Frangipani (18 page)
The second Materena kisses her son on his forehead, he opens his beautiful green eyes, looks at his mama, and smiles.
“It’s twelve thirty,
chéri,
” Materena says, caressing her son’s hair.
Moana nods, sits on his bed, yawning, and stretches himself.
“When are you going to start having day shifts?” asks Materena. She feels so sorry for Moana. She doesn’t know about that apprenticeship he’s got, but it seems that an apprenticeship in a hotel means you’re a slave all night long. You work ten hours a day, you work seven days a week, and then you get paid next to zero. “I’m going to complain to the hotel,” Materena says.
“Mamie . . . I’m learning a lot of things at the hotel for when I have my restaurant.” After kissing his mother on her forehead, Moana goes and has his shower, while Materena finishes ironing his uniform.
“What are Leilani and Vahine doing?” Moana, out of the shower with his towel wrapped around his waist, asks.
“It’s to lose weight,” Materena says, shaking her head.
“Lose weight?” Moana asks, glancing at his mother. “They’re perfect as they are, they’re beautiful . . .” Moana’s voice trails off and just looking at his eyes it seems to Materena that Moana is openly admiring his sister’s best friend.
Materena says nothing. A long time later (more than one minute) Moana turns to his mother and takes his ironed uniform off her hands, all the while thanking her.
“No worries,” says Materena. “You’ve got money for the truck?”
“
Oui.
”
“The boss is going to drive you home?”
“
Oui.
” Moana waits for another question, but Materena has no more questions to ask. She knows what she wanted to know, and so Moana goes and gets ready for work.
Ah, and here’s her eldest son, all sweaty from his six-mile run and his workout at his friend’s gym. He’s in preparation for military service.
“Eh, Rambo,” Materena says, “where’s my kiss?”
“Mamie, I’m full of sweat,” Tamatoa replies.
“I don’t care!”
Tamatoa gives his mother a quick kiss on the forehead, looks out the shutter, shakes his head with disbelief, and asks, “What are these two crazy
nonnettes
doing?”
“It’s to lose weight,” Materena says, cackling. She adds with a wink how Vahine is so pretty, she’s like a porcelain doll, and plus she’s so nice. For a rich girl, Materena means. Looking at Vahine you wouldn’t know that her French father is a director of a company and that her mother was a former Miss Tahiti.
“
Bof.
” Tamatoa shrugs. “When I look at girls, I don’t care if they’re rich or if they’re poor. I care more about what they look like, and that one is just too skinny.” Then, doing his loud papa voice, Tamatoa calls out to his sister and her friend that boys don’t like skinny girls, they like girls with flesh, girls they can hold on to, not bones that are going to break for a yes, for a no. Boys like strong girls with muscles on their belly and derriere . . . they like to throw a coin on a girl’s derriereand watch the coin bounce back.
Vahine, sitting right up, turns to Tamatoa and listens attentively.
“Boys don’t like skinny girls!” he shouts.
“Boys don’t like skinny girls?” Materena asks.
Tamatoa gives his mother a strange look and heads for the bathroom to shower.
F
ive days a week, here at the kitchen table, Mama George and Loma gossip about what they’ve seen with their own two eyes by the side of the road or outside the Chinese store or what they’ve heard with their own two ears, also by the side of the road or outside the Chinese store. But the weekend is different.
On Sundays, they gossip about what they’ve seen with their own two eyes and heard with their own two ears outside the church, after and before Mass.
And on Saturdays, confession day, Mama George and Loma talk about each relative who was in the confessional box for more than ten minutes.
And since only the priest can hear confessions, all Mama George and Loma can do is sit at the back of the church and time how long a relative has been in the confessional box. Loma is in charge of timing. The second the sinner walks into the confessional box she checks her watch, and the second that sinner walks out of the confessional box, she checks her watch again.
Then she leans over to her mother and whispers, “Seventeen minutes and forty-four seconds.” Or, “Eleven minutes and fifty-two seconds.” Or, “Two minutes and twenty-eight seconds.”
