The Second Life of Samuel Tyne (6 page)

“Thank you kindly,” said Samuel, taking the dish.

“It’s a desert,” she said, “but don’t worry, I took out all the sand. No, really, it’s a dessert torte, and by the dinner sounds in there I’d say our timing’s just right.” She looked beyond his shoulder.

“We have almost finished.” Samuel smiled; a few seconds passed before her hint occurred to him. “Oh, will you not come and meet my family?”

The Franks shared a laugh between them, and Samuel stared, unable to discern the joke. Eudora reached for the pan in his hands and said, “I’ll do the cutting.”

In the kitchen, the meal had come to an end. Today, as on other occasions, Samuel noticed that the twins seemed to distrust their food in front of strangers. They set down their forks. Samuel laughed to distract attention from them and gestured to Maud, who, startled at the sudden company, tried to swallow as quickly as possible with a shy smile on her face. Before she could say anything, Eudora leaned between Ama and Yvette, as though her presence were the most natural thing in the world, and dropped the dessert in the centre of the table.

Taking a backward step, she glanced at their plates. “Poor dears. Been cleaning so hard you haven’t had a chance to go shopping. We’ll take you, when you’re ready.”

In a look so quick Eudora might have missed it, Maud expressed her annoyance. “Don’t trouble yourselves.” Remembering herself, she wiped her hands on her thighs and rose to shake hands. “Whatever you’ve brought smells delicious. We’re grateful for dessert when we can get it.” She breathed a laugh. “It doesn’t happen much around here.”

“No, it wouldn’t,” said Eudora, looking from Ray to the ceiling draped in dust bunnies. Perplexed, Samuel and Maud watched Eudora begin to sort through their drawers. “Can’t use that,” she muttered to herself. “Or that.” Maud glared at Samuel. When Eudora commented that they “obviously haven’t done the drawers yet,” Samuel thought Maud would implode with exasperation. Feeling that he should do something, Samuel appealed to Ray with his eyes to put an end to his wife’s prying. The children sat paralyzed in their chairs, unwilling to raise their heads.

Ray looked blithely around him, oblivious. He only came alive when his wife glanced at him; then he laughed, and in a meaningless, childlike way.

Samuel was in awe. Here was a man thriving in his wife’s shadow.

“Dora,” Ray finally said, “get out of there.”

“Coming, coming,” she said, clearly disappointed with the knife she was obliged to take away with her. Skinning the foil from the dish, she leaned over a scowling Chloe to cut the fruit torte. Her eyes skimmed their plates again. “Ray’s allergic to beets.”

Here, at last, Samuel found a way into the conversation. “Codeine,” he declared, then, clearing his throat at the general puzzlement, added, “codeine is my Achilles heel.”

There was a silence, which Ray broke by saying, “Lot to dig through here, a jungle of a house.” He paused, meditating on Samuel’s face overtop his glasses. “But you should be at home here.”

Samuel smiled. “Yes, we have lost our children in the house—only Columbus and Hudson and Cartier show up for supper.” He smiled at the children: Chloe and Yvette dropped their heads; Ama moved her lips timidly before looking away.

“Listen,” said Eudora, in so commanding a voice that Samuel grew nervous. “Let’s let the children do the torte-eating, the men do the washing up, and, Maud, you and I’ll go talk in the backyard.”

Maud passed air through her lips. Who was this woman to come into her home and start ordering them around? To Maud’s astonishment, Samuel sprang to life and began in agitation to clear the dishes. Even with everyone staring at him he continued to stack each plate, like a boy fearing reprimand. Ray, with a dignity that made Samuel all the more ridiculous, gathered the utensils in a bored, easygoing way. Maud’s face burned as she followed Eudora to the yard.

Drawing open the sliding bay window, which was still grimy even after a cleaning, Maud and Eudora stepped into the bristling wind. They stared out at the field of grass that was so tall and abundant it looked like water rolling on for leagues. Three birch trees rose at equal distance between them and the Porter house, of which only the rotting roof was visible.

“Will you look at this yard,” breathed Eudora. “How can anyone live here?” She seemed to sense Maud’s suppressed anger. “But you’ll get it into shape, I know you will. We live in the country, so I know how hard it is to fight the wind from kicking dirt in the second you turn your back.”

“Do you not live nearby?”

“Well, yes, but Stone Road divides us. This is still Aster, and we live on the other side of the road from you, so we live in the country.”

“Ah,” Maud nodded.

Eudora chinned towards the run-down house in the distance. “Met Porter yet?”

“Well, no,” Maud flushed, knowing the lapse showed bad manners. She’d been badgering Samuel to call on him for the last week and a half. “What with all the cleaning, and Samuel looking for work in the city …”

Eudora stood in amused silence. Then she said, “Don’t worry your head over it, dear.
He’s
not going anywhere.” She laughed, and they watched a magpie try to light on the shifting grass. “God knows I don’t impose my views on anyone, Maud, but we do have an active church community, and you and your family are more than welcome to join it. Can I pick you up this week?” When she smiled, a single tooth jutted over her lip like the pale foot of a woman stepping onto a curb.

