My earliest memory is of a pot stand. It is set into a corner with a cupboard on one side and, on the other, a shallow step. This is where my head begins. The step leads to another room, and far on the other side of the room, there is a white-haired woman sitting in a chair.
Discussions with my mother lead to just one pot stand, in a seaside cottage the summer I was eighteen months old. It was, she says, made of black iron and it stood beside a real step and the white-haired woman must be her own mother who died when I was six. This image of her is all that I have, and even then it is not so much an image as a sense. She may have been asleep, but I think she was reading. And there was something very quiet and covert about the pot stand, which was a pyramid affair with shelves for four pots. I can remember a little saucepan on the top shelf. I am tempted to say that there was a big saucepan on the bottom one, but this is pushing things a bit. I would give anything to remember what the lino was like.
At nine months, the baby puts her head in a pot and says, Aaah Aaah Aaah. She says it very gently and listens to the echo. She has discovered this all by herself. By way of celebration, I put my own head into the pot and say, Aaah Aaah Aaah. Then she does it again. Then I do it again. And so on.
The rest of my family don’t believe that I remember the pot stand, on the grounds that it is a stupid memory and, anyway, I was far too young. It is the job of families to reject each other’s memories, even the pleasant ones, and being the youngest I am sometimes forced to fight for the contents of my own head. But my brother broke his elbow that summer. My mother had to take him to hospital in Dublin and my grandmother looked after us while she was away. This was the first time in my life that I was without my mother for any length of time. If she had stayed, then am certain that I would not have remembered anything at all of that house — not the pot stand, and not my grandmother either.
We pilfer our own memories, we steal them from the world and salt them away.
I first left the baby when she was four months old. Some of the days when I was away, she spent with my mother. I wonder what image might remain with her from that time: a colour, a smell, a combination of shapes perhaps, affectless and still — and in the distance, someone. Just that. Someone.
And in the foreground? The carpet perhaps. I hope she remembers my parents’ carpet, the one I remember as a child, with a pattern of green leaves like stepping-stones all the way down the hall.
I have another, possibly earlier, memory of pulling the wallpaper off the wall from between the bars of my cot. My mother is absent from this scene too, but though the Pot Stand Memory is neither happy nor unhappy, this one is quite thrilling. I almost certainly ate the paper. The plaster underneath it was pink and powdery, and I imagine now that I can remember the shivery taste of it. I also remember the shape of the tear on the wall, or I think I do. At any rate, I see it in my mind’s eye — a seam on the left, stunningly straight, with four gammy strips pulled away, like a fat raggedy set of fingers, on the right.
I know this memory is, in some sense, true, but when I try to chase it, it disappears. It exists in peripheral vision, and presents itself only when I focus on something else — like typing, for example. When I stop writing this sentence and look up from the screen to try to see the pattern of the wallpaper — a blank. Memories, by their nature, may not be examined, and the mind’s eye is not the eye we use, for example, to cross the road.
I wonder if this is the way that the baby sees things: vaguely and all at once. I imagine it to be a very emotional way to exist in the world. Perhaps I am being romantic — but the visual world yields nothing but delight to her. There are (it seems) no horrors, no frights. Tiny babies see only in monochrome. I imagine colour leaking into her head like a slowly adjusted screen — tremendously slow, like a vegetable television growing silently in the corner of the room. I imagine her focus becoming sharper and deeper, like some infinitely stoned cameraman adjusting his lens. ‘Oh,’ she says — or something that is the precursor to ‘Oh’, a shallow inhalation, a stillness as she is caught by something, and begins to stalk it: careful, rapt — the most beautiful sound in the world: the sound of a baby’s wondering breath.
Something pulls in me when she is caught like this. For months I am a slave to her attention. The world is all colour, light and texture and I am her proud companion. I have no choice. None of us do. In a café, three women look over to smile at her, and then, as one, they look up. ‘Oh, she likes the light,’ says one, and this fact pleases us all. Immensely.
The light, of course, is horrible, and this is one of the reasons mothers think they are losing their minds: this pride in the baby looking at the light, this pride in the light as they introduce it to the baby, ‘Yes, the light!’ There is a certain zen to it; the world simple and new as we all stop to admire the baby admiring a wrought-iron candelabra with peculiar dangly bits and five — yes, five! — glowing, tulip-shaped bulbs.
She is years away from knowing from what ‘five’ might be, but maybe she already gets the ‘fiveness’ of it. This is the way her eyes move: One, one more! Another one! All of them! The other two. The first one again, another one! Something else.
Sometimes she holds her hand up like the baby Christ, and looks as though she contains everything, and understands it all. I do not ask to be forgiven, but still I feel redemption in the completeness of her gaze. And I feel the redemption in her fat baby wrists and her infinitely fine, fat baby’s hand. The baby is a blessing, but sometimes she does, she must, also bless, which is to say that she simply sees, and lifts her hand, as a sign.
I pick the baby up and we look in the wardrobe mirror, which has always been for her a complicated delight: What is it? It’s a baby! She smiles, it smiles back! (Complication upon complication! It’s me! It’s me! she says, and all her synapses, as I imagine, going ping! ping! ping!) She sees me smiling at her in the mirror; she sees her mother turning to smile at her in the room, and oh, it’s too much, she lunges forwards to examine the knob on the wardrobe door.
There are actually two knobs on the wardrobe. One is wooden and the other, for some reason, is an amber-coloured plastic. The baby goes from one to the other and back again. One of the first confusions in her young life was when myself and Martin both looked at her at the same time: ‘Oh no, there’s two of them.’ It almost felt unfair.
As she grew older, there was nothing she liked more than to be held by one of us and to look at the other, in a somewhat haughty way. Older still, she is completely content when the two of us are with her, quietly in a room. She has travelled from one, to two, perhaps to many. I think of this as she goes from the wooden knob to the amber one — a fairy tale of sameness and difference. This one. That one.
Of course, the first difference between this and the other is not between mother and father, or even between baby and ‘baby in the mirror’, but between one breast and . . . the other! If women had five teats, then mankind might, by now, be living on the moon.
Yesterday, it was warm, and I took off her socks and stood her on the grass. She loved this, but maybe not so much as I did — her first experience of grass. For her, this green stuff was just as different and as delicious as everything else — the ‘first’ was all mine. Sometimes, I feel as though I am introducing her to my own nostalgia for the world.
In the meantime, grass is green and springy and amazingly multiple and just itself. It might even be edible. Everything goes into her mouth. This is the taste of yellow. This is the taste of blue. Since she started moving about she has also experienced the taste of turf, of yesterday’s toast, and probably of mouse droppings, because it was weeks before I realised we were not alone in the house. Paper remains her ultimate goal, and she looks over her shoulder now to check if I am around. That wallpaper looks nice.
I really do wish I could remember my own wallpaper, instead of just the tear I made in it. The baby sleeps in my cot now — the one my father made over forty years ago with some half-inch dowel, and a fairly ingenious sliding mechanism for the side to be let down. I sat beside it one night, feeding her, and I tried to remember what it was like to be inside; the view between the bars and the ripped wallpaper on the wall. Someone, over the years, had painted it nursery blue, but I remembered a green colour, I could almost recall chewing the cross bar at the top. The baby sucked, her eyelashes batting slowly over a drunken, surrendered gaze, and as my attention wandered I saw, under a chip in the blue paint, the very green I ate as a child. A strong and distant emotion washed briefly over me and was gone.
My mother, or someone, pulled the cot away from the wall and, in time, the wallpaper I do not remember was replaced with wallpaper that I do remember (flowers of blue, block-printed on white). Babies love pattern so much I have begun to regret my own attempts at tastefulness. Not a single curlicued carpet for her to crawl over, not a single flower on the wall. Even her toys are in primary colours and her mobile is from the Tate, cut-out shapes, like a Mondrian floating free.
Once I stop trying, I seem to remember my mother giving out to me about the ripped-up wall. She would have been upset about the wallpaper. Perhaps this is why I remember it. It was my first real experience of ‘NO!’
My own child thinks No! is a game. I say it once and she pauses. I say it twice and she looks at me. I say it three times and she laughs. The punch-line!
Tasteful as it is, she loves the mobile. It has a big red circle that spins slowly to blue, and a little square that goes from black to white. There are various rectangles that don’t particularly obsess her but, taken all in all, it is the thing she likes most in the world.
We moved when she was nearly eight months old, and it was another two weeks before I got round to stringing up the mobile for her again. When it was done, she shuddered with delight. It happened to her all in spasm. She realised, not only that the mobile was there, but also that it had once been gone. She remembered it. In order to do this she needed to see three things: the mobile in the old flat, the new room without the mobile, the new room with the mobile. Memory is not a single thing.
Martin says that his first memory, which is of one brother breaking a blue plastic jug over another brother’s head, is false. His mother tells him that they never did have a slender, pale blue plastic jug. He thinks he dreamt about the jug, and that the dream also contained the idea that this was his first memory, as he dreamt a subsequent ‘first memory’ of people waving to him from a plane while he stood in the garden below. He was convinced for years that this was real. This makes me think that we are very young when we search for our first memory — that single moment when we entered the stream of time.
My own mother, who is curator and container of many things, among them the memory of my pot stand, worries that she is getting forgetful. The distant past is closer all the time, she says. If this is true, then the memory of her own mother is getting stronger now; sitting in a house by the sea, surrounded by children who are variously delighted, or worried, or concentrating on other things.
When you think about it, the pots can’t have stayed there for long. I would have pulled them down. There would have been noise, though my memory of them is notably, and utterly, silent. Perhaps what I remember is the calm before a chaos of sound and recrimination. That delicious, slow moment, when a baby goes very, very quiet, knowing it is about to be found out.
The other morning, the baby (silently) reached the seedlings I have under the window, and she filled her mouth with a handful of hardy annuals and potting compost. I tried to prise her mouth open to get the stuff out. She clamped it shut. She bit me (by accident). She started to cry. When she cried, her mouth opened. She was undone by her own distress and this seemed so unfair to me that I left her to it. I hadn’t the heart. Besides, it said on the pack that the compost was sterilised.
But she will not let my finger into her mouth, now, even to check for a tooth (she is very proud of her teeth), and when she clamps it shut and turns away she is saying, ‘Me,’ loud and clear. ‘Oh,’ a friend said, when she started to crawl, ‘it’s the beginning of the end,’ and I knew what she meant. It is the beginning of the end of a romance between a woman who has forgotten who she is and a child who does not yet know.
Until one day there will come a moment, delightful or banal, ordinary or strange, that she will remember for the rest of her life.
Anne Enright, 'Time' in Making Babies: Stumbling into Motherhood, London: Vintage, 2005, 65-72.
Ko ‘eku fuofua manatu′ ko ha tu‘u‘anga kulo. Na‘e tu‘u ia ‘i ha tuliki mo e kopate ‘i he tafa‘aki ‘e taha′ pea ko e tafa‘aki ‘e taha′ ko ha sitepu mā‘ulalo pē. Ko e kamata‘anga eni ‘o ‘eku fakakaukau′. Ko e sitepu′ ‘oku ‘alu ki ha loki ‘e taha, pea ‘i he tafa‘aki mama‘o ‘e taha ‘o e loki′ ‘oku ‘i ai ha fine‘eiki ‘ulu tea ‘oku ta‘utu ‘i ha sea.
