Breadfruit (25 page)

The whole village was on its best behavior when the priest was in the village. But as soon as the priest went away to attend
to the needs of other atolls, fights and arguments would break out here and there in the village. Mostly about women and coconuts.
And ten-year-old Loana would help her mother wash the priest’s robe—a great honor.

Between her twenties and her thirties, Loana forgot God as she drifted from man to man in her search for Love. But her cousin
Imelda slowly drew her back to God. And since, Loana’s life has been much easier.

She often says, “I thank my faith.”

Nowadays Loana goes on weekend retreats with the nuns. She reads at the Mass too sometimes, when her sister asks her to. Materena
usually helps her mother with the reading. She listens to Loana practice over and over again, she even records the reading
so that Loana can relax, knowing her reading is perfect—that she’s got the right tone of voice and she’s not speaking too
fast or too slow. And Materena goes to Mass to listen to her mother read a paragraph out of the Bible to the congregation,
to show her support. Once, in the earlier days of her reading at the Mass, Loana got sick with nerves and went to hide behind
the church. And so Materena read for her mother, and Celia got angry with Loana.

She shrieked, “That is the last time I’m giving you the opportunity to read at the Mass!”

But Celia forgot her anger with Loana because she needed her younger sister to do something for her.

Like make that quilt.

Materena is still thinking about God as she walks home.

Someone toots the horn and Materena waves absently—it must be a relative.

Materena used to test the existence of God. If that woman there looks in my direction, God exists. If that baby there starts
to cry, God exists.

One day, she asked her mother if God really existed. Loana didn’t say yes, she didn’t say no.

She just said, “One day, girl, you’re going to be thankful there’s a God for you to believe in.”

And it is true, Materena is thankful there’s a God for her to believe in. But she prays to the Virgin Mary, Understanding
Woman, more than she prays to God.

In fact, Materena only prays to the Virgin Mary, Understanding Woman. Her most frequent prayer is about not outliving any
of her children, because children, unlike men, are irreplaceable.

Children, unlike men, show you that they love you.

W
ith a quick cranky look at Pito, lying still on the sofa like a coconut tree, Materena, a coconut in her hand (for the coconut
milk), greets her mother at the door.

“
Iaorana,
Mamie!” Materena sings, kissing her mother on the cheeks.

“
Iaorana,
girl,” says Loana, then glances toward the sofa. “Eh,
iaorana,
Pito.”

“
Iaorana.
”

Loana looks at her daughter and raises her eyes, meaning, does he ever do anything? Materena shrugs, meaning,
non,
you know your son-in-law, he likes the horizontal position.

Allez,
let’s go to the kitchen, but first Loana has to kiss her grandchildren, especially her youngest one, Moana, who hasn’t learned
to answer back yet. The sweet eight-year-old follows his mother and grandmother to the kitchen.

And now he’s looking at the coconut, which Materena is about to crack open with a machete. Loana, who has been invited for
lunch, takes the coconut from Materena and holds it out in the palm of her hand.

“Look at that coconut, Moana.”

Moana stares at the coconut.

“What can you see?” Loana asks.

“I can see dots.”

“How many dots can you see?”

“Three.” And, pointing to each dot, Moana adds, “One here, one here, one here.”

Loana smiles. “And do you know what these dots represent?”

Moana shakes his head.

“These two dots here—side by side—represent the eel’s eyes,” Loana says.

Moana looks closer at the dots, then he lifts his eyes to his grandmother. “Eel’s eyes?”

“
Ah oui,
Moana. And this dot here all by itself represents the eel’s mouth. Do you know about the legend of the coconut?”

No, Moana doesn’t know about the legend of the coconut.

Loana says she is going to rectify the situation, as, in her opinion, everybody should know about the legend of the coconut.
It is such a great legend.

“A long time ago,” Loana begins, “long before the airplanes were invented and long before the television was invented, there
was a princess called Hina.

“When Hina turned sixteen years old, her father told her that she was to marry the prince of Lake Vahiria. Hina looked forward
to meeting that prince, but when they were finally introduced, she saw that, as well as being ugly, the prince of Lake Vahiria
was an eel. She was horrified and swore to herself that she was never going to marry that repulsive eel.

