Shadowcasting

Marcus fell in love with an Algerian girl named Raina. They never spoke to one another. Raina mended clothing for small sums. In the evenings Marcus tore holes in his shirts with a metal toothpick. In the mornings he watched Raina silently mend his shirts at a small wooden desk. The sun, he remembered, had a way of striking her face so that the table held her featureless portrait in stark black shadow. The shadow had no language. He fell in love with this, too, the way it moved like a formless waterfowl, gliding gently across a lake of sunlight.