‘I he‘eku talanoa mo ‘eku fa‘ee ne a‘u atu ki he tu‘u‘anga kulo pē ‘e taha, ‘i ha ki‘i fale he mātatahi′ ‘i he taimi māfana′ ‘i hoku māhina tahavalu′. Na‘a ne talamai ko e tu‘u‘anga kulo na‘e ngaahi ia mei ha konga ukamea ‘uli‘uli na‘e tu‘u ‘i he ve‘e sitepu pea ko e fine‘eiki ‘ulu tea ‘oku pau pē ko ‘ene fa‘ēe na‘e mate ia ‘i hoku ta‘u ono. Ko e fo‘i ‘imisi pē eni ‘eku kui ‘oku ou ma‘u′, pea ‘i he taimi ko ia na‘e ‘ikai ke fu‘u ‘uhinga ia kiate au. Mahalo pē na‘e mohe ia ka na‘a ku pehē ‘e au na‘e lau tohi. Pea na‘e ‘i ai e fa‘ahinga me‘a longonoa pea mo fakapulipuli fekau‘aki pea mo e tu‘u‘anga kulo′, he ko e pilamita mo e laupapa ke hili ai ha kulo ‘e fā. ‘Oku ou manatu‘i ha ki‘i sasipani na‘e ‘i he funga laupapa′. Pea na‘a ku meimei talaange na‘e ‘i ai e fu‘u sasipani lahi ‘i he laupapa ki lalo′, ka ‘e fu‘u lahi eni ia ki hano fakamatala atu. Na‘a ku feinga lahi ke u manatu‘i e me‘a kotoa ‘o a‘u ki he taila faliki′ pe na‘e fēfē.
‘I hono māhina hiva na‘e fakahū ‘e he pepee hono ‘ulu ‘e he kulo′ mo pehē Aaaaa Aaaaa Aaaa. Na‘e lea vaivai ‘aupito pea fanongo ki he ‘eko hono le‘ō. Na‘a ne ‘ilo‘i pē ‘e ia ‘a e me‘a ni ‘iate ia pē. Ko e founga ‘ema fakafiefia‘i eni, na‘a ku fakahū hoku ‘ulu ‘i he kulo pea mo pēhē, Aaaa Aaaa Aaaa. Pea ne to e fai pēhē mo ia. Peau to e fai pē ‘a e me‘a tatau. Pea ma hokohoko atu ai pē.
Ko hoku fāmili′ kotoa ‘oku ‘ikai kenau tui ‘oku ou manatu‘i ‘a e tu‘u‘anga kulo′, ‘i he tu‘unga ‘oku ngali vale ‘a e fa‘ahinga manatu pehe ni′ pea ‘ikai ngata ai′ na‘a ku fu‘u si‘isi‘i fau. Ko e fatongia ia ‘o e fāmili′ kenau faka‘ikai‘i ‘a e ngaahi manatu ‘a e kotoa ‘o e fāmili′, a‘u ki he ngaahi manatu melie pea ko au ‘a e si‘isi‘i taha ‘oku fa‘a fakalotolahi‘i ke u taupau‘i ‘a e ngaahi me‘a ‘oku ‘i he‘eku fakakaukau′. Ka ko hoku tuonga‘ane′ na‘e fasi hono tui‘i nima′ ‘i he taimi māfana ‘e taha. Na‘e pau ai ke ‘ave he‘emau fa‘ee ki he falemahaki ‘i Dublin pea tokanga‘i kimautolu ‘e he‘emau kui fefine′. Ko e fuofua taimi eni ‘i he‘eku mo‘ui′ na‘a ku mavahe ai mei he‘eku fa‘ee′ ‘i ha taimi. Kapau na‘e nofo ai, ‘oku ou fakapapau‘i he‘ikai ke u manatu‘i ‘e au ha fa‘ahinga me‘a ‘i he fale ko ia′. – ‘ikai ko e tu‘u‘anga kulo′, pe ko ‘eku kui fefine pe ā.
‘Oku tau fa‘a tukuange ‘etau manatu′, fa‘a kaiha‘asi ia mei he māmani′ ‘o fakatolonga ‘i ha feitu‘u.
Na‘a ku ‘uluaki mavahe mei he pepee ‘i hono māhina faa′. ‘I he taimi ‘e ni‘ihi ‘eku mavahe′ na‘e nofo pē mo ‘eku fa‘ee. Na‘a ku fakakaukau pē koehā e fa‘ahinga ‘imisi te ne ma‘u mei he fine‘eiki′ ‘i he taimi ko ia′: ha lanu, nanamu, ngaahi fakatātā ‘o ha ngaahi fuo, li‘ekina mo nonga – pea ‘i he vaha mama‘o′, ha tokotaha. Ko ia pē. Ha taha pē.
Pea ‘i he‘ene fuofua manatu? Mahalo pe ko e kāpeti′. ‘Oku ou ‘amanaki pē te ne manatu‘i ‘a e kāpeti ‘eku ongo mātu‘a′, ‘a ē na‘a ku manatu‘i ‘i he‘eku kei si‘i′, mo hono pule lau‘i‘akau lanu mata hangē ha ngaahi sitepu he maka ‘a hono fakatātaa, na‘a ne ‘alu pe ‘o a‘u ki he holo′.
‘Oku ‘i ai e me‘a ‘e taha mahalo pe kimu‘aange, ko ‘eku manatu na‘a ku fusi hifo e pepa ‘o e holisi mei he vahavaha‘a ‘o e ngaahi pou hoku mohenga pēpee. Na’e ‘ikai ke ‘i ai ‘eku fa‘ee he taimi ko ia′, ka koe‘uhi ko ‘eku Manatu ki he Tu‘u‘anga Kulo′ na‘e ‘ikai ko ha me‘a fakafiefia pē fakamamahi, ko e manatu ia ko eni ‘oku fu‘u ongo fakafiefia ange ia. Na‘a ku meimei kai ‘e au ‘a e pepa′. Ko e palasitā ‘i lalo′ na‘e lanu pingikī mo efua. ‘Oku ou fakakaukau loto atu he taimi ni ‘o lava keu manatu‘i ‘a hono fa‘ahinga ifo faikehe′. ‘Oku ou to e manatu‘i ‘a e fuo ‘o e mahae ‘i he holisi′, pē ‘oku ou pehē pe ‘oku ou ‘ilo. ‘I he fa‘ahinga me‘a pē ‘oku ou sio ki ai he‘eku fakakaukau′ – ko e hoko he to‘ohema, na‘e fu‘u hangatonu ‘aupito fakataha mo e aveave ‘e fā ne ‘osi to‘o ia mei ai, hangē ha ngaahi fo‘i tuhu sisino mahaehae, ‘I he to‘omata‘u′.
‘Oku ou ‘ilo ‘i he fa‘ahinga tūkunga ‘eku manatu′ ‘oku mo‘oni eni pea ‘i he‘eku feinga ke tulikaki ki ai′ na‘e puli ia. ‘Oku ‘i ai pē ia ‘i ha fa‘ahinga visone ‘oku ‘ikai nai ke fu‘u mahu‘inga, pea ‘oku hā mai pē ia ‘i he taimi ‘oku ou fakakaukau fakamama‘u ai ki ha fa‘ahinga me‘a kehe – hangē ko ha‘aku lolotonga taipe. ‘I he taimi ‘oku tuku ai ‘eku tohi ‘a e sētesi ko eni′ kau sio kehe ‘o feinga ke u sio ki he peteni ‘o e pepaholisi′ – hala‘atā. Ko e manatu′, ‘i hono natula′, ‘oku ‘ikai ke lava ia ‘o sivi‘i, pea ko e mata ‘o e fakakaukau ‘oku ‘ikai ko e mata ia ‘oku tau ngāue‘aki′, fakatātā‘aki eni, ketau kolosi he hala′.
‘Oku ou fifili kapau ko e anga eni ‘a e sio ‘a e pēpee ki he ngaahi me‘a′: ‘ikai ke fu‘u mahino pē ‘oku nau hoko fakataha pē. ‘Oku ou fakakaukau atu ko e fa‘ahinga me’a fakaloloma eni ‘o e mo‘ui′ he māmani′. Mahalo pē ‘oku ou fu‘u ngali fakalavetala nai – ka ko e mamani ‘o e sio′ ‘oku ‘ikai ha to e me‘a ia kiate ia ka ko e fiefia pē. ‘Oku ngalingali ‘oku ‘ikai ha me‘a fakalilifu, ‘ikai ha fakailifia. Ko e fanga ki‘i pēpē valevale′ ‘oku nau sio pē kinautolu ki he me‘a kotoa ‘oku tatau. ‘Oku ou fakakaukau ki he ngaahi lanu ‘oku hafu hifo ki honau ‘atamai′ hangē ha ‘ata ‘oku feinga‘i ke ‘ata lelei ki ha lā ‘o ha televisone pē komipiuta – matu‘aki māmālie hangē ha ngoue vesitapolo ‘i ha televisone ta‘e lea ‘i he tuliki ‘o e loki′. ‘Oku ou fakakaukau loto ki he‘ene fakamama‘u ‘oku to e masila ange pea loloto, hangē ha tokotaha faitā ‘oku ne feinga ke fakatonutonu ‘e ne me‘afaitaa. ‘‘Ooo’ na‘e lea mai pe ko ha fa‘ahinga lea ‘oku ngalingali ko ‘ene pehē mai ‘Oiauē! Ko e fo‘i mānava nounou pē, ‘o ha fo‘i nonga ‘i hono ma‘u ia ‘e ha fa‘ahinga me‘a, pea kamata ke ne muimui‘i: tokanga ‘aupito, mo fakamama‘u ki ai – ko e fo‘i ongo faka‘ofo‘ofa taha ‘i he māmani: ko e le‘o ‘o e pēpee ‘i he‘ene ‘ohovale he‘ene fie‘ilo.
‘Oku ‘i ai e me‘a ‘oku ne ‘fusi ‘eku tokanga′ ‘i he taimi ‘oku pēhē ai′. Kuo lau māhina ‘a ‘eku popula ki he‘ene tokanga′. Ko e māmani′ ‘oku lanu kotoa, maama mo e ongo pea ko au ‘a hono kaungā fononga mamae′. ‘Oku ‘ikai ha‘aku to e fili. Tatau loua pē kimaua. ‘I he falekai ‘e taha na‘e ‘i ai e kau fefine ‘e toko tolu na‘a nau hanga fakataha hake ke malimali kiate ia. ‘‘Ooo, ‘oku sai‘ia he maama’, ko e tokotaha mai ia, pea ko e fo‘i me’a ia na‘a mau fiefia kotoa ai. Fiefia lahi ‘aupito.
Ko e maama ‘oku fu‘u fakailifia foki, pea ko e taha eni e ‘uhinga ‘oku pehē ai ‘e he ngaahi fa‘ee ‘oku mole ‘enau fakakaukau lelei: ko e vekeveke ‘a e pepēe ‘i he‘ene sio ki he maama′, ko e fiefia ‘i he maama′ ‘i he taimi ‘oku fakahā ange ai ki he pepee, ‘‘Io, ‘a e maama’! ‘Oku ‘i ai e fa‘ahinga ongo lelei fekau‘aki mo ia: ko e māmani ‘oku lelei mo fo‘ou ‘i he taimi ‘oku tau tu‘u ai, ‘o sio mo polepole ‘i he pepee ‘i he‘ene fiefia mo vekeveke ‘i ha‘ane sio ki ha fa‘ahinga tu‘u‘anga maama senitelia mo ha fa‘ahinga kongokonga me‘a ‘oku tautau mo e nima – ‘io, fika nima! – uloulo, hangē ha fōtunga ‘o ha ngaahi moto‘i tiulipe.
