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. I’ve recently been reading Italo Calvino’s Cosmicomics — a collection of short stories that blend real science, science fiction, and magical realism into idiosyncratic vignettes. Their subject matter feels very on theme for Cosmographia, and so, thusly inspired, I thought I’d write one of my own. Hope you enjoy!After studying reports of ancient eclipses, the great astronomer Edmund Halley was the first to suspect that the Moon might be slowly escaping the Earth’s grasp, some 300 years ago.
I was there, all those eons ago, when the Moon first started to drift away from us. 3.8 centimetres a year doesn’t sound like very much, but 3.8 centimetres a year, every year, soon adds up.
The solar system was in its infancy back then, and we were still heady with excitement. All the planets were shiny and new — some even remained sheathed in their plastic covering, fresh from the factory. The Sun was barely past its protostar phase, its light still fresh and pure. Sure, we noticed the Moon receding ever so slightly, but what were we to do? Worry about it? It was impossible to worry about anything in those days.
So the years ticked by. The Earth circled the Sun again and again, as it always does, while the Moon slowly spiralled away from us. After a while (quite a long while to tell you the truth), the gravity of the situation started to set in. After all, 3.8 centimetres a year for 25 billion years tots up to quite a lot — almost a million kilometres, in fact. Soon it became hard to think about anything else. Where once we could bask in the Moon’s intimate glow, now we strained to make out the details of her face. Centimetre by centimetre, we were losing her. Something had to be done.
We gathered a council of Very Important People. The types of people who should know what to do in a crisis. People who wear tall hats and plaid trousers, have moustaches or mid-wedge heel pumps. We gathered around a large table, elliptical in shape, and debated. Several ideas were put forth.
The first to speak were those we came to call the string theorists. Their idea was simple: Why not tie a really long rope around the Moon to hold her in place? The suggestion caused quite the furore. Much time was wasted discussing the tensile strength of various materials, the density of synthetic winch rope (we hadn’t even heard of graphene back then), the angular momentum required for an interplanetary lasso. Of course, the whole idea had to be abandoned because there was no way we could tie the Moon in place without hurting her feelings. Forcibly enchaining our closest neighbour didn’t seem the best way to mend the relationship between the Earth and her little lunar sister.
The next proposal was more humane, but equally flawed. Someone (I forget who, perhaps Maa Saraswati?) proposed that we play some really nice music in the Moon’s direction. Perhaps if we could prove our artistic merit, she’d want to hang around.
The string theorists of course wanted something orchestral, preferably with a lot of violins, while the geologists argued for something more rocky