Brando_ Songs My Mother Taught Me - Marlon Brando [100]
Madame Duran was anxious to hear any news about America and told me stories about the island—about her father, shipwrecks and old Tahitian friends—and to this day I regret I didn’t write them down. For company she had Annie, an old woman who was part Chinese, and at least forty dogs and cats, most of whom lounged in the shade around us as we talked. Her biggest nemesis was the dogcatchers from Tahiti. Whenever they tried to set foot on the island, she went after them with her umbrella.
It was a pleasant visit, and a few months later I returned to the island and brought her an apple pie. She had taken a shine to me and I to her, and I asked her to tell me more about the history and magic of Tahiti. Once again we talked for hours. I sensed that she might be growing concerned about her health because she was getting older, and I asked if she had ever thought about selling the island. “No,” she answered, “I don’t think so.” But two or three years later I got a note from her in which she said she was thinking about selling Teti’aroa because she had hurt herself in a fall and might have to move back to the city where she had grown up, Vallejo, California, for medical care. When I asked how much she wanted for the island, she said $200,000. After we struck a deal, I called the governor of Tahiti, a Frenchman, and told him I planned to buy the island if it was acceptable to the Tahitian and French governments. After meeting with his cabinet, he assured me enthusiastically that I was welcome in the community, but that it would take a while to process the papers and he would let me know when they were ready. Puzzled by the delay, I asked, “Can you think of any reason why I would not be granted a permit to buy the island?”
“Oh, no,” he said, “we’re delighted to have you among us. We’re proud to have you.”
A year later, the paperwork still had not been completed and the governor left office. On his last day at work I received a telegram declaring: YOUR PERMIT TO BUY THE ISLAND OF TETI’AROA HAS BEEN REFUSED.
I thought that was the end of it, but the next time I was in Tahiti, I went to Teti’aroa to see how Madame Duran was getting along. The first thing she said was that she was disappointed that I’d changed my mind about buying the island, but now she had another offer, from an American businessman I knew; it had been approved by the government and she was going to accept it.
I was shocked, and said: “Madame Duran, I wanted to buy the island and still do, but I was denied permission to do so.”
“How could permission have been refused?”
“I don’t know.”
She said, “The politicians here are as crooked as pigs’ tails. You just keep trying.”
Shortly thereafter I was in Paris and decided to look up the man who had been appointed the next governor of Tahiti, a suave, charming Corsican. After a couple of hours of trying to assure him that I would be a good neighbor, he said the government wouldn’t stand in my way if I wanted to buy the island and Madame Duran still wanted to sell it to me. I contacted her, but she told me she was about to sign a contract to sell Teti’aroa to the businessman for $300,000. I told her what I’d been told in Paris, but said I couldn’t afford that much.
“Well,” she said, “I asked you to pay two hundred thousand and you agreed to it, so that will be my price.”
I said, “I can’t do that. It’s unfair. If you can get three hundred thousand for it, please take it.”
“No,” she insisted. “It’s yours if you want it. The only thing I ask of you is that you not cut