‘Oku kei fu‘u tau mama‘o ‘a e ta‘u ia ke ne ‘ilo pe koehā ‘a e ‘nima’ ka mahalo pe ‘oku ne ‘osi ‘ilo ‘e ia ‘a e nima‘i me‘a ko ia. Ko e anga eni ‘a e ngāue ‘o hono kano‘i mata: Taha, to e ‘a e taha! To e hoko mai mo e taha. Pea ko ‘enau ‘osi kotoa′ ia. Ko e ongo ua ko ee. Ko e toe fika ‘uluaki′ eni, hoko mai! Ha me‘a makehe.
‘I he taimi ‘e taha ‘oku kunima hangē ko pēpē Kalaisi′, pea sio hangē ‘oku ne ma‘u ‘a e me‘a kotoa pē, mahino ‘a e me‘a kotoa pē. ‘Oku ‘ikai ke u kole au ke fakamolemole‘i au, ka ‘i he taimi tatau ‘oku ou ongo‘i kuou mo‘ui ‘i he kakato ‘o ‘ene sio fakamama‘u mai′. Pea ‘oku ou ongo‘i kuo huhu‘i hoku popula ‘i hono ki‘i kia‘i nima′ pea mo hono ki‘i nima feti lelei tu‘uloa′. Ko e pēpee ko e tāpuaki, ka ‘i he taimi ‘e ni‘ihi ‘oku mo‘oni pea ‘oku totonu, pea mo e tāpuaki′, ‘a ia ko e pehē ‘oku si‘i sio, pea mo hiki hono nima, ko ha faka‘ilonga.
‘Oku ou fua hake ‘a e pēpee pea ma fakatou sio ki he sio‘ata teuteu ‘i he kopate tautau‘anga vala′, kiate ia ‘oku fu‘u fakafiefia ma‘u pē: Koehā eni? Ko e pēpē! Na’e malimali, pea ‘oku to e malimali mai foki ki ai (‘Oku fakautuutu ange ‘a e faingata‘aa! Ko au! Ko au! Ko ‘ene lea mai ia ‘aki ‘a hono ongo‘anga′ kotoa, ‘I he‘eku laulotoa′, mo pingi! pingi! pingi) Na‘e sio mai kiate au ‘oku ou malimali atu ki ai ‘i he sio‘ata teuteu; na‘e sio ki he‘ene fā‘ee ‘oku tafoki ange ‘o malimali kiate ia ‘i he loki, pea ‘oo, ‘oku fu‘u lahi, pea ‘oho atu kimu‘a ‘o vakavakai‘i ‘a e me‘a fakaava ‘o e matapā ‘o e kopate tautau‘anga vala′.
‘Oku ua ‘a e me‘a fakaava ‘o e kopate tautau‘anga vala. Ko e taha ‘oku papa pea ko e taha ‘oku pelesitiki lanu engeenga mālohi. Na‘e vakavakai‘i tahataha ‘e he pepee, kamata mei he taha pea hoko atu ki he taha pea to e foki ki he taha. Ko e taha ‘o ‘ene ngaahi ongo‘i fifili ko e taimi na‘a ma fakatou sio fakataha atu ai mo Matini ‘i he taimi tatau. ‘‘Oo ‘ikai, ‘oku na toko ua’. ‘Oku ou ongo‘i ‘oku meimei ‘ikai ke fea.
‘I he‘ene lahi lahi hake, na‘e ‘ikai ha me‘a ‘e to e sai‘ia ange ai ka ko hano pukepuke ia ‘e ha taha ‘iate kimaua ka e sio ki he toko taha′, ‘i ha fa‘ahinga founga polepole mo‘oni. ‘I he ‘alu ‘ene lahi na‘e fu‘u fiemālie ‘aupito pē ia kiate kimaua, ‘i ha loki ‘oku lōngonoa. Na‘e fononga mei he taha, ki he ua, pea mahalo pe ki he to e lahi ange. Na‘a ku fakakaukau ki heni ko ‘ene ‘alu mei he me‘a fakaava matapā papa′ ki he me‘a fakaava matapā pelesitiki lanu engeenga mālohi – ko e fananga ‘oku tatau mo faikehekehe. ‘A e me‘a koeni′. Mo e me‘a koena′.
Mo‘oni ia, ko e ‘uluaki faikehekehe ‘o e ongo me‘a ni ‘oku ‘ikai ko e vaha‘a ‘o e fā‘ee mo e tamai′, pē ko e pepee mo hono ‘atā ‘i he sio‘ata teuteu′, ka ko e kehekehe ‘o e fo‘i huhu ‘e taha′ mo e …. taha! Kapau ‘e ma‘u ‘e he kakai fefine′ ‘a e mata‘i huhu ‘e nima, ta ko e fa‘ahinga ‘o e tangata kuo fuoloa ‘enau nofo atu he māhina′.
Ko ‘aneafi′, na’e māfana, pea na‘a ku to‘o hono sitōkeni′ pea fokotu‘u ia he musie′. Na‘e sai‘ia ‘aupito ai ka mahalo pe na‘e ‘ikai lahi tatau mo ‘eku sai‘ia ‘a‘aku – ko ‘ene fuofua fetaulaki eni pea mo e musie. Kiate ia, ko e fa‘ahinga me‘a lanu mata ko eni ‘oku kehe pē ia pea to e ifo kehe ange ia mei ha to e me‘a – ko e ‘uluaki′ ko e me‘a kotoa ia ‘a‘aku. ‘I he taimi ‘e ni‘ihi, ‘oku ou ongo‘i ‘oku hangē ‘oku ou fakafe‘iloaki ia ki he‘eku ongo‘i fakaumiuminoa mo faka‘amua ma‘ae mamani ko eni′.
Ka ‘i he taimi ni, ko e musie′ ‘oku lanu mata pea to e sipilingi mo anga kehe faufaua pē ia ‘iate ia pē. Ko e me‘a kotoa pē ‘oku ‘alu ia ki hono ngutu′. Ko e ifo eni ‘o e lanu engeenga′. Talu ‘ene kamata ke nga‘ola holo′ na‘a ne fetaulaki pea mo e fa‘ahinga ongo‘i ‘o hono feitu‘u pē ‘o‘ona, ‘o e tousi ‘aneafi′, pea tatau mo e te‘ekumaa, koe‘uhi na‘e laulau uike pea u toki fakatokanga‘i ‘oku ‘ikai ko kimaua pē ‘i he fale′. Ko e pepa′ ko ‘ene taumu‘a′ pe ia, pea ‘oku sio fakalaka hono uma′ ke vakai‘i pē ‘oku ou ofi ange ai. Ko e pepaholisi′ ‘oku faka‘ofo‘ofa.
‘Oku ou faka‘amuange ‘oku ou lava ‘o manatu‘i ‘a ‘eku pepaholisi′, ‘o ‘ikai ko e mahaē pē na‘a ku ‘ai. Ko e pepee ‘oku mohe he taimi ni ‘i hoku ki‘i mohe‘anga pēpee – ‘a ē na‘e ngaahi ‘e he‘eku tamai′ ‘i he ta‘u ‘e fānoa kuohili′ mo e ngaahi fo‘i pine haafe ‘inisi, pea mo e fa‘ahinga me‘a fakaofo he ongo tafa‘aki′ ke tukuhifo ai. Na‘a ku ta‘utu he tafa‘aki ‘o e ki‘i mohenga pēpee he pō ‘e taha, ‘o fafanga ia, pea u feinga ke u manatu‘i pe na‘e fēfē ‘a e taimi na‘a ku ‘i loto ai; ‘a e me‘a na‘a ku sio ki ai he vahavaha‘a papa′, pea mo e pepaholisi na‘e mahaehae′. Pau pe na‘e hanga ‘e taha ‘i he ngaahi ta‘u atu ko ee ‘o vali lanu pulū e ki‘i loki pepee, ka ‘oku ou manatu‘i ‘e au na‘e lanu mata, ‘oku ou manatu‘i pē na‘a ku u‘uu‘u au ‘i he va‘a papa kolosi ‘i ‘olunga′. Na‘e komo e pepee, ko hono laumata na‘e petepete māmālie ‘o hangē ‘oku konaa pea mo faai hifo pē ke kuikui, pea ‘i he ‘alu ‘eku tokanga ne u sio ki he ma‘ola ‘i he vali lanu puluu, ‘o ‘asi hake lanu mata tofu pē na‘a ku kai ‘i he‘eku kei si‘ī. Na‘e ‘i ai e fu‘u ongo mālohi mo loloto ‘aupito na‘e lele hake ‘iate au pea ne to e mole atu.
Ko ‘eku fā‘ee, pe ko ha taha, na‘a ne toho‘i e mohenga pēpee mei he holisi′ ‘i he taimi tonu, pea ko e pepaholisi′ na‘e ‘ikai ke u manatu‘i na‘e fetongi‘aki ia ‘a e pepaholisi ‘oku ou manatu‘i (matala‘i‘akau lanu pulū, na‘e vali mamafa ‘aki ia ‘a e lanu hinehina). Ko e fanga pēpee ‘oku nau manako ‘aupito he peteni pea ne kamata ke u fakatomala he‘eku ngaahi feinga ki he ifo‘ia. Na‘e ‘ikai ha ki‘i kāpeti teuteu‘i fakatātā ngaofeofe ke totolo holo ai, ‘ikai ha ki‘i matala‘i‘akau ‘i he holisi′. Pea tatau mo ‘ene me‘ava‘inga′ ko e ngaahi lanu tefito pē pea ko ‘ene me‘a va‘inga tautau pē na’e ‘omi ia mei he Fale Aati′, mo e ngaahi fuo tā tongitongi, hangē ha fakatātā Mondorian ‘oku tētē tau‘atāina holo pē.
‘I he tuku pe ‘eku feinga′, na‘e ha‘u ke u manatu‘i ‘eku fā‘ee ‘oku ne fakatokanga‘i au mo e holisi mahaehae′. ‘Oku pau pē na‘e ‘ita fekau‘aki mo e pepaholisi′. Mahalo ko e ‘uhinga ia ‘o ‘eku manatu‘i ‘a e me‘a ko ia′. Ko ‘eku fuofua fetaulaki ia pea mo e ‘‘IKAI!’
Ko ‘eku tama ko eni ‘oku fakakaukau ko e ‘Ikai! ko e va‘inga. Na‘a ku lea tu‘otaha pea ne ki‘i mālōlō. Na‘a ku lea tu‘o ua pea na‘e sio mai kiate au. Pea na‘a ku lea tu‘o tolu atu pea na‘e kata ia. Ko e fo‘i me’a fakaoli faka‘osi taha′ ia.
‘I he‘ene ifo′, na‘e manako ‘aupito ‘i he‘ene mopaila (ko e me‘a va‘inga ‘oku ngāohi ‘o tui ki ai e fanga ki‘i me‘ava‘inga kehekehe ‘o tautau he mohenga pēpee pea ‘oku ngaungaue ‘o va‘inga ki ai e pēpee ‘i he‘ene tokoto hono mohenga′). ‘Oku ‘i ai ‘a e seakale lahi lanu kulokula ‘oku vilo māmālie ki he lanu puluu, pea mo e ki‘i tapafā ‘oku ‘alu mei he lanu ‘uli‘uli′ ki he hinehina′. ‘Oku ‘i ai pea mo e ngaahi lekitengikolo ‘oku ‘ikai ke ne fu‘u ‘ave ‘ene tokanga′, ka ko hono fakakātoa ko e me‘a eni ‘oku sai‘ia taha ai′ ‘i he māmani′.
