Frangipani (6 page)
First rule: no shouting as you push the baby into the world, because when you shout the baby inside gets frightened, and it’s not wise to be born frightened. It’s enough that one second the baby is in his mama’s belly and it’s dark and comfortable and warm, and next minute he’s in this strange place he doesn’t know. And the light is hurting his eyes, he can’t breathe, and it’s cold.
Second rule: no crying out loud as you push the baby into the world, because when you cry out loud, the baby about to be born gets all sad, and it’s not wise to be born sad. The baby is going to be a crying-for-no-reason baby, and then that baby is going to grow into a crying-for-no-reason person. And when you’re a crying-for-no-reason person and you’re a woman, life is just going to be one misery after the next. One little pain, and that’s it, you’ll cry your eyes out. It’s much better for you to be a woman who cries only for big pains.
Third rule: no cursing and screaming words of insult as you push your baby into the world, because when you curse and scream words of insult, the baby inside gets all cranky, and it’s not wise to be born cranky. That baby is going to be a cranky-for-no-reason baby, and then that baby is going to grow into a cranky-for-no-reason person.
Materena is trying to remember all these rules while a nurse, all smiling and friendly, puts a drip into her arm. For a long while after the drip is inserted nothing happens, and Materena is starting to get really bored until, at last, she gets a contraction. She’s so happy! At least something is happening. The next contraction is a bit more painful, but it is still comfortable. Within an hour the contractions are so painful that Materena is moaning, “
Aue!
When is this going to stop?”
Three times she calls out to the nurse that she is ready to push and three times the nurse says, “You’ve got a long way to go yet,” and poor Materena is left all alone to deal with her suffering.
And what suffering, eh? Materena feels like smacking her cousin Tapeta, who told her, “Don’t worry, giving birth gets easier and easier with each child.”
Easier!
“
Aue!
” Materena yells. By now, Materena is in too much pain to follow the traditional Tahitian rules about giving birth. In between contractions, she tries to get out of bed, but her head is spinning, not counting the tubes and everything. She falls back on the bed, moaning, with a fist shoved in her mouth as another contraction comes on and goes on and on and on. Materena feels like eating her hand. Right that moment she would give anything to have one leg (both legs) amputated instead of this torture. Even to have all her teeth taken out with pliers would be a pleasure. Her whole body tenses, her legs tremble, until at last the contraction eases up and Materena sighs with relief, though she knows that everything is going to start up all over again in less than thirty seconds.
“She’s having a baby girl,” Materena hears a woman say. “Girls hurt their mother from the day they come into the world. It’s like that. I can talk because I’ve got six girls . . . Girls are a curse, trust me.”
“
Oui,
she’s having a girl, all right,” another woman is saying. “It’s more painful to push girls into the world because they don’t want to be born. They resist. They know what they’re in for in this world of miseries.”
Another contraction comes up and Materena loses track of the conversation, too busy dealing with her suffering. “
Aue!
”
The curtain is suddenly pulled open and a big mama midwife, smiling and introducing herself as Mary, walks in and closes the curtain behind her. She checks how everything is going and is very pleased to inform Materena that it is time to push. Grinding her teeth, Materena pushes and pushes, but nothing is coming out.
“Push!” Mary the midwife commands.
“That’s what I’m doing!” Materena growls.
She pushes and pushes, she pushes and yells her head off for twenty excruciating minutes. But still nothing comes out.
Mary thinks her hand will hurry things up. That hand (the whole lot) goes in and Materena shrieks so loud that the hand quickly retreats.
“You’re not helping, mama,” Mary says.
“Just take that baby out of me!”
“Let’s calm ourselves, okay?” Mary, looking slightly worried now, commands, “Push. Come on, push . . . Give me that baby!”
Materena pushes. Nothing happens.
The curtain is pulled open, and what a relief it is for Materena to see Auntie Stella, long regarded as the best midwife on the island.
“Auntie Stella,” Materena cries. “My baby doesn’t want to come out.”
Stella kisses Materena’s forehead and tells her to be strong and not to worry. Then she begins her inspection and concludes that the only way for the baby to come out is for Materena to push standing up. Let gravity help. Stella frees Materena of the tubes and helps her get out of bed.
At that precise moment, Pito walks in, red-eyed, with Materena’s packet of Twisties.
