Esi Edugyan - The Second Life of Samuel Tyne

“Oh, Maud!” said the woman on the end, whose sweater parted to reveal an almost concave chest. “Well, that’s easy!”

“I’ve never been too good with accents,” said the woman closest to Maud. Maud studied the good-natured face, the eyes colourless with age, the veins unconcealed by fragile skin. The woman was so obviously from a different era that Maud refused to take umbrage.

“I’ve heard about you,” said the woman in the centre. She wore a pair of telescopic glasses, which gave her an inquisitive air. “You’re old Tyne’s daughter. That Jacob who used to live out on Porter’s land.”

“Porter? No, it was Jacob’s own. And I’m not his daughter — my husband’s his nephew.”

A surprised murmur passed between the three women.

“I’ll be damned!” said the old one closest to Maud. “Learn something new every day.”

Eudora seized Maud’s hand. “I’m taking her off now, girls. We’ll talk later.”

When they’d gone a little ways, Maud said, “Porter’s land?”

“Eloise is a bit senile.”

Eudora dragged Maud to meet group after group, most also failing to understand her accent, which, in truth, she knew was hardly noticeable.

“Like Eloise said, not too many outsiders come in,” said Eudora. “Oh, look, there’s Ray.” When Eudora waved, the skin under her arm swayed. Ray walked to the microphone, and a little too officiously, he insisted people take their seats.

Maud found the girls where she’d left them. “Any new discoveries since I left?” she said.

Ama shrugged, while the twins exchanged glances.

“Sorry,” said Chloe in an imperious voice. “I can’t understand your accent.”

Maud was shocked. “Sometimes you two behave like two-year-olds!”

The look of hurt on the twins’ faces made Maud angry with herself. Though in general a strict woman, she rarely belittled her children. Feeling guilty, she turned a little away from them in her seat. The woman on her right noticed this and used the opportunity to introduce herself.

“Tara Chodzicki,” she smiled. “Said, ‘Shud-it-sky,’ but spelled C-H-O-D-Z-I–C-K-I. These Asterians have problems with my name, too. I’ve heard about you. So glad you could finally come out.” And taking the thin, aristocratic hand, Maud felt relieved. She made small talk with the woman until Eudora reached across the children and seized her thigh.

Appalled, Maud moved her a leg a little, smiling nervously.

Eudora set her lips. “I just wanted to tell you that Porter’s wife is by the south doors.” And without greeting Tara she faced the stage.

“His wife?” hissed Maud, and forgetting her own manners, she reached across the sullen children to touch Eudora’s arm. “All this time he’s had a wife? And she wasn’t Christian enough to call on me?”

Eudora looked amused. “Well, she’s not Christian. First one died, the man goes all the way to India for the second one. But shh, it’s starting.”

Maud craned her neck. A tall, well-built woman stood at the rear doors, half of her face obscured by a kente headdress. So she was from Gold Coast too! Seeing her skin, it was easy to see how Eudora had mistaken her for an Indian. She was the colour of weak tea, slightly darker at the joints, with full, blood-coloured lips. Maud strained to see the woman’s eyes.

“Welcome, welcome everyone,” boomed Ray’s voice through the loudspeaker. He looked dwarfed by the huge stage. “You all know me, but I’ll introduce myself to any newcomers.” He paused at the few claps. “I’m Raymond Frank, second to the mayor, and allow me to introduce the other people up here tonight, who, if you don’t know, you should. At the end we have Constable Robert Parry.”

An apprehensive man stood up, blinking in every direction. Instinct told Maud he must be at least forty, but he had that look of preserved innocence women seek to protect and men take advantage of.

“Wilma Flint, on our security council.”

Stocky and self-possessed, Ms. Flint waved with great condescension. She sat down long before the clapping came to an end.

“She acts like butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth,” muttered Eudora.

Ray went on to introduce two nondescript men before he got to the mayor. Maud couldn’t believe her eyes. The mayor could not have stood any taller than five feet, and if the brusque way he moved was supposed to conjure height, it only made him look shorter. He had an old-plains moustache and richly pomaded hair. Maud imagined him smelling of fresh tobacco, maybe even lavender oil. He looked like a working-class man trying to play the aristocrat.

Ray lowered the microphone for him. The mayor beamed, his oily skin radiating warmth. “Great to see you this evening. As Asterians, we all have a right to know what’s going on in our town, and to know that government is not in the hands of a few elect, but is everyone’s business.”

He paused for the ecstatic clapping and few appreciative calls. Maud looked around, startled.

“As you know, the most pressing matter of business is the fire at Thorpe’s Diner. But as we expect this to take some time to discuss, we’d like to get other matters out of the way first. Let’s start the open forum.”

People from the crowd rose and, approaching the microphones, discussed everything from whether a building permit was needed to erect a fence to the unseemly number of stray cats lately plaguing Aster.

Next, parking regulations. When that order of business was settled, a coalition stood to lobby in favour of Article 9, which restricted people from making changes to any town property without consulting an elected Board for Historical Preservation. The minority coalition, who’d prepared notes, rose to state why such a thing was not only unfeasible, but bordered on immoral.

“No one should support this article,” said a man with unnaturally large ears, craning so close to the microphone they could hear him breathe. “It’s a load of crap.”

Maud couldn’t believe the energy people put into their arguments.

“All right, all right, enough discussion,” said the mayor, at last fed up with everyone’s pettiness. He cleared his throat. “Thorpe’s was very dear to us all, and has been with us twenty-three years, a cherished, welcoming place.”

Yvette shot Ama a look.

“We are extremely lucky no one was hurt. And Thorpe’s will be restored, but we must think of our future.” He gripped the podium. “This is our fourth fire in almost as many months. We must give this a long, hard looking-over. We cannot allow what happened in Athabasca in 1913 to happen here. We cannot allow our entire town, our businesses, our lives , to be destroyed by fire.” Recovering his gentle voice, he said, “Please welcome Constable Parry.”

People seemed confused over whether to clap or not. Stepping awkwardly from his seat, Constable Parry approached the microphone almost with fear. He tapped it, hesitating. “Thank you, Mayor Gould. Everything you’ve said is true — we cannot allow what happened in Athabasca to happen here. We must protect our businesses, our homes, our lives.” He breathed a laugh. “Now, I can’t discuss the specifics, obviously, except to warn you that these were not so-called acts of God. We do have a possible arsonist, that’s unconfirmed, who may or may not be a townsperson, who may or may not even be an Albertan. What we don’t need is … what, what we don’t need …”

The constable raised his head, as did the entire audience, at the music filling the room. It was a whimsical aria, played on the high register of the antique piano, a variation with so many notes it was dizzying to listen to. The swift, piercing notes rose and fell over each other. The longer it went on, the more people strained in their chairs to see who was playing. Maud paused, stricken. Sitting on the piano bench was Chloe.