Na‘a mau hiki ‘i he meimei hoko hono mahina valu′, pea na‘e meimei uike ‘e ua pea u toki lava ‘o tui ‘a ‘ene mopaila′. Ko ‘ene ‘osi pē hono ngaahi pea na‘e veekeveke fiefia. ‘Ene haakahaka mo futefute fiefia′. Na‘a ne fakatokanga‘i, ‘oku ‘ikai ngāta pē he‘ene sio ki ai′ ka koe‘uhi′ foki na‘e puli. Na‘a ne manatu ki ai. Pea ke ne manatu‘i eni′ ‘oku fiema‘u ke sio ki he me‘a ‘e tolu ko eni: ko e mopaila ‘i he feleti kimu‘a′, ko e loki fo‘ou ‘oku ‘ikai ke ‘i ai ha mopaila, pea mo e loku fo‘ou ‘oku ‘i ai e mopaila. Ko e manatu′ ‘oku ‘ikai ko ha me‘a ‘oku tu‘u tokotaha.
Na‘e pehē ‘e Matini ko ‘ene ‘uluaki manatu′, ‘oku fekau‘aki ia pea mo e hanga ‘e hono tokoua ‘e taha ‘o taa‘i ‘aki e sioki pelesitiki lanu pulū ‘o mafahi ‘i he ‘ulu ‘o hono tokoua ‘e taha, ‘oku ‘ikai ke mo‘oni eni. Na‘e talaange ‘e he‘ene fā‘ee ki ai na‘e ‘ikai ke ‘i ai ha‘anau sioki pelesitiki fāsi‘i lanu pulū. Na‘e fakakaukau ia na‘e misi ki he sioki′, pea ko ‘ene misi ko ia′ na‘a ne ‘oange ‘a e fakakaukau tokua ko ‘ene fuofua manatu′ ia, pea ‘i he‘ene misi hoko (fuofua manatu) ko e kakai na‘a nau ta‘ata‘alo ange kiate ia mei ha vakapuna ka ‘oku tu‘u hake ia ‘i ha ngoue ‘i lalo. Na‘e lau ta‘u ‘a ‘ene tui ko e me‘a mo‘oni eni. ‘Oku ne ‘omai heni ‘a e fakakaukau ‘oku tau fu‘u kei iiki ‘i he‘etau fekumi ki he‘etau fuofua manatu′ – ‘I he fo‘i momeniti na‘a tau hū mai ai ki he ta‘au ‘o taimi.
Ko ‘eku fa‘ee, ko e pule ia mo e fa‘o‘anga ‘o e ngaahi me‘a lahi, ko e taha ‘i he ngaahi me‘a ko eni ko ‘eku manatu ki he tu‘u‘anga kulo′, ko e hoha‘aa na‘a ‘oku loto ngalongalo. Na‘a ne pehē, ko e kuonga mama‘o atu ‘oku ha‘u pe ke ofi he taimi kotoa. Kapau ko e mo‘oni eni, tā ko e manatu ki he‘ene fā‘ee ‘oku to e mālohiange he taimi ni; ta‘utu ‘i ha fale ‘i he matātahi, ‘ātakai‘i ‘e ha longa‘i fānau ‘oku nau fiefia, pē hoha‘a, pē ‘oku nau femo‘ekina ‘i ha ngaahi me‘a kehe.
‘I ho‘o fakakaukau ki ai′, ko e ‘ū kulo′ he‘ikai ke tuku fuoloa ai. Kuopau pē ke u fusi ‘e au ki lalo. Kuopau ke ‘i ai e longoa‘a, neongo ko ‘eku manatu ki ai na‘e fakapapau‘i, mo fu‘u mātu‘aki longonoa. Mahalo pē ko e me‘a na‘a ku manatu‘i ko e tofukī kimu‘a ‘a e ngaahi hoha‘a ‘o ha ngaahi ongo mo ha lāunga. Ko ‘ene ifo′, momeniti māmālie, ‘i he taimi na‘e ‘alu mātu‘aki māmālie mo fakaoloolo ai ‘a e pēpee, ‘i ha‘ane ‘ilo kuopau ke ma‘u ia.
‘I he pongipongi ‘e taha, ko e pēpee (ne fakalongolongo) pē ‘ene a‘u ki he ngaahi tenga‘i‘akau na‘a ku tuku he lalo matapāsio‘ata′, pea ne fakafonu hono ngutu′ ‘aki ha fu‘u falukunga tenga‘i‘akau mo ha komiposi. Na‘a ku feinga ke fakamanga‘i hono ngutu′ ke to‘o e me‘a′ mei ai. Na‘a ne ‘ūtaki hono ngutu′. ‘O ne u‘u au (ko e fakatamaki pē). Na‘e kamata ke tangi. ‘I he‘ene tangi′, na‘e ava ai hono ngutu′. Na‘e ‘osi pē ki tu‘a ‘a e me‘a hono ngutu′ tupu mei he‘ene ‘ita′, ne ‘ikai ke fea eni kiate au pea u tuku‘i atu ai pē ia ‘e au. He na‘e ‘ikai ke u faka‘ofa‘ia ai. Pea ko e taha′, na‘e tu‘u ‘i he fakamatala, ko e komiposī ‘oku ‘osi faito‘o ke ‘oua ‘e fakatu‘utāmaki.
Ka he‘ikai te u to e mono hoku tuhu′ ki hono ngutu′ he taimi ni pea tatau ai pē kapau ‘e fiema‘u ke u vakai‘i hano fo‘i nifo (‘oku fu‘u polepole ‘aupito ‘i hono nifo′), pea ko e taimi ‘oku ne ‘ūtaki ai hono nifo′ pea mo hanga kehe ko ‘ene talamai ia, ‘Ko au’ le‘olahi mo mahino. ‘Ooo, na‘e talamai hoku kaungāme‘a, ‘ko ‘ene kamata tololo pē, ko e kamata‘anga ia ‘etau a‘u ki ai’ Pea na‘e mahino kiate au ‘a ‘ene ‘uhinga′. Ko e kamata‘anga ia ‘o e ‘osi ‘a e kaungāme‘a fe‘ofo‘ofa ni ‘i he vā ‘o ha fefine ‘oku ngalo ai pe ko hai ia pea mo ha longa‘i tama ‘oku te‘eke kene ‘ilo ki ha me‘a.
Ka ‘oua leva ke a‘u ki ha mōmeniti ‘i ha ‘aho, fakafiefia pe ta‘eoli, angamaheni pe ngali kehe, pea te ne toki manatu‘i ‘o a‘u ki he ngata‘anga ‘o ‘ene mo‘ui′.
Anne Enright, 'Time' in Making Babies: Stumbling into Motherhood, London: Vintage, 2005, 65-72.
My earliest memory is of a pot stand. It is set into a corner with a cupboard on one side and, on the other, a shallow step. This is where my head begins. The step leads to another room, and far on the other side of the room, there is a white-haired woman sitting in a chair.
Discussions with my mother lead to just one pot stand, in a seaside cottage the summer I was eighteen months old. It was, she says, made of black iron and it stood beside a real step and the white-haired woman must be her own mother who died when I was six. This image of her is all that I have, and even then it is not so much an image as a sense. She may have been asleep, but I think she was reading. And there was something very quiet and covert about the pot stand, which was a pyramid affair with shelves for four pots. I can remember a little saucepan on the top shelf. I am tempted to say that there was a big saucepan on the bottom one, but this is pushing things a bit. I would give anything to remember what the lino was like.
At nine months, the baby puts her head in a pot and says, Aaah Aaah Aaah. She says it very gently and listens to the echo. She has discovered this all by herself. By way of celebration, I put my own head into the pot and say, Aaah Aaah Aaah. Then she does it again. Then I do it again. And so on.
The rest of my family don’t believe that I remember the pot stand, on the grounds that it is a stupid memory and, anyway, I was far too young. It is the job of families to reject each other’s memories, even the pleasant ones, and being the youngest I am sometimes forced to fight for the contents of my own head. But my brother broke his elbow that summer. My mother had to take him to hospital in Dublin and my grandmother looked after us while she was away. This was the first time in my life that I was without my mother for any length of time. If she had stayed, then am certain that I would not have remembered anything at all of that house — not the pot stand, and not my grandmother either.
We pilfer our own memories, we steal them from the world and salt them away.
I first left the baby when she was four months old. Some of the days when I was away, she spent with my mother. I wonder what image might remain with her from that time: a colour, a smell, a combination of shapes perhaps, affectless and still — and in the distance, someone. Just that. Someone.
And in the foreground? The carpet perhaps. I hope she remembers my parents’ carpet, the one I remember as a child, with a pattern of green leaves like stepping-stones all the way down the hall.
I have another, possibly earlier, memory of pulling the wallpaper off the wall from between the bars of my cot. My mother is absent from this scene too, but though the Pot Stand Memory is neither happy nor unhappy, this one is quite thrilling. I almost certainly ate the paper. The plaster underneath it was pink and powdery, and I imagine now that I can remember the shivery taste of it. I also remember the shape of the tear on the wall, or I think I do. At any rate, I see it in my mind’s eye — a seam on the left, stunningly straight, with four gammy strips pulled away, like a fat raggedy set of fingers, on the right.
I know this memory is, in some sense, true, but when I try to chase it, it disappears. It exists in peripheral vision, and presents itself only when I focus on something else — like typing, for example. When I stop writing this sentence and look up from the screen to try to see the pattern of the wallpaper — a blank. Memories, by their nature, may not be examined, and the mind’s eye is not the eye we use, for example, to cross the road.
I wonder if this is the way that the baby sees things: vaguely and all at once. I imagine it to be a very emotional way to exist in the world. Perhaps I am being romantic — but the visual world yields nothing but delight to her. There are (it seems) no horrors, no frights. Tiny babies see only in monochrome. I imagine colour leaking into her head like a slowly adjusted screen — tremendously slow, like a vegetable television growing silently in the corner of the room. I imagine her focus becoming sharper and deeper, like some infinitely stoned cameraman adjusting his lens. ‘Oh,’ she says — or something that is the precursor to ‘Oh’, a shallow inhalation, a stillness as she is caught by something, and begins to stalk it: careful, rapt — the most beautiful sound in the world: the sound of a baby’s wondering breath.
Something pulls in me when she is caught like this. For months I am a slave to her attention. The world is all colour, light and texture and I am her proud companion. I have no choice. None of us do. In a café, three women look over to smile at her, and then, as one, they look up. ‘Oh, she likes the light,’ says one, and this fact pleases us all. Immensely.
The light, of course, is horrible, and this is one of the reasons mothers think they are losing their minds: this pride in the baby looking at the light, this pride in the light as they introduce it to the baby, ‘Yes, the light!’ There is a certain zen to it; the world simple and new as we all stop to admire the baby admiring a wrought-iron candelabra with peculiar dangly bits and five — yes, five! — glowing, tulip-shaped bulbs.
She is years away from knowing from what ‘five’ might be, but maybe she already gets the ‘fiveness’ of it. This is the way her eyes move: One, one more! Another one! All of them! The other two. The first one again, another one! Something else.
