Free Breadfruit by Célestine Vaite

much. She checks herself in the mirror
     again before leaving the house of her boss. Ah yes, it’s her style.
    And now, she’s noticing how people are looking at her as she’s waiting for the truck at the market. People—men especially.
     She knows it is because of the colorful shirt. Nobody looks at her when she’s wearing her clean, ironed oversize T-shirt.
    A tall, lean woman walks past Materena and smiles a big bright smile at her. Materena smiles back. They’re wearing the same
     shirt. The tall, lean woman is wearing it with bright red tights, though—she’s got nice legs. Nobody is looking at Materena
     anymore. The tall, lean, muscular woman is more interesting because she’s wriggling her bottom and swinging her bright orange
     handbag.
    Then the suspicion that the woman is a man comes into Materena’s mind.
    It’s not always obvious—a
raerae.
Some of them are hopeless at disguising themselves as a woman. One look at the face and you know it’s a man—there’s the spiky
     hair.
    But some of them are experts, and the only thing that gives the truth away is the deep man voice.
    There’s a street in Papeete for the
raeraes
to wait for their clients. Materena had been past that street one night. Her cousin Mori was driving the car. And Mori yelled
     out from the window, “And it’s how much?” And the
raerae
called back, “Come see me, my little cabbage, and I’ll show you what love is all about.”
    They’re quite flamboyant, the
raeraes.
They like to show off.
    They like colors.
    Was that woman a
raerae?
    Materena looks down at her chest. You can’t see the form of her breasts with that shirt.
    Eh—people, they’re thinking she’s a
raerae?
    Materena chuckles and gets into a truck.
    Mori and Teva, another cousin of Materena, are drinking under the mango tree at the petrol station when Materena gets off
     the truck. Mori is playing “Silent Night” on his accordion and Teva is humming, but they stop to call out, “
Iaorana,
Cousin,” to Materena.
    “
Iaorana,
” says Materena. She wants to add, “Are you still waiting for a job to fall out of the sky?” But they are nice cousins. They
     just like the drink a bit too much. There are quite a few empty bottles of Hinano in the beer case.
    “Eh, Materena, you’re flamboyant today,” Mori says.
    Teva laughs.
    Materena stops walking. She demands to know what Mori means by
flamboyant.
    “Well, you’re colorful. I can see you really well,” Mori says. “You’re like, how can I say this, you’re like —” Finally, Mori
     finds the word. “Like a peacock, Materena, Cousin.”
    Mori is now laughing his head off. He’s laughing so much that his dreadlocks are trembling. Materena looks at him, then she
     looks at Teva, and she can see by the redness of their eyes that they’ve been smoking marijuana on top of drinking Hinano.
    Materena puts her hands on her hips. “Well, you two, I prefer to look like a peacock than to look like a good-for-nothing.
     Are you two still waiting for a job to fall out of the sky?”
    She marches away and hears her cousins say, “What’s wrong with Materena today?”
    “Ah, she’s just in a bad mood. Some days it’s best not to say
iaorana.
Some days, it’s best just to drink your beer and say nothing.”
    Materena marches back to the mango tree and asks her cousins if the shirt makes her look like… like a
raerae.
    The cousins are perplexed by the question. Mori says, “Well, we know you’re a woman… so . . .”
    Teva says, “We know you’re not a
raerae…
so . . .”
    Materena waves a hand. “Ah—who cares about what you two say?” Then she stomps off again.
    Marching home, Materena thinks about how difficult gift giving is. There’s no guarantee. It seems that what people give and
     what people expect to receive are often two different things.
    Materena knows this will happen with her wedding gifts, but she will accept them gratefully because that is what you should
     do when somebody