Breadfruit (16 page)

Materena glances at the three big ovens standing side by side, and the three gas bottles. There’s enough gas in this kitchen
… Materena tries to push the thought out of her mind, but she can’t. “Do you make sure to turn off the gas every night?”
she asks.

“
Non,
” replies Moeata. “But Mama does.”

Ah, Materena is relieved. “So, what’s the price for a wedding cake?” she asks.

“How long is a piece of string?” Moeata shrugs.

“Eh what?”

“I can’t give you a price if I don’t know how big the cake is going to be,” explains Moeata.

“Well, how about we say the cake is going to be big, like this.” Materena draws a square with her hands. “But it’d be good
if there’s a decoration on it, just so it doesn’t look like a normal cake. Perhaps you could write the names of the married
couple on it?”

“
Oui,
I could do that. I’ve got other kinds of decorations too. Red roses are very popular at the moment. Red being the color of
love, and people do marry for love—most of them, anyway.”

“
Ah oui,
that’d be nice. Okay, put red roses on the cake, then.”

“The friend of your boss, she wants roses on her wedding cake?”

“I’m just going to give her the price,” Materena says. “But she trusts me. I’ve told her all about your chocolate cake, the
best chocolate cake on the island.”

“How would you know, Cousin? I never see you here buying my cakes. The only one you’ve tried is the one I gave you a while
ago in exchange for the lost scissors.”

Materena scratches her head. “I was going to, many times, but then I didn’t have the money.”

“You know well I would have given you credit. You’re family.” Moeata looks like she’s sulking.

“True, but you know me. I don’t like to owe people money,” Materena says slyly. End of discussion.

Moeata gives Materena the price, and it’s twenty-five thousand francs. Materena nods, but inside she’s yelling,
Twenty-five thousand francs!
And she’s thinking this marriage is going to cost her godmother a lot of money. The problem with Moeata’s cakes is that they
keep going up in price. Moeata really wants that new car.

But you have to be prepared to pay the price if you want people to enjoy the wedding cake, and Materena has no doubt they
will if it’s one of Moeata’s cakes.

“You think it’s expensive?” asks Moeata.

And before Materena has the chance to say anything, Moeata says, “People will spend thousands of francs on music—but who cares
about music?”

“Ah, it’s nice when people dance. They go home happy.”

The chocolate is melted and Moeata moves the family-size cooking pot onto the table. “Who is supposed to be happy at a wedding,
eh?” she says. “The guests? Or the married couple?”

“Well, if the —”

Moeata interrupts. “A wedding cake isn’t
just
a cake. It’s the most important part of the wedding, because it symbolizes the beginning of the husband and the wife’s journey.
When they cut the cake, they both hold the knife.”

“
Oui.
” Materena knows this, but she doesn’t understand how cutting the cake is symbolic of a journey.

“They both have a hand on the knife,” Moeata explains. “It’s not just the wife’s hand.” Moeata opens the palm of her right
hand and looks at it. “It’s not just the husband’s hand.” Moeata opens the palm of her left hand and looks at it. “It’s both
their hands.” She clinches her hands together in a gesture of prayer. “Together. Together in sickness and in health. Together
for better or for worse.”

Materena thinks that Moeata must have been to a few prayer meetings lately. But it makes sense, what she’s saying.

M
ama Teta is a professional wedding-car driver. She started her business just weeks after she got her driver’s license. Initially,
Mama Teta had wanted to be a taxi driver, but when she thought about it seriously, she realized that too many people prefer
to catch the truck, because it’s cheap and there’s always a truck available. Anyway, driving newly married couples has turned
out to be a much more lucrative business.

Mama Teta’s business is doing okay. Materena can’t honestly say Mama Teta is the best wedding-car driver in Tahiti, because,
well, Mama Teta’s driving is a little erratic. However, she is definitely the nicest wedding-car driver in Tahiti. And now
Mama Teta is very happy about her niece Materena coming to her house to bring her new business.

“Okay now.” Mama Teta claps her hands together. “As you told me on the telephone yesterday, the friend of your boss is getting
married?”

“
Oui,
that’s right. She’s getting married this year and she’s just after a price.”

“Where is she from?” asks Mama Teta.

“Tahiti.” Materena gives Mama Teta a blank look.

“
Non,
not what country, girl! Where does she live? And where is she getting married? I need to know the distance I’m going to drive.”

