Free Tiare in Bloom by Célestine Vaite Page A

to snap at him. She’s been doing a lot of this lately. He’s still
     waiting for that saying “After the storm there’s the good weather” to come true.
    But Materena doesn’t say a word as she slips into a dress Pito has never seen before. It must be new.
    “You bought a new dress?”
    “I’ve had this dress for five years!”
    “Ah.” Pito can’t believe he didn’t notice that green dress before, but it’s very hard for a man to keep track of his woman’s
     dresses. They have so many! Dresses with thick straps, thin straps, red dots, black dots, flowers, squares, drawings . . .
     You need a big memory to remember all of this. “Who’s your friend?” Pito asks again.
    “Tareva,” Materena replies nonchalantly, spraying eau de cologne on her wrists. “She’s from the radio station.”
    “She’s pretty?”
    “She likes to dance.”
    “
Oui,
but she’s pretty?”
    “It’s important that Tareva is pretty?” Materena snaps as she puts her shoes on, her favorite ones because they’re so comfortable.
    “You’re wearing those shoes?” Pito says to say something.
    “
Oui,
and so? They’re comfortable.”
    “They’re a bit old.”
    “People aren’t going to talk to my feet.” With this tired declaration and an approximate time for her return (ten o’clock),
     Materena makes an exit.
    Pito grabs himself a beer and wanders around the house like someone who has nothing to do. He stops in front of the framed
     wedding photograph proudly displayed on the wall in the living room. There’s him, his wife, their children, when they were
     younger.
    Pito goes to the fridge, opens a new beer, and continues his wandering. He inspects himself in front of the mirror (full front
     and both sides). “Not bad, my friend.” He does ten push-ups on his knuckles. “Not bad, my friend,” he smiles, rubbing his
     sore knuckles. He admires himself in the mirror again. “Hum . . . not bad at all.” He wanders around the house, thinking about
     this, that, his wife dancing in her new dress.
    Eh, Pito is going to call Ati, see what he’s up to. They might go for a little drive.
    Ati picks up his phone on the third ring. “
A-llo.
” He has his telephone voice on, a mix of mystery and sexiness, in case it is a woman calling.
    “It’s me,” Pito says.
Purée
— is that a hymn being sung in the background?
    “Eh, Pito,
e aha te huru?
”
    “What’s that noise? It’s coming from your apartment?”
    “
Oui,
” Ati says, resigned. “Mama organized a prayer night at my place.” Then speaking between his teeth he adds, “It’s to help
     me find a good wife. All my aunties are here, they’re driving me mad with their church songs.”
    “What’s a good wife these days?” Pito asks, forcing a laugh.
    But here’s Ati’s mama yelling out, “Ati! We’re not going to do all the singing by ourselves! It’s not us who need a wife!”
    “All right then,
copain,
” Pito says. “I’ll let you go back to your singing.”
    After a few words of encouragement, Pito stares at the telephone for a good moment, then returns to his wandering around the
     house, checking this and that, the spotless bathroom, the sparkling white fridge, and the potted plants hiding the holes in
     the walls . . . Pito turns around and around, goes to see the president . . . While he’s in the bathroom he might as well
     have his shower. Then he knots a towel around his waist and wanders some more.
    After a while, he starts imagining his wife dancing with a rich Chinese man (old, of course, and decrepit) and comparing him
     with her idiot husband who’s let her go out on her own, thinking she’s with a friend from work. She’s laughing too, throwing
     her head backwards to show the rich Chinese man her throat, and you know what it means when a woman shows a man her throat,
     eh? It means she wants to be nice to him, of course!
    “So? What do you do?” Materena could be asking her dancing partner right now, as they waltz