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saved, money from working the copra plantation. Mama is going to buy my sister new dresses and
     I get jealous because I only have two dresses and they’re old. I’m also jealous because Mama doesn’t want to take me with
     her to Tahiti.
    “I cry when she gets on the schooner, and she turns her back to me. And Teva’s grandmother scolds me. She says, ‘Stop your
     crying.’ She tells me it’s safer for me to stay here because Kika will surely die if that
titoi
ever used the law to steal me like he stole my sister. I miss my mama. I think, What if she doesn’t come back? Teva’s grandmother
     is a really nice woman, but she’s not Mama.
    “When Mama comes back I run to her. She doesn’t hold me and she kisses my forehead like it’s an obligation. It’s like she’s
     not happy to see me. So I go hide in the bush. I hide there for a long time. Mama calls me and I don’t answer. She calls me
     again and I answer, ‘Yeah!’ She comes after me with the broom and beats me. Teva’s grandmother runs to save me. Mama tells
     her good friend to mind her own business. And the good friend shouts, ‘It’s not Loana’s fault that
titoi
Tahitian husband of yours wants to divorce you!’”
    Loana drinks her wine and tears well in her eyes.
    “I’m fourteen years old when Mama leaves me.” Loana’s voice is trembling. “We’re both in Tahiti this time, staying at a relative’s
     house in Faa’a—Rita’s grandmother. We are in Tahiti to pay a visit to my stepfather, who’s sick at the Mamao Hospital.
    “I’m asleep when Rita’s grandmother comes to wake me up. It’s about twenty past six. I open my eyes. She whispers, ‘Loana,
     come to the kitchen.’ I go to the kitchen and I see my mama lying on the kitchen table, her hands clutched in prayer, with
     coins pressed on her eyelids. I don’t understand. Rita’s grandmother says, ‘Loana, say adieu to your mama, she’s dead.’
    “I open my mouth to shout, but the relative puts her hand on my mouth. She says, ‘Don’t cry now, your mother’s soul is still
     in the kitchen, hold your tears for another hour.’ She goes on about how it’s good Mama died in Tahiti and not in Rangiroa.
     Yes, it’s good she died here alone, without her second man. That way, her dead body will be allowed into the church. Here,
     she’s Madame Mahi, whereas there—she’s ‘Mito’s woman.’ The relative says, ‘We’re going to give your mama a grand funeral,
     the choir is going to sing for her, and we’ll play the accordions. Don’t be too sad.’”
    The tears are now streaming down Loana’s face and Materena hugs her mother.
    “I miss my mama,” Loana cries. “She’s been dead for over thirty-eight years but I still miss my mama.”
    Materena doesn’t say anything. She just hugs her mother real tight.
    Loana gently pulls away and wipes her eyes with the back of her hands. “Fill my glass, girl.”
    Materena doesn’t really want to give her mother more wine, because in her opinion wine and sadness don’t go together. “Mamie,”
     she says softly, “maybe you’ve had enough to drink, eh? You want me to make you some coffee?”
    “You want me to stay up all night?” Loana grabs the flagon of wine and fills her glass. She savors the wine and sighs. “You
     know, my parents’ separation traumatized me.” She looks up. “Yes, that’s the word. Traumatized.”
    “
Ah oui,
” Materena agrees. “It’s hard on the children, but sometimes separation is for the best.”
    “It’s not the separation that traumatized me the most. It’s my… it’s my mama.” Loana bites her quivering lips. “It’s
     my mama not wanting to be a divorcée. Today, there are so many people who are divorced that to be a divorcée is normal. Nobody
     cares.”
    Materena slowly nods.
    “But in my mama’s days,” Loana continues, “nobody divorced. You were supposed to stay married for life. It was expected. You
     know, when my father left my mama for another