“But the eel lost his heart to the beautiful princess within a second. He would not take no for an answer, so Princess Hina
decided to have him killed. She appealed to God Maui for help. God Maui captured the eel, cut him into three slices, and wrapped
the head of the eel in tapa cloth. He gave it to Princess Hina with strict instructions to immediately bury it in the familial
marae.

“But Princess Hina forgot all about Maui’s instructions and went for a swim in the river on her way home. Not long after,
the earth began to tremble and a tree sprouted—a strange-looking tree resembling an eel. On her way home, a voice cried out,
‘One day, Princess Hina, you’re going to look into my eyes, you’re going to kiss my mouth. You’re going to love me.’

“Princess Hina, she just laughed.

“Years passed and a terrible drought hit the islands of Tahiti. People everywhere were dying from thirst. Hina went back to
that strange-looking tree. One of her servants picked up one of its round fruits and peeled it. Princess Hina saw the three
dots and remembered the eel’s words. The servant pierced a hole in the dot, and Princess Hina pressed her lips on the eel’s
mouth and drank the sweet water. There and then she realized how much the eel had loved her, and loved her still.”

Moana wants to hold the coconut, and Loana puts it in his hand.

“This is the legend of the coconut,” she says. “Tell it to your kids.”

Moana feels sad for the eel. He caresses the coconut. “Just because the eel was ugly. Poor eel, eh.”

Loana goes on about how beauty, the real beauty that lasts forever, comes from within. The eel was, perhaps, ugly, but his
heart was beautiful and pure. His love for Princess Hina was true.

“Poor eel.” Moana is now kissing the coconut. “Poor prince.”

Pito, still lying on the sofa like a coconut tree, calls out, “Hina didn’t want the eel because he was an eel—full stop!”
In Pito’s opinion, the prince of Lake Vahiria would have been better off mixing with his own kind. There were, for sure, lots
of keen and pretty eels swimming about in the river, waiting for the prince’s signal. The eel was stupid, wanting a human
for his woman.

Moana doesn’t feel sorry for the eel anymore. He gives the coconut back to his grandmother. “Stupid eel.”

And now Moana is going to play outside and Loana is going back to her house. She’s lost her appetite. She rises to her feet
and grabs her bag.

“Ah, come on, Mamie,” Materena pleads. “Don’t pay attention to what Pito says.”

Giving her mother her best
I beg you
look, Materena continues. “I went to the market at five o’clock this morning to make sure your
ature
was fresh.”

Loana sits down again.

“Can I get you a glass of wine, Mamie?” Materena asks.

“No, it’s too early. Later.”

Materena is really annoyed with Pito. The trouble with Pito is that he can’t understand legends, so he has to ruin them.

Last time she visited, Loana told the legend of the breadfruit to Leilani. The legend is about a man who transforms himself
into a breadfruit tree in the middle of the night so that his woman and children have something to eat. That legend was another
story of love, as Loana likes legends about love, just as she likes movies about love and songs about love. Just like Materena.

Pito had to add his grain of salt then too. “What is this transforming yourself into a tree?” he called out from the sofa.
“What use can you be to your woman and children if you’re a tree? Isn’t it better for a man to go hunt some wild pigs or fish
to feed his family!”

Of course Loana got cranky and went home, but today she must stay, because the
ma’a
Tahiti is in her honor.

Materena gets the coconut and she’s about to crack it open, but first she feels she should talk to Moana. Explain the legend
to him a bit better.

“Moana, darling!” she calls out.

Moana immediately responds, “
Oui,
I’m coming, Mamie.”

Materena gets him to hold the coconut and sit. “Now,” she begins, “you know your friend Albino.”

“Yes,” says Moana, “but his name is Vetea.” Vetea is Moana’s best friend from school. Moana talks about him a lot, how his
friend Vetea always gets teased at school for being an albino, and Moana got a bruised nose once for defending him. “Why are
you talking about my friend Vetea?” Moana asks.

