Breadfruit (6 page)

“I pray I’m going to die old,” Loana says. “Not so old that I can’t go to the toilet by myself and one of you kids has to
feed me pureed food with the spoon.
Non,
not so old that you kids can’t wait for me to die because I’m such a nuisance.”

“Mamie! We’re never going to think, ‘Hurry up, you, and die.’”

“Don’t take me to the Capa.”

“
Ah non,
we’re not going to take you to the Capa.”

“When you go to the Capa—it’s the end of you. After the Capa, it’s the cemetery. At the Capa, you just sit and wait for your
family to remember to come visit you. You sit and you think and you get sad. That’s what happens when you think too much—you
get all sad. It’s best to have something to do, to occupy the hands. I’ve wiped your bottoms a thousand times—don’t you lot
take me to the Capa. I swear, if I die in that place, I’m not going to be happy. I want to die in my house. In my garden with
my plants would be better, but I can’t demand too much of God. But I don’t want to die at the Capa.”

Tears well in Materena’s eyes. Why is her mother talking about death? Is she sick and not telling? “Mamie, you’re not dying?”

Loana laughs. “But
non!
” She straightens up her legs. “The old legs are a bit stiff when I get up in the morning, but apart from that I’m in good
health. What is this question you’re asking me?”

“We were talking about the sand, then we were talking about my brother, and now you’re talking about death.”

Loana shrugs. “We’re at the cemetery, so why not talk about death?”

“Ah.” Yes, Materena understands. You don’t talk about death at the beach, you don’t talk about death in the kitchen. You talk
about death at the cemetery. It makes sense.

“It’s not like we’re never going to die,” Loana says. “It’s good to talk about your death. Like, when I die, I want to be
buried the next day. Don’t put me into the freezer, I don’t want to be in the freezer. It’s horrible to be in the freezer.”

“What if Tinirau is still living in France when you die? Then you’ll have to go in the freezer.”

“
Ah non,
don’t you lot put me in the freezer. Bury me, don’t wait.”

It is very difficult for Materena to talk about her mother’s funeral, but this story about the freezer must be resolved. “You
don’t want all your kids to be at your funeral?” she asks.

“I don’t want to be in the freezer—full stop. When I die, give me a wake and then bury me. And don’t cry over my dead body.
Leave my soul free to leave this world. Don’t you lot disturb my soul with your loud crying. Cry over me when I’m alive, not
when I’m dead.”

Loana holds her daughter’s hand. “Eh, girl, it’s sad, death. But it’s not the end. We get reunited. There’s that place. And
you’re going to be buried here too, girl—next to your mamie and your grandmother.”

Materena looks at the sky but says nothing.

“Eh, girl? You’re going to be buried next to me?”

Materena hesitates. “Okay.”

“What, you don’t want to be buried next to me?”

“Yes, yes, it’s fine.”

Yes, it’s fine for Materena to be buried next to her mother and grandmother, but what about Pito?

At the Day of the Dead celebration, Materena prays at the cemetery of Faa’a and Pito prays at the cemetery of Punaauia, where
his family is buried. And the kids take turns: one year in Faa’a—one year in Punaauia. It’ll be much easier for the kids if
Pito and Materena are in the same cemetery—and the same grave, if possible.

So Materena asks Loana if it’s all right with her if Pito gets buried here.

There’s a silence, and Materena immediately regrets the question. Pito is not part of the family, she realizes. He’s only
part of her life. Materena wonders if her mother would be more willing to have Pito buried here if he were her husband.

“You don’t think Pito wants to be buried with his family in Punaauia?” Loana asks.

Materena confesses that they have never talked about their funeral arrangements.

“People should talk about their funeral arrangements,” Loana explains. “There’s an old woman, she died without a burial arrangement.
Well, there was a lot of arguing at her wake between the children she had from her first man and the children she had from
her second man. Words flew above the dead body, with one clan believing their mother belonged there and one clan believing
their mother belonged somewhere else. The poor woman, she had to go in the freezer and it was a whole month before her body
was finally laid to rest.”

“Where did the woman get buried in the end?”

“Next to her first man.”

In Loana’s opinion, the old woman had wanted to be buried next to her mother, but she had never thought of mentioning this
to her kids.

