Tiare in Bloom by Célestine Vaite Page B

what? Pito is so confused. And lately Materena has been doing a lot of sighing, not the
     annoyed sighing she does with the eye rolling when she’s . . . well, annoyed.
Non.
Her sighing is deep and long like Pito’s mother used to do — a lot, in between yelling — when Pito was a child. His mother
     would sigh deep and long sighs, one after another, and yell, “When the heart sighs . . . it means it doesn’t have what it
     desires!”
    Pito even asked Materena this morning why she was so cranky at him, and she gave him a long look, the look that says, If I
     have to explain everything to you . . .
    Puzzled, Pito left for work not feeling one hundred percent, and while waiting for the truck, he noticed Loma on the other
     side of the road, waving a big friendly wave to him. Pito thought it was very strange, Loma waving at him like that, so he
     didn’t wave back. Then she called out, “You’re still on the horizon? I thought Materena replaced you with a rich Chinese man!”
     Then she laughed her head off as if it were a joke.
    Luckily Pito is used to big-mouth Loma spurting out stupid remarks, otherwise he would have gotten black ideas and started
     to hassle Loma for information about that Chinese man. Still, Pito’s face must have had a crushed expression, because later
     on in the truck two women looked at him with pity.
    As soon as Pito got to work, he put on his normal work face — the kind that reveals absolutely nothing. He never takes his
     trouble to work, unlike some people he knows. As far as Pito is concerned, whatever happens at home (good or bad, especially
     bad) is nobody’s onions.
    Safely positioned behind the cutting machine, Pito throws himself into his work, ignoring Heifara’s miseries; each to their
     own miseries
s’il vous plaît.
    Now, later in the day, Pito is in the reception office to use the telephone.
    “And hurry up, okay?” Josephine the receptionist says. The reception telephone is for brief messages only, not long family
     legends. Pito reassures Josephine. He never talks on the telephone for more than thirty seconds anyway. He’s not a telephone
     man.
    “Who are you calling?” Josephine asks out of curiosity, since Pito has never used the reception telephone before.
    “My wife.” That’s all Pito is going to say. Josephine doesn’t need to know that he’s calling his wife to see if she’d like
     him to get her something at the market. Like taro . . . or a big juicy watermelon.
    “Ah.” Josephine goes back to her typing. “Everything is all right?”
    “
Oui,
of course.” Pito is firm about this.
    “Ah . . . that’s good.” Josephine adds that she’s relieved to see that Materena is still her wonderful self. She hasn’t let
     fame go to her head (and she’s kept her husband, who doesn’t earn much money and who’s not very intelligent, which Josephine
     doesn’t say).
    But, she tells Pito, Materena must have a lot of men admirers now, eh?
    “Eh?” Josephine asks again.
    “She’s always had men admirers.” Pito forces a chuckle. “It’s not just from today.”
    “And she still cooks for you?”
    “
Oui.
”
    “That’s nice.” Josephine smiles. “You are very lucky. Another wife would have told you to cook your own food now that she’s
     a star and she can have any man cook her any dish she likes and kiss her feet at the same time.” Josephine pauses to ponder
     a little. “I hope you appreciate Materena.”
    “I appreciate.” And with that statement Pito dials home.
    “Tell Materena I said
bonjour,
” adds Josephine.
    Nodding, Pito waits for Materena to pick up the phone, which she does after the third ring. “
Iaorana!
” Materena sings with her good-mood voice, making Pito feel very relieved.
    “Materena,” Pito whispers sweetly into the telephone, his back turned to the big-ears receptionist. “I’m calling you to see
     if you —” Pito stops; something is bizarre here. Materena is still talking. “I’m not at the house