Frangipani (7 page)

“
Non,
I’m fine.”

“You’re sure,
chérie
?” Materena kisses the top of Leilani’s head.

“I’m just having a rest. I’ll come and help you again in a minute, okay?”

“
Non,
just relax.”

“
Non,
I want to help you,” Leilani insists.

“All right, then . . . But don’t worry if you can’t help me, you help me enough as it is.” And with this Materena escapes to her bathroom and locks the door. Ah, what peace. Materena can sure do with a few minutes of silence.

A few minutes later: “Mamie?” It’s Leilani calling again.

“
Oui.
” Materena chuckles, thinking, Already?

“There’s someone at the door.”

“Who is it?” Materena steps out of the bathroom, scrubbing brush in hand.

“It’s a woman with a briefcase.”

“
Eh hia.
” Materena is annoyed. That woman at the door is here to sell her something, like perfumes, or to talk about religion, and Materena is in the mood for neither. “Tell that woman I’m not here.”

“Mamie, just go and say good afternoon to her, I feel so sorry for her.” Leilani explains how she’s been watching from behind the curtains the woman door-knocking in the neighborhood. Two relatives closed their door on her, one relative opened the door and waved the woman away, and one relative walked out without a word and went on to water her plants.

“What are you doing spying on the relatives?” cackles Materena. “It’s to give you ideas for your memoirs?”

“I was just looking,” protests Leilani. “Mamie, the woman is waiting for you.”

“She asked to speak to me?”

“
Non,
she said, ‘Is your mother home?’”

“And what did you say?”

“I said,
oui,
my mother is home, she’s scrubbing the bathroom.”

“Couldn’t you say I was asleep?” Materena puts her scrubbing brush down and rearranges her chignon and her pareu. “People should know we’re Catholics around here and that we’ve got no money,” Materena says, walking to the door. “You only have to look at the houses.”

“Good afternoon,” Materena greets the Frenchwoman, who can’t be more than twenty years old and who looks a bit like a gypsy with her floral dress, sandals, and loose hair.

“Oh, good afternoon, madame,” the young woman says with a rather strange yet beautiful accent.

“Are you from France, girl?” Materena asks.

“
Oui,
from Marseilles.” The young woman smiles.

“Ah, Marseilles.” Materena nods knowingly.

“Have you been to Marseilles?” The young woman asks Materena eagerly.

“Girl, I’ve never been out of Tahiti in my whole life.” Materena laughs.

“Where’s Marseilles?” asks Leilani.

“It is in the south of France . . . I could show you on a map if you like.”

Before Materena has the chance to tell the young woman not to worry about it and to go on with her mission, Leilani gives her consent. Yes, she’d like to see where Marseilles is on the map of France. In a flash an encyclopedia comes out of the woman’s briefcase as she explains that she always has an encyclopedia with her to show people what the encyclopedia set looks like. And it’s just by chance that she has volume 7, F-H, with her.

“You sell encyclopedias?” Materena asks.

In one breath the young woman confirms that she is selling encyclopedias, and there’s a promotion (a 20 percent reduction). She goes on about how much she loves encyclopedias, she’s had an encyclopedia set since she was eight years old, she’s on holiday in Tahiti (one of the most beautiful countries in the world), she arrived two days ago.

Ouf,
that’s a lot to spill in one go, Materena thinks. But how nice to say that Tahiti is one of the most beautiful countries in the world. “Come inside the house,” Materena says. “Let’s sit at the kitchen table.” The young woman doesn’t need to be asked twice. With one giant step she’s in the house before Materena can ask her (politely) to take her shoes off. It isn’t a Tahitian custom to take your shoes off before walking into a house, but it’s nice when you do, that way you don’t bring dirt into the house. Well anyway, it’s too late for Materena to tell that woman about shoes and everything. But for Leilani it isn’t. “You can’t come in the house with your shoes on,” she says, her eyes widening in stupefaction. “You’re going to put dirt on Mamie’s carpet.”

The young woman, her face red with embarrassment, hurries back outside. She takes her shoes off and neatly places them next to the row of thongs by the door. “I’m very sorry,” she says. “I’ve just arrived, you see. I’m not aware of this country’s customs as yet.” Walking in, she adds, “Oh, it’s so lovely here.”

