I found myself needing to be around him. I’d sit in Antoinette’s garden and watch him destroy things. Wasn’t he beautiful in that way?
One night during Sunday dinner at Antoinette’s, over chicken, rice, and radishes from the garden, the subject of his presence in their house as opposed to the principal’s was finally breeched. Antoinette and Obadiah usually waited until Sunday dinner to argue, and sometimes they invited spectators.
“Whatever else Tuyeni may be,” Obadiah said, “the woman is the boy’s aunt.”
“Aunt,” Antoinette piffed. “Aunt!”
“Under the law, she’s next of kin. Lord knows, those two might accuse us of kidnapping.”
“Kidnapping? They live up the road.”
“The law says —”
“The law! Whose law? I will not give them the satisfaction of granting me permission.”
“The fact of the matter is that we’re not relatives. Now, in the old days, yes, this sort of thing happened all the time, but today we have…” He ran down of his own accord. We ate on in silence, to the noise of crunching radishes. I wondered: How can it be so loud in your own ears and the room so quiet?