Breadfruit (7 page)

Mama Roti, who was present at the time, caught her disappointed look. She shook her head and mumbled, “What does a man have
to do these days to make his woman happy?” She rolled her eyes and went on and on about how her son’s gift was well chosen—how
a woman could always do with a frying pan. Mama Roti inspected the frying pan, nodding several times. She tapped her fingers
on it and declared, “This is no cheap frying pan, this is a good-quality frying pan. Not too big, not too small, medium-size.”

Materena was disappointed with the frying pan because she had expected to see a new pair of shoes—a few days prior to her
birthday, she’d complained to Pito about her shoes getting a bit worn-out and how they were hurting her feet.

This year was worse because Pito forgot her birthday completely.

In the cleaning department, Pito’s first choice for his mother’s present is those perfumed mushrooms you put around the house
to make it smell good.

“Pito. Are you serious or are you fooling around?” Materena doesn’t know if she should be annoyed or laugh.

Pito is serious, and why wouldn’t he be serious? Perfumed mushrooms are nice.

Materena tells him (speaking in a low voice because of the other customers) that his mother sprays her deodorant around her
house when she wants it to smell nice, and she’s very content with that technique, plus, the smell of the mushrooms is horrible.

“How about this?” Pito says.

Materena tells him that his mother will definitely not appreciate a family-size packet of washing powder.

Pito moves to the gardening department and picks up a rake. Materena reminds him (speaking in a low voice again because of
the other customers) of his mother’s relationship with her leaf pick. She loves her leaf pick, she gets a lot of satisfaction
stabbing the leaves one by one, and very slowly, for hours.

Materena decides to take charge now. She’s seen enough of Pito’s nonsense. She barges toward the perfume department. A whole
hour they spend at the perfume department. They smell fifteen bottles of eau de cologne, and Pito complains about the smell
every single time. Either it is too sweet, too spicy, too strong, or rotten.

“Since when did you become a professional smeller?” Materena isn’t speaking in a low voice anymore.

“Give your own mother eau de cologne,” Pito snaps back. “Mama, she’s not getting eau de cologne.”

Materena comes up with the idea of a jar filled with mints for Mama Roti to munch on when she reads the Bible, watches the
TV, or rests on the mat. She can also use the jar to store something else. But, in Pito’s opinion, his mother much prefers
to munch on Chinese lollies, and, anyway, she’s got jars galore as it is, and another jar she really doesn’t need.

“How about that crystal wineglass?” Materena is losing hope.

“That wineglass is only going to last one day in Mama’s hands. Mama, she breaks everything.”

Fed up, Materena suggests a frying pan—as a joke.

Pito’s eyes light up. “Now you’re talking, woman.”

He did notice that the last time he was at his mother’s house, her frying pan didn’t have a handle. In fact, she burned her
hand with that frying pan—she showed him the scar. Mama Roti had also showed Materena the scar on her hand, but she’d said
it happened when she took the baking dish out of the oven.

Pito grabs a frying pan. It is a 100 percent stainless-steel frying pan, like Materena’s, except that it is smaller. Materena
advises him to get a bigger size.

“Mama only needs a small size. She doesn’t use the frying pan heaps,” Pito says.

Materena insists on the family-size frying pan and Pito wants to know why she’s insisting on a family-size when he told her
his mama doesn’t use the frying pan heaps. But Materena isn’t going to tell Pito that he cannot give his mama a frying pan
that is smaller than Materena’s frying pan, because Mama Roti would sulk and go on and on and on about how she’d suffered
for two whole days pushing Pito into this world.

Pito wouldn’t understand this delicate situation. He’d most likely say, “Ah, you women. You’re so complicated.”

Materena grabs the small-size frying pan out of Pito’s hands and puts it back on the shelf. Then she gets the family-size
frying pan and gives it to Pito.

“When the kids go visit your mama,” Materena says, “and they feel like an omelette, Mama Roti can make a big omelette. It’ll
be easier for her. Plus, the price difference isn’t great.”

Pito shakes his head like Materena’s explanation is too much to comprehend. “My mama, she gets a bigger frying pan than my
wife. I thought it was supposed to be the contrary.”