The mother nods. She’s in charge of checking how the relative walks into the confessional box and how the relative walks out of the confessional box. She looks at the body language and the facial expression, and when there are tears streaming down the sinner’s face, Mama George shakes her head with disapproval.
Anyway, that is what Mama George and Loma do on Saturday mornings. They play detectives in the church, where nobody can tell them to go away. They’ll be the first to admit that, unfortunately, their family is filled with sinners.
Now, when a woman is in the confessional box for more than ten minutes, Mama George and Loma declare she’s been up to no good. If the woman has a man, she’s seeing another man, and if she doesn’t have a man she’s seeing a married man.
And a young girl in the confessional box for more than ten minutes means there’s a boy on the horizon. Mama George and Loma have the strong belief that it doesn’t take ten minutes to confess you’ve talked bad about your mama, you gave her the evil look behind her back, you borrowed something from her without her permission. Sins like these are fine with the priest. He tells you, Don’t do this again, that’s not very nice, and sends you off with his absolution, his blessing, and a little smile.
Mortal sins, however, sins of the flesh, lust, young girls sneaking out of the shutter in the middle of the night to meet a lover, make the priest cranky like you wouldn’t believe. His absolution comes at a price: a ten-minute sermon.
The mother of a young girl confessing sins of the flesh must be immediately informed of the situation. It’s the rule and the regulation, according to Loma and Mama George.
Materena, about to cross the road on her way to visit her mother, has some information coming her way.
“Materena, Cousin! Materena, Cousin!”
This is the distinctive high-pitched voice of big-mouth Cousin Loma, and Materena hurries to cross the road.
Loma also hurries to cross the road. “Materena, Cousin!”
Materena quickens her steps, still pretending oblivion.
Loma starts to run. “Materena, Cousin!”
She’s now in front of Materena.
“Eh, Loma!” Materena exclaims, surprised. “Where are you off to?”
“Didn’t you hear me call out to you?” Loma asks, puffing.
“
Non,
” Materena replies innocently, “I was thinking about . . .”
But Loma is not interested in knowing what Materena was thinking about. She’s more interested in delivering information about Leilani’s recent fourteen-minute visit to the confessional box.
There, the information has been passed on to the mother of that naughty girl, who must be punished, and Loma waits for a reaction.
This is Materena’s reaction from the inside:
What?
Fourteen minutes in the confessional box! My girl tells the priest everything and she tells me zero! Is my girl still a virgin? Who’s the boy on the horizon?
This is Materena’s reaction from the outside: she looks into Loma’s eyes and sighs, all the while shaking her head. “Cousin.” Materena places a hand on her chest like she feels so sorry. “You don’t have
anything
better to do than time people in the confessional box?”
“Yes, I do!” Loma exclaims before stomping away.
Materena can now do one of two things. She can go home and question her daughter or she can go ahead and visit her mother.
Materena finds her mother in the garden pulling weeds.
“Eh,
chérie!
” Loana exclaims with joy. Loana is always happy when her daughter visits, even if the last time they saw each other was yesterday.
“How’s the health, Mamie?” Materena asks.
“Oh, the health is very good,” Loana answers, but she complains about her legs being a bit stiff when she gets up in the morning. Materena tells her mother that better the legs be stiff in the morning than something else more serious. The mother cackles, the daughter cackles, they look into each other’s eyes with love, and that completes their greeting ritual.
“How’s the house?” Materena asks.
“Oh, the house is fine, but it’s falling apart.”
“And the plants? How are they?”
“Oh, they’re growing, but they could do with a bit of rain. And how are you, girl? Everything is all right?”
“
Oui,
everything is all right, let me help you weed.”
“Oh
non!
The last time you helped me weed you pulled out my good grass. Just sit next to me and talk, my ears are opened.”
“Leilani was in the confessional box for fourteen minutes,” Materena says, making herself comfortable on the grass. “Loma told me.”
“
Ah oui?
” Loana says, cackling. “Loma was in the confessional box too? She was hiding behind the priest and counting the minutes? She had a chronometer in her hand?” Loana tells her daughter that being in the confessional box for more than ten minutes doesn’t necessarily mean there’s a confession happening. Sometimes people just want to talk to the priest because he’s got time to listen.
