia, wants his son to be named after Duke Kahanamoku.
That’s why Tapeta is going to town today to buy a book about that man Duke Kahanamoku. And it just happens that Materena and Leilani are also going to the bookshop in Papeete. The three meet by the side of the road to wait for the truck, and that is how Materena and Leilani get to hear about the story of Rose’s baby being a boy and his name being Duke.
“Duke?” Materena asks. “Who’s that man? He’s a singer?”
“
Aue non!
” Tapeta says. “He was a surfer.”
“Was? He’s dead, this Duke?”
“
Oui,
he’s dead.”
“Ah, that’s sad.”
“Oh, he died an old man, he didn’t die young.”
“Ah, that’s good.”
“He was a Hawaiian.”
“
Ah oui?
”
“
Oui,
and . . .” Tapeta waves distantly to a relative walking on the other side of the road, and passes Materena all the information she got from Rose about that Duke Kahanamoku. He was a Hawaiian. He was a Hawaiian surfer. But he was not just any kind of surfer. He was a legendary surfer. He was the best. Well, that’s all the information, and it’s not much.
“Ah, here’s a truck.” The three women hop in and there’s no need to squeeze too much today. The truck is empty apart from a couple at the far end talking to each other in English. American tourists. They’re all red from the sun. They turn to the three Tahitian women and smile. The women return their smile.
“I thought Rose was going to call the baby Manutahi,” Leilani says. “That’s what she told me last week. Manutahi for a boy and Taina for a daughter.”
“Well, now it’s Duke,” Tapeta says, a little annoyed. She would have much preferred that name Manutahi. He’s an ancestor and we know who that man was. We know that he was the chief of Faa’a, he was the greatest orator of all, but he was Protestant. And he also signed the French Protectorate, and this before the king Pomare. He gave Tahiti to the French. But, as far as Tapeta is concerned, that name Manutahi is better than that name Duke. At least it’s a Tahitian name. At least we know that Manutahi wasn’t a horrible man.
Aue . . .
and what is this stealing names from the Hawaiian people?
“My name is Hawaiian, Auntie,” Leilani says, cackling.
Auntie Tapeta has no comment, and just then, the truck stops unexpectedly, sending the passengers to their left, and in hops Mori.
“Eh, Cousins!” he shouts. “Eh, Niece!” Mori makes himself comfortable in between his two cousins. The American tourists aren’t talking anymore and Materena guesses that they’re just like all the people who don’t know Mori. They’re intimidated by the way he looks. They’re taking him for a dangerous criminal on the run.
“And where are you three off to?” Mori asks, used to having people who don’t know him go silent as soon as he appears.
“To town,” Materena says. “And you?”
“To town too.” Mori explains that his car is getting a tune-up and that’s why he’s catching the truck today. “And why are you going to town?”
Materena lets Tapeta answer Mori’s question. Her reason for going to town is more interesting than Materena’s.
Tapeta tells Mori about the situation with Duke.
“Ah, I see,” Mori says. He goes on about how he fully understands Tapeta’s concerns because names aren’t just names. They’re very important. It’s like that man he knew, his name was Adolph, but everybody called him Hitler and one day that man confided in Mori. He said that he was going to be cranky at his mama for the rest of his life for giving him that name Adolph.
“His mama didn’t know about that name?” Materena asks, shocked.
“Well, it seems not,” Mori says. “Mamas, sometimes . . . nothing in the head.”
“
Aue!
” Tapeta laments about how none of this would have happened if Rose had married a local. She goes on, blaming herself for Rose falling in love with a foreigner. Rose has always had boys chasing her, and Tapeta always had something to say.
“Henri who? Henri Whistler? The son of Robert Whistler? Have you seen that sumo? He walks ten steps, he can’t breathe. Ah, that Henri may be slim now, but in a couple of years he’s going to be a sumo. All the Whistlers are big, they eat a lot in that family.”
“Richard who? Richard Matete? They’re from Huahine, the Matetes,
non? Ouh,
they’re violent, these people. Go check the prison, it’s full of Matetes. There’s a lot of Mahis in prison, you say? You mean six, and excuse me, but we only steal hi-fi systems and cars in my family. We don’t kill people.”
