Flee Moon

Based on Ballad of the Moon, Moon by Federico García Lorca

 

Flee, Moon! Flee! Flee!

There’s danger coming, can’t you see?

 

Glazed eyes reflecting the gentle light of the pale woman before him, Antonio takes hold of her shoulders, fistfuls of her white robe spilling between his knuckles. A hard look weakens him, and his fingertips slide off her forearms limply.

 

Careful boy, don’t you step on my glow

Take a breath now, take it slow

 

A blink. Antonio is standing further from her. The space, it presses against his ringing ears. Round cheeks but a sharp chin, she doesn’t seem very tall, yet he looks up at her. Short caramel frames her face, obscuring her ears, but silver earrings hang among the strands of hair. Nose pointed up, soft gray eyes shifted down towards him, the Moon ruffles her skirt, releasing a sweet scent of tuberose. The man feels his eyelids droop.

The urgency, however, does not fade, but returns in full force. Taking a swift step forward, not seeming to advance at all, Antonio reaches again towards her, tongue twisting in search for the words.

 

You shouldn’t be here, you need to go!

There is no pity for friend or foe!

 

Wrinkles on the young man’s forehead dance between his eyebrows. Hoof beats echo, growing closer every breath. Not giving the Moon a chance to respond, nor would she have as she stares at him with silent pity, he continues.

 

Do you know what they’ll do?

The sky will be littered with your robe if they find you

And your feeble fight against the darkness

Will subside as we plunge to black

If we could see, then there would be only red

The red that you, Moon, will shed

 

If we could see… Antonio can’t see much. Only the blurred movement of the grass and the Moon. She takes a calm breath as he attempts to run closer, as he attempts to reach her arms, as he attempts to pull her away from the approaching danger. She surprises him by agreeing.

 

There will be red, Antonito

But the sky will glisten still.

I have no blood for them to spill

Only tears and the sky they fill

You must let me weep.

Listen.

 

Antonio freezes as the hoofbeats stop, only to have the pounding blood in his head mimic the sound until it is nearly indistinguishable. His toes curl, tense, then release. His nostrils expand with the floral scent, and expel in a misty cloud he hadn’t noticed earlier. Shakily, his voice comes once more.

 

They… They come…

Some will…

 

The Moon meets his eyes with a frightening look of pity and patience.

 

Some will crush a skull on their ride

To warm homes with meals and wives

Some will tear and rip like the tide

And some will stain the ground

Feed the moss, keep it alive

 

Her voice becomes quieter as the horses, or blood, get louder.

 

Some will find you with your little eyes shut

Now come with me if you have the gut

Let me weep, Antonito, my tears I keep.

 

Chin dropping towards his clavicle, Antonio rips his gaze from the pale light to his crisp shirt and rumpled trousers. His eyes follow his worn boots, blood-caked nails, bruised knuckles, and the standing hairs on his forearms. Saliva sweeps down his esophagus much like the red river from his side to his soles. The sweet smell is lost in the metallic taste.

 

Let me weep, Antonito, my tears I keep.

 

Her voice is soft, far. Antonio stands, listening to the horses’ hooves hit the ground over and over in the same pattern, like a quickening heartbeat. He will look up, he promises himself, in time.

When at last his gaze searches for his guide, he finds the white light far. She holds hands with a blue-faced child and together they walk up.

The Moon lets her shoulders drop. She cries, kisses the child’s forehead, and tosses a new star into the awaiting night.