Breadfruit by Célestine Vaite Read Free Book Online

whitewashed, white sand-covered grave where Kika is buried, Loana and Materena
     are admiring each other’s bouquets, both made with love and a dash of yellow.
    “Your bouquet is beautiful, Mamie,” Materena says.
    “Yours too, girl.” Loana takes her daughter’s hand in hers and gives it a little squeeze, meaning,
maururu,
thank you so much for making this beautiful bouquet for my mama’s birthday. My sister forgot, as usual.
    Leilani and Moana are playing ticktack along the paths, sometimes they stop playing to read the name of a deceased engraved
     on a white concrete cross. When there’s a photo, they look, and say, “Poor her—she’s dead.”
    Materena calls out, “You two, don’t step on the graves!”
    The kids call back, “
Oui,
Mamie!”
    It’s nice to sit under the frangipani tree. There’s shade and it smells sweet.
    Loana and Materena have cleaned Kika’s grave and they’re going to rest under the frangipani tree until Loana decides it’s
     time to get a move on.
    “I wanted to get sand from Rangiroa for my mama,” Loana says.
    “Ah—and did you get it?” Materena asks.
    “
Non.
I rang Poiro to see if he could send me a bag of sand,” says Loana. “I was going to pay him for the sand and for the time
     it took him to shove the sand into the bag and put it on the boat, but he’s too busy with his bungalows.”
    Materena doesn’t know Poiro, but he must be a relative.
    “I tell you,” Loana goes on, “his bungalows are not going to do well this year. Is it so difficult to shove sand into a flour
     bag, write my name on it, and chuck that bag on the boat? When I think of all the things my mama did for his mama, and now
     here’s the gratitude.
    “We’ll see who’s going to cry when nobody is going to rent those bungalows. I wanted so much for my mama to have sand from
     her island to make her feel a bit more at home. One of these days, I’m going to go get the sand myself.” Loana sighs. “One
     day—when? Every year I say I’m going home for a visit, but something else always comes up. Something to pay. Your brother
     rang me last night.”
    “Everything’s fine?” asks Materena. “Kids are good?”
    “
Ah oui,
” Loana replies. “Kids are good, but… money is tight.”
    Materena knows her brother rang to ask Loana for money. In fact, Tinirau only calls his mother when he’s got a money situation.
    “Eh,” Loana says. “I would have gone home a long time ago if my mama was buried there.”
    “
Ah oui,
Mamie. I can’t imagine you not visiting Grandmother at least three times a year.”
    “
Ah oui.
I wouldn’t let my mama alone like that, with weeds growing all over her grave. It’s good my mama is buried in Tahiti.”
    “
Ah oui,
” Materena says.
    “That way I can be buried next to my mama.”
    “
Oui.
”
    “I know I’ve told you before, but I’ll tell you again, you kids better bury me next to my mama.”
    “
Oui.
”
    “Don’t you lot bury me next to my father. You bury me next to my mama.”
    “Okay, Mamie.”
    It’s quiet at the cemetery. Leilani and Moana know that when you play ticktack at the cemetery, you don’t yell and you don’t
     laugh. You play quietly.
    There’s a woman crying silent tears on a baby’s tomb. There’s an old man smoking by a grave, his head down.
    And there’s Materena and Loana, sitting under the frangipani tree.
    “I pray I’m going to die old,” Loana says. “Not so old that I can’t go to the toilet by myself and one of you kids has to
     feed me pureed food with the spoon.
Non,
not so old that you kids can’t wait for me to die because I’m such a nuisance.”
    “Mamie! We’re never going to think, ‘Hurry up, you, and die.’”
    “Don’t take me to the Capa.”
    “
Ah non,
we’re not going to take you to the Capa.”
    “When you go to the Capa—it’s the end of you. After the Capa, it’s the cemetery. At the Capa, you just sit and wait for your
     family to remember to come visit you. You