“But!” Stella exclaims. “You’ve smoked
paka,
or what? Unbelievable! All you men are the same!” Materena is in too much pain to say anything. She feels like all her insides are going to fall out. But she can’t believe Pito bought her the red packet of Twisties when she asked for the green one.
“Come here,” Stella orders Pito. “Make yourself useful and put that packet of Twisties on the bed, you idiot.”
Pito puts the packet of Twisties on the bed.
“Stand behind your woman.”
Pito stands behind Materena.
“Put your hands under her arms.”
Pito puts his hands under Materena’s arms.
“Hold her good!”
Pito holds Materena good.
“Mary . . . quick, grab a pillow and put it on the floor here,” Stella goes on with her orders. And to Materena she adds, “Next contraction, I want you to push real hard. Don’t stop until I tell you, okay? Don’t worry if you rip. Baby has got to come out
now.
”
They all wait for the next contraction as Materena begs her baby to please come out. Then it comes, and Materena pushes with all her heart and soul and her baby daughter makes her entrance into the world upside down, with her mother’s hands underneath her head in case the baby falls, but there’s no need. Stella has it all under control. When the baby slides out, there she is with her hands open, ready to catch.
Leilani Loana Rita Imelda comes into the world the week her cousin Rose is baptized and the week her older brother falls off the table and breaks his arm. She comes into the world frowning and with her eyes wide open.
Auntie Stella, relieved that all is well, laughs and says, “Oh, but we have a thinker here. We have a professor.” Then, to Mary, she asks, “What’s the time?”
It’s twenty-nine past eight precisely.
And Materena cries out with joy, “Welcome into the world, girl!”
There and then she feels that magical bond mothers feel when they see their child for the very first time. Materena gets back onto the bed with great difficulty while Stella holds the newborn and Pito follows Mary, keeping an eye on where he’s putting his feet. Materena can’t wait to embrace her beautiful, greased baby girl.
At last, the newborn is placed on her mother’s belly. “My baby,” Materena cries out with joy. “My beautiful baby girl . . . look at all that hair you’ve got . . . my
chérie . . .
my friend.”
“Eh well, that’s one very lucky baby,” Stella says as she cuts the umbilical cord.
“Look at your daughter,” Materena tells Pito. “Look how beautiful she is.” Perhaps the
paka
is affecting Pito’s vision, but he really can’t see what Materena is seeing.
Over the next few days Materena tries very hard to breast-feed her daughter, but there’s a problem with her breasts. They are hard like cement and swollen like grapefruit, with veins popping out everywhere along with lumps and cracks. Breast-feeding is a real torture, but Materena keeps on trying. She puts hot compresses on her breasts, and cabbage leaves, and she massages her breasts all day long.
In the end, the hungry crying baby girl is offered a bottle, and the nurse on duty is pleased to see her drink it all in one go. After that first bottle, Leilani seals her lips real tight whenever Materena’s nipple comes near her mouth.
Materena is so devastated. For her, breast-feeding is the reward that comes after the pain of the birth. Breast-feeding is what makes the mother and child get close, bond. She tells her mother that.
Loana’s reply is a reprimand. “Stop talking nonsense . . . It’s not breast-feeding that makes a mother and her child bond. It’s everyday life.”
The everyday day life Tahitian-style begins with the Welcome into the World rituals. So here is Materena, accompanied by her mother, introducing
bébé
Leilani to her relatives, and everyone has something
gentil
to say about Loana’s granddaughter, who came into the world upside down. That she has beautiful eyes, long legs, a wide nose, the only kind of nose to have when you’re a woman. Then it’s off to the cemetery to introduce the little one to the dead.
After that, all Materena wants to do is rest, but she catches the truck to Punaauia instead to meet her mother-in-law so that she can introduce Pito’s daughter to the family. And what a pain Mama Roti is! Mama Roti is hopeless at introducing newborns. Instead of talking about her newborn granddaughter, she talks about herself. “Eh, Uncle, come and look at Pito’s daughter!” Then, next minute, “Uncle, I’ve got to do some tests for my eyesight tomorrow. Can you believe it! My doctor is saying I’m going blind!” Materena is so annoyed, even more annoyed to hear one of Mama Roti’s cousins comment on how Leilani is so small, that
her
granddaughter was so much bigger when she was born—81/2 pounds. You don’t make comparisons when a baby is being introduced to you! You just give compliments!
