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Pachi was a simple man, a fisherman who lived in a little cabin placed
between the foot of a bald cliff and the foamy grey sea. He had spent
his entire life on the pier outside his house, dropping his lines into
the water and pulling out iron colored fish. He would clean them and
lay them over the smoldering coals in his stone hearth, letting the
thin smoke cure the fish, which he would sell at the market every
seventh day. This was how he spent his days, grasping the slippery
bodies and quieting them with a few efficient slices with a knife. It
was how his father had lived, and his father before him, and his before
him, until it became a family trait to smell of fish, to gut the grey
flesh with ease, and to repair the huge nets swiftly.
This was how he spent his days - but his nights were his own. Many
generations had lived at the bottom of the cliff, but very few had felt
the need to reach its summit; there were fish to clean, nets to carry
and there was nothing but bare rock and sand at the top of the cliff.
But Pachi would bare the raw winds and sudden pitfalls on the path up
the cliff that shadowed his house night after night. He would sit, legs
dangling over the sharp drop of the edge, his eyes gazing into the
glittering sky. The fisherman would spend hours watching the night sky,
exploring the sea of stars and his eyes never seemed to touch the same
one twice. But he was especially enamored with the moon. Her graceful
path through the stars was like the sailboats Pachi could see drifting
in the sea as he stood on the shore.
Sometimes, as if she knew of her
admirer, she would float lower, just above his cliff and he would study
her glowing light until his eyes would be pulled shut be sleep.
It was one such night when Pachi was contemplating the moonbeams as
they lay over the rocky ground that he felt the cliff beneath him
shudder like and a sound like thunder roll through the air. The
moonbeams vanished and the dark moved in to cover everything. It was as
if an unseen hand had extinguished all the light in the sky and Pachi
climbed warily to his feet, aware even in the blackness of the
shattering drop on either side of him. He could still hear the distant
roar from the sea below and he remembered his little house. He turned
away from the edge, back to the path, but stopped when he noticed a
very faint glow several yards from him. Thinking it wiser to bring some
light with him down the treacherous cliff side, he made his slow way
towards it. Light was spreading out like spilt milk from a trench cut
into the cliff top the size and depth of his little cabin. When he
stood at the edge he looked down into the hole with widened eyes.
There, at the bottom of the crater where it had come to rest, was the
moon.
As Pachi stood staring blankly, the weak light suddenly flared in an
attempt to chase away the thick darkness but only pulsed sporadically.
Flinching, for he had expected the light to hurt as the soft radiance
poured into his wide eyes, Pachi slid and stumbled his way into the
gaping hole and stood looking at the moon as it lay in the dirt. He
raised his eyes to the sky searching for the familiar presence, for
surely he must have fallen asleep; but no, the black expanse looked
empty and hollow and even the stars seemed sick and despondent without
their mother's gentle light.
Turning back to the moon, Pachi reached out one calloused hand and laid
it respectfully on the milky surface. He gasped at the strange warmth
and pulsating vibrations emanating from it, this was the moon's
heartbeat. Drawing a shaky breath, Pachi began to walk around the
glowing sphere, examining every inch he could touch. But as he pulled
his hand away to study another place on the surface, a thick,
milky-clear strand of light clung to his fingers then dropped to the
ground. Pachi stared, horrified as more and more of the moon started to
melt and drip into the dirt where it would glow weakly before being
absorbed into the ground.
He took a step backwards and examined it, the hum was slowly dying and
the sphere was shrinking as more and more light soaked into the ground.
Before his mind could order, Pachi had his shoulder against the waxy
surface and his heels were digging into the crumbling ground of the
crater. Sweat poured over his brow and muscles far from their prime
clenched and struggled to lift his burden up the trench wall. But years
spent hauling nets sagging with wriggling bodies had developed
strength, if not a determination to overcoming impossible loads. After
several labored moments that had to be started over when he slipped,
Pachi at last heaved the weight over the lip of the basin.
He lay face first and gasping into the dirt alongside the moon, rolling
one eye warily to gaze upon the dying globe. She was now the size of
the cart Pachi used to fish to the market in. He picked himself up and
once again put his shoulder under the moon and began pushing and
rolling it toward the cliff edge. Pachi strained and grunted with all
his might and it felt like she grew heavier despite her diminishing
size; but every time he caught sight of the cold dark sky, his efforts
were renewed.
When at last he reached the very end of the earth beneath him, he
stopped and peered over the edge. Far below, the grey waters thrashed
and boiled; the waves leaped like ravenous dogs after wounded prey.
Where did he take the moon now, there was no way he could lift her into
the sky, it had almost taken all his strength to get her this far. But
standing behind the moon, both hands braced against her weight, Pachi
was aware of the growing coldness seeping into the surface, of the
quiet heartbeat which was weaker than before. It pulsed slower and
slower and slower and after one last breath, Pachi closed his eyes and
pushed with all his might.
The moon left the cliff and hung in the air for a few breathless
seconds before Pachi realized that her warm radiance was still washing
his face. He opened his eyes to see that she was floating in the air
just an arms distance away and not plunging into the sea to be
swallowed whole. The moon was waiting for something so Pachi reached
out his hand, a ripple of warmth move up his arm and into his body from
where his fingers met the surface.
Along with the warmth came a voice,
the moon's voice that spoke to his heart without words. She was
offering him a place in her heart, to sail through the waters of the
night and leave his little house behind. This was a frightening thing,
to give up his familiar life by the sea and he hesitated. But the
moon's pull was stronger, and like the tide, he relented to her,
feeling his feet let go of the earth. The moon's song became stronger
and Pachi closed his eyes as he was pulled into the sky; into her heart
where he curled like a child. Shining brightly, the moon returned to
her place in the night sky, stars brightening in welcome.
Alone on the shore, the little house became old and rotted and was
eventually washed away by the sea. But some nights, when the sky is
darkest as the moon hangs just above the waters near the bald cliff,
moonbeams as delicate as fishing line are cast into the sea; a face can
be seen gazing at its reflection in the waves and the iron colored fish
glint silver in the moonlight.
Copyright 2008 Seshat
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