Shadow Theatre Read Online Free Page A

Madam had mentioned to her once. Which,
by the way, was why Madam would leave for school at a quarter to seven, in case of a traffic jam, even though driving to St.
Agnes usually took less than twenty minutes now that part of
the drive was along the new highway. She wanted to be sure she
was never late, because General Assembly started at half-past
seven and she was in charge of the music. She was late once, on
the morning her husband was taken to the hospital for the last
time, but from what I've heard, it was only that once.)
    Miss Shakilah and Madam had been discussing what to do
about Miss Shakilah's dilemma, which they had started talking
about in bits and pieces on the night before. (On the night before, they had talked mostly about their families, Madam asking about Miss Shakilah's mother (Miss Shakilah's father having
passed away some time ago) and Miss Shakilah asking about
Madam's daughters and the grandchildren. Miss Shakilah had
known Madam's daughters in school, but none of them were
exactly her age, so they wouldn't have been in the same classes.
Francesca was a year older, Caroline was a year younger, and
Michelle was four years younger. Francesca and Miss Shakilah
could have been friends but Francesca hadn't been very sociable
as a child, and as for Caroline, she had been so wild, dressing up
and wearing lipstick and mascara even before her elder sister
did. Miss Shakilah, when she was still a schoolgirl, hadn't shown
a hint of wildness. Malika remembered her as Madam's favorite
pupil for years. Bright, quiet, respectful. With the kind of
curiosity that might kill a cat, Madam used to say. Her Shak
could come up with questions no one else could think of. This
was what Malika remembered, when she looked back upon
some of her conversations with Madam in those years.)

    From what Malika understood, Miss Shakilah's dilemma
boiled down to her having too many voices in this latest novel.
That was how Miss Shakilah had described the problem to
Madam. Her publisher thought there were too many voices, or
more precisely, too many storytellers. They made the story difficult to follow. This publisher wanted Miss Shakilah to revise
the manuscript, cut the book down to three voices at the most.
Miss Shakilah didn't want to do it. Leaving the book with only
three voices would change the story entirely, she told Madam.
Yet, how was she going to get the book published, otherwise?
Her agent believed she would run into the same problem with
most American publishers. Given her new state of affairs (the
baby coming), she couldn't afford to be lackadaisical about
money.
    "Why are more than three voices so difficult to follow?
Don't Americans know how to pay attention to several people talking at one time? They should come sit at a dinner table over
here," Madam had pointed out, on the night before, while
Malika had nodded her head in secret agreement. (It was the
first time Malika had heard anyone discuss storytelling in such
a serious way, and she had gleaned enough from the conversation to understand that this kind of discussion must happen
often in America, or perhaps only in the university. She wondered what Miss Shakilah meant by her argument that fewer
voices would change the story entirely. Malika always tried to
leave room in her mind for things she might not be aware of due
to her lack of sufficient formal education.)

    "Americans aren't used to it, I guess. That's what my publisher thinks. My editor's afraid the book won't sell." Miss
Shakilah had said this with a sigh, and then she had shrugged
her shoulders loosely, as if it didn't really matter why the publisher thought there were too many voices. American publishers
were impossible to argue with. That was what her sigh and
shrug conveyed.
    That was when Madam had invited Miss Shakilah to spend
the night, so that they could both sleep on it and see if a
solution presented itself in the morning. Given how late it was