When dusk fell it would become luminous but for now it was dull: an unnaturally large orb uncomfortably close for anyone who remembered the real thing.
It had seemed like a good idea at the time. Pastor Martin had visited the night market at Saint John, and had been impressed by the huge, inflatable luminous Moon strung over the streets of their market. It wouldn’t be the first time a town in Ontario had stolen a bright idea from the Maritimes.
“It’ll provide hope and comfort to our townsfolk,” he’d argued to the Springville council back in 2005.
The council had just voted to change the name of the “Asian Night Market” to “Night Market.” China’s invasion of Vancouver had stirred up some serious anti-Asian feelings. The council just missed banning the market altogether.
But the food was too tasty to give up. And many of the local “Asians” were fourth-generation citizens whose ancestors had come from Japan. Japan had also been invaded by China. You gotta support your allies, if only symbolically.
So after a brief Politically Correct diversion about the name (the word “Multicultural” almost replaced “Asian”), the market was preserved, and Pastor Martin made his pitch.
“It’s beautiful” he said, showing slides of the Saint John market. Everyone had to agree: it looked more exciting than anything Springville had ever seen.
“I’ve found an updated model of this giant Moon. Their Moon is always full. This new one shows the correct phases as they would have been if the real Moon were here. It’s educational!” He said this knowing that two counselors were teachers in their day jobs.
“But none of our buildings are over four stories!” objected the deputy mayor. Her job was to chair the finance committee and resist any proposed new expenditure.
“True,” conceded Pastor Martin. “But in a true spirit of religious cooperation, Father MacMillan and I have discussed allowing our respective steeples to be used to hold up the Moon.”
Father MacMillan, seated nearby, nodded magnanimously, and said, “The steeples are very nearly the same height, although ours is a meter or so taller. And as we are kitty-corner across the main intersection of town, the positioning of the Moon will be very striking. As a symbol of Ecumenism in the very heart of Springville it will set a fine example for all.”
There was a buzz of conversation in the audience. No one would ever forget the 9/13 attack on the World Trade Center on the second anniversary of the loss of the Moon. The extremists had blamed America for depriving the Muslim world of the basis for its lunar calendar, and its most potent symbol. The terror had spread into Canada and the rest of the western world. Everyone wanted religious cooperation again.
“One small point,” added Pastor Martin. “For insurance and safety purposes, it will be necessary to inspect and strengthen both steeples. The inflatable Moon isn’t heavy, but a strong wind could be an issue if the repairs aren’t up to date.”
The motion passed with only the deputy mayor objecting. Both churches had their steeples reinforced without cost to their own meager building funds, and the Night Market Moon rose.
The years passed…
§
Waxing Crescent thought Pastor Martin. Not that different from the crescent moon of Islam, or of the Chinese flag, for that matter. What a symbol for the 25th anniversary of the Moonbase disaster.
He trudged up the tower steps to personally inspect the security arrangements. Security arrangements! No one prepared him for that in seminary.
Why couldn’t more people be like the Jews? He pondered. They had a lunar calendar too, adjusted even in Biblical times to regularly add a thirteenth lunar month to accommodate the solar year. They mourned the loss of the Moon with the rest of the world. But apart from a few fringe groups, the Jewish community had simply programmed computers to designate when the festivals and high holy days would be as if the Moon were still present. Of course, some scholars disagreed about the accuracy of the calculations, which started a lively debate about dates, but what is Judaism without debate?
Most of the Islamic world had settled for an equivalent process, but their anger was closer to the surface. Theirs had been a purely lunar calendar, with annual festivals gradually shifting seasons. This had always been a challenge in Canada, when the long summer days and short nights made Ramadan fasting excruciating for anyone who wanted to follow the “sunrise to sunset” rules literally. Now, the moonless night sky added a painful reminder of religious loss.
Rev. Martin paused for breath. He’d been at this church for over twenty-five years now, and could almost taste retirement. He’d stayed on through the Moon crisis, then the crisis of the 9/13 attack, and then he’d stayed because the congregation had truly become his people and his family had put down roots. Now, he was staying on to see them through this anniversary. He was almost seventy, and his wife accused him of looking for excuses not to retire.
Maybe that was true, but climbing this tower was making him reconsider. He was too old for this sh— sugar. Why couldn’t the police handle security? Even the by-law officers were better equipped than his congregation. But no, it wasn’t in the town’s budget.