“I’ve got time to listen to my daughter!” Materena exclaims. “I always want to listen . . . You know me, Mamie, I love to listen to people . . . It’s Leilani who doesn’t want to tell me anything. I know we’ve had problems in the past, but we’re friends again. She can tell me anything.”
“Well,” says Loana, “lie next to your daughter in her bed and patiently wait until she talks to you.”
“Leilani?” Materena says absently as she’s chopping onions later on. “Did you go to confession today?”
“What?” Leilani turns to face her mother. “Me in the confessional box?” She laughs. “Are you crazy?”
“Ah, you didn’t confess?”
“I was with Rose,” Leilani says. “
She
was in the confessional box. I was waiting for her outside. Father Arthur would be the last to know about my affairs!”
“Don’t talk about Father Arthur like that!” Materena is cranky now. “He’s a very nice priest even if his ideas are from the seventeenth century, he’s interesting and . . .” All right, Materena thinks, that’s enough talking about Father Arthur. But what about Rose, what was
she
doing in the confessional box for more than fourteen minutes? Should I tell Cousin Tapeta about this?
Eh, it’s not my onions, Materena decides.
Much later, comfortable in her daughter’s bed, Materena looks around.
Leilani’s desk is a mess, there’s paper everywhere (scrunched, torn, flat), pens, chewing-gum wrappers, and Materena wonders how her daughter does her homework in these conditions. Let’s not talk about the bookcase. The encyclopedias are not in alphabetical order, books are standing on top of one another, and what is that glass doing in the bookcase? There’s also a dirty spoon! And a packet of noodle soup! The map of the world on the wall is nice to look at—makes you realize the world is so big. That poster of rowers taken in a sunset is beautiful, it calms. Materena hasn’t seen it before, it must be new. And what’s with all these rocks everywhere? Is Leilani collecting them or what?
Aue,
the poor plant in the corner is dying. When was the last time Leilani watered it? Materena makes a mental note to save it tomorrow.
Ah, Materena really loves Leilani’s words of wisdom on the walls.
When you feel down, think of something that makes you happy.
To die with a clear conscience is the only way to leave this world.
Don’t eat in front of people if you can’t share.
Give because it makes you feel good. If you get something back, good. If you don’t, it doesn’t matter.
Don’t visit people at eating times unless you’ve been invited.
Show respect to old people.
Show respect to all people.
KNOW WHAT YOU WANT AND MAKE IT HAPPEN.
Materena told Leilani all of these words of wisdom.
But the following words of wisdom come from the books Leilani has read or heard from other people (relatives and strangers).
Why worry about your beard when your head is about to be taken?
The truth is in the pudding.
Life passes by before we have the chance to understand it.
Make sacrifices that matter.
A man in love mistakes a harelip for a dimple.
Materena hasn’t read that one before, it must be new . . .
Sex is the poor man’s opera.
Materena hasn’t read that one either.Materena, very interested, reads on.
Kisses are like almonds.
For news of the heart, ask the face.
Love makes all hard hearts gentle.
First prize is finding someone to be passionately in love with you for a lifetime.
Ah . . . here’s Leilani.
“Oh,” Leilani says, seeing her mother on the bed, “you’re here.” She ties the towel around her body tighter and walks to her wardrobe.
“I just felt like resting my legs on your bed. That’s okay with you,
chérie?
” Materena hurries to add that her feet are clean.
“Of course it’s okay,
mi casa es tu casa.
” Leilani is looking for something to wear tonight in bed, and meanwhile, water from her long wet hair is dripping on the floor. Materena tightens her lips before she starts going on about how hair must be dried in the bathroom and how hair shouldn’t be washed at night.
Leilani has found her attire for tonight, an oversize T-shirt. She slips into it, dries her hair with the towel, drops the towel on the floor, wipes her feet on it.
Materena is looking but she’s not saying anything, although she really wants to. What’s a towel, she thinks, compared to your daughter telling you secrets.
