She thanks Moana for his wonderful effort with the menu. He’s been in the kitchen since seven o’clock this morning with his helper, Vahine, mixing ingredients in his bowl, stuffing chickens, stirring soups, chopping onions, tomatoes, and capsicum, marinating fish. “
Merci, chéri,
” she says, hugging him tight. “I’m sure your restaurant is going to become a reality.”
Moana hugs his mother tighter and thanks her for believing in him.
She thanks Ati for coming to her birthday party even though he had a very important political meeting to attend tonight, and he says, “Don’t forget to tell me about your idea.” “
Maururu,
Ati,” Materena says, squeezing his hand.
She thanks Leilani for all the decorations in the house and tells her that she’s sure she’s going to know what she wants to do in her life very soon.
Leilani hugs her mother and whispers in her ear, “I’ll have a talk with you later.”
“Okay,” Materena whispers back.
Materena thanks Vahine for having been so kind as to spend the whole day helping Moana in the kitchen, and tells her that one day she will meet the man who truly deserves her. Vahine squeezes Materena tight and says, “I think I’ve already found him.”
On and on Materena thanks her guests and tells them what they’d like to hear.
Now, time to open the presents.
A book, a statue, some sheets, a quilt, a juicer, a bottle of blessed water from Lourdes . . . “I’m so spoiled!” Materena exclaims each time.
Now, let the party begin!
By two o’clock in the morning, everyone has gone home or fallen asleep. Hotu was the first to leave and Vahine was the first to fall asleep, in her ex-boyfriend’s bed, next to Moana’s bed.
The only people left are Materena and her daughter, who are both slouched at the kitchen table.
“
Ouf,
” Materena sighs. “That was a good party.”
Leilani confirms this.
“So, how’s Dr. Bernard?” Materena asks. “He’s still your hero?”
“Oh
oui!
” Leilani exclaims. “I love that man.”
“What did he do this time?”
The last time Materena asked this question, she found out that Dr. Bernard spent twenty minutes teaching X (Leilani never reveals the identity of Dr. Bernard’s patients; X is for women patients and Y for men) about the many contraception methods that her boyfriend wouldn’t find out about. Apparently, the boyfriend didn’t want X to take the pill. He was firmly against it. X lived in permanent fear that her boyfriend would discover her packet of contraceptive pills. Dr. Bernard said to X, “You’re the one who will be carrying his child.
You
decide when.” X ended up choosing the
sterilet.
Materena also found out that Dr. Bernard cried tears of anger when he received the results from the laboratory for Y, a diagnosis of leukemia. But then he was on the phone making one phone call after another to colleagues, and Leilani heard him say, angrily, “Don’t you dare tell me nothing can be done! Until proven otherwise, there’s hope!”
He spoke softly to little Y, about to receive an immunization shot. “This is going to hurt a little bit, but you need this shot, my boy, to protect yourself from all those nasty germs. Do you understand me? Shall we go for it, then? At the count of three?”
He congratulated X for her strong arms. “These arms have done a lot of good deeds! I’ve never seen such strong arms on a woman!” X was so proud of her strong arms, she walked out of the surgery grinning from ear to ear, not angry anymore at Dr. Bernard for that strict diet he imposed on her to lower her cholesterol level.
He professed, “Let’s never assume in medicine. Everything must make sense and be proven.” So what did Dr. Bernard do and say this time?
Materena is still waiting for Leilani to tell her.
But Leilani asks, “Mamie, do you sometimes wonder what your purpose in life is?”
Oh, la-la,
Materena thinks. I’m too tired for an intellectual discussion. Nevertheless, she begins by saying that people don’t have just one purpose in life and that purposes can be as simple as helping a child cross the road. Making someone sad smile. Listening to someone’s story. According to Materena, a person’s purpose in life should be about making a difference, and the opportunity to do so comes to us every single day.
There, Materena hopes this answers Leilani’s question.
Well, Leilani is nodding in agreement. It must mean she agrees with her mother’s belief. “You know, Mamie,” she says, “one of Dr. Bernard’s patients told me that when we don’t fulfill our purpose in life, we make ourselves heavy in the coffin on the way to the cemetery because we’re so angry with ourselves.” She goes on about these people, who turn into angry spirits and roam the world of the living, moaning, “I thought I had more time.”