Maud fixated on this tooth. Eudora had hit her sore spot, for Maud wanted to bring more religion into her daughters’ lives. She relented. “We would love to.”

In the kitchen, Samuel stood at the sink washing dishes with Ray. Preoccupied at first, he didn’t speak, handing the plates to Ray without much care. He knew he’d made a fool of himself, and he was trying to figure out why he feared displeasing others. He remembered his sisters as a malignant force, and, yes, perhaps Jacob had been a skilled disciplinarian, but at his age it seemed ludicrous to fear standing up for himself. He glanced hesitantly at Ray. Here was a man who might perhaps understand.

Looking over his shoulder at the children, Samuel lowered his voice. “What do you know about getting a bay in town?”

Ray smiled, slipping a dish into the plastic rack. “Not quite sure what you mean, Sam.”

Samuel licked his lips. “What do you call it—eh, storefront property—for people to lease?”

“Oh, you mean a shop,” mused Ray. “Yeah, I know a bunch. There’s Skutton and Laidlaw … Brewster. Listen, I’ll take you around this week. And don’t think you’re a burden—as your neighbour, and second to the mayor on town council, it’s my duty. Here—” Throwing the soapy plate into the rack, he dug into his front pockets. Samuel turned off the tap, eyeing the children to determine if they’d heard. The twins kept eating, but Ama, never a good liar, gave Samuel little glances and smiled. He knew she believed herself responsible for his sudden resolve to find a shop, and felt a pang of guilt. Only when Ray had turned out his pockets, dumping a collection of lint and a lighter on the counter, did he find the pen and tissue he was looking for to scrawl down his number. Handing it to Samuel, he patted him on the shoulder. “Call me.”

Just then Eudora re-entered with Maud in tow. Maud checked to see that the children had not eaten too much of the torte (she’d always maintained sugar and children shouldn’t mix), then followed Samuel to the stoop to see the Franks out. As the red truck drove off, Maud said under her breath, “Is every woman in this country just like Ella Bjornson?” As soon as they’d left Calgary, the Bjornsons hadn’t bothered to return their phone calls. “Too busy gossiping,” was Maud’s bitter verdict. Samuel didn’t care. He knew his friendship with Halldór Bjornson had been one of convenience, and he couldn’t truly say he’d enjoyed it.

Samuel was aware of one thing: in Eudora Frank, Maud had met her match.

chapter
SIX

S
amuel had asked Ray to wait for him on the main road, and Ray proved himself a man of his word. The red truck idled in the littered street. Samuel climbed into the enormous cab, which he joked could easily house the whole of Togo. Ray nodded and, patting his pockets, drew a cigarette to his flaked lips and asked for a light. Samuel recalled Ray setting his silver lighter on the kitchen counter and guiltily handed Ray the built-in one on the dash. The fug filled the cab; from the corner of his eye Samuel watched Ray smoke in mild contemplation. There was something different about him today, Samuel decided; Ray’s confidence was even more pronounced in his wife’s absence. Samuel felt envious.

“I was told some time ago that the boundary between Aster and the country starts behind our house, and that in reality our home is in the country,” he said.

Ray smiled. “Fool’s gold, Sam. You’re practically in Aster proper.”

“Oh, brother.” Samuel knew he should be disappointed, but he laughed instead. “Please do not tell my wife.”

“Don’t tell mine I smoke in here and you got a deal.” Ray lowered his window and flicked the butt outside. “But a woman’s bark is louder than her bite—first rule of marriage.” He smiled. “Not done much exploring?”

Samuel understood the question as a general one. “Not really. I was born in Ghana, and lived briefly in England, but somehow those countries were not so challenging as here.”

“Life’s one never-ending pain in the ass for you, isn’t it?” Ray grinned, as if he’d told a good joke.

“Well.” Samuel turned to look out the window. He couldn’t understand these men for whom everything is a joke; he never knew where he stood with them. Outside, Sarcee Street stirred with early business. One by one, gates lifted from glass storefronts; hand-painted placards staggered the wooden walks; men in weathered suits wandered from doorways, a morning cigarette in their hands, their faces closed against the day.

“I gave up the suit for town life,” said Samuel. He tapped his window, gesturing to the haggard men outside. “That is why.”

“Don’t know why these commuters don’t just move to the city,” muttered Ray. He cleared his throat. “So electronics is a new game for you?”

