Tiare in Bloom by Célestine Vaite Read Free Book Online Page A

the hospital with a newborn
     baby, Materena would be up at five getting things done;
café,
breadsticks, omelettes; watering plants; being busy.
    Pito watches his wife for a while, thinking how tired she looks. He bends down to kiss her on the head, then pauses; he might
     wake her up. So, walking very quiet steps, Pito leaves for work, worried a little and starving hungry. He didn’t have much
     to eat this morning. There was nothing in the fridge.
    Now, lunchtime, he’s devouring his sandwich as if his life depended on it. All the colleagues are — working does make a man
     hungry — except for Heifara, sitting with his mouth shut, his eyes staring at the sandwich bought at the snack nearby. He’s
     been weird all morning, actually. It’s not like him not to talk.
    “Heifara,” Pito says, “
tama’a.
”
    Heifara looks at him for a minute before deciding to spill the bucket. “I’m in a difficult situation.”
    “
Ah oui?
” Pito asks, to show some interest.
    “
Oui,
I’m in a very difficult situation,” Heifara says. He looks at his colleagues to see if they’d like to hear about it, and
     they seem interested. So Heifara tells his story about his difficult situation with his wife.
    When he came back from his two-week surfing holiday in Huahine, relaxed and in a very good mood, things weren’t quite right.
     There was no “Oh,
chéri!
Welcome home! I missed you so much, make love to me!” from his wife.
Non.
Instead, what she actually said was, “I want a separation.”
    Heifara admits to his surprised colleagues that
oui,
of course he was shattered. “
Salope,
” he spits.
    “Just like that?” Pito asks, confused. The last time Heifara talked about his wife, she couldn’t keep her hands off him, she
     was wild with desire. Okay, that was about six months ago, but still, eh? Now she wants a separation?
    Heifara confirms the fact with a sad nod and raises his left hand, the one with the missing finger, the finger he lost years
     ago when his wedding band was caught in the machine, shredding it to pieces.
    Heifara always raises his left hand (since he lost the finger) whenever he talks about his wife. My wife, he says, winking
     and raising his left hand as if to say, My wife is worth me having nine fingers instead of ten. But today the raised hand
     looks more like it’s saying, I lost a finger because I married that bitch!
    Pito remembers when Heifara joined the company and how much he got on everyone’s nerves. When a colleague gave the young recruit
     advice regarding work safety, Heifara would say, “Yeah, I know.” Soon Heifara’s nickname was “Monsieur I Know.” Then he lost
     a finger and the colleagues said, “Serves him right, he never bloody listens,” but they kept an eye on him for months after
     the unfortunate accident. Nobody wanted another lost finger.
    Heifara, sad-faced, still has his mutilated hand in the air.
    Purée,
Pito thinks, looking at his colleague from under his eyelashes as he finishes his sandwich, is this what a man gets when
     he goes away on a short holiday after months working like a dog in the heat and the noise, and for the lowest pay on the island?
     “Your wife,” Pito asks, curious, “she was cranky with you when you took off to Huahine for two weeks?”
    Heifara informs his audience that
non,
his wife wasn’t cranky at all, and in fact, she had a smile from one ear to the other. “Have a wonderful time!” she said
     sweetly when she dropped Heifara off at the domestic terminal. “I hope you’re going to catch millions of waves!”
    Millions? Pito tells himself. This is an angry woman talking.
    “She said . . .” Heifara’s voice trails off. He needs to find the correct words to express his disenchantment, and the colleagues
     aren’t going to hurry him up. They just look at him with compassion because he’s young. If Heifara were their age, they might
     have said, “Ah, pull yourself together,
copain,
you’re going to give us a bad