“Robert Tehototo? He’s a cousin, girl! You better take that boy out of your mind! Do you want deformed children? Stop looking at boys, Rose! You’ve got fire up your arse or what?”
Aue,
Tapeta laments . . . She blames herself for Rose marrying an Australian but she doesn’t blame herself for Rose getting married instead of finishing school. Rose got married in Australia while visiting her boyfriend, who had been kicked out of Tahiti for having an expired visa. Rose and her boyfriend drove from one registry office to the next until a civil-marriage celebrant in Bowral said, “Come back tomorrow with sixty bucks.” The other marriage celebrants said, “We can’t do that. It’s illegal.” Then they asked the Australian, “Mate, is she marrying you to stay in our country?” And the Australian barked, “We’re in love!”
“
Aue,
” Tapeta says, brushing her niece’s fingers, “don’t you leave school for a boyfriend.” Tapeta explains how it’s okay to leave school to look after your sick mother, but it’s stupid to leave school for a husband.
“Don’t you leave school,” Tapeta repeats.
“I won’t, Auntie.”
“And what are you going to do when you finish?” Tapeta asks. “I hope you’re going to go to university. Your mamie will be very proud. So? What’s your plan? Why don’t you become a schoolteacher? They earn a lot of money.”
“Auntie!” Leilani exclaims. “I’m not just interested in the money, you know!” Leilani stresses that her plan is to get a job she’s passionate about even if it pays little money. As long as it helps her make a difference in this world. But she doesn’t know what that job is yet, she’s still searching. Until then, she plans to take on any job to cover the rent and bits and pieces.
Auntie Tapeta slowly nods. “Well,” she sighs, “as long as you have your baccalaureate you’re going to be fine. It’s one big key in your pocket already.”
“That’s what I’ve told her,” Materena says.
“I’m so cranky with Rose . . .” Tapeta’s voice trails off.
She’s about to add something else when the truck stops unexpectedly, sending the passengers to their left, and in hop four young men with surfboards. They’re brown and they’ve got long Rasta hair and they look tough, and they look like Tahitians but they could be something else. They could be Maoris. It’s very hard to know sometimes.
The American tourists stop talking.
“Eh,” Materena discreetly says to her cousin Mori, “your cousins.”
Mori looks at his cousins and nods.
They nod back and start talking to one another in English.
Materena glances at those Maori surfers. She sees the muscular arms, she sees a few scars, and she sees that name Duke tattooed on one of the surfers’ ankles. She sees that name again on another of the young surfers, but this time it is tattooed on the palm of his left hand. And here it is again on a leg. And here it is on a jaw. And Materena guesses that for these young men, Duke is a hero, Duke is a loved one. Or perhaps Duke is a relative.
“Eh,” Tapeta whispers to Leilani as she brushes her dress, “you saw the name? You know what name I’m talking about.”
“
Oui,
I saw,” Leilani says. “I like the boy on the left . . . he’s so cute.”
“Ask him about the name,” Tapeta says.
“Auntie,” Leilani says between her teeth.
“Come on, ask! Do it for your auntie.”
After a bit more persuasion from her auntie, mother, and uncle, Leilani has to embark on an interrogation. Her first question to the surfer sitting on the left is, “Is that name Duke tattooed on your jaw Duke Kahanamoku?”
It is, and the surfer looks very pleased that Leilani knew Duke’s last name. He smiles and would probably have done more if it wasn’t for big, scary Uncle Mori.
Well anyway, for the record these surfers aren’t Maoris, they are Hawaiians. Also for the record, Duke Kahanamoku was the greatest Hawaiian surfer of all time. He survived the legendary monster swells in Waikiki called Bluebirds. On location for a film, he also saved ten people from drowning at a beach and was presented with a gold medal for his bravery.
He was himself a Man of Gold. He had a heart big like this.
The four Hawaiians demonstrate.
He was and still is an inspiration for all of us Hawaiians.
Tapeta’s mind is now at peace, so she tells her relatives, but she still feels sorry for her grandson. It’s for sure he’s going to be teased at school nonstop in Tahiti with that noble name.