The youth group members had volunteered eagerly, which only made him wonder what mischief they had planned. A few years ago they’d programmed the Moon to cycle through the colors of the LGBTQ+ rainbow. The town had assumed it was all part of the show, but Father MacMillan’s hard-line replacement, Father Santini, had threatened to disconnect the Moon from his steeple.
Rev. Martin resumed his trudge. He ought to trust the youth group leaders with this, but they weren’t much older than the kids they led. None of them were old enough to remember the real Moon. For them, the disasters were stories the adults told ad nauseum.
He got up to the control room and realized the sky was already dark. How slow had he become? The Moon was lit with its waxing crescent.
“Pastor! Welcome! Looks good, doesn’t it?” That was Crystal, the most outgoing of the leaders.
“Yes, it does. You don’t have anything special planned, do you?” The various members of the group looked outside like their lives depended on it. “The elders discussed this, remember?”
“How could we forget?” One of the kids was grumbling resentfully. “Don’t worry, they’ve told us to be respectful so many times we hear it in our sleep.”
“Don’t worry, what we’re doing is totes respectful,” came another voice. There were giggles around the small room.
“I knew it!” Pastor Martin’s heart, already beating hard, sped up. “Whatever you have planned, stop it at once!”
“Don’t worry,” said Crystal. “It’s totally fine. Look, it’s already started.”
She pointed to the dark part of the suspended Moon, which represented most of the dark side of the former satellite. A greenish glow had appeared near the edge. It rapidly expanded into what was obviously supposed to represent the explosion that had cost Earth its Moon.
“Twenty-five years ago it would have looked a lot like this,” continued Crystal. “In 1999 it was a waning crescent, not waxing, but it looks the same.”
“We’ve worked really hard, we’ve done research and everything.” The kids were all agreeing with Crystal. “It really is educational.”
Pastor Martin felt a chill of recognition. They really had done a good job. It took him back, hard. “People will be upset about this,” he said. “You might trigger some PTSD. I’m going to get in trouble.”
“We’ve learned about something called ‘plausible deniability’ too,” said one girl. “You can blame it on us. And now we have something to remember, too. We don’t have to just listen to the old folks. No offense.”
Pastor Martin couldn’t fully suppress a grin. Yeah. Educational. Kids were always up to something, weren’t they?
The suspended orb went totally dark. A dozen voices started chattering at once. Clearly, the kids hadn’t planned this bit.
Then the orb lit up. The waxing crescent was back, bright yellow against a scarlet background. Where the explosion had been was a bright yellow star.
“Devon!” shouted most of the youth group. One skinny boy with stringy hair managed to look both defiant and smug at the same time.
The steeple speakers came alive one floor above them. Designed simply to mimic a carillon (real bells had never been in the budget) they only had one volume: extra loud.
The Chinese national anthem blared out, nearly deafening the whole room. It was quickly replaced with a young voice making a declaration:
“The Moon has been taken hostage by the Springville Friends of China. We denounce the anti-Asian cultural appropriation that steals a Lunar New Year or a Night Market and won’t admit its value. We are asserting China’s right to be appreciated, and we won’t release the Moon until the market is re-named. Bring back the Asian Night Market!”
The speakers fell silent, and Pastor Martin could suddenly hear all the voices demanding that Devon fix things.
In the distance, sirens were getting closer. The youth group mobbing Devon was getting nowhere, until someone unplugged the main power to the suspended Moon. The street went dark.
Waxing crescent. It means that it’s growing. There’s more of this to come.
Pastor Martin turned away from the chaos in the room and started his long trudge down the tower stairs. He knew that by the time he got to the bottom, the police would be there.
Maybe he could explain all of this, and they wouldn’t arrest his kids. It would be a challenge, but he had to protect them. He was their pastor, after all. And they had a point: with no memories of the Moon, they had created their own. Good for them.
Another excuse to avoid retiring? Maybe. But it wouldn’t be boring.
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Andrew Jensen has moved to New Brunswick with his family and too many dogs and cats. He has retired from the ministry, but of course, clergy never really retire.
His stories have appeared in Canada, the USA, New Zealand, and the UK. In July his work appeared in Amazing Stories and James Gunn’s Ad Astra.
If you liked this story, check out “Running Away With the Cirque” in Stupefying Stories 24. If you’re still not convinced, read “A Can of Piskies” or “Chapter 7,” both of which are here on the SHOWCASE site.
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2 comments:
As one of 4 kids who went through Catholic school, I approve this message.
Good for them. Rebel! Make yourselves heard.
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