Esi Edugyan - The Second Life of Samuel Tyne

Samuel spent the days after the fire locked in his study. To avoid facing the window, which held a full view of the Porters’ ruins, Samuel turned his desk. He’d sit for hours, staring at his shadow in the frame of sunlight on the wall. Raising his fist, he’d clasp and unclasp his fingers, marvelling. Or he’d fuss through his papers, reorganize his drawers and, during the night, when his mind became strangely lucid, fix those very objects he’d once thought beyond repair. Anything to keep his mind from the life collapsing around him. Maud, too, had turned a blind eye to things, though he saw the worry in her stark face, her tense hands, her sensitivity to the weakest noises in the house. No one mentioned the fire, except in the abstract way people speak of misfortunes that have nothing to do with them. “What a shame,” someone would mutter, to the general nod of heads. “A miracle, really, an act of God no one was hurt,” another (usually Samuel) would say, and again, the nodding.

What Samuel truly thought of the arson, he would not admit even to himself. Not that he ignored it; but every time the thought that they might be responsible occurred to him, his mind grew dim and he felt incapable of going on. He rejected the idea, even while feeling there might be some truth in it. He avoided his family, and was glad when the twins stopped coming down for meals. He only allowed himself one regret: his turning away from Ama.

He didn’t do it on purpose. Ama was sleeping in the Iron Lung until tomorrow morning, when Samuel would drop her off to spend the last two weeks of the summer with Grandma Ouillet. Somehow, he felt betrayed, as though Ama of all people should have stood by the twins, by the Tynes, by him . And though she was merely a child, unaware of her offence, Samuel still faulted her a little. But not consciously. He felt as ashamed as when he’d first turned from his daughters.

Driving up to the Ouillet house, Samuel glanced at Ama in the passenger seat, regretting how he’d treated her these last few days. He really did love the girl, but had begun to understand what Maud meant by “blood is thicker than water.” On the doorstep, he swept Ama into a hug.

“You be good,” he said.

Ama’s mouth trembled. She was about to say something, when she thought the better of it and dropped the knocker.

When Samuel reached home, he found Ray Frank waiting for him, smoking. Samuel felt a dry fear as he stepped from the car, but collected himself.

“My house and my children are not enough for you?” he said. “You have come for my wife, my hat?”

Ray laughed. “Good to see you’re keeping your sense of humour. How are you these days? Dora really misses Maud and says she wishes she’d call. Don’t suppose you found that tractor part yet?” The longer Ray prattled on, the more amazed Samuel became. Did Ray take him for an imbecile? Did he truly believe things between them could stay the same? A summer of farming had reddened Ray’s face so that Samuel thought he looked like a livid baby. When the older man jostled his glasses, wet red lines like welts appeared beneath his eyes. He was sweating so heavily that Samuel, drought-dry in his pewter suit, offered the red kerchief that garnished his breast pocket. Ray accepted it and, wiping his glasses, began to explain why he’d come.

“Me and Dora have been talking, and I realized a few things. So I have a proposal for you. I was thinking that after you send the girls away the Porters could come and live with you. I know that sounds nuts, but hear me out. You wouldn’t have to move and would even make a little money.” He cleared his throat. “I’m willing to do one of two things. Either I’ll pay you a little rent on their behalf or buy the property outright from you, both providing I get to use the surrounding fields. I’ve already talked to the Porters about it, and they’re willing.”

Samuel remained silent. He inclined his head a little, as though trying to define a distant sound. “So this is it,” he said. “The bitter heart destroys more than its owner.”

Ray looked surprised. “Not bitter. Practical.”

“Practical,” said Samuel. Turning, he watched the nearby trees heave, their leaves dropping, the sun weighing on everything. He felt a deep-seated sadness.

“Aster has the worse village mentality I have ever seen. A troupe of big men trying to hide that they’re still in diapers. This, as you see, is my house. These trees you see here are mine, this soil mine, these weeds mine . I decide who lives here and who doesn’t, I decide when to leave and when to stay. Anything that happens here, I decide. Me .”

Ray grew more flushed. He handed Samuel’s handkerchief back. “I’ve done nothing but look out for you. I sent you customers, I helped you get investors, I helped settle you in.” He sounded sad to have to admonish him. “You figure things out for yourself. But you’ve got two days for your children to leave Aster before I’m forced to tell the authorities what I know. I’m sorry.” He left without looking back.

Samuel set his jaw, his anger hardening. Not a single Tyne would leave Aster. Never, unless they themselves chose to. Samuel entered the house, sitting through a meal he was too preoccupied to eat. It was just he and Maud; the twins were refusing food. Out of guilt, Maud took three meals upstairs every day, carrying down the untouched trays at nightfall. She didn’t want to tell Samuel about it, afraid he would force-feed them, but when he, too, didn’t touch his food, she felt spiteful. She did nothing if not for her family. Her life was reduced to a few domestic routines: washing clothes (now drying above the fireplace); cooking meals no one ate; darning socks no one wore; and, though this was beyond enduring, trying not to ask questions. She was lost in the shadows of other people’s secrecy, something she’d seen in other women but had never expected of herself. She avoided going outside unless she needed something without which they couldn’t live. Aware of eyes on her, Maud became rigid and haughty, glaring back, though she knew that, once home, she’d buckle from the pressure. The whispering was the worst. In the shops, in the streets; she couldn’t believe how she was being treated. Ray and Eudora had not only told the authorities about the twins, they had informed the whole town. With a bad conscience Maud remembered the way she’d treated Tara Chodzicki.

When Maud complained to Samuel, she was astonished to realize he hadn’t noticed a thing. Nothing could touch his pride, and Maud felt both embittered and relieved to see him carrying on with dog-like disregard and simplicity.

“My prototypes are going so well,” he said, “that to make adjustments now would be like putting on a suit when the tailor had only pinned in his intended alterations. Hey, I’m a poet. Yes … ‘his intended alterations’ … yes, yes. You move and it falls back to square one. Yes!”

Maud rolled her eyes. “We can’t stay here, Samuel. We’ve got to go back to Calgary.” She was too proud to tell him about the bag of burning fertilizer thrown at the front door, the desecration of their flower beds, the slurs from passing cars, the refusal of some shopkeepers to accept their money. Everything, in short, that the Porters had endured both in Oklahoma and in Aster’s bordering towns and cities. Maud begged Samuel to accept Ray’s offer and return to Calgary, or go anywhere else on the planet for that matter; anything that would allow her to salvage her dignity.

But how could he return? His house and business were his life; he wouldn’t feel complete without them. He sensed his wife’s despair, but closed himself off from it, shutting her from his study. What could a woman who’d led so narrow a life know about the wandering failure produced in a man? That, uprooted, he walked through the world without seeing and unseen, a non-being.