Sometimes she holds her hand up like the baby Christ, and looks as though she contains everything, and understands it all. I do not ask to be forgiven, but still I feel redemption in the completeness of her gaze. And I feel the redemption in her fat baby wrists and her infinitely fine, fat baby’s hand. The baby is a blessing, but sometimes she does, she must, also bless, which is to say that she simply sees, and lifts her hand, as a sign.
I pick the baby up and we look in the wardrobe mirror, which has always been for her a complicated delight: What is it? It’s a baby! She smiles, it smiles back! (Complication upon complication! It’s me! It’s me! she says, and all her synapses, as I imagine, going ping! ping! ping!) She sees me smiling at her in the mirror; she sees her mother turning to smile at her in the room, and oh, it’s too much, she lunges forwards to examine the knob on the wardrobe door.
There are actually two knobs on the wardrobe. One is wooden and the other, for some reason, is an amber-coloured plastic. The baby goes from one to the other and back again. One of the first confusions in her young life was when myself and Martin both looked at her at the same time: ‘Oh no, there’s two of them.’ It almost felt unfair.
As she grew older, there was nothing she liked more than to be held by one of us and to look at the other, in a somewhat haughty way. Older still, she is completely content when the two of us are with her, quietly in a room. She has travelled from one, to two, perhaps to many. I think of this as she goes from the wooden knob to the amber one — a fairy tale of sameness and difference. This one. That one.
Of course, the first difference between this and the other is not between mother and father, or even between baby and ‘baby in the mirror’, but between one breast and . . . the other! If women had five teats, then mankind might, by now, be living on the moon.
Yesterday, it was warm, and I took off her socks and stood her on the grass. She loved this, but maybe not so much as I did — her first experience of grass. For her, this green stuff was just as different and as delicious as everything else — the ‘first’ was all mine. Sometimes, I feel as though I am introducing her to my own nostalgia for the world.
In the meantime, grass is green and springy and amazingly multiple and just itself. It might even be edible. Everything goes into her mouth. This is the taste of yellow. This is the taste of blue. Since she started moving about she has also experienced the taste of turf, of yesterday’s toast, and probably of mouse droppings, because it was weeks before I realised we were not alone in the house. Paper remains her ultimate goal, and she looks over her shoulder now to check if I am around. That wallpaper looks nice.
I really do wish I could remember my own wallpaper, instead of just the tear I made in it. The baby sleeps in my cot now — the one my father made over forty years ago with some half-inch dowel, and a fairly ingenious sliding mechanism for the side to be let down. I sat beside it one night, feeding her, and I tried to remember what it was like to be inside; the view between the bars and the ripped wallpaper on the wall. Someone, over the years, had painted it nursery blue, but I remembered a green colour, I could almost recall chewing the cross bar at the top. The baby sucked, her eyelashes batting slowly over a drunken, surrendered gaze, and as my attention wandered I saw, under a chip in the blue paint, the very green I ate as a child. A strong and distant emotion washed briefly over me and was gone.
My mother, or someone, pulled the cot away from the wall and, in time, the wallpaper I do not remember was replaced with wallpaper that I do remember (flowers of blue, block-printed on white). Babies love pattern so much I have begun to regret my own attempts at tastefulness. Not a single curlicued carpet for her to crawl over, not a single flower on the wall. Even her toys are in primary colours and her mobile is from the Tate, cut-out shapes, like a Mondrian floating free.
Once I stop trying, I seem to remember my mother giving out to me about the ripped-up wall. She would have been upset about the wallpaper. Perhaps this is why I remember it. It was my first real experience of ‘NO!’
My own child thinks No! is a game. I say it once and she pauses. I say it twice and she looks at me. I say it three times and she laughs. The punch-line!
Tasteful as it is, she loves the mobile. It has a big red circle that spins slowly to blue, and a little square that goes from black to white. There are various rectangles that don’t particularly obsess her but, taken all in all, it is the thing she likes most in the world.
We moved when she was nearly eight months old, and it was another two weeks before I got round to stringing up the mobile for her again. When it was done, she shuddered with delight. It happened to her all in spasm. She realised, not only that the mobile was there, but also that it had once been gone. She remembered it. In order to do this she needed to see three things: the mobile in the old flat, the new room without the mobile, the new room with the mobile. Memory is not a single thing.
Martin says that his first memory, which is of one brother breaking a blue plastic jug over another brother’s head, is false. His mother tells him that they never did have a slender, pale blue plastic jug. He thinks he dreamt about the jug, and that the dream also contained the idea that this was his first memory, as he dreamt a subsequent ‘first memory’ of people waving to him from a plane while he stood in the garden below. He was convinced for years that this was real. This makes me think that we are very young when we search for our first memory — that single moment when we entered the stream of time.
My own mother, who is curator and container of many things, among them the memory of my pot stand, worries that she is getting forgetful. The distant past is closer all the time, she says. If this is true, then the memory of her own mother is getting stronger now; sitting in a house by the sea, surrounded by children who are variously delighted, or worried, or concentrating on other things.
When you think about it, the pots can’t have stayed there for long. I would have pulled them down. There would have been noise, though my memory of them is notably, and utterly, silent. Perhaps what I remember is the calm before a chaos of sound and recrimination. That delicious, slow moment, when a baby goes very, very quiet, knowing it is about to be found out.
The other morning, the baby (silently) reached the seedlings I have under the window, and she filled her mouth with a handful of hardy annuals and potting compost. I tried to prise her mouth open to get the stuff out. She clamped it shut. She bit me (by accident). She started to cry. When she cried, her mouth opened. She was undone by her own distress and this seemed so unfair to me that I left her to it. I hadn’t the heart. Besides, it said on the pack that the compost was sterilised.
But she will not let my finger into her mouth, now, even to check for a tooth (she is very proud of her teeth), and when she clamps it shut and turns away she is saying, ‘Me,’ loud and clear. ‘Oh,’ a friend said, when she started to crawl, ‘it’s the beginning of the end,’ and I knew what she meant. It is the beginning of the end of a romance between a woman who has forgotten who she is and a child who does not yet know.
Until one day there will come a moment, delightful or banal, ordinary or strange, that she will remember for the rest of her life.
Anne Enright, 'Time' in Making Babies: Stumbling into Motherhood, London: Vintage, 2005, 65-72.
Ko ‘eku fuofua manatu′ ko ha tu‘u‘anga kulo. Na‘e tu‘u ia ‘i ha tuliki mo e kopate ‘i he tafa‘aki ‘e taha′ pea ko e tafa‘aki ‘e taha′ ko ha sitepu mā‘ulalo pē. Ko e kamata‘anga eni ‘o ‘eku fakakaukau′. Ko e sitepu′ ‘oku ‘alu ki ha loki ‘e taha, pea ‘i he tafa‘aki mama‘o ‘e taha ‘o e loki′ ‘oku ‘i ai ha fine‘eiki ‘ulu tea ‘oku ta‘utu ‘i ha sea.
‘I he‘eku talanoa mo ‘eku fa‘ee ne a‘u atu ki he tu‘u‘anga kulo pē ‘e taha, ‘i ha ki‘i fale he mātatahi′ ‘i he taimi māfana′ ‘i hoku māhina tahavalu′. Na‘a ne talamai ko e tu‘u‘anga kulo na‘e ngaahi ia mei ha konga ukamea ‘uli‘uli na‘e tu‘u ‘i he ve‘e sitepu pea ko e fine‘eiki ‘ulu tea ‘oku pau pē ko ‘ene fa‘ēe na‘e mate ia ‘i hoku ta‘u ono. Ko e fo‘i ‘imisi pē eni ‘eku kui ‘oku ou ma‘u′, pea ‘i he taimi ko ia na‘e ‘ikai ke fu‘u ‘uhinga ia kiate au. Mahalo pē na‘e mohe ia ka na‘a ku pehē ‘e au na‘e lau tohi. Pea na‘e ‘i ai e fa‘ahinga me‘a longonoa pea mo fakapulipuli fekau‘aki pea mo e tu‘u‘anga kulo′, he ko e pilamita mo e laupapa ke hili ai ha kulo ‘e fā. ‘Oku ou manatu‘i ha ki‘i sasipani na‘e ‘i he funga laupapa′. Pea na‘a ku meimei talaange na‘e ‘i ai e fu‘u sasipani lahi ‘i he laupapa ki lalo′, ka ‘e fu‘u lahi eni ia ki hano fakamatala atu. Na‘a ku feinga lahi ke u manatu‘i e me‘a kotoa ‘o a‘u ki he taila faliki′ pe na‘e fēfē.
‘I hono māhina hiva na‘e fakahū ‘e he pepee hono ‘ulu ‘e he kulo′ mo pehē Aaaaa Aaaaa Aaaa. Na‘e lea vaivai ‘aupito pea fanongo ki he ‘eko hono le‘ō. Na‘a ne ‘ilo‘i pē ‘e ia ‘a e me‘a ni ‘iate ia pē. Ko e founga ‘ema fakafiefia‘i eni, na‘a ku fakahū hoku ‘ulu ‘i he kulo pea mo pēhē, Aaaa Aaaa Aaaa. Pea ne to e fai pēhē mo ia. Peau to e fai pē ‘a e me‘a tatau. Pea ma hokohoko atu ai pē.
Ko hoku fāmili′ kotoa ‘oku ‘ikai kenau tui ‘oku ou manatu‘i ‘a e tu‘u‘anga kulo′, ‘i he tu‘unga ‘oku ngali vale ‘a e fa‘ahinga manatu pehe ni′ pea ‘ikai ngata ai′ na‘a ku fu‘u si‘isi‘i fau. Ko e fatongia ia ‘o e fāmili′ kenau faka‘ikai‘i ‘a e ngaahi manatu ‘a e kotoa ‘o e fāmili′, a‘u ki he ngaahi manatu melie pea ko au ‘a e si‘isi‘i taha ‘oku fa‘a fakalotolahi‘i ke u taupau‘i ‘a e ngaahi me‘a ‘oku ‘i he‘eku fakakaukau′. Ka ko hoku tuonga‘ane′ na‘e fasi hono tui‘i nima′ ‘i he taimi māfana ‘e taha. Na‘e pau ai ke ‘ave he‘emau fa‘ee ki he falemahaki ‘i Dublin pea tokanga‘i kimautolu ‘e he‘emau kui fefine′. Ko e fuofua taimi eni ‘i he‘eku mo‘ui′ na‘a ku mavahe ai mei he‘eku fa‘ee′ ‘i ha taimi. Kapau na‘e nofo ai, ‘oku ou fakapapau‘i he‘ikai ke u manatu‘i ‘e au ha fa‘ahinga me‘a ‘i he fale ko ia′. – ‘ikai ko e tu‘u‘anga kulo′, pe ko ‘eku kui fefine pe ā.
‘Oku tau fa‘a tukuange ‘etau manatu′, fa‘a kaiha‘asi ia mei he māmani′ ‘o fakatolonga ‘i ha feitu‘u.
Na‘a ku ‘uluaki mavahe mei he pepee ‘i hono māhina faa′. ‘I he taimi ‘e ni‘ihi ‘eku mavahe′ na‘e nofo pē mo ‘eku fa‘ee. Na‘a ku fakakaukau pē koehā e fa‘ahinga ‘imisi te ne ma‘u mei he fine‘eiki′ ‘i he taimi ko ia′: ha lanu, nanamu, ngaahi fakatātā ‘o ha ngaahi fuo, li‘ekina mo nonga – pea ‘i he vaha mama‘o′, ha tokotaha. Ko ia pē. Ha taha pē.
