One Shadow on the Wall by Leah Henderson

Author:Leah Henderson
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Atheneum Books for Young Readers

MOR twisted in his sleep, smiling. His head was pressed into his yaay’s old cloth, and he was thinking of Demba’s words from a week before: “Fridays are castles for kings, adventures with brother, kicking games and resting waves.”

At first he hadn’t realized what Demba meant by it all, but now, after his second week on the water with him, Mor welcomed the free day to go to the mosque early like he had always done with his baay and to play le foot with his friends late into the afternoon.

The first Friday, when he had reached the beach and found no trace of Demba or his bike, he had wandered around lost. Demba’s boat was there, but there was no Demba. Mor went to the dressmaker, asking after his friend.

“Ahh, today is his day with Idrissa,” the man said. Again it was the name those women had called Mor.

“But who is Idrissa? Where does he live?”

The man glanced down at Mor, slowly rubbing his belly as if he didn’t realize it. A toothpick swung up and down between his teeth.

“You do not know of Idrissa? Of course you wouldn’t. Demba would never say anything to you of the one you favor. He is down that way under the crosses. Besides Demba and the scraggly grasses, they are all that rest out there.”

Mor looked where the man pointed. The only thing he knew to be at the end of the road was the cemetery, shared by both Muslims and Christians. His baay and yaay were buried there. It overlooked the water.

“When did he die?” Mor tried to ignore thoughts of his father’s burial and the dirt closing over him. He didn’t want to be sad, but sadness never waited for anyone to be ready.

“Allah took him long ago,” the dressmaker said. “He was just about your age, a few years younger than Demba. Fridays are for Idrissa. Demba and his birds sit with Idrissa every Friday morning, telling him of the week they would have had together. Idrissa died on a Friday morning.”

“How did he die?” Mor asked, grateful to finally be learning something about his friend.

“Sickness touched his young brother’s heart, and there were no medicines, barks, leaves, or brews that could cure him. That time left a scar on Demba. After that he journeyed far and wide to learn all he could about the herbs and the plants around him.”

“He lost his little brother?” Mor said, more to himself than to the dressmaker. He couldn’t imagine how he’d feel if he lost either Fatima or Amina. He was doing everything in his power to keep them with him now. “He’s still sad?”

“There are days,” the dressmaker said. “But since you’ve come onto his path, they come less and less. I suspect you are good for Demba, and he is good for you.”

“Yes, sir,” Mor had said, walking away from the man’s shop and the whir of the sewing machines.

When Mor opened his eyes this Friday, his sisters’ pallet was empty.

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