Read Online Frangipani by Célestine Vaite - Free Book Online

place a potted plant in the middle of the living room.
    “Well,” Materena replies, “
oui
and
non.
In Tahiti, we believe that a potted plant —”
    “It’s to hide the missing carpet square.” Here, Leilani has informed the visitor. And right before her mother’s horrified eyes, she lifts the pot so that the visitor can see for herself, and explains that everybody does this in Tahiti. They use potted plants to hide missing carpet squares, holes in walls, anything.
    “I see.” The woman nods. “It’s a very intelligent way of doing things.” She walks to the wall to admire a quilt pinned to the wall. “
Magnifique!
Whoever made that quilt is talented. This quilt is truly a piece of art.” She goes on about the intensity of the bright flowers, the intricate patterns, the balance of it all, the use of geometry.
    “My mother made that quilt when I got married,” Materena says, caressing it tenderly.
    “Mamie is going to be wrapped in that quilt in her coffin,” Leilani adds.
    Materena gives her daughter a quick, cranky look. You don’t tell strangers stories that only concern the family! The woman looks to Materena. “Is this a custom in Tahiti?”
    “An old custom, girl. Not many people are wrapped in quilts when they’re dead these days, but I want to be wrapped in a quilt my mother made just for me because, you know, once you’re linked with your mother through the umbilical cord you’re linked for the eternity.”
    “These are such beautiful words, madame . . . I’m so honored to meet you.”
    Materena cackles, thinking this girl has got to be the best seller she’s ever met in her life. She is now looking at the framed photographs below the quilt, and Materena doesn’t mind. If photographs are on the wall it means it’s fine for people to look at them, you don’t need permission. You only need permission to look through a photo album.
    “This is my beautiful oldest son, Tamatoa, at his confirmation,” Materena tells the interested visitor. “He’s playing soccer at the moment with his father and uncle. And this is my youngest son, Moana, at his confirmation. He’s also playing soccer with his father and uncle at the moment. This is my mother when she was young, this is me when I was young, and this is my husband when he was young. This is my husband and me when we got married six months ago . . . with our beautiful children.”
    “Is it the custom to marry late in Tahiti?”
    “Oh,
oui
and
non,
” replies Materena. “In Tahiti we believe that it’s unwise to marry before —”
    “Men don’t like to get married in Tahiti. They always give women excuses and they’re lazy.”
    Again, Materena gives her big-mouth daughter a discreet look to be quiet.
    “And is that you?” the woman asks Leilani, pointing to a framed newspaper clip.
    “
Oui,
that’s my girl.” Materena sighs with pride. “It was after a running competition. She came in fiftieth, but there were thousands of competitors.”
    “One hundred and twenty, Mamie.”
    “And this is a school award Leilani got when she was ten years old,” Materena says, ignoring Leilani’s last comment. “For a story she wrote.”
    “Do you like to write?” asks the woman, smiling at Leilani.
    “Oh
oui,
she loves to write!” Materena exclaims. “She’s always writing, that one, she writes, she reads, she’s very intelligent, all my children are intelligent, and to think that I’m just a professional cleaner.”
    “Oh, you’re a cleaner!”
    “A professional cleaner,” Materena corrects. Because there
is
a difference.
    “I admire professional cleaners!” the woman exclaims. “My mother is a professional cleaner, I believe professional cleaners ought to be decorated!” Materena looks at the young woman with little eyes. What’s this? she thinks. It’s to make me buy an encyclopedia set?
    “I admire professional cleaners too,” says Leilani. “It’s so hard to clean. Last time I helped Mamie clean Madame Colette’s