Esi Edugyan - The Second Life of Samuel Tyne

Porter put the box on the carpet and offered his hand. “Ah, Mrs. Tyne. We didn’t forget you, just our manners. We been busy as beavers here. Who don’t know but it’s the little things in life that’ll kill civilization, isn’t it? One day we’ll get done dusting and it’ll be the end of the world.”

Maud shared a look with Eudora. Porter seemed elegant and easy, and yet three weeks he’d kept his door closed to Samuel. And not only did his attire seem less than respectable, but as a man he was a bag of mixed maps. His voice had a strange texture, as though every place he’d ever travelled to, no matter how short the trip or how remotely in his past, had left an imprint on his speech.

Despite this, Maud found herself smiling at him. “Pleasure.” Eudora gave her a questioning look, but followed her lead.

“No need for introductions, Mrs. Frank. Three decades have made good neighbours of us.” Porter treated Eudora’s grudging hand with delicacy. Even she seemed to warm with that.

Only later, and as no more than a topic of gossip, did Maud realize that despite his friendliness, despite his wittily chosen words, he never once made direct eye contact. More startlingly, his children stopped fidgeting and followed him with a cautious look. Even Mrs. Porter, for all her self-righteousness and indignation, receded into stiff civility.

Porter sat at the creaking table. “A moment ago you were raising the dead with your voices. What’s the problem?” Maud began to explain, but his eyes rested on his wife’s face. “Akosua, what’s the problem here?”

In his wife’s reaction lay the secret of his eyes. For as soon as he looked her way, she flinched. Her embarrassment grew as she spoke, as if suffering a public humiliation. Porter considered all she said, nodding, then asked her to explain her hand in it.

Mrs. Porter stopped short. Looking disconsolately from the company and the children to her husband, she said, “We were talking. I got upset, distastefully so.”

Porter nodded gravely.

Akosua lowered her eyes and, in a dry little voice, said, “Ladies, please accept sincere and humble apologies on behalf of my family. It was far from our intent to give offence or do harm, and we hope you bear us no ill will.”

Maud felt mortified for the woman. She studied Porter in a darker light. “We’re as much to blame as anyone. Please forgive our … ”

Eudora pinched Maud’s arm. She was a woman who didn’t make apologies she didn’t mean. Maud understood this, and though pained, she stopped mid-sentence.

Thanking the Porters for their hospitality, Maud and Eudora left. Maud in a sombre mood; Eudora in an annoyingly chatty one.

“See, that’s what I mean,” said Eudora. “We have practically no children, while they —liars, hypocrites, all of them. Can you believe her nagging you for not having a proper burial, and then behaving like that? I tell you, the only time they were right in there was when he said it’s the end of the world.”

“I’ve got a headache,” said Maud.

They walked in silence.

While Maud and Eudora were making their fated visit to the Porters’, the girls had spent the hot afternoon annoying each other. Ama sat on her cot, underlining likeable passages in Alice in Wonderland and watching the magpies in the spruce outside fight a family of sparrows from their nest. Her detachment no longer upset her. Every once in a while she would glance over at Yvette, who had thrown herself under the blankets, never to be seen again. The twins now refused to speak to each other. Though Ama hadn’t seen their fight, she’d heard it, and judging from Yvette’s face, it had been harsh.

Ama hadn’t known what to say. She looked with apprehension at the lump under the torn blue blanket, and averted her eyes whenever she sensed Yvette listening. Since the night the twins had disappeared from their beds after destroying the last of Yvette’s new clothes, Yvette hadn’t really spoken to Ama. It was as if the day they’d gone for milkshakes or their walk with Mrs. Tyne hadn’t happened. Hurt, Ama nevertheless felt Yvette only needed to be shown patience, compassion, for her to come round.

Still, Ama averted her eyes. By the time Chloe walked in she’d begun to nod off.

Chloe looked stunned, as if she’d ended up where she’d least intended to be. She leaned against the wall, her trembling hands clutching at her frilly collar. Her fear seemed real, and yet cinematically excessive. Ama hesitated, waiting for Yvette to emerge from under the blanket. Yvette did so slowly, not once taking her eyes off her sister.

“What do you want?” she said.

Chloe clutched her collar oddly, as if choking. Ama and Yvette got off their beds to see if she was all right, but hesitated; fear hung like a repellent field around her. Ama, too, began to feel her dread, her hackles rising. Only Yvette remained reluctant.

“The cat.” Chloe could barely speak.

Yvette frowned. “A carnivore of genus Felis , especially the domesticated kind or any of the smaller wild species.”

Ama turned to Chloe. “What cat?”

Yvette sat, looking amused. “Tabby, Siamese, short-haired sphinx.”

“It’s crazy!” said Chloe.

“Cat-o’-nine-tails, cathood, catkin, catling, cattery, cattish, Kaddish.”

Chloe frowned. “Shut up.”

“Catamountain, cat burglar, catcall, catfish, cathead, cathouse.”

Ama put her hands to her ears and shut her eyes. When she opened them again, both twins were looking blankly at her.

“Cat and mouse,” said Yvette. She shrugged. “We don’t have a cat.”

“I don’t know where it came from, but”—her lip began to tremble theatrically—“it was in the backyard, on the far side. I went outside to look, to see what the neighbours had done to the grass, and there was this cat, and he was crazy, with wild, wet hair, and his mouth had this stringy stuff hanging from it. He had this limp, draggy paw, and I started to run, but he was chasing me, all crazy, and I thought he’d bite me, and I didn’t want to bring him back to the house, so I cornered him, oh, it was awful!”

“Calm down,” said Yvette. “Where did you say it was?”

“I tricked him into that rusty shed at the edge of the yard. I locked him in there.” Chloe’s voice filled with wonder. “I shouldn’t have locked him in there, should I?”

Ama flinched when Chloe looked at her.

“Show us,” said Yvette. “You’ve got to show us.”

“What are you going to do about it?”

“What do you think? Chase it away.” Yvette left the room.

Ama heard the twins descend the stairs and, afraid of being left alone, she followed. Events in the twins’ lives seemed to happen severely and without warning. She looked tensely at them.

Outside the heat was so strong it had already aged the more sensitive greenery. The grass, once a sea of luminous green whips, had been cut with military precision. All smelled of loam and resin, and there was a pervasive weight to the air that seemed to deaden the trees. Otherwise, the sky was a clean, piercing blue.

Chloe led them through the field, chattering away, pleased at being the centre of attention. But she seemed to realize her sudden cheerfulness was inappropriate to the moment and stopped talking. Before too long they’d reached the edge of Porter’s yard, which, despite its upkeep, felt shabby. They could hear the house creaking in the weak wind, and there was something infinitely sad about the way the rusted bicycles leaned against the siding. Chloe led them to a tin shed, its hinges red with rust, and the three paused outside of it, their breath quickening.

Yvette’s hand trembled on the latch. Exhaling, she pulled the door ajar. Squinting into the darkness, she paused before swinging the door open fully and jumping back.