“Imagine, a little,” Materena goes on. “Your friend Albino, I mean, Vetea, falls in love with a girl, but she doesn’t want
him because he’s an albino. How are you going to feel?”

“Eh, I’m going to be cranky at that girl!” Moana exclaims.

“And would you tell Vetea that he should just look for a girl who is an albino, just because he’s an albino?”

“No,” replies Moana softly.

“And why not?”

Moana hesitates. “Because God made us equal?”

Loana is seriously nodding now, she’s very pleased with her grandson’s answer.

And so Materena’s explanation is over. “All right.” She kisses Moana on the forehead. “You can go and play outside. Give me
the coconut.”

Moana kisses the coconut and gives it to his mother.

And Materena expertly cracks it open with the machete.

Lunch is over, and all the food that was on the table got eaten: the raw fish, the baked breadfruit, the taro, the sweet potatoes;
and now everybody is feeling like a little lie-down, but Loana wants to help Materena clear up the table before she goes home.

“Don’t worry about it, Mamie,” Materena says. “You just go home and have a rest.”

“Thanks for the lunch, girl.” Loana kisses her daughter on the forehead.

“Eh, what’s one lunch compared to all the food you put in my stomach over the years?” Materena replies.

After a few more kisses, Loana leaves and Leilani decides to go with her grandmother to keep her company. The boys go outside
for a game of marbles, and Materena retreats to her bedroom. She’s a bit upset and couldn’t care less about the mess in the
kitchen.

She’s in bed now. She pulls the quilt over her head as if to escape. The lunch was good and everybody chatted away, but Materena
did not say one single word to Pito. She didn’t even look at him. It was like he wasn’t sitting on the other side of the table.

And here is Pito now, coming into the bedroom.

“Go on your sofa.” These are Materena’s first words to Pito in the last two hours.

Pito hops into bed, and now he’s trying to get under the quilt.

“You’ve got to be joking,” Materena says.

“Ah, come on, darling,” Pito says.

“Why do you always have to ruin Mamie’s legends?” Materena’s tone of voice is definitely not friendly.

“What!” Pito exclaims. “Is this why you’re cranky at me?” He tries to pull the quilt away, but Materena grips it firmly.

“The trouble with you,” Materena says, “is that you don’t understand anything when it’s about love, you only understand things
when they’re about a whole lot of nothing!”

Pito whistles. Materena jumps out of bed and marches to the kitchen, and you can hear the banging of pots and pans miles away.

L
ater, when Pito goes into the kitchen to get his Akim comic, he finds Materena looking very serious while she’s washing the
dishes.

“You’re still cranky with me?” Pito cackles.

No answer from Materena.

By nighttime Materena, defrosting the fridge, is still not talking to Pito. But now he starts to whistle, and Materena knows
very well it’s best to whistle only during the day.

When you whistle at night you’re calling the
tupapa’u
—wandering spirit—to come pay you a visit. Materena knows a story about a woman who liked to whistle at night while she supervised
the cooking on the fire. One night, a
tupapa’u
with beef legs came to pay her a visit. The woman jumped with fright and landed straight in the cooking pot. She became mad
after that experience. She never whistled again, not even during the day.

Materena never whistles at night. Her kids never whistle at night. But Pito, yes.

He’s whistling louder and Materena can’t bear it any longer. It’s not like she’s afraid of
tupapa’u,
but she doesn’t want a strange apparition.

“Pito—stop whistling.” There. Materena has just broken her silence.

Pito keeps on whistling. He’s in the mood to whistle and nobody is going to make him stop. He will whistle till he’s sick
of it.

According to Materena, there are good
tupapa’u
and there are bad
tupapa’u.
When the air circling you is hot—it’s a good one. When the air is cold and there’s a foul smell—it’s a bad one. Watch out.

Bad
tupapa’u
are usually dead people who don’t want to be dead, and they’re angry with everyone who’s alive.

The good
tupapa’u,
they just wander around until they’re ready to go where they are supposed to go. They come into your house and do tricks
on you, little tricks like moving something around, and they watch you looking for that something, they listen to you say:
“I thought I put the washing powder on the kitchen table. Where is it now?”—and they laugh. For them it’s a joke.