Pea ‘i he‘ene fuofua manatu? Mahalo pe ko e kāpeti′. ‘Oku ou ‘amanaki pē te ne manatu‘i ‘a e kāpeti ‘eku ongo mātu‘a′, ‘a ē na‘a ku manatu‘i ‘i he‘eku kei si‘i′, mo hono pule lau‘i‘akau lanu mata hangē ha ngaahi sitepu he maka ‘a hono fakatātaa, na‘a ne ‘alu pe ‘o a‘u ki he holo′.
‘Oku ‘i ai e me‘a ‘e taha mahalo pe kimu‘aange, ko ‘eku manatu na‘a ku fusi hifo e pepa ‘o e holisi mei he vahavaha‘a ‘o e ngaahi pou hoku mohenga pēpee. Na’e ‘ikai ke ‘i ai ‘eku fa‘ee he taimi ko ia′, ka koe‘uhi ko ‘eku Manatu ki he Tu‘u‘anga Kulo′ na‘e ‘ikai ko ha me‘a fakafiefia pē fakamamahi, ko e manatu ia ko eni ‘oku fu‘u ongo fakafiefia ange ia. Na‘a ku meimei kai ‘e au ‘a e pepa′. Ko e palasitā ‘i lalo′ na‘e lanu pingikī mo efua. ‘Oku ou fakakaukau loto atu he taimi ni ‘o lava keu manatu‘i ‘a hono fa‘ahinga ifo faikehe′. ‘Oku ou to e manatu‘i ‘a e fuo ‘o e mahae ‘i he holisi′, pē ‘oku ou pehē pe ‘oku ou ‘ilo. ‘I he fa‘ahinga me‘a pē ‘oku ou sio ki ai he‘eku fakakaukau′ – ko e hoko he to‘ohema, na‘e fu‘u hangatonu ‘aupito fakataha mo e aveave ‘e fā ne ‘osi to‘o ia mei ai, hangē ha ngaahi fo‘i tuhu sisino mahaehae, ‘I he to‘omata‘u′.
‘Oku ou ‘ilo ‘i he fa‘ahinga tūkunga ‘eku manatu′ ‘oku mo‘oni eni pea ‘i he‘eku feinga ke tulikaki ki ai′ na‘e puli ia. ‘Oku ‘i ai pē ia ‘i ha fa‘ahinga visone ‘oku ‘ikai nai ke fu‘u mahu‘inga, pea ‘oku hā mai pē ia ‘i he taimi ‘oku ou fakakaukau fakamama‘u ai ki ha fa‘ahinga me‘a kehe – hangē ko ha‘aku lolotonga taipe. ‘I he taimi ‘oku tuku ai ‘eku tohi ‘a e sētesi ko eni′ kau sio kehe ‘o feinga ke u sio ki he peteni ‘o e pepaholisi′ – hala‘atā. Ko e manatu′, ‘i hono natula′, ‘oku ‘ikai ke lava ia ‘o sivi‘i, pea ko e mata ‘o e fakakaukau ‘oku ‘ikai ko e mata ia ‘oku tau ngāue‘aki′, fakatātā‘aki eni, ketau kolosi he hala′.
‘Oku ou fifili kapau ko e anga eni ‘a e sio ‘a e pēpee ki he ngaahi me‘a′: ‘ikai ke fu‘u mahino pē ‘oku nau hoko fakataha pē. ‘Oku ou fakakaukau atu ko e fa‘ahinga me’a fakaloloma eni ‘o e mo‘ui′ he māmani′. Mahalo pē ‘oku ou fu‘u ngali fakalavetala nai – ka ko e mamani ‘o e sio′ ‘oku ‘ikai ha to e me‘a ia kiate ia ka ko e fiefia pē. ‘Oku ngalingali ‘oku ‘ikai ha me‘a fakalilifu, ‘ikai ha fakailifia. Ko e fanga ki‘i pēpē valevale′ ‘oku nau sio pē kinautolu ki he me‘a kotoa ‘oku tatau. ‘Oku ou fakakaukau ki he ngaahi lanu ‘oku hafu hifo ki honau ‘atamai′ hangē ha ‘ata ‘oku feinga‘i ke ‘ata lelei ki ha lā ‘o ha televisone pē komipiuta – matu‘aki māmālie hangē ha ngoue vesitapolo ‘i ha televisone ta‘e lea ‘i he tuliki ‘o e loki′. ‘Oku ou fakakaukau loto ki he‘ene fakamama‘u ‘oku to e masila ange pea loloto, hangē ha tokotaha faitā ‘oku ne feinga ke fakatonutonu ‘e ne me‘afaitaa. ‘‘Ooo’ na‘e lea mai pe ko ha fa‘ahinga lea ‘oku ngalingali ko ‘ene pehē mai ‘Oiauē! Ko e fo‘i mānava nounou pē, ‘o ha fo‘i nonga ‘i hono ma‘u ia ‘e ha fa‘ahinga me‘a, pea kamata ke ne muimui‘i: tokanga ‘aupito, mo fakamama‘u ki ai – ko e fo‘i ongo faka‘ofo‘ofa taha ‘i he māmani: ko e le‘o ‘o e pēpee ‘i he‘ene ‘ohovale he‘ene fie‘ilo.
‘Oku ‘i ai e me‘a ‘oku ne ‘fusi ‘eku tokanga′ ‘i he taimi ‘oku pēhē ai′. Kuo lau māhina ‘a ‘eku popula ki he‘ene tokanga′. Ko e māmani′ ‘oku lanu kotoa, maama mo e ongo pea ko au ‘a hono kaungā fononga mamae′. ‘Oku ‘ikai ha‘aku to e fili. Tatau loua pē kimaua. ‘I he falekai ‘e taha na‘e ‘i ai e kau fefine ‘e toko tolu na‘a nau hanga fakataha hake ke malimali kiate ia. ‘‘Ooo, ‘oku sai‘ia he maama’, ko e tokotaha mai ia, pea ko e fo‘i me’a ia na‘a mau fiefia kotoa ai. Fiefia lahi ‘aupito.
Ko e maama ‘oku fu‘u fakailifia foki, pea ko e taha eni e ‘uhinga ‘oku pehē ai ‘e he ngaahi fa‘ee ‘oku mole ‘enau fakakaukau lelei: ko e vekeveke ‘a e pepēe ‘i he‘ene sio ki he maama′, ko e fiefia ‘i he maama′ ‘i he taimi ‘oku fakahā ange ai ki he pepee, ‘‘Io, ‘a e maama’! ‘Oku ‘i ai e fa‘ahinga ongo lelei fekau‘aki mo ia: ko e māmani ‘oku lelei mo fo‘ou ‘i he taimi ‘oku tau tu‘u ai, ‘o sio mo polepole ‘i he pepee ‘i he‘ene fiefia mo vekeveke ‘i ha‘ane sio ki ha fa‘ahinga tu‘u‘anga maama senitelia mo ha fa‘ahinga kongokonga me‘a ‘oku tautau mo e nima – ‘io, fika nima! – uloulo, hangē ha fōtunga ‘o ha ngaahi moto‘i tiulipe.
‘Oku kei fu‘u tau mama‘o ‘a e ta‘u ia ke ne ‘ilo pe koehā ‘a e ‘nima’ ka mahalo pe ‘oku ne ‘osi ‘ilo ‘e ia ‘a e nima‘i me‘a ko ia. Ko e anga eni ‘a e ngāue ‘o hono kano‘i mata: Taha, to e ‘a e taha! To e hoko mai mo e taha. Pea ko ‘enau ‘osi kotoa′ ia. Ko e ongo ua ko ee. Ko e toe fika ‘uluaki′ eni, hoko mai! Ha me‘a makehe.
‘I he taimi ‘e taha ‘oku kunima hangē ko pēpē Kalaisi′, pea sio hangē ‘oku ne ma‘u ‘a e me‘a kotoa pē, mahino ‘a e me‘a kotoa pē. ‘Oku ‘ikai ke u kole au ke fakamolemole‘i au, ka ‘i he taimi tatau ‘oku ou ongo‘i kuou mo‘ui ‘i he kakato ‘o ‘ene sio fakamama‘u mai′. Pea ‘oku ou ongo‘i kuo huhu‘i hoku popula ‘i hono ki‘i kia‘i nima′ pea mo hono ki‘i nima feti lelei tu‘uloa′. Ko e pēpee ko e tāpuaki, ka ‘i he taimi ‘e ni‘ihi ‘oku mo‘oni pea ‘oku totonu, pea mo e tāpuaki′, ‘a ia ko e pehē ‘oku si‘i sio, pea mo hiki hono nima, ko ha faka‘ilonga.
‘Oku ou fua hake ‘a e pēpee pea ma fakatou sio ki he sio‘ata teuteu ‘i he kopate tautau‘anga vala′, kiate ia ‘oku fu‘u fakafiefia ma‘u pē: Koehā eni? Ko e pēpē! Na’e malimali, pea ‘oku to e malimali mai foki ki ai (‘Oku fakautuutu ange ‘a e faingata‘aa! Ko au! Ko au! Ko ‘ene lea mai ia ‘aki ‘a hono ongo‘anga′ kotoa, ‘I he‘eku laulotoa′, mo pingi! pingi! pingi) Na‘e sio mai kiate au ‘oku ou malimali atu ki ai ‘i he sio‘ata teuteu; na‘e sio ki he‘ene fā‘ee ‘oku tafoki ange ‘o malimali kiate ia ‘i he loki, pea ‘oo, ‘oku fu‘u lahi, pea ‘oho atu kimu‘a ‘o vakavakai‘i ‘a e me‘a fakaava ‘o e matapā ‘o e kopate tautau‘anga vala′.
‘Oku ua ‘a e me‘a fakaava ‘o e kopate tautau‘anga vala. Ko e taha ‘oku papa pea ko e taha ‘oku pelesitiki lanu engeenga mālohi. Na‘e vakavakai‘i tahataha ‘e he pepee, kamata mei he taha pea hoko atu ki he taha pea to e foki ki he taha. Ko e taha ‘o ‘ene ngaahi ongo‘i fifili ko e taimi na‘a ma fakatou sio fakataha atu ai mo Matini ‘i he taimi tatau. ‘‘Oo ‘ikai, ‘oku na toko ua’. ‘Oku ou ongo‘i ‘oku meimei ‘ikai ke fea.
‘I he‘ene lahi lahi hake, na‘e ‘ikai ha me‘a ‘e to e sai‘ia ange ai ka ko hano pukepuke ia ‘e ha taha ‘iate kimaua ka e sio ki he toko taha′, ‘i ha fa‘ahinga founga polepole mo‘oni. ‘I he ‘alu ‘ene lahi na‘e fu‘u fiemālie ‘aupito pē ia kiate kimaua, ‘i ha loki ‘oku lōngonoa. Na‘e fononga mei he taha, ki he ua, pea mahalo pe ki he to e lahi ange. Na‘a ku fakakaukau ki heni ko ‘ene ‘alu mei he me‘a fakaava matapā papa′ ki he me‘a fakaava matapā pelesitiki lanu engeenga mālohi – ko e fananga ‘oku tatau mo faikehekehe. ‘A e me‘a koeni′. Mo e me‘a koena′.
