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SHADOW BOX
Paolo woke up one morning to find that Adorno, his next-door neighbor (for we must call him this for the rest of you, to convey the proper relationship between them), had installed something in his dwelling-area. He rose up from his pallet on the bare ground, yawned, stretched, scratched his stomach, and found himself confronted with the most shocking abnormality to visit Pelato-Spoglio since that loose elephant had escaped from the traveling circus nearby and eaten the mayor's wife's hedges.
"Adorno!" he cried, holding out his hands at it. "What is this?"
"It's a window," Adorno said dreamily, still reclining on the ground.
"That's not a window! Even if we had windows here, which we don't, because buildings are the great stratifier and all men are absolutely equal here, that would not be a window!"
"It is a window," repeated Adorno. "It lets the dark in."
The object in question was an enormous block, dull black and floating some three feet off the ground. It cast a long, precise shadow, which to Paolo seemed to creep outward like a sly and hungry octopus. Paolo shuddered, and checked on his own shadow, which was safely behind him. Standing there with your shadow hanging out and getting it on other people was one of the rudest things you could do in Pelato, yet here was Adorno with this thing and its shadow and basking in it.
"Old friend," Paolo announced, "you have lost your mind."
"Why's that?"
"Look what you're doing!"
"I'm sitting here."
"You're sitting in it!"
"You make it sound like it's something revolting."
"Isn't it?"
"No, it's actually quite pleasant. Have a seat?"
Paolo threw up his hands. "No, thank you. I'm perfectly comfortable out here being decent and civilized."
Adorno shrugged. "Have it your way."
"Where did that thing come from?"
"It was here when I woke up."
"What?"
"Just as I said. I woke up, and there it was. It's rather fascinating, really."
"Someone is playing a ghastly trick on you!" Paolo cried. "We must find out who it is."
For the first time, Adorno's mouth twisted with something like annoyance. "Aren't you interested in it?"
Paolo circled the block, squinting at it. "I'm interested in getting rid of it, and if you won't do it for your own good, consider doing it for my peace of mind. It gives me the creeps, just hovering there."
"It's just a shadow," Adorno sighed. "Everyone has one." Paolo huffed and looked somewhere else. The sere flatlands stretching out around them thrummed with cicadas and sparrows.
"Maybe it's a sign," Paolo announced.
"From who?"
"Maybe it's here to make us appreciate what we have."
Adorno frowned. "We don't have anything, and you didn't answer my question."
But Paolo was rubbing his chin. "I'll bet the Edifists put it here. They snuck in while you were sleeping and put it here to try and bring you over to them. It's not a sign—it's a test! Adorno, you have to resist it!"
Adorno pulled himself upright and drew his knees to his chest. "What is there to resist? It's not doing anything. It just sits there."
Paolo squatted to lean close, all concern. "I think you and I both know it's doing more than that."
"Good heavens! What's this all about?"
The two men turned at the interruption. The mayor stood some distance off, staring at the block. Paolo leaped to his feet.
"Good morning, sir!" He kicked at Adorno. "Get out of the shade!" he hissed. Adorno frowned again, but didn't move.
The mayor raised a benevolent hand. "Morning, my friends. Calm down, Paolo, we'll get to the bottom of this." Decisively, he ventured closer. "Adorno, what is this?"
"He says it's a window, sir," Paolo volunteered.
"A window? In Pelato? That's Edificism, young man!"
Adorno blinked up in the glare. "It's not a normal window—"
"I can see that!"
"It lets in the dark."
The mayor seemed baffled, though affably so. "Whatever would we want with that?"
Adorno shrugged. "Paolo thinks it's a sign."
"From the Edifists!" he sputtered. "Trying to lure us away!"
"Interesting . . ." The mayor examined the block. "I can't imagine what's holding it up. Something sinister, surely, but interesting nonetheless."
Paolo hurried to his shoulder. "It's entranced him, sir. He won't get out of its shadow."
The mayor took the initiative. "Now, Adorno, Paolo and I are both your good friends, but you must stop this wallowing in the shadow. I know you're intrigued, but use your head for a moment—what if someone sees you?"
"And whoever heard of a window that lets in the dark?" added Paolo.
"Windows are complicit in constructs that oppress and stratify," the mayor continued gravely. "You let one appear, no matter how harmless or unusual, and soon you'll have walls, rooms, storeys, houses, and before you know it, we'll find ourselves in a hive of buildings. We'll be no different from the Edifists, with their servants' quarters and iron fences and jailhouses and tenement blocks. Do you want that for our community?"
Adorno kept his eyes on the block. "I'd never thought about it before."
The mayor gathered his momentum. "We can't have this, you know. This sort of thing promotes obscurity. It stands for everything to which we are fundamentally opposed. It's like an open endorsement of secrets, do you see? No one in Pelato keeps anything from any other! We did away with that long ago, and now look at us! All equals! Aren't we the happier for it?"
Adorno looked up at the mayor. "How are your wife's hedges?"
The mayor's aspect went rigid. "Now see here," he growled.
"No," he said mildly. "It's all right. She should have them."
Paolo stared from man to block to man. The sparrows and cicadas flitted overhead, and where they landed remained hidden.
Esther Bergdahl is a recent graduate of the University of Chicago, with a degree related to the Great Books program. Her short play, Bluebirds Over, was performed in a reading by University Theater in May 2006. She is the 2006 recipient of the David Blair McLaughlin Prize for "essays demonstrating special skill and sense of form in the writing of English prose," for "To Be Counted with the Men: The Awakening of Telemachos in Homer's Odyssey." Esther has worked in many editorial capacities, including theater, publishing, and an online literary magazine for "unexpected fantasy," Unlined, currently preparing for its third quarterly issue.
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