Materena nods, thinking that Mama Teta is like a taxi driver after all. “Well, I don’t really know where the friend of my
boss lives, but she’s getting married at the St. Joseph Church, and I think that she doesn’t live too far from the church.
But she’d be interested in a tour of Papeete and everything.”

“Of course,” Mama Teta says. “You’ve got to have the tour, especially if you live so close to the church.”

“
Ah oui.
It’s a question of letting people know that you’ve just got married.”

“People like to see a bridal car,” Mama Teta says. “They always stop to look.” Mama Teta smiles. “There’s something magic
about a woman in a wedding dress, on her way to the church in a bridal car. She’s like a princess.”

Materena smiles. “Brides are so beautiful, eh?”

“
Ah oui,
” Mama Teta agrees. “A woman about to get married is radiant, but it’s nerve-racking, though, and I’ve had some real stressed-out
women in my car. That’s why the wedding-car driver has to be more than just a professional driver.” Mama Teta smirks. “Honestly,
girl—and you better make sure that the friend of your boss understands—the most important thing on a wedding day is to arrive
at the church calm and relaxed.”

And in one piece, Materena thinks. She nods.

“One of my brides,” Mama Teta continues, “she was so nervous that she started to shake.” Mama Teta demonstrates. “I thought
she was having a convulsion, and then she started to cry, and her father said, ‘You wanted this marriage, so stop crying.’
I looked in the rearview mirror—usually I don’t do this, but I had to check the situation—and, my bride’s father, he was just
looking at the view outside, as if he was on a tour bus!” Mama Teta shakes her head and sighs. “Hopeless, that man was. And
so I decided to take action. I started to sing ‘Kumbaya, My Lord,’ and, my bride, she relaxed like that.” Mama Teta snaps
her fingers. “When we got to the church, my bride, she was smiling a great big smile.”

“Ah, it’s good,” Materena says.

“So many people think that driving a bride to the church is just about driving, but it isn’t, let me tell you. You have to
be a bit of a psychologist.”

Materena nods knowingly.

“And, plus,” Mama Teta goes on, “I offer extras. I’m the only one who offers extras on the island. The other wedding-car drivers,
they just drive from A to B.”

“Extras?” Materena wouldn’t mind finding out what the extras are. “What, for example?”

“Well, I sing,” Mama Teta replies.

Materena nods.

“But my best extra,” Mama Teta continues, “is that I give a little gift to my bride.”

“
Ah oui?
That’s very nice of you, Mama Teta.”

“Ah, it’s only a little something, girl. It’s not of great value, but it takes me hours to get that gift. My gift is like
a good-luck thing.”

“Ah, I’m sure the friend of my boss would appreciate your gift. And what is it? Can you tell me?”

“Well, I can tell you because you’re not the one getting married, but don’t tell the friend of your boss, because if the bride
knows about the gift, then the good-luck thing might not work.”

“Don’t tell me!” Materena says, then hurries to add, “It might slip out of my mouth. Just tell me the price and include a
tour around Papeete.”

Mama Teta gives Materena a slightly suspecting look, but then she says the price. Approximate, she says. It will depend a
little on whether the boss’s friend is from Faa’a or somewhere else.

Materena now has all the necessary information, and she’s quite happy about Mama Teta driving her to the church, even if Mama
Teta’s driving is a bit wobbly when there’s a gendarme on the horizon. Materena still laughs out loud when she remembers the
story of Mama Teta and the gendarme.

One day, just a little while after Mama Teta got her driver’s license, a gendarme started following her, and she wasn’t doing
anything wrong. She was just taking her son and her grandkids for a little drive and driving way below the speed limit. Sure,
Mama Teta was driving a rusty old car, and, yes, a car that made funny rattles and clunking sounds, but she had passed her
driving test first go. In fact, Gilbert, the driving instructor, had told Mama Teta many times that he had never seen anyone
drive with such confidence as her. Mama Teta, she doesn’t hesitate before passing or putting her foot on the brake. She’s
a quick thinker, which is very important when you drive in Tahiti, because in Tahiti there are lots of unconfident drivers
and there are lots of drivers driving without a driver’s license.

Ah, true, Mama Teta is a confident driver, but back then that gendarme following her was sending her into a panic attack and
making her forget all that she had learned during the two weeks of driving lessons with Gilbert. Here she was, welded to the
steering wheel, hands shaking, legs shaking, unable to concentrate 100 percent, unable to think—panicking.