That day Mama Roti gives Materena a lime tree to be Leilani’s tree, but Materena already chose Leilani’s tree, a beautiful frangipani tree, to be planted after the baptism next week along with Leilani’s placenta. Materena also chose Leilani’s baptism robe and the godparents (Ati and his girlfriend, Marieta, who left him two weeks later to marry a legionnaire).
The night before the baptism Materena cuddles her baby all night long because Leilani is crying nonstop. It’s always like that before a baptism. The baby cries because the devil is cranky at the thought of losing another soul, and so he makes the baby cry. But it could be that Materena is really stressed tonight and her baby can feel it. Materena is stressed because her daughter’s baptism is heading toward a night of drinking, and Materena doesn’t want that. Just looking at Pito and his cousins drinking and joking around is making her heart twitch into a knot. Materena doesn’t mind drinking at weddings, but at baptisms, come on, where’s the civilization? Why do we have to drink every time there’s something to celebrate?
Materena is so annoyed, but for her daughter’s sake (it’s enough that Leilani has to deal with the devil) she settles down. She wraps her baby tight in a cloth, holds her close to her heart, and recites prayers. Never carry baby with her head over your shoulder, looking out into darkness, because the devil is lurking around. Hold baby tight with her head buried in your chest.
Hold baby tight and love your baby with all your
mana,
the power within you.
T
he bathroom is scrubbed every day in Materena’s house because Materena can’t stand her bathroom dirty. Soap scum makes her cranky and so does hair in the bathroom drain, toothpaste smeared on the tap, grime around the tap rings . . . Well anyway, Materena scrubs her bathroom every day.
She’s scrubbing, scrubbing really hard and wishing her twelve-year-old daughter, also scrubbing, would stop talking, but when your daughter helps you with the housework you don’t criticize. You just smile and nod, you answer her questions, or you say nothing because you don’t know what to say.
“Mamie?” Leilani taps her mother’s hand. “Did you hear me?” She’s waiting for her mother to explain why it doesn’t snow in Tahiti, and once again, Materena will have to say that she doesn’t know.
This is happening more and more these days. Let’s just say that Materena can’t keep up with Leilani’s complicated questions. Who started the French Revolution? What’s the medical term for the neck? There’s a limit to what Materena knows. People can’t know everything.
Aue,
Materena was much more comfortable with her daughter’s questions when they weren’t complicated: Who invented the broom? (A woman.) Is it true that eating charcoal makes the teeth white? (Absolutely not—brushing your teeth every day with toothpaste makes them white.) Who invented the rake? (A woman.) What time does the first star appear? (The first star appears at quarter past six.) Who invented the wheelbarrow? (A woman.) Is God a woman or a man? (God is everything that is beautiful.)
Leilani used to say how clever her mother was, but these days Leilani doesn’t say this anymore. So, why doesn’t it snow in Tahiti? How would Materena know this? “Girl,” she sighs, “I don’t know why it doesn’t snow in Tahiti.”
“Ah . . . I knew you wouldn’t.”
“Why did you ask me, then, if you knew I didn’t know?” asks Materena, a bit cranky.
“I just hoped you knew.”
“Well, stop hoping. Ask me about the ancestors, the old days, cleaning tricks, budgeting, who’s who in the family album and at the cemetery, plants, words of wisdom Tahitian-style, traditions. Don’t ask me why it doesn’t snow in Tahiti. Ask your teacher.”
“I do, but Madame always says, ‘That’s not what this lesson is about, Leilani.’” Leilani drops her scrubbing brush and stomps out of the bathroom complaining that she doesn’t know anybody who can answer her questions, and that all she gets is “Be quiet, Leilani.”
Aue!
Materena feels so guilty now. Here, she’s going to give her daughter a kiss . . . and some coins to get herself an ice block at the Chinese store. My poor girl, Materena thinks. She’s always stuck at home with me.
Materena finds Leilani reading yesterday’s newspapers at the kitchen table, elbows on the table. “Girl?” Materena isn’t going to say anything about the elbows on the table, how it’s rude and everything. “You want to get yourself an ice block at the Chinese store?”