“It’s comfortable, girl.” Materena smiles, relieved her house is very clean today. Materena’s house is always clean, but today it really shines. Everything has been dusted, there are no cobwebs on the ceiling and there is no fluff on the carpet.

“Oh,” the woman exclaims, stopping right in front of the potted plant placed in the middle of the living room. “Is this a real plant?” she asks, stroking the leaves. Before Materena can say, “Of course it’s a real plant!” the woman inquires if it is a Tahitian custom to place a potted plant in the middle of the living room.

“Well,” Materena replies, “
oui
and
non.
In Tahiti, we believe that a potted plant —”

“It’s to hide the missing carpet square.” Here, Leilani has informed the visitor. And right before her mother’s horrified eyes, she lifts the pot so that the visitor can see for herself, and explains that everybody does this in Tahiti. They use potted plants to hide missing carpet squares, holes in walls, anything.

“I see.” The woman nods. “It’s a very intelligent way of doing things.” She walks to the wall to admire a quilt pinned to the wall. “
Magnifique!
Whoever made that quilt is talented. This quilt is truly a piece of art.” She goes on about the intensity of the bright flowers, the intricate patterns, the balance of it all, the use of geometry.

“My mother made that quilt when I got married,” Materena says, caressing it tenderly.

“Mamie is going to be wrapped in that quilt in her coffin,” Leilani adds.

Materena gives her daughter a quick, cranky look. You don’t tell strangers stories that only concern the family! The woman looks to Materena. “Is this a custom in Tahiti?”

“An old custom, girl. Not many people are wrapped in quilts when they’re dead these days, but I want to be wrapped in a quilt my mother made just for me because, you know, once you’re linked with your mother through the umbilical cord you’re linked for the eternity.”

“These are such beautiful words, madame . . . I’m so honored to meet you.”

Materena cackles, thinking this girl has got to be the best seller she’s ever met in her life. She is now looking at the framed photographs below the quilt, and Materena doesn’t mind. If photographs are on the wall it means it’s fine for people to look at them, you don’t need permission. You only need permission to look through a photo album.

“This is my beautiful oldest son, Tamatoa, at his confirmation,” Materena tells the interested visitor. “He’s playing soccer at the moment with his father and uncle. And this is my youngest son, Moana, at his confirmation. He’s also playing soccer with his father and uncle at the moment. This is my mother when she was young, this is me when I was young, and this is my husband when he was young. This is my husband and me when we got married six months ago . . . with our beautiful children.”

“Is it the custom to marry late in Tahiti?”

“Oh,
oui
and
non,
” replies Materena. “In Tahiti we believe that it’s unwise to marry before —”

“Men don’t like to get married in Tahiti. They always give women excuses and they’re lazy.”

Again, Materena gives her big-mouth daughter a discreet look to be quiet.

“And is that you?” the woman asks Leilani, pointing to a framed newspaper clip.

“
Oui,
that’s my girl.” Materena sighs with pride. “It was after a running competition. She came in fiftieth, but there were thousands of competitors.”

“One hundred and twenty, Mamie.”

“And this is a school award Leilani got when she was ten years old,” Materena says, ignoring Leilani’s last comment. “For a story she wrote.”

“Do you like to write?” asks the woman, smiling at Leilani.

“Oh
oui,
she loves to write!” Materena exclaims. “She’s always writing, that one, she writes, she reads, she’s very intelligent, all my children are intelligent, and to think that I’m just a professional cleaner.”

“Oh, you’re a cleaner!”

“A professional cleaner,” Materena corrects. Because there
is
a difference.

“I admire professional cleaners!” the woman exclaims. “My mother is a professional cleaner, I believe professional cleaners ought to be decorated!” Materena looks at the young woman with little eyes. What’s this? she thinks. It’s to make me buy an encyclopedia set?

“I admire professional cleaners too,” says Leilani. “It’s so hard to clean. Last time I helped Mamie clean Madame Colette’s house, I was so tired. I had to sleep in the truck on the way home.”

“You didn’t help me,” Materena hurries to add. She just doesn’t want the encyclopedia woman to start thinking things. “When you told me you wanted to be a cleaner, I had to show you how hard cleaning is.” Materena explains to the Frenchwoman that it is definitely not her plan for her daughter to become a cleaner. In fact, she’s always pushed her daughter to see beyond cleaning and to get a job that has nothing to do with a broom and a scrubbing brush.