“It’s nice to be buried next to your mother. Everybody wants to be buried next to their mother,” Loana says.

“And if Pito wants me to be buried next to him in Punaauia?”

Loana snaps her answer, and she’s not holding her daughter’s hand anymore. “Do what you want, it’s your dead body.”

Materena feels like the tomato between the lettuce and the cucumber. She always feels like the tomato between the lettuce
and the cucumber when there’s Loana and Pito in the story.

“Eh, Mamie. Don’t be angry with me.” Materena is pleading.

“I’m not angry. If you want to be buried next to Pito, go get buried next to Pito. I’m not going to say you can’t be buried
next to him.”

“Pito comes here, then. I’m going to tell him.”

Loana takes a deep breath. “All right. But you two better sort out your funeral arrangements. Eh, Pito might have other plans.”

Materena and Pito are in bed that night and Materena knows Pito is not sleeping. When he’s sleeping, he snores, and at the
moment he’s not snoring.

“Pito, you’re sleeping?”

There’s no answer from Pito.

Maybe he’s sleeping and not snoring. Materena closes her eyes, but she really wants to talk about their funeral arrangements,
and right this moment is a good time to talk about that kind of subject. The kids can’t come interrupt the conversation.

“Pito?”

There’s no answer from Pito.

“Pito, I know you’re not sleeping, because when you’re sleeping, you snore. Pito?”

Pito reluctantly opens his eyes. “Okay, what?”

“Ah, you’re awake. I knew you weren’t sleeping. When I die . . .” Materena pauses. It’s difficult for her to talk about her
death in the bedroom and in the dark, but she must. She continues. “I don’t know where I’m supposed to be buried.”

“I’m going to bury you in Faa’a,” Pito says.

“You don’t want me to be buried in Punaauia?” Materena can’t believe how well Pito is accepting the subject of conversation.

“Your family is not in Punaauia,” Pito says. “Why am I going to bury you there? Loana, she’s going to be buried in Faa’a,
non?
”

“
Oui,
next to her mama.”

“Well, you can be buried next to them two.”

Materena has to ask the next question, but she hesitates. Pito always says that they should move to his part of the island
(if he had land they would have moved there from the day they became a couple), that he sees Loana a bit too much, that there
are just too many of Materena’s relatives here. Pito’s relatives from both his parents’ sides are from Punaauia, about fifteen
minutes away by truck. Pito is not going to accept being buried in Faa’a, and Materena doesn’t want to be separated.

“What if you die before me, what am I supposed to do with you?” Then, speaking quickly, Materena adds, “It’s fine with Mamie
for you to be buried in Faa’a. She said to me, ‘Ah, it’s okay if Pito is buried next to us, no problem.’” Materena is now
caressing Pito’s hand.

Yes, but Pito doesn’t want to be buried next to Loana, so he tells Materena. In fact, Pito doesn’t want to be buried, full
stop. He doesn’t want to be put into a hole and to be eaten up by the worms. He doesn’t want to be buried.

Materena is shocked. What is this story? What is she going to do with him if she can’t bury him?

“Don’t bury you?” she asks, as if she didn’t hear properly.

“Don’t bury me,” Pito repeats. “Cremate me and throw my ashes into the sea.”

Cremate? Materena has never heard of anyone getting cremated in her family. And it’s the same situation in Pito’s family.
Everyone gets buried. It’s the tradition. There’s the wake and then there’s the burial and then the name is written, the date
of the birth, the date of the death, the little message of love, on the white cross. Cremate? What is this nonsense?

“How are the kids and I going to pray on you if you’re not in the grave? I can’t cremate you, Pito.
Think
a bit!”

“Materena, I tell you, don’t you bury me. If you bury me I’m not going to be happy. You cremate me and then you put a bit
of my ashes in a box for you and the kids.”

Materena is sad now. In her opinion, when you get cremated it’s like you’ve never existed. Whereas with the grave, your kids
can come visit you, and your grandkids, their kids, and on and on. There’s proof that you were born and died.

She visits her great-great-grandmother sometimes. She sits on her grave and says
iaorana.

Well, you can talk to the ashes, but it’s not the same as talking on the grave, all the while weeding and clearing up the
sand.

Maybe it is, Materena doesn’t know. She’s never talked to ashes before. And, the box, it can be dropped, broken, lost. And
who is going to keep the box of Pito’s ashes after she dies? There are three kids.

She’s not going to cremate Pito—
ah non.
She’s going to bury him, and she’s going to bury him in Faa’a. That’s her final decision. She best write the funeral arrangements
and put them in her special box for the kids to act upon.

And now that the matter is resolved, Materena is going to sleep.

“Materena,” Pito says.

She doesn’t answer.

“Swear to me that you’re going to cremate me.”

She’s not hearing anything—she’s asleep. But Pito is not having that comedy. He gets out of bed and switches the light on,
and Materena covers her face with the pillow.

Pito snatches the pillow away. “You’re going to swear to me that when I die, you’re going to cremate me like I said. I never
thought about all of this, eh? You got me thinking. And I’m telling you again. I don’t want to be buried, okay?”

Pito looks so serious about his cremation. Materena nods slowly. “Okay, Pito. I’m going to cremate you—don’t you worry.”

I
t is Mama Roti’s birthday tomorrow, three days before Pito’s birthday, and she wants a present.

She’s been hinting about it for the past week—in fact, the past month.

“Twenty-nine days until the day I was born.”

“Twenty days until the day I was born.”

“Five days until the day I was born.”

She has to get a present on her birthday, otherwise she won’t speak to you for days. She’ll sulk. Mama Roti likes it when
her kids remember the day she was born. She often says, “All those years I wiped your bottom—you better give me a present
on my birthday.”

She’s not fussy about the present as long as there’s something for her to unwrap and there’s a card with
Happy birthday, Mama
written on it. She’s got boxes full of birthday cards.

Usually, Materena chooses the present and she wraps it in nice colorful birthday paper. But this year, for no particular reason,
Pito wants to be involved. He wants to do more than write
Happy birthday, Mama, from your son Pito, Materena, and the kids.
So Pito and Materena are going to Euromarché to buy Mama Roti her present. And Materena has a few ideas.

She suggests a hand-printed pareu for Mama Roti to wear on special occasions. But Pito doesn’t approve, because, according
to him, his mama has got enough pareus—hundreds, as a matter of fact.

“Ah, you counted?”

“There’s pareus all over the house,” Pito says.

And apparently Mama Roti sometimes even uses a pareu for mopping. So Materena proposes a coupon for a manicure, with a couple
of nail polish bottles.

Pito gives Materena a funny look. “Mama? A manicure?”

“Or a brooch, a brooch is nice. Not a big one, a small one, like a bird or a flower.”

Pito grimaces, and Materena realizes that the search for Mama Roti’s present isn’t going to be an easy task with Pito involved.

It is never an easy task, searching for Mama Roti’s present. Mama Roti may say that she doesn’t care about the present as
long as there’s something for her to unwrap, but, deep down, Mama Roti does care about her present—Materena knows this.

Materena always starts looking for Mama Roti’s present a few weeks before her birthday, which is why she has so many ideas
today. But since Pito wants to be in charge of Mama Roti’s present this year . . .

“What do you want to give to your mama?” Materena asks Pito.

Pito wants to give his mama something useful, something practical. He doesn’t know what that useful-and-practical something
is yet, but he trusts his instinct. His instinct will tell him: This is for Mama.

Pito heads to the cleaning department, and Materena follows him. She’s dragging her feet because, in her opinion, you don’t
get someone a present from the cleaning department, especially when that someone is a woman.

And especially when that someone is Mama Roti!

Mama Roti hates cleaning. Her house is always a mess, and Mama Roti likes to say, “
Ah hia,
if only I had a magic wand to clean the house for me.”

Last year, Materena got Mama Roti a coupon to the hairdresser for the value of five thousand francs. Mama Roti got herself
a perm, she was very happy. She thanked her son over and over, knowing full well that the coupon to the hairdresser wasn’t
Pito’s idea.

Last year, Materena was really pleased that Pito had remembered the day she was born. Pito gave her a box wrapped in newspaper
and said, “Here.”

Materena delicately tore the newspaper and slowly opened the box (it was a plain box—no relation to the gift). Then she saw
the frying pan and said, smiling, “Ah, a frying pan.”