Materena shrugs and tells her daughter that you don’t have to be dead to moan, “I thought I had more time.” Even the alive moan this every now and then. People who are late for appointments moan, “I thought I had more time.”
“I don’t want to be heavy in the coffin,” Leilani says.
“Oh, Leilani! Don’t talk about death on my birthday!” Materena chuckles to lighten up the atmosphere a bit. Nobody wants to talk about death on their birthday. Birthdays are celebrations.
“Mamie . . .” Leilani’s voice trails off.
Materena waits.
“Imagine you’re young.”
“Eh ho”—Materena smiles—“what do you mean? I
am
young.”
Leilani smiles along. “You’re right, you are still young, you’ve got a whole life ahead of you.”
“A whole life—I’m not sure about that. But I know I’m not old yet.”
“It’s true,” admits Leilani. She goes on about how one hundred years ago being forty years old was considered very old, but these days, with all the progress in medicine, being forty years old is nothing.
“I’m sure glad about that!” says Materena, and adds that now that she’s thinking about it, there are less mamas around these days because women don’t feel old anymore at forty. Not like they used to.
“Mamie, you don’t even look forty.”
“Really?”
“
Oui . . .
you look closer to thirty-eight, actually.”
“
Merci, chérie.
” Materena kisses her daughter’s hand. “
Ah hia hia,
I can’t believe I already had a child at your age with another one on the way.” Shaking her head with nostalgia, Materena confesses how she felt so old at twenty years old. So much older than she feels today at twice the age.
“That’s because you had a baby then and you were pregnant. Now that all your children have grown up, you are free to do whatever you want, Mamie.”
“Whatever I want,” Materena murmurs. “That would be nice . . .”
“Mamie, the sky is the limit for you . . . Do you remember how I used to draw you three times taller than anyone else in my drawings?”
“Oh
oui.
” Materena laughs.
“You’re still three times taller than anyone else for me, but you know, Mamie . . .” Leilani’s voice trails off again.
“What?” Materena asks.
Cringing, Leilani confesses that there was a time when she was a bit embarrassed about her mother being a cleaner, but that was a long time ago, when she was an adolescent.
“Ah,” Materena says, smiling, “back in those days when you hated me.”
“I’ve never hated you, Mamie, I was just a bit
conne,
that’s all, and I’m so thankful you’re still here today so I can tell you how much I admire you, and love you, and how sorry I am for all the grief I’ve given you before.”
Materena looks her daughter in the eyes. “Don’t cry on your birthday!” Leilani says, and pinches her on the arm. “Today is a new day for you! You are forty years old, you are free!”
“Girl, what is this?” Materena smiles through her tears. “Are you on a mission or something?”
“
Non,
I just want to see you fulfilled, that’s all.”
“But I’m —”
But the telephone starts ringing before she can finish, and Materena is up in a flash, thinking: It better be that son of mine calling to wish me a happy birthday.
“If it’s Hotu, tell him I’m asleep,” Leilani says.
Nodding, Materena picks up the phone. “
Allo.
”
She hears the
click
noise, meaning the call is from overseas.
“Ah,” she says out loud, “it’s my son finally remembering to call his mamie. I thought it was impossible.”
“Impossible is not French, Mamie.” Tamatoa’s voice is getting deeper and deeper every time he calls. He can’t talk for long, he says, but he promises to call again soon. He just wanted to wish his mother a happy birthday—to say “and may all your wishes come true.”
Walking back to the kitchen, Materena chuckles. “May all your wishes come true . . .” What wishes?
As she has done for the past twenty years, Madame Colette has bought Materena a birthday present.
“Oh, Colette,” Materena says, taking the small parcel wrapped in silver paper, “you didn’t have to.” In private, Materena calls her boss by her name, but for Materena’s children and relatives, that woman is Madame Colette.
The two women embrace each other, with Materena making sure not to mess Colette’s impeccable and complicated chignon.
“Open your present!” Colette says, all excited.
Materena eagerly opens her birthday present, even if she already knows what it is.
“Colette!” And yes, it’s another box of chocolates.