“My father was an entrepreneur of sorts. And so it was with my uncle. Cocoa. We had one plantation in Agona Swedru, one plantation in Otsenkoran. Huge, huge harvests, and not just cocoa—corn, maize, potatoes, yams, bananas, palm trees, oh, even them. Palm trees are very beautiful, and of the greatest function, too. The kernel gives a good pulp, and the top you skin for palm-nut oil, you know, you make soup, palm wine, whatever you want. It can even be used to condition the skin. We call it the most useful plant in Africa.” Samuel’s laugh was empty, and when he spoke again it was a little skeptically, as a man speaks when still on the cusp of some decision he’s newly made. “I have always, even as a child, even during the hardest days of study, and the hardest days of starving, I have always had a great desire to own my own business.” Samuel watched a man drop a coin and look wearily at it, as if deciding whether to spend the energy picking it up. “What you call ‘rat race’ is only a game of marbles—it begins quickly, but when it slows, and despite God’s grace it does, you are lost.” He looked cautiously at Ray.

Ray nodded. “I take your point. But it can’t look good for you to go throwing away good jobs just like that. Think about it—you’re an example. A role model. These highfalutin office jobs are hard for
any
man to come by.” Glancing at Samuel’s shocked face, Ray grew embarrassed. “But I admire you.” He parked in an alley lined with blue trash bins. “We’re on Glover, few down from Stone Road. We’ll start here and make our way back to proper. What time you need to be back?”

“Before my wife discovers me missing.” Samuel knew the joke wouldn’t be lost on this man.

Ray wasn’t listening. “If we’re late enough, you might meet Clarish Clarke—he’s my caretaker back at the farm. He comes in around this time sometimes—call him Jarvis, though. He’s got a preacher’s name, and it couldn’t suit him less.” Ray chuckled.

“Jarvis?”

“Who knows?” Ray jumped from the cab. “That’s what he likes.”

For two hours they toured every blank-faced shop within ten blocks of where they parked. Aster’s layout was like a maze, with streets that changed into each other and few identifiable landmarks. Ray advised against Peahorn Street, but Samuel insisted on at least seeing it, so they wandered towards it. Derelict buildings lined the curbs, their windows blinded with rain-stained paper the colour of moths. The few months of poverty Samuel had had to endure during his last school years in Gold Coast didn’t assuage his discomfort at the desolate sight. Occasionally a man emerged from what looked to be an abandoned building.

Samuel and Ray returned to Glover Street. To lighten their spirits, Ray suggested they take lunch at the English diner, where bangers and mash were cheap. Eating seemed to relax them, and soon they made a game of naming the few strangers that passed by. Samuel asked Ray about his family, and Ray explained they were easterners who’d come west on the promise of work. “Most of them went straight back,” Ray laughed. “Shit work is shit work whether you’re east or west.” Eudora had been the fiancée of an older cousin already living in Alberta whose father had died in the Great War when the Union government had gone back on its promise not to draft farmers’ sons. “After five days I ended up with her and he ended up with my return fare to Ontario,” said Ray. “You could say he lost all there was to lose in life.” By default Ray had even managed to claim the age-old family farm. He’d toughed it out with Eudora, and now ran a parts business out of his garage part-time, though his true efforts went to upholding both the state of his farm and his stature in civic politics. Samuel spoke timidly of his own origins, which he sensed lacked the wholesomeness of Ray’s beginnings. He hated to justify himself, holding back anything dubious, so that his story ended up being the one he’d often told the twins when they’d cared enough to ask about his life.

Trying for nonchalance, Samuel asked Ray about Jacob. “Exactly what sort of man did he become?”

“In these last years, a sighting of Jacob Tyne was as rare as a sunny month.”

Samuel later came to believe that stopping for this lunch was what brought him his luck. Leaving the diner, they ran into one of Ray’s long-time customers who knew of a little nook just down Glover Street, a choice property whose sudden availability had surprised everyone. He gave them directions, and as they walked there Samuel felt himself nearing the crux of all these hopeful months.

Not only clean and sizeable, the space was priced so low as to be suspicious. They called on the landlord, a stodgy, unlearned man, who led them through the musty space explaining that the price was the result of a dry low season. By then, Samuel had stopped listening. He might have been alone in that whitewashed haven, the home of his possible dream. “I’ll take it,” he said, killing the casual banter between Ray and the landlord.

“Oh, it’s you who’s looking?” The landlord looked skeptically at them. He motioned to Ray. “Thought you were taking it.”

“I’ve got space enough between my ears without having to pay for it. This one’s for Mr. Tyne.” Ray smiled at the frowning man, and with their opposing looks they neutralized each other.

“Is there a problem?” said Samuel.

The landlord continued to look at Ray, then turned weary eyes on Samuel. “No, no. Follow me to my place and we’ll sign the papers.”

And so within minutes the dream had been bought. Ignore the questionable landlord, the distance from home, the fact that his wife was in utter darkness about this goal: Samuel Tyne had signed the lease on his own little piece of the world. After this, there could be no more doubts.