Johno said to his mama, “You’re driving like someone who can’t see the bloody road, Ma.” Then, checking the speedometer: “This
is a sixty-five-mile-an-hour zone and you’re going twenty-five.”

“It’s that gendarme following me. He’s making me nervous.” Mama Teta was so nervous her hands were sweaty and she had to wipe
them on her pareu.

Johno turned around and there was indeed a gendarme following them.

“You want me to drive?” he asked, hoping his mother would say yes, as he was a bit
fiu
of this twenty-five-mile-per-hour drive.

“I don’t want nobody else to drive! I’ve got my driver’s license, and why did your old mama have to get her driver’s license
at bloody fifty-six years old, eh? Because my kids never come and visit me!”

It was the eternal argument. Mama Teta’s children didn’t come to see her often enough, she wanted them to visit her every
day, but the children were always so busy. So Mama Teta had got her driver’s license and now she visited her children without
warning them of her arrival. Like this afternoon, when she came to take Johno’s kids for a drive in the old Citroën. She didn’t
invite Johno along, he just jumped in. His woman, she didn’t like the kids driving with Mama Teta, full stop, especially not
by themselves.

All Johno wanted now was for the car ride to end. At his house. It was twenty past five, Josianne would have dinner ready
and she was going to be mad if Johno and the kids didn’t turn up soon. Like, in five minutes. The kids were restless, tired
of the little drive, which was taking such a long time. Because their grandmother Mama Teta was too scared to stop in case
the gendarme stopped his car too to ask her questions.

“Ma… why are you scared of the gendarmes?” Johno was serious.

“Who said I’m scared! I’m not scared.” Mama Teta’s voice lowered into a whisper. “Why are you talking nonsense to me?”

“You can talk normal, Ma. It’s not against the law. You can even sing!”

“Sometimes you make me so mad, Johno! Who’s going to pay the fine if we get arrested? I just want to be careful. Why don’t
you just shut it!”

Johno smelled panic in the air. “Ma?”

“What?”

“Stop the car—I’m driving.”

“What are you saying?”

“I said, stop the car now. I’m driving.”

“It’s my car, I’m driving.” Mama Teta gripped the steering wheel tighter.

It wasn’t really Mama Teta’s car. It belonged to her niece Lily, who had gone to France with her latest boyfriend. There was
a possibility Lily wouldn’t come back soon, depending on whether she got sick of the new man in her life. If she didn’t, Mama
Teta would buy the car for a reasonable price.

Actually, Mama Teta knew Lily was more likely to come back home within two weeks, because Lily is easily bored when it comes
to boyfriends. She loves partying too much to settle down. Mama Teta already had her eye on a new white Fiat—but no need to
tell Johno all that.

“Ma, stop the car! I want to ask the gendarme why he’s following us. There has to be a reason,” said Johno.

Mama Teta shrieked, “You leave that gendarme alone! No way I’m stopping my car now. No way.”

Johno sighed. No way? Well, we’re going to see about that.

Then suddenly Mama Teta accelerated. She had a mean look on her face—she meant business.

“What are you doing, Ma?”

“Going faster. Now shut it. I’ve got to get away from that gendarme.”

Johno sighed again. Did his mama actually think that Lily’s rusty, clunking Citroën would lose the gendarme’s brand-new car?
Yes, she did. Mama Teta was even pressing her chest on the steering wheel—to make the car go a bit faster, no doubt. Faster.
Faster. Then came the inevitable siren.

Mama Teta jumped, the kids clapped, Johno was relieved. “You have to stop, Ma,” he said.

“I’m not stopping for anybody. I didn’t do anything wrong.”

The Citroën kept speeding away, faster and faster.

“Are you serious, Ma?”

Mama Teta didn’t answer.

“Ma!” Ah, now Johno was quite annoyed with his mama.

Mama Teta started mumbling, “There’s too many gendarmes here… watching us… waiting for us to do something wrong
so they can lock us away in prison… I see them… with guns in their pocket… to scare us little people. They
think they’re better than us, in their uniforms. They don’t watch the rich people, because the rich people give them money
… but, us little people, we have to be good, good all the time. That gendarme, he can tell I’m a nobody… I’m a little
person he can push around for a joke… he can scare people with his gun… I’m not stopping, you hear? I’m not stopping
for anybody.”