Art Pact 48
"The Earth is in love with the Moon," she told me, the fire throwing black and orange stripes across her face. "He reaches out to her all the time, chases her around the sun, but she is too light for him, too fleet of foot. She dances rings around him constantly. She pulls at his hot metal heart, at the magma blood of him, at rivers that are his tears and the oceans that are the sweat on him from his long chase."
She doodled a helical pattern in the dust - a large circle, the Earth travelling around the Sun, the Moon around the Earth and the Sun at the same time.
"It won't ever catch the Moon," I said.
"That's where you're wrong. There will come a time. She can't run forever, not from someone who was made for her. Sometimes you have to give in to the inevitable. She'll slow down as she ages, she'll give up her freedom and come to rest in the arms of her suitor."
"Then that will be the saddest day of all." I thought of the Moon colliding with the Earth. I could not imagine it happening fast for some reason, just a slow thing where the Moon grew larger and larger in the night sky, closer and closer until in some town or city somewhere all you could see would be the rocky white plains above you. You would climb to the top of a tower block, feeling so light that there seemed to be almost nothing of you, and reach up, put your hand into an old footprint, pick up an old flag. You could climb up onto the moon, you could almost feel as if you were pushing it away, but down it would move, down, down, pressing you against the top of the building then going on, crunching red through you and smashing grey beneath and pressing and pressing down until there was nothing left of the towers or the town and still pressing into the surface. Magma would pour from the cracks around the Moon's embrace, the Earth would be torn to pieces, until finally the Moon reached its heart and that would be the end of both of them. All the energy that had been stored up over the years released in one apocalyptic moment. No good for the Earth, no goo for the Moon, no good for anyone nearby.
"The Moon should stay where she is," I said. "In the sky, with the other moons. She doesn't have to come down to Earth. She shouldn't."
"She has to," she said sadly. "That's the way the world works. You don't get to be free forever, you either climb into a cage that you like or you realise that someone has built one around you without you knowing it. Maybe that someone is you."
I couldn't tell if she meant me personally. I stretched my hands out to the fire, letting my palms warm. There was silence for a while, and when my hands were warm enough I crossed them over my chest, one palm cupping each breast to warm them up.
"Perhaps the Earth doesn't love the Moon," I suggested. "Perhaps she only thinks that because it's been pursuing her for so long. Perhaps it doesn't even know it itself. It's so lonely in space that it's convinced itself it's in love, but what he really wants is someone, anyone, just to acknowledge it exists. He'd - it would get the Moon, but then it wouldn't know what to do with her. If I were the Moon I wouldn't want to take that chance. I'd want to make sure that it was really love first. And I'd want to make sure that I loved the Earth in return."
She looked at me from under half-closed eyes, a probing stare. I was wondering if she was thinking what I was thinking, that I was losing grasp of the metaphor, that I was coming dangerously close to just saying outright what we were dancing around. She blinked, and as she did so a thing clicked in my mind - a decision, or just perhaps the part of me that guarded my feelings suddenly turning off.
"I don't think you should go back," I said. Her eyes widened for a second, then she looked away as if I had become Medusa. Her hair covered her face. The light from the fire flickered up and down the curls and twists, and the cold night air played with the tiny free strands, but beyond that curtain I could see nothing.
She doodled a helical pattern in the dust - a large circle, the Earth travelling around the Sun, the Moon around the Earth and the Sun at the same time.
"It won't ever catch the Moon," I said.
"That's where you're wrong. There will come a time. She can't run forever, not from someone who was made for her. Sometimes you have to give in to the inevitable. She'll slow down as she ages, she'll give up her freedom and come to rest in the arms of her suitor."
"Then that will be the saddest day of all." I thought of the Moon colliding with the Earth. I could not imagine it happening fast for some reason, just a slow thing where the Moon grew larger and larger in the night sky, closer and closer until in some town or city somewhere all you could see would be the rocky white plains above you. You would climb to the top of a tower block, feeling so light that there seemed to be almost nothing of you, and reach up, put your hand into an old footprint, pick up an old flag. You could climb up onto the moon, you could almost feel as if you were pushing it away, but down it would move, down, down, pressing you against the top of the building then going on, crunching red through you and smashing grey beneath and pressing and pressing down until there was nothing left of the towers or the town and still pressing into the surface. Magma would pour from the cracks around the Moon's embrace, the Earth would be torn to pieces, until finally the Moon reached its heart and that would be the end of both of them. All the energy that had been stored up over the years released in one apocalyptic moment. No good for the Earth, no goo for the Moon, no good for anyone nearby.
"The Moon should stay where she is," I said. "In the sky, with the other moons. She doesn't have to come down to Earth. She shouldn't."
"She has to," she said sadly. "That's the way the world works. You don't get to be free forever, you either climb into a cage that you like or you realise that someone has built one around you without you knowing it. Maybe that someone is you."
I couldn't tell if she meant me personally. I stretched my hands out to the fire, letting my palms warm. There was silence for a while, and when my hands were warm enough I crossed them over my chest, one palm cupping each breast to warm them up.
"Perhaps the Earth doesn't love the Moon," I suggested. "Perhaps she only thinks that because it's been pursuing her for so long. Perhaps it doesn't even know it itself. It's so lonely in space that it's convinced itself it's in love, but what he really wants is someone, anyone, just to acknowledge it exists. He'd - it would get the Moon, but then it wouldn't know what to do with her. If I were the Moon I wouldn't want to take that chance. I'd want to make sure that it was really love first. And I'd want to make sure that I loved the Earth in return."
She looked at me from under half-closed eyes, a probing stare. I was wondering if she was thinking what I was thinking, that I was losing grasp of the metaphor, that I was coming dangerously close to just saying outright what we were dancing around. She blinked, and as she did so a thing clicked in my mind - a decision, or just perhaps the part of me that guarded my feelings suddenly turning off.
"I don't think you should go back," I said. Her eyes widened for a second, then she looked away as if I had become Medusa. Her hair covered her face. The light from the fire flickered up and down the curls and twists, and the cold night air played with the tiny free strands, but beyond that curtain I could see nothing.
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