Materena grins. “Eh? I’m your wife these days? It’s not ‘woman’ anymore?”

But Pito is already heading toward the cash register. He’s never ever called Materena “wife.” He calls her Materena or “woman.”
Pito sometimes calls Materena Mama, but she always tells him to keep that name for his own mama.

“Wife”! Not once!

It’s been two weeks since Pito has proposed, and, in Materena’s opinion, Pito is trying to get used to the idea of being married,
for a man simply doesn’t call his woman “wife” unless he secretly wishes that she
were
his wife.

Materena is still grinning when they get outside the shopping center.

“Why are you grinning?” asks Pito.

“I’m just happy about Mama Roti’s birthday present,” Materena replies.

“
Ah oui,
” Pito says. “Mama, she’s not going to believe her eyes.”

“Happy birthday, Mama.”

Pito gives his mama her present. He’s wrapped it in newspaper. Mama Roti presses both hands on her chest and acts surprised.
She rips the newspaper, she rips the box (it’s just a box, no relation to the gift), all the while smiling and looking at
her son like he tricked her.

She sees the frying pan and for a moment it is not clear what her reaction is going to be. She seems to be searching for the
right words to say.

Finally. “A frying pan! How did you know I needed a frying pan! Now I can throw the old one in the garbage!”

Mama Roti inspects her frying pan. She taps her fingers on it. “This is no cheap frying pan, this is a good-quality frying
pan.”

Then, later on . . .

Thinking no one is watching her . . .

Mama Roti, in the kitchen, compares her frying pan with Materena’s frying pan. “Eh-eh, my frying pan, it’s bigger.” She chuckles
to herself.

W
ith Mama Roti’s birthday out of the way, Materena can now concentrate on Pito’s birthday present. But the problem is that
Pito specifically asked her not to get him anything this year.

Last year Materena bought Pito a love-song tape and he didn’t appreciate it. He said, “Why are you giving me this love-song
tape? You know I don’t like love songs.” True, Pito doesn’t like love songs—love songs irritate him or they make him laugh.
Materena listens to that love-song tape—she likes love songs.

Pito told Materena that what she buys and what he wants are always two different things, so it’s best she doesn’t get him
a birthday gift at all.

So Materena is not going to bother buying Pito a birthday gift this year. She feels a bit sad, because she likes to give birthday
presents, but it’s like that.

But, here, she’s walking past a clothing store and a shirt hanging on the rack at the entry to the store captivates her. She
stops walking to inspect that shirt.

It’s a beautiful shirt—yellow and green, with splashes of red petals. Materena goes inside the store and feels the fabric.
It is soft and silky and feels wonderful on the skin.

“
Iaorana,
” the salesperson says.

“
Iaorana,
I’m just looking, girlfriend.”

“Okay, girlfriend, it’s fine for you to look.”

Materena gets out of the store. She stands outside to admire the colorful shirt. The salesperson is rearranging the rack,
she glances at Materena and smiles. Materena smiles back and she wishes that the salesperson would go rearrange some other
clothes. She’s a bit in the way.

“It’s reduced by fifty percent,” the salesperson says.

“Ah, okay.”

“Normally, that shirt costs three thousand francs, but now it’s only one thousand five hundred francs,” continues the salesperson.

“Eh—
oui,
thank you.”

“It’s the last shirt in stock. It’s from Hawaii, girlfriend. It’s very popular, the whole stock sold in a week.”

“
Ah oui?
” Materena is interested now.

But she doesn’t have any money on her, and it really bothers her. She wants to buy that shirt—for Pito’s birthday. It doesn’t
matter that he ordered her never to buy him a birthday gift ever again. She wants to give him a gift. She wants to give him
that shirt. You can’t go wrong with a shirt. Pito can wear it on special occasions, like when there’s a function at his work.
He can’t wear that shirt at the bar, though. She won’t permit it. Women are sure going to admire that shirt and then they’re
going to admire the man who’s wearing the shirt—even if he’s married. They’re not going to care about any wedding band on
Pito’s finger, because he’ll be so handsome with that shirt on. She’s got to have that shirt. If she doesn’t grab it now,
another woman will grab it for her husband.