“You are a clever woman,” the encyclopedia woman says. “May I show you the encyclopedia?”

“Sure. What’s your name, by the way, girl?”

“Chantal.”

“Ah, what a beautiful name you have, Chantal. Okay then, Chantal, you and Leilani make yourself comfortable at the table, I’m going to make us a lemonade.”

“And what is your name, madame?” Chantal asks with a genuine smile.

“Materena.”

“You have a beautiful name too, and,” turning to Leilani, Chantal adds, “your name is lovely as well.”

Leilani informs the visitor that she was called after a Hawaiian ancestor, but not Leilani Lexter, whose husband (Tinirau Mahi) soon regretted having married her because she liked partying too much. “I was called after Leilani Bodie,” Leilani says. “She was very serious. She was a medicine woman.”

“Oh . . . well, you might become a medicine woman too,” says Chantal.

“I don’t think so. I don’t like sick people.”

“We never know!” Chantal exclaims as she sits at the kitchen table.

“May I ask you a few questions?” Materena, cutting the lemons for the lemonade, hears Leilani ask. Chantal invites Leilani to ask her as many questions as she wants. She’s in no hurry at all. Materena cackles. Chantal, you have no idea what you’ve just gotten yourself into.

“Why doesn’t it snow in Tahiti?” Chantal repeats Leilani’s question. “That is a very intelligent question, and the answer is that Tahiti is too close to the equator.” She asks for some papers and a pen, which Leilani hurries to get, and next minute, Leilani is getting a free geography lesson.

Now Leilani would like to know, What is the medical term for the neck?

Easy, the Frenchwoman quickly draws a human body, and next minute, Leilani is getting a free biology lesson.

And who started the French Revolution?

Easy . . .

And do fish sleep?

Of course—Chantal smiles—but because fish don’t have eyelids they can’t close their eyes. But fish do sleep.

On and on and on Chantal shares her knowledge with a delighted Leilani, the knowledge she insists she got after years of reading encyclopedias and other books of interest.

The main salt in the sea is the same as the salt people put on their food. Its chemical name is sodium chloride.

Plants make much of their food from water, carbon dioxide, and sunlight. This process, called photosynthesis, produces oxygen.

When we’re sick our body temperature goes up above normal, which is 98.6 degrees. This rise in temperature is called a fever and is triggered by the germs that cause the illness. They release chemicals that act on the part of the brain whose job it is to control temperature. This in turn produces other chemicals that make us feel cold.

The human body has more than six hundred muscles, which together make up more than 40 percent of the body’s weight.

Sixty percent of the body consists of water.

Hiccups are caused when our diaphragm (the wall of muscle between the abdomen and the chest) goes into spasm.

Fingernails grow four times as fast as toenails.

By the time Materena is signing her name at the bottom of the form binding her to thirty-six repayments for the encyclopedias, Chantal looks very drained.

She earned her commission, that’s for sure.

Bedsheets, Onions, Coconut Milk, and Women

M
aterena’s deal with the children is: Read the encyclopedias and you won’t have to lift a finger around the house. But Leilani is the only one who has taken up Materena’s offer. You won’t see Leilani with a scrubbing brush these days. She’s too busy reading her encyclopedias, which she has personally covered so that they won’t get dirty. Leilani also washes her hands before opening a page of her precious books, and you won’t catch her reading and eating at the same time.

Materena is certainly pleased with her daughter’s fondness for the encyclopedias, but she really wishes her sons were fond of them too. So far, ever since the encyclopedias made their theatrical entrance into the house two weeks ago (in front of the entire curious neighborhood), Tamatoa has opened one single page to see what the word
sex
had to say. He was so disappointed he shoved the book back in the bookcase. He had expected to see explicit drawings. As for Moana, he makes an effort now and then to read the encyclopedias, but Materena knows it is only to make her happy. Moana sits on the sofa with an encyclopedia opened, but his eyes are on the wall.

Presently the boys are doing push-ups outside, right in front of their father and Uncle Ati, who are sitting comfortably in a chair with a beer in hand, counting from one to ten. When Pito and Ati get to the number ten, the boys have a quick rest, long enough for Papi and Uncle to take a couple of sips.