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.
The Colorful Shirt
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
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.
The Colorful Shirt
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
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