Mo‘oni ia, ko e ‘uluaki faikehekehe ‘o e ongo me‘a ni ‘oku ‘ikai ko e vaha‘a ‘o e fā‘ee mo e tamai′, pē ko e pepee mo hono ‘atā ‘i he sio‘ata teuteu′, ka ko e kehekehe ‘o e fo‘i huhu ‘e taha′ mo e …. taha! Kapau ‘e ma‘u ‘e he kakai fefine′ ‘a e mata‘i huhu ‘e nima, ta ko e fa‘ahinga ‘o e tangata kuo fuoloa ‘enau nofo atu he māhina′.
Ko ‘aneafi′, na’e māfana, pea na‘a ku to‘o hono sitōkeni′ pea fokotu‘u ia he musie′. Na‘e sai‘ia ‘aupito ai ka mahalo pe na‘e ‘ikai lahi tatau mo ‘eku sai‘ia ‘a‘aku – ko ‘ene fuofua fetaulaki eni pea mo e musie. Kiate ia, ko e fa‘ahinga me‘a lanu mata ko eni ‘oku kehe pē ia pea to e ifo kehe ange ia mei ha to e me‘a – ko e ‘uluaki′ ko e me‘a kotoa ia ‘a‘aku. ‘I he taimi ‘e ni‘ihi, ‘oku ou ongo‘i ‘oku hangē ‘oku ou fakafe‘iloaki ia ki he‘eku ongo‘i fakaumiuminoa mo faka‘amua ma‘ae mamani ko eni′.
Ka ‘i he taimi ni, ko e musie′ ‘oku lanu mata pea to e sipilingi mo anga kehe faufaua pē ia ‘iate ia pē. Ko e me‘a kotoa pē ‘oku ‘alu ia ki hono ngutu′. Ko e ifo eni ‘o e lanu engeenga′. Talu ‘ene kamata ke nga‘ola holo′ na‘a ne fetaulaki pea mo e fa‘ahinga ongo‘i ‘o hono feitu‘u pē ‘o‘ona, ‘o e tousi ‘aneafi′, pea tatau mo e te‘ekumaa, koe‘uhi na‘e laulau uike pea u toki fakatokanga‘i ‘oku ‘ikai ko kimaua pē ‘i he fale′. Ko e pepa′ ko ‘ene taumu‘a′ pe ia, pea ‘oku sio fakalaka hono uma′ ke vakai‘i pē ‘oku ou ofi ange ai. Ko e pepaholisi′ ‘oku faka‘ofo‘ofa.
‘Oku ou faka‘amuange ‘oku ou lava ‘o manatu‘i ‘a ‘eku pepaholisi′, ‘o ‘ikai ko e mahaē pē na‘a ku ‘ai. Ko e pepee ‘oku mohe he taimi ni ‘i hoku ki‘i mohe‘anga pēpee – ‘a ē na‘e ngaahi ‘e he‘eku tamai′ ‘i he ta‘u ‘e fānoa kuohili′ mo e ngaahi fo‘i pine haafe ‘inisi, pea mo e fa‘ahinga me‘a fakaofo he ongo tafa‘aki′ ke tukuhifo ai. Na‘a ku ta‘utu he tafa‘aki ‘o e ki‘i mohenga pēpee he pō ‘e taha, ‘o fafanga ia, pea u feinga ke u manatu‘i pe na‘e fēfē ‘a e taimi na‘a ku ‘i loto ai; ‘a e me‘a na‘a ku sio ki ai he vahavaha‘a papa′, pea mo e pepaholisi na‘e mahaehae′. Pau pe na‘e hanga ‘e taha ‘i he ngaahi ta‘u atu ko ee ‘o vali lanu pulū e ki‘i loki pepee, ka ‘oku ou manatu‘i ‘e au na‘e lanu mata, ‘oku ou manatu‘i pē na‘a ku u‘uu‘u au ‘i he va‘a papa kolosi ‘i ‘olunga′. Na‘e komo e pepee, ko hono laumata na‘e petepete māmālie ‘o hangē ‘oku konaa pea mo faai hifo pē ke kuikui, pea ‘i he ‘alu ‘eku tokanga ne u sio ki he ma‘ola ‘i he vali lanu puluu, ‘o ‘asi hake lanu mata tofu pē na‘a ku kai ‘i he‘eku kei si‘ī. Na‘e ‘i ai e fu‘u ongo mālohi mo loloto ‘aupito na‘e lele hake ‘iate au pea ne to e mole atu.
Ko ‘eku fā‘ee, pe ko ha taha, na‘a ne toho‘i e mohenga pēpee mei he holisi′ ‘i he taimi tonu, pea ko e pepaholisi′ na‘e ‘ikai ke u manatu‘i na‘e fetongi‘aki ia ‘a e pepaholisi ‘oku ou manatu‘i (matala‘i‘akau lanu pulū, na‘e vali mamafa ‘aki ia ‘a e lanu hinehina). Ko e fanga pēpee ‘oku nau manako ‘aupito he peteni pea ne kamata ke u fakatomala he‘eku ngaahi feinga ki he ifo‘ia. Na‘e ‘ikai ha ki‘i kāpeti teuteu‘i fakatātā ngaofeofe ke totolo holo ai, ‘ikai ha ki‘i matala‘i‘akau ‘i he holisi′. Pea tatau mo ‘ene me‘ava‘inga′ ko e ngaahi lanu tefito pē pea ko ‘ene me‘a va‘inga tautau pē na’e ‘omi ia mei he Fale Aati′, mo e ngaahi fuo tā tongitongi, hangē ha fakatātā Mondorian ‘oku tētē tau‘atāina holo pē.
‘I he tuku pe ‘eku feinga′, na‘e ha‘u ke u manatu‘i ‘eku fā‘ee ‘oku ne fakatokanga‘i au mo e holisi mahaehae′. ‘Oku pau pē na‘e ‘ita fekau‘aki mo e pepaholisi′. Mahalo ko e ‘uhinga ia ‘o ‘eku manatu‘i ‘a e me‘a ko ia′. Ko ‘eku fuofua fetaulaki ia pea mo e ‘‘IKAI!’
Ko ‘eku tama ko eni ‘oku fakakaukau ko e ‘Ikai! ko e va‘inga. Na‘a ku lea tu‘otaha pea ne ki‘i mālōlō. Na‘a ku lea tu‘o ua pea na‘e sio mai kiate au. Pea na‘a ku lea tu‘o tolu atu pea na‘e kata ia. Ko e fo‘i me’a fakaoli faka‘osi taha′ ia.
‘I he‘ene ifo′, na‘e manako ‘aupito ‘i he‘ene mopaila (ko e me‘a va‘inga ‘oku ngāohi ‘o tui ki ai e fanga ki‘i me‘ava‘inga kehekehe ‘o tautau he mohenga pēpee pea ‘oku ngaungaue ‘o va‘inga ki ai e pēpee ‘i he‘ene tokoto hono mohenga′). ‘Oku ‘i ai ‘a e seakale lahi lanu kulokula ‘oku vilo māmālie ki he lanu puluu, pea mo e ki‘i tapafā ‘oku ‘alu mei he lanu ‘uli‘uli′ ki he hinehina′. ‘Oku ‘i ai pea mo e ngaahi lekitengikolo ‘oku ‘ikai ke ne fu‘u ‘ave ‘ene tokanga′, ka ko hono fakakātoa ko e me‘a eni ‘oku sai‘ia taha ai′ ‘i he māmani′.
Na‘a mau hiki ‘i he meimei hoko hono mahina valu′, pea na‘e meimei uike ‘e ua pea u toki lava ‘o tui ‘a ‘ene mopaila′. Ko ‘ene ‘osi pē hono ngaahi pea na‘e veekeveke fiefia. ‘Ene haakahaka mo futefute fiefia′. Na‘a ne fakatokanga‘i, ‘oku ‘ikai ngāta pē he‘ene sio ki ai′ ka koe‘uhi′ foki na‘e puli. Na‘a ne manatu ki ai. Pea ke ne manatu‘i eni′ ‘oku fiema‘u ke sio ki he me‘a ‘e tolu ko eni: ko e mopaila ‘i he feleti kimu‘a′, ko e loki fo‘ou ‘oku ‘ikai ke ‘i ai ha mopaila, pea mo e loku fo‘ou ‘oku ‘i ai e mopaila. Ko e manatu′ ‘oku ‘ikai ko ha me‘a ‘oku tu‘u tokotaha.
Na‘e pehē ‘e Matini ko ‘ene ‘uluaki manatu′, ‘oku fekau‘aki ia pea mo e hanga ‘e hono tokoua ‘e taha ‘o taa‘i ‘aki e sioki pelesitiki lanu pulū ‘o mafahi ‘i he ‘ulu ‘o hono tokoua ‘e taha, ‘oku ‘ikai ke mo‘oni eni. Na‘e talaange ‘e he‘ene fā‘ee ki ai na‘e ‘ikai ke ‘i ai ha‘anau sioki pelesitiki fāsi‘i lanu pulū. Na‘e fakakaukau ia na‘e misi ki he sioki′, pea ko ‘ene misi ko ia′ na‘a ne ‘oange ‘a e fakakaukau tokua ko ‘ene fuofua manatu′ ia, pea ‘i he‘ene misi hoko (fuofua manatu) ko e kakai na‘a nau ta‘ata‘alo ange kiate ia mei ha vakapuna ka ‘oku tu‘u hake ia ‘i ha ngoue ‘i lalo. Na‘e lau ta‘u ‘a ‘ene tui ko e me‘a mo‘oni eni. ‘Oku ne ‘omai heni ‘a e fakakaukau ‘oku tau fu‘u kei iiki ‘i he‘etau fekumi ki he‘etau fuofua manatu′ – ‘I he fo‘i momeniti na‘a tau hū mai ai ki he ta‘au ‘o taimi.
Ko ‘eku fa‘ee, ko e pule ia mo e fa‘o‘anga ‘o e ngaahi me‘a lahi, ko e taha ‘i he ngaahi me‘a ko eni ko ‘eku manatu ki he tu‘u‘anga kulo′, ko e hoha‘aa na‘a ‘oku loto ngalongalo. Na‘a ne pehē, ko e kuonga mama‘o atu ‘oku ha‘u pe ke ofi he taimi kotoa. Kapau ko e mo‘oni eni, tā ko e manatu ki he‘ene fā‘ee ‘oku to e mālohiange he taimi ni; ta‘utu ‘i ha fale ‘i he matātahi, ‘ātakai‘i ‘e ha longa‘i fānau ‘oku nau fiefia, pē hoha‘a, pē ‘oku nau femo‘ekina ‘i ha ngaahi me‘a kehe.
‘I ho‘o fakakaukau ki ai′, ko e ‘ū kulo′ he‘ikai ke tuku fuoloa ai. Kuopau pē ke u fusi ‘e au ki lalo. Kuopau ke ‘i ai e longoa‘a, neongo ko ‘eku manatu ki ai na‘e fakapapau‘i, mo fu‘u mātu‘aki longonoa. Mahalo pē ko e me‘a na‘a ku manatu‘i ko e tofukī kimu‘a ‘a e ngaahi hoha‘a ‘o ha ngaahi ongo mo ha lāunga. Ko ‘ene ifo′, momeniti māmālie, ‘i he taimi na‘e ‘alu mātu‘aki māmālie mo fakaoloolo ai ‘a e pēpee, ‘i ha‘ane ‘ilo kuopau ke ma‘u ia.