Materena thanks her boss profusely. Colette invites her to sit at the table while she makes some coffee.
That has been the ritual for the past twenty years—but only on Materena’s birthday.
On the other days of the year Materena jumps into her chores straightaway, ticking Colette’s list as she goes. On the other days of the year, Colette has already left for her office by the time Materena arrives. The only day they meet is Friday afternoon, to recapitulate.
But on Materena’s birthday, Materena has coffee and chocolate and a ten-minute chat with her friend.
“So,” Colette is saying, pouring fresh coffee into the cups, “how does it feel to be forty years old?” Colette will be forty years old in five months, so she’s very interested.
“Oh, I feel the same, Colette,” Materena replies.
“Really?” Colette sits at the table with the cups. Taking a quick sip she adds, “No midlife crisis?”
“Midlife crisis? Colette, what are you talking about?”
Colette explains. A midlife crisis is like feeling lost. Midlife crises are like wanting more.
“Ah.” Materena nods in agreement. “That . . . well . . .”
Colette is waiting, but the words are stuck in Materena’s throat. How do you tell your boss you don’t want to clean her house anymore? You want to do something else with your life. Here, Materena is going to take a sip of her coffee. This should give her more time to think.
Materena drinks her whole coffee and she still can’t tell Colette what she’s rehearsed since three o’clock this morning, straight after Leilani left. Words were flying out of Materena’s mouth then, in the comfort of her kitchen. Materena had it all figured out. She was going to say, “Colette, here’s the situation. After twenty years as a professional cleaner, I feel —”
Colette interrupts Materena’s train of thought. “Materena . . . we’ve known each other for twenty years . . . you shouldn’t have to weigh your words when speaking to me.”
“Okay then, Colette, here’s the situation. After twenty years as a professional cleaner, I feel like a change.”
“A change?” Colette asks, sounding worried. “What do you mean?” Before Materena has the chance to explain what she means, Colette, speaking with her I’m-so-stressed voice, is telling Materena that she can’t abandon her, not now, not with that mountain of work she has at the office. Not now, with the children still living at home. Not now, with Colette so close to being promoted to company director. Not now, with the networking dinners her husband throws three times a week in their house.
Not now.
“I need you, Materena,” Colette says as she puts a hand on Materena’s hand. “I’ll be lost without you.”
Aue,
this conversation is so hard for Materena. She loves Colette, but sometimes you’ve got to love yourself more. “Colette,” Materena says, “I’ve been cleaning houses for more than twenty years, and I
choose
to do something else with my life now.”
T
he word in the neighborhood is that everybody who can help Materena is to meet at Loana’s house at six thirty tonight. And people are to put their political beliefs aside, because this is not a political meeting, just a family-helping-family meeting. But please arrive before six thirty so that Rita can go through a few things with everyone.
By six o’clock, Loana’s house is crowded with relatives, and so is her veranda and garden. Luckily Rita had the good sense to ask her husband to borrow a microphone from one of his musician colleagues.
Anyway, here’s Rita standing on a chair, microphone in hand, addressing the audience, beginning with words of gratitude, because today is a big day for her favorite cousin.
So here’s the plan, Rita goes on. As soon as Materena starts on air at her new job on Radio Tefana, relatives are to take turns calling the radio on Auntie Loana’s telephone to speak to Materena. But don’t give out your last name. It’s important that the director of the radio doesn’t know that the reason his radio is being inundated with calls is because Materena has a lot of relatives who like her. Just give out your first name, but you’re free to invent a last name if you want. No problems.
“Everybody is following me?” Rita shouts into the microphone.
“
Oui!
” Everybody is so excited. It’s like a spy game. “What name are you going to give?” they ask one another.
“People! Are you listening?”
“
Oui!
”
So Rita continues with the plan’s objective, which is, of course, to help Materena get her idea approved by the director of the radio, who unfortunately is not a relative, otherwise nobody would be needed today. But at least he granted Materena one night’s trial (with Ati’s good word) to see how people all over Tahiti will respond to her program about women sharing inspiring stories with other women on the island. Inspiring, interesting stories worth listening to, stories that will make women listen and call Radio Tefana.