“Eh, girlfriend, you accept a deposit?” says Materena, and goes on about how she usually has a couple of banknotes in her
wallet. Today is an exception.

The salesperson is willing to accept a deposit. Materena goes back into the store and takes the shirt off the rack.

Materena rubs the fabric on her cheek. It is
so
soft. It is like a caress. She follows the salesperson to the counter. The salesperson opens a black book. She asks for the
name and the deposit amount.

“Materena Mahi, and it’s two hundred francs.”

“Eh, girlfriend, you can’t give me a little bit more? Two hundred francs is not enough to hold the shirt.”

“Three hundred francs.”

“A little more, can you?”

“Five hundred francs.”

The salesperson writes
Materena Mahi
and
Five hundred francs
in the black book. “When are you coming to get the shirt and pay the rest?”

“Tomorrow, girlfriend, after I get paid.” Materena counts her coins and gives them to the salesperson.

The salesperson counts the coins and puts them in the cash register.

Materena asks if she needs to sign the book.

“
Non,
you don’t need to sign. Why do you want to sign?” asks the salesperson.

Materena doesn’t particularly want to sign, unless her signature is required. No, her signature is not required.

“That shirt is for my husband,” Materena says. Materena just can’t stop herself from thinking of Pito as her husband. They’re
not married yet, but in her head and in her heart they are. “It’s his birthday in three days.”

“Ah, it’s good. Lots of women bought that shirt for their husband.”

Materena is pleased with the information. That shirt
is
popular.

Materena goes and picks up the shirt the very next day. She wraps it in silver gift paper and ties a red ribbon around it.
She hides Pito’s beautiful present under the mattress and pats the mattress. She’s happy. Pito thinks she’s not going to get
him a birthday gift this year. He’s sure going to be surprised.

Two more days and it’s Pito’s birthday.

But she’s going to give him his birthday gift right now. Two days, it’s too long to wait. Materena is impatient to see Pito
with that shirt on. And what if the shirt doesn’t fit him? It’s better that she finds out about it now rather than in two
days in case she has to take the shirt back to the store and exchange it for another shirt. She hopes the shirt is going to
fit Pito. That shirt will really suit him. She can picture him wearing it.

So here she is, standing behind the sofa, hiding the silver specially wrapped gift behind her back. Pito’s watching the TV.

“Pito,” Materena says.

“I’ll take out the garbage tomorrow morning,” Pito says before she can continue.

“
Ah oui,
it’s fine.”

He turns his head to look at her, and she gives him a look of tenderness. She knows that he thought she was going to annoy
him about the garbage.

Usually she pesters Pito to take the garbage out at night, because when you take the garbage out in the morning, you can miss
the garbage truck. The garbage truck doesn’t always come through at the same time. Sometimes it comes late and sometimes it
comes very early. And when it comes very early, Materena is stuck with a full garbage can and she has to jump on the plastic
bags to fit more plastic bags of trash in the can.

And usually there’s a little argument—which Pito always wins because nothing can make him take the garbage out at night, because
he prefers to take the garbage out in the morning. When you take out the garbage at night, the dogs knock the garbage cans
over and there’s a mess and you have to clean up the mess
illico presto
because everybody in the neighborhood knows which garbage can belongs to whom.

Materena chuckles.

“What’s with you?” Pito asks.

Ah, it’s so nice when you’ve got a gift for someone and that someone isn’t expecting it. She hands Pito his birthday gift.

“What’s this?” he asks.

“It’s your birthday gift.”

“Eh, didn’t I already tell you —”

She doesn’t let him finish his protestation. “Just open that present, you’re going to like it.” Materena’s heart is beating
with excitement. She can’t wait to see the look of joy in Pito’s eyes.

He prods the package. “Is it a towel?”

She wonders why he would think she’d get him a towel for his birthday. “Why, do you want a towel?”

No, he doesn’t particularly want a towel. He was only guessing.

“It’s not a towel. Open the present and you’re going to see.” Materena’s eyes are sparkling.

Pito rips the silver gift paper. He scratches his head and grimaces. There’s no look of joy in his eyes.

“What? You don’t like the shirt?” Materena’s eyes are furious now.