Tiare in Bloom (15 page)

Jaws drop, and eyes widen in stupefaction, meaning, did Pito
Tehana
just dare tell us Mahis to be quiet? Who does he think he is? This is not his house! The talking continues, louder, if only
to put Pito back in his place.

So Pito tells his son to wait, and puts the telephone down. “
Allez!
” he shouts, louder. “
Rapae!
Outside!” He waves them away towards the door. “
Allez!
”

Bodies hesitantly stand up, and eyes appeal to the woman of the house for her to say something.

“I need to go to the toilet.” That’s all Materena is going to say for the moment.

Pito picks up the phone and goes on. “Miri had —” he begins, then stops to advise his mother-in-law that she can stay. Loana,
a big grin on her face, hurries to take her place on the sofa. “Miri had a baby, it’s a girl, and it’s yours apparently —”
Pito indicates to Mama Teta with a nod that she too can stay. He knows how much Materena loves her great-auntie Mama Teta,
who, a big grin on her face, also hurries and takes her place on the floor.

By the time Materena is back in the living room, her relatives, all thirty-seven of them, are still where they were when she
left, and they’re quiet as mice, and looking at Pito with admiration.

“
Oui,
I hear you,” Pito tells his son, defending his cause. He only slept with Miri once, well, three times, but it was all during
one night, so technically it was only once, and so, technically, it’s impossible that he’s the father of that baby, it’s not
like he had a relationship with that girl . . .

On and on the young man presents his side of the story, talking fast, panicking almost, blaming that girl for being so irresponsible,
because . . .

“What did I always tell you about your seeds?” Pito cuts in.

Silence.

“I didn’t tell you to be careful, eh? I didn’t say, Plant your seeds into the wrong woman and your life, your whole life,
is going to be ruined?”

Silence.

The baby wakes up, and Materena runs to the rescue.

“Plant your seeds in the wrong woman,” Pito repeats, “and —”

Materena is back with the baby, now crying her eyes out, crying as if someone were twisting her arm.

“And your whole life is going to be ruined,” Pito continues, raising his voice above the baby’s cries. “What? Of course the
baby is with us. Miri? She’s in New Caledonia. Why is the baby crying? What do you think? She’s in the
merde,
in the
caca.
” What Pito means by this is: the baby is in a very shitty situation with a mother who’s run away, a father in denial, and
an auntie who has too many babies to look after.

At this point, Materena nudges Pito and passes him the baby. She’d like to have a few words with her son. The baby settles
down at once.

“Tamatoa?” Materena is ready to say her piece. Ah
oui,
she will talk, she will say what’s on her mind. “Imagine if Tiare didn’t have my dimple, eh? Tamatoa, you better recognize
that baby. I’m not having my granddaughter with Father Unknown written on her birth certificate. You should have thought about
all of this before! What? That girl tied you up to the bed? She forced you? She hypnotized you? Tamatoa . . . don’t turn me
against you. I’m warning you! As soon as you finish military service, you are coming home, understand?”

And Materena bangs the telephone down. This is as good as the woman of the house yelling, “I HAVE SPOKEN!” Indeed, the woman
of the house
has
spoken. Her “unknown” French father went back to his country after military service, and her grandfather only acknowledged
Loana as his daughter on his deathbed (because, so the relatives said, he wanted to die with a clear conscience, he was afraid
to be in purgatory for too long. It’s boiling hot in purgatory, all Catholics know this), but Tiare will have what is due
to her. Now, today. That is why Materena banged the telephone down for the first time in her life — and what’s more, on her
son she loves so much.

The crowd in the living room is still silent from the shock.

Then a very serious voice, belonging to the baby’s great-grandmother, once a woman of pleasure before falling passionately
in love with God, mentions in passing that now that the baby’s name has been cleared, her religious education should be taken
care of.

Is the baby baptized at least?

C
atholics take the soul of a child very seriously.
Enfin,
it is the case in the Mahi family of Faa’a. You will never see a baby who’s not baptized in this hard-core old Tahitian Catholic
family. Put it simply, a baby must be purified from the mortal sin his parents committed in order to give him life, and this
as soon as possible. So there’s the baptism at the church and then the party at the house, where the relatives sing, eat,
and drink until they can’t walk.

