My Tahitian Brother

It wasn't until "late" last night that I was able to pry myself away
from the beach walk sunset, glass of red French wine on C and B's deck
w/moonrise, then long extended dinner with hors'd'oeurves, followed by
an old French movie that probably never made it to the USA. Late here
is around 9 PM, because we get up so early, same with cold here is
below 70 degrees when you have to put on long pants and long sleeve
shirt, still no socks; a flannel sheet would be good for a blanket
instead of the thin cotton one. On the bike ride to the village the
crabs were also responding to the big moonlight, running across the
road, showing a lot of ownership.

The little outdoor restaurant next to the wi-fi place was closed so
using one of those chairs and tables for my little office was for me,
no need to buy a $4 mini glass of canned grapefruit juice. Across the
little garden trail on the other side of the village I could see the
lights of La Iguana, the classic old veranda style colonial
bar/restaurant, French music just loud enough for me to enjoy, swizzle
stick customers sprinkled about on the comfortable stools, big chairs
and couches. I didn't see Humphrey Bogart; he was probably in the
back room making some deals with the black pearl traders. I noticed a
light flashing around in the darkened closed area I am occupying, a
big, long grayish-haired Tahitian man quietly rolls up next to me.
Says he is the night watchman, will be there until 5 AM. He's glad
I'm there and says to stay as long as I want; his name is Leon, very
mellow. We talk for a bit, agree that staying up with the news is a
waste of time and using the Internet to communicate with family is
about all it's good for. He tells me to come back anytime and hang
out there; we both knew that during the day when this place is open
neither one of us could afford to be a customer.

Claude too has bumped into many Tahitian brothers, more and more as
the stay is longer. Sisters too, with their long cotton wraps and
flowers in their hair, often with a big one on the side (depends on
marital status), guys too can have flowers in their hair. Gaston the
plumber and his crew of tattooed and necklaced dudes doing the palm
slap and knuckle touch have slowly completed their big below ground
tank and graywater system here. Tahitian Claude, a big long haired
guy, probably knows Leon, our age 50x, is a builder artist, works a
lot with local woods, pandanus roofs, tiki style structures, gets a
lot of business with the tourist industry. He became very concerned
when he heard of our Claude's problems with the spoiled French
bureaucrats living next door. It was then that we realized that the
problem was finished regardless of the dumb threats. All Tahitian
Claude has to do is go over there and politely tell them not to bother
his friend Our Claude, that's it, over. (Just heard today that Bruno
and Carol are moving into an apartment in Papeete, closer to his work
and Lulu, their 3 year old, will have more friends.)

Riding my bike back from the village I inadvertently tandemed with a
bent over kind of ragged Tahitian guy, he asked me if I wanted to buy
any pot or coke, I shook my head no, then he asked for some money so
he could buy a coke, I told him sorry, we parted ways. I guess if I
was a smaller, frailer person I might have been a little scared about
that kind of dark messenger, but I looked at him, then at me, and
realized I could easily squash him if he got weird. The Tahitians
speak French of course, just like Mexicans speak Spanish, but they
also speak Tahitian and it is nice to know that if you speak English
they love it because it means that you are not part of the repressive
French colonial regime. The Tahitians are fine with everyone,
including the many French speaking Chinese, but are always wary of the
French.