The Hothouse by the East River
by Muriel Spark
He is standing in the middle of the room. She is sitting by the window, staring out over the East River. The late sunlight from the opposite window touches her shoulders and hair, it casts the shadow of palm leaves across the carpet, over her arm. The chair she sits in casts a shadow before her.
There is another shadow, hers. It falls behind her.
Behind her, and cast by what light? She is casting a shadow in the wrong direction. There's no light shining upon her from the east window, it comes from the west window. What is she looking at?
A round trip from present-day life in New York to war-time Intelligence work in England in 1944 and back again.
There is another shadow, hers. It falls behind her.
Behind her, and cast by what light? She is casting a shadow in the wrong direction. There's no light shining upon her from the east window, it comes from the west window. What is she looking at?
A round trip from present-day life in New York to war-time Intelligence work in England in 1944 and back again.