That is what you do. You make sure to mark the day a child becomes pure and innocent, and you fete the godparents. As for
the parents, well, they’ve done their bit and have already been feted during the welcome-into-the-world rituals.

Anyway, there’s an unpurified child in the house. This has been confirmed by the baby’s maternal great-auntie herself, who
dropped in an hour ago to bring Materena the baby’s birth certificate dated three months ago. She also brought a letter written
by her friend who owns the car, stating that she was giving the baby (conceived by Tamatoa Tehana) away for familial reasons.

The situation about Tiare’s soul is about to be corrected. Not at the St. Joseph Church, though — Pito has just decided this.

“Not at the St. Joseph Church?” Materena repeats as if she didn’t hear properly the first time. “Where, then?”

“At my church,” Pito says, tapping his fingers on the kitchen table. “St. Etienne.”

“At your church?” Things are still unclear for Materena.

“
Oui,
at my church,” Pito maintains, explaining that he got married in Materena’s church, their three children were baptized in
Materena’s church, and, well, for his granddaughter’s baptism, he’d like to give his church a go for a change.

“But you haven’t been at your church for years and years,” Materena protests. “Pito, think a little, it’s —”

“It’s what? You’re going to tell me that your church is better than my church?”

“Do you know who the priest is there at least?”

“Father Fabrice. He baptized me.”

“And he’s still there?”

“But
oui!
”

The mama sitting at the desk outside the priest’s office is the same woman who used to give Pito cranky looks during his one-week
stint as a choirboy — when he was a child and the mama wasn’t a mama. She advises Pito and Materena that Father Fabrice passed
away.

“
Eh-eh,
” Materena says, firing a cranky look at Pito, meaning, Your priest is dead and you didn’t know about it! Do you realize how
embarrassing it is for me to be asking to speak to a priest who’s dead? “I’m so sorry.”

“Oh, don’t be sorry,” the mama says, also firing a cranky look at Pito, a look that says, You would have known the sad news
earlier had you made the effort to visit your church now and then. “He died twelve years ago,” she sighs, gazing at the child
happily gurgling in her grandfather’s arms. “He passed away peacefully in his sleep.”

“Who replaced him?” Pito asks, a bit sad about the news. He liked Father Fabrice, but there’s no point crying now, the priest
has been dead for a long time.

“Father Martin replaced Father Fabrice,” the mama advises Pito.

“Well, can we see Father Martin?”

“Father Martin is no longer with us.”

“He died too?” Pito asks.

“
Non,
he didn’t die,” the mama snaps, as if to say, You would have known the wonderful news earlier had you made the effort to
make an appearance here where you belong. “He went back to France three years ago to look after his father.”

“Oh, that’s wonderful,” Materena manages to utter.

“Who replaced Father Martin?” Pito asks.

“Father Fabien.”

“Can we see Father Fabien?”

“
Non,
Father Fabien —”

“All right,” Pito interrupts. He’s starting to get
fiu
of this. “Who’s the priest here these days?”

“Father Sebastian.”

“Okay, can we see Father Sebastian?”

“
S’il te plaît,
” Materena adds with a smile, stamping discreetly on Pito’s foot.

Father Sebastian, who has a long red beard and a smashed nose, is at present checking his diary and whistling an upbeat disco
tune. Materena glances at Pito and widens her eyes. She’s saying, This is your priest? He doesn’t look like a priest at all,
he looks more like someone who just got out of prison!

The priest frowns and says, “I’m afraid the earliest I can do it is in six weeks.”

“Six weeks!” Materena shrieks softly. “Father,” she pleads with her begging voice, “we were hoping for next week, we can’t
wait six weeks because —”

“Unfortunately, you’ll have to,” Father Sebastian shrugs.

“We want this child baptized on Sunday.” There, Pito has said his piece.

“
This
Sunday?” The priest scoffs as if he has just heard the most ridiculous request in his entire career as a priest.

“
Et alors,
” Pito snaps, “we’re bringing you another Catholic and you’re going to put sticks in the wheels?”

Pito ignores his wife’s hand on his knee, begging him to please be quiet and to let her do the talking, she has more experience
dealing with priests than he has. “You baptize this child on Sunday or I’m going to the Protestants.”

Materena’s hand is now pinching Pito’s knee, commanding him to shut up before he ruins everything. You don’t bluff with priests.
This is not a game of cards!

“I understand how busy you are, Father.” This is Materena’s attempt to pacify the priest. “We can wait a little, but we’d
really appreciate from the bottom of our hearts if —”

“Are you threatening me?” The priest is not listening to Materena. His eyes are fixed on Pito.

“Eh,” Pito fires back, “I’m telling you things as they are.”

Who does he think he is? Pito tells himself. A king or something? He’s just a priest. It’s his job to baptize babies, marry
people, and bury the dead. Pito has never raised his voice to a priest before — but then again, he’s never had a one-on-one
meeting with a priest. He’s always left the one-on-one discussion up to Materena, but he’s here today and so he will speak
what’s on his mind.

“What’s the problem with getting this baby baptized on Sunday?” he asks. “What do you need to do?”

“I need to consult with the godparents.” The priest’s voice is cold. Still speaking with a cold voice, he adds that he’s not
trying to put sticks in anyone’s wheels at all but he simply cannot baptize a child without consulting the godparents first.

“The godparents are right in front of your eyes.” Pito has just decided this. He glances at Materena, who’s nodding in agreement.

“You’re the godparents?” The priest himself sounds very shocked. “I thought you were the parents.”

“We’re the grandparents,” Materena says softly.

“And the godparents.” Pito is still firm on this.

“Where are the parents?” the priest asks.

Ah, now the parents, Pito says in his head. What is the next question going to be? Where are the great-grandparents?

Materena hurries to inform the priest of the delicate situation. The baby’s mother is in New Caledonia and the father is in
France.

“Hum.” The priest doesn’t seem too impressed. “And they will be coming back?” he asks. “I presume soon, and together?”

“I’m not sure about the baby’s mother,” Materena softly says, worried now that the information she’s just given the priest
might jeopardize her granddaughter’s baptism. “But our son is —”

“What is this salad?” the priest exclaims.

“What salad?” Pito snaps. “Where is the salad in the story?” He glances at his wife, dabbing her wet eyes. And plus, that
con
has made my wife cry! “What salad?” Pito asks again, ready to yell his head off at the priest for having made his wife cry.

But his granddaughter starts to cry too now, so, gently tapping the baby on the bottom, Pito, speaking softly (well, close
enough) tells the priest that there’s no salad in the story. Some children have parents and other children have grandparents.
That’s life. There’s nothing to judge.

“And have you been godparents before?” the priest asks, ignoring Pito’s let’s-not-be-judgmental speech.

“Three times,” Materena smiles.

“And you, Monsieur?”

Ah, Pito would love to be able to tell that priest, “What do you mean
have been?
I’m still a godfather. When you’re a godparent it’s until you die.” But unfortunately, Pito has never been a godfather. Nobody
has ever asked him to be one. Now Pito feels like he’s losing face.
Merde.

Pito can already predict the priest’s next question: Oh, you’ve never been a godfather, and why not? Next question: Oh, nobody
has ever asked you, and how come that is? And how would Pito know this, eh? How would he know why nobody has ever asked him
to be a godfather? It’s like he has
DON’T ASK ME TO BE A GODFATHER
tattooed on his forehead?

Not being a godfather has never bothered Pito (being a father was more than enough, thank you, even if he didn’t do much),
but today he wishes he had one godfather experience at least, if only to put this priest in his place.

“Monsieur?” The priest would like his answer. Here he is grinning, smelling victory in the air, and Pito could pop him in
the head right now.

“I’ve raised three children.”

The priest shrugs. “You still haven’t answered my question.”

“None of my kids has ever been to prison.” As far as Pito is concerned, if the priest can’t understand why this is such a
big thing for a Tahitian father to say, then he shouldn’t be a priest. Not in Tahiti anyway.

Unexpectedly, the priest smiles his first genuine smile, and getting the necessary papers from his top drawer, he advises
Pito that he’s very much looking forward to Pito’s journey as a godfather.