‘I he pongipongi ‘e taha, ko e pēpee (ne fakalongolongo) pē ‘ene a‘u ki he ngaahi tenga‘i‘akau na‘a ku tuku he lalo matapāsio‘ata′, pea ne fakafonu hono ngutu′ ‘aki ha fu‘u falukunga tenga‘i‘akau mo ha komiposi. Na‘a ku feinga ke fakamanga‘i hono ngutu′ ke to‘o e me‘a′ mei ai. Na‘a ne ‘ūtaki hono ngutu′. ‘O ne u‘u au (ko e fakatamaki pē). Na‘e kamata ke tangi. ‘I he‘ene tangi′, na‘e ava ai hono ngutu′. Na‘e ‘osi pē ki tu‘a ‘a e me‘a hono ngutu′ tupu mei he‘ene ‘ita′, ne ‘ikai ke fea eni kiate au pea u tuku‘i atu ai pē ia ‘e au. He na‘e ‘ikai ke u faka‘ofa‘ia ai. Pea ko e taha′, na‘e tu‘u ‘i he fakamatala, ko e komiposī ‘oku ‘osi faito‘o ke ‘oua ‘e fakatu‘utāmaki.
Ka he‘ikai te u to e mono hoku tuhu′ ki hono ngutu′ he taimi ni pea tatau ai pē kapau ‘e fiema‘u ke u vakai‘i hano fo‘i nifo (‘oku fu‘u polepole ‘aupito ‘i hono nifo′), pea ko e taimi ‘oku ne ‘ūtaki ai hono nifo′ pea mo hanga kehe ko ‘ene talamai ia, ‘Ko au’ le‘olahi mo mahino. ‘Ooo, na‘e talamai hoku kaungāme‘a, ‘ko ‘ene kamata tololo pē, ko e kamata‘anga ia ‘etau a‘u ki ai’ Pea na‘e mahino kiate au ‘a ‘ene ‘uhinga′. Ko e kamata‘anga ia ‘o e ‘osi ‘a e kaungāme‘a fe‘ofo‘ofa ni ‘i he vā ‘o ha fefine ‘oku ngalo ai pe ko hai ia pea mo ha longa‘i tama ‘oku te‘eke kene ‘ilo ki ha me‘a.
Ka ‘oua leva ke a‘u ki ha mōmeniti ‘i ha ‘aho, fakafiefia pe ta‘eoli, angamaheni pe ngali kehe, pea te ne toki manatu‘i ‘o a‘u ki he ngata‘anga ‘o ‘ene mo‘ui′.
Anne Enright, 'Time' in Making Babies: Stumbling into Motherhood, London: Vintage, 2005, 65-72.
Translation Commentary
Telesia Kalavite
The Tongan language (Lea Faka-Tonga) is the official and indigenous language of the Kingdom of Tonga, also known as the Friendly Islands in the Pacific (Guile, 2005). English is the other official language. Lea Faka-Tonga is now spoken by more than 100,000 around the world. It is one of the most ancient of the Polynesian languages and is a branch of the Astronesian language family (Campbell, 2001). There are two Polynesian languages spoken in Tonga. They are Lea Faka-Tonga and Lea Faka-Niua (Niuan Language). Lea Faka-Tonga is a Tongic language related to Vagahau Niue. Lea Faka-Niua, spoken in Niuafo‘ou and Niua Toputapu, is a Samoic language, related to Western Polynesian languages such as Gagana Tokelau and Gagana Sāmoa (Ministry of Education, 2012). However, in any language the written form is different from its spoken form in many respects. Tongan like other Polynesian languages has a much stronger and richer oral tradition compared to its written tradition and that “literature in Tongan, fiction as well as nonfiction, is almost non-existent” (Otsuka, 2007, p. 457). This makes translation into Tongan from another languages very challenging. Lea Faka-Tonga has six unique characteristics that are historically significant. Some of these characteristics came through in the translations of Anne Enright’s work into Tongan as discussed in the following paragraphs.
Firstly, the Tongan spelling is phonemic. That is, Tongan words are spelled the way they are pronounced and pronounced the way they are spelled. Relatively few languages can boast of this convenience. All consonants are separated by a vowel. And all words end in a vowel (Shumway, 1978). All the words in this Tongan translation of Enright illustrate this, as in fifili, falelotu and ‘Ailani on the first line of the God (‘Otua) extract.
Secondly, Lea Faka-Tonga includes many old words and expressions for ancient customs and cultural items that are now extinct in Tonga. These Tongan vocabularies are used in oratory and poems that help effective communication amongst the Tongan people. Tongans who live in the diaspora in New Zealand, Australia, the United States and around the world who do not know how to speak in Tongan will find it hard to understand and conduct Tongan customs and traditions (Taumoefolau, 2006). Lea Faka-Tonga is crucial to communicate authentic Tongan culture (‘ulungaanga Faka-Tonga), which is fundamental to the whole of Tongan society. Since the setting of the narrative of these extracts were not in Tonga and characters were not Tongans there are no words in the story that relate to this characteristic of the Tongan language.
Thirdly, there is the honorific speech register that reflects Tonga’s hierarchical social structure with the King and the royal household at the apex, followed by the nobles at the next level down, then the elites, with the commoners at the base (Kalavite, 2010). There are different sets of vocabularies used for each level of the social hierarchy. This honorific register was further categorised by Taumoefolau (2012) into six different ways of talking. Starting from the top level of the hierarchy there is, first, lea fakatu‘i (regal level); two, lea fakahouhou‘eiki (chiefly level); three, lea fakamatāpule (polite level); four, lea faka‘aki‘akimui (self-derogatory or humble level); five, lea tavale (everyday conversational level); and six, lea ‘ita (abusive language level). In this translation I used a mixture of levels three, polite level; and level five, the everyday conversational language.
Fourthly, there are some English words that cannot be translated into Tongan as they have no English equivalent to translate it correctly and effectively, for example the word ‘cult’. I translated it as ‘kulupu fulikivanu, anga mālohi, fakavaleloto, mo ivi mālohi’ (a group that is bizarre, strong headed, eccentric, weird, peculiar, and powerful). In this context I explained the word (give the meaning) because there is no Tongan word that is equivalent to cult. Another example is ‘mobile’ I literally translated it as ‘mopila’ then I give a full explanation like this, koe me‘ava‘inga ‘oku ngāohi ‘o tui ki ai e fanga ki‘i me‘ava‘inga kehekehe ‘o tautau he mohenga pēpee pea ‘oku ngaungaue ‘o va‘inga ki ai e pēpee ‘i he‘ene tokoto hono mohenga′ (a mobile is a toy structure attached on top of a baby’s cradle. Smaller toys that are hanging from the structure move when the baby moves, which excites the baby). Another example are the translations of names where I put the English name in brackets, as in, Monitolieni (Mondrian) and Tapulini (Dublin).
Fifthly, there is no smooth transfer of meaning between English and Tongan because the structure of the Tongan language is entirely different from the structure of the English language (Taumoefolau, 2004). This is because writing in English and writing in Tongan follow different rules. There is nowhere where one can acquire the art of writing in different genres in Tongan as these are no set rules or regulations to guide Tongan writers on how to write fiction, non-fiction and newspaper columns in the Tongan language. Nevertheless, the basic Tongan sentence structure follows a verb–subject–object (VSO) pattern (Volkel, 2010). English follows five basic syntactic structures: (1) subject–verb (SV), (2) subject–verb–object (SVO), (3) subject–verb–adjective (SVAdj), (4) subject–verb–adverb (SVAdv) and (5) subject–verb–noun (SVN) (Kalavite, 2019). I opted to transform these English sentence patterns to fit Tongan’s standard of VSO pattern. In the extract Time (Taimi) the first sentence that reads ‘My earliest memory is of a pot stand’ (SVN) is translated as ‘Ko ‘eku fuofua manatu ko ha tu‘u‘anga kulo’ (VSO) (is my earliest memory of a pot stand).
Finally, the inclusion of diacritical marks (ngaahi faka‘ilonga) in the translation is vital so that the narrative makes sense to Tongan readers. These are first, the fakau‘a [ ‘ ] not [ ’ ] the apostrophe symbol: Fakau‘a faces to the right like an inverted comma while the apostrophe faces to the left. Fakau‘a represents the sound of the glottal stop and it is a consonant in the Tongan language. Using a glottal stop can make a difference to the meaning of the word; for instance, ‘ofa (with a glottal stop) means ‘love’ while ofa (without glottal stop) means “to measure in fathom”; secondly, the use of toloi [macron: ā] can make a difference to the meaning—for example, pēpē (with macron) means ‘baby’ but pepe (without macron) means ‘butterfly’; thirdly, the fakamamafa pau [ ′ ] definitive accent; fa‘ee′, falls on the final vowel of a word and indicates definiteness. As an example of the difference that the definitive accent can make, take the word fa‘ē (mother). Ko e fa‘ē means “a mother,” but ko e fa‘ēe´ (with the definitive accent) means “the mother.” Finally, the speakers of Lea Faka-Tonga normally stress the second-to-last vowel or syllable of words (fakamamafa he lea fie pipiki’ [Na‘a′ ku]). One-syllable words in the Tongan language can’t be spoken in isolation, and so they are pronounced as part of the preceding (or following) word. This means that a one-syllable word (an enclitic) at the end of a sentence is pronounced as the final syllable (or vowel) of the preceding word. For example, in the extract of Time (Taimi) the phrase ko e ‘uluaki faikehekehe ‘o e ongo me‘a′ ni, the a in the word me‘a is stressed because it is followed by the enclitic ni. The differences in pronunciations reflect the differences in meanings. These conventions on diacritical marks in the Tongan language are used throughout the story.
This Tongan translation of Anne Enright’s work is a strongly literal rendering of the English version into Tongan, basically, to convey a clear meaning of the narratives for common contemporary Tongans to enjoy. This translation attempted to preserve as many of the original elements of the extracts as possible (for example, the country in which the story occurs, cultural icons and customs).
References
Guile, Melanie. 2005. Tonga: Islands of the South Pacific. Sydney, NSW, Australia: Carmel Heron.
Kalavite, Telesia. (2019). Tongan translation realities across tā (time) and vā (space). Journal of
New Zealand and Pacific Studies 7:2, pp. 173-183.
Kalavite, Telesia. (2010). Fononga ‘a Fakahalafononga: Tongan Students’ Journey to Academic
Achievement in New Zealand Tertiary Education. PhD Thesis, The University of
Waikato, Hamilton, New Zealand
Ministry of Eduation. 2012. Ko e fakahinohino ki he lea Faka-Tonga: The Tongan language guidelines. Wellington, New Zealand: The Learning Media.
Otsuka, Yuko. 2007. Making a case for Tongan as an endangered language. The Contemporary Pacific, Volume 19, (2). pp. 446-473.
Shumway, Eric. B. (1978), Intensive Course in Tongan. Honolulu, HI: The University Press of
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Taumoefolau, Melenaite. 2004. The translation of Queen Salote's poetry. In S. Fenton (Ed.), For better or for worse: Translation as a tool for change in the South Pacific (pp. 241-272). Manchester, England: St Jerome.
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Taumoefolau, Melenaite (2012). Tongan ways of talking, The Journal of the Polynesian Society 121:4, pp, 327-37.