Esi Edugyan - The Second Life of Samuel Tyne

That night at dinner he tried again to express his plans to his family. It was an uneasy meal, alive with tensions he didn’t intuit until after he’d spoken; as he finished he knew he had chosen the wrong time. But the look on the twins’ faces gave him cause for hope.

“Do you m-mean it, Mr. Tyne?” said Yvette.

He only looked at her, exasperated by her stutter.

“That’s s-so adventurous!” said Chloe.

Samuel frowned. “Talk properly, girls.”

“Our own Henry Ford,” said Yvette.

Maud leaned back in her chair, a wry smile on her face. Samuel licked his lips. “What do you think, Maud? Ama?”

“What do I think?” said Maud, her smile widening.

Samuel felt so nervous he giggled. Had he known the state of her day, he would not have indulged his laughter. Indeed, if he were half as sensitive to human moods as to technology, he wouldn’t have spoken at all. Even the children sensed her irritability.

That afternoon, Akosua Porter (more pupil than friend, it was true) had accused Maud of intolerable condescension, which was “without reason, coming from one who allows their house to suffer under the stupidity of its master and the evil of its children.” Akosua had flinched at her own words. Seeing Maud’s fury, she tried to appeal to their shared reverence for honesty:

“Truth,” said Akosua, “is stronger than an iron horse.” But truth is not always the wisest course between those who don’t consider themselves equals. Maud gave her a tongue-lashing so apt it might have been a written speech.

Still smouldering over her rebuke, she had only half heard what Samuel said, but the mention of risking their savings was enough to rile her. “Samuel, of all the stupid things you’ve done over the years, this is the worst tomfoolery you’ve ever dreamed up. God help you if you spend our money on this.”

Samuel glanced around the table, at Ama, who made pathetic attempts to ignore his shame, at the laughing eyes of whatever twin sat just right of her. His girls were becoming harder to tell apart, but he didn’t care one bit. He heaped spinach onto his plantain and, with an obvious lack of appetite, put it in his mouth. Dinner continued quietly for some time, neither adult addressing the other. Asking Yvette to pass the plantain, Samuel did something he regretted to his final days.

If only she hadn’t stuttered. She used a napkin to select the least-burnt pieces, and handing them to him with her left hand, she said, “For the p-prince, Mr. Tyne.”

Samuel looked at the frail arm holding the oily napkin above his plate, and jerked the plate out of the way just as she dropped the food. The girl looked confused, pulling back her arm as though afraid of being blamed for the mishap. She continued to stand, hesitating over her chair, until Chloe pulled her down into her seat.

“You sh-should get that sp-spastic arm looked after, Mr. Tyne,” said Chloe.

Rising from his seat, Samuel leaned across the table and struck Yvette across the face.

The blow resounded like a deep silence. Samuel, self-conscious, glared from face to face, enraged. Maud looked shocked, as if to say, Is that your idea of raising children? She glanced possessively at Yvette, who was recovering more from disbelief than from pain.

But it was Ama’s look that hurt most; the fear on her face compounded his guilt.

Samuel sat down, fidgeting with his knife and fork. When he spoke he sounded strained. “Do not again dare to give me your left hand — you think I am a vagrant? Don’t play the goat. Never will you ever show me, your elder , that left palm again. And never will you ever talk like that again.” The hatred on his children’s faces gave him a new kind of anger, this one righteous, smug. “Are you retarded children? No. Have your mother and I not educated you? Have you two not the privilege of good, sound brains? Why are you wasting what God gave you on some foolish retard talk? Eih? No child of mine will show himself a retard, or ever give his left hand to an elder again.” At his last words, he looked as if he would cry. No one understood, least of all Samuel himself, that he spoke more to punish himself than to hurt his daughters.

Avoiding eye contact, Samuel left the table. He went to his study, but today it offered no refuge. Instead he went outdoors, where an early dusk had fallen because of a day-long rain. He noticed, from the cold slab of his short patio, that halfway through his property someone had cut down a tree. Its stubbed trunk rose from the ground, and scattered around it were bright wood shavings. The paleness of the shavings on so grey a day made it seem as though the sun was shining over a single, charmed spot. Samuel looked at it, turning his face instinctively to the Porter house. He went back to his study.

That night Ama went to bed ashamed of Samuel. Everyone had their lapses, but it terrified her to think what he was capable of, despite his gentle nature. She slept terribly.

When she woke in the pale hours, the twins, resurrected in spirits, sat on Chloe’s bed playing cards. Their happiness freed Ama from the burden of feeling sorry for them. She smiled. “Why are you two up so early?”

Chloe’s face hardened and she took on a withdrawn look. Yvette didn’t turn around. Neither spoke.

Ama asked them another question; again, silence. Exasperated, she left to take her bath. When she returned, the girls were gone, the collars of their cots so prim they looked artificial. Ama dressed and descended the stairs to find a busy Mrs. Tyne hopping about the kitchen in her walking cast, harassing herself with biblical proverbs under her breath. It was a sight to see, this jaunty, whip-thin woman who’d rolled pantyhose over her cast so that her leg looked hideously edematous. When she saw Ama, her face became girlish, and she beckoned to be helped to a chair. Ama crouched under her bent arm, and after seating her took up the chair across from hers.

“The twins will be thirteen next week,” said Mrs. Tyne. “You’re their age. What do you think they want?” When Ama looked uncertain, Maud realized the girl feared this was a test. “I only ask because I hope to make this a bit of an event, you know, because of Sa — because of yesterday.”

Ama relaxed. Feeling mischievous, she answered, “A compass? It’s cleaner than breadcrumbs for finding your way around this house.”

Maud frowned, as though considering the appropriateness of the joke. A slow smile brightened her face. “I saw a book the other day— How Not to Dominate Conversation . How about that?”

Ama laughed. “How about a book of word games and riddles?”

“They wrote that one. How about Letter Writing for Amateurs?”

“How to Start Making Sense in Ten Easy Steps .”

“Oh, there’s no romance in that,” Maud laughed. “How about—” Something in the hallway caught her eye, and Maud glanced up to see Samuel lingering in the doorway, the ancient bowler pinched in his hands. The tactless hour of the day, the apologetic gestures, his stern, too-determined jaw — all of it did more to convict him than if he’d simply walked in admitting it. Maud simply gave him a vague clouded smile that let him know she understood. Relieved, Samuel avoided Ama’s eyes and continued to his study. Maud looked at the empty doorway a minute longer, then turned her fragile smile on the girl. She didn’t think, My God, he’s ruined us , as any other wife might have done; rather, Maud was conscious of the stupidity of her smile, and marvelled that she was more fascinated by it than by her husband’s indiscretion.

That evening, at dinner, Maud attempted to speak to the children, who were so despondent she lost interest. Still, the twins’ very silence, their expert control over their gestures so as not to be noticed, drew everyone’s attention. Each twin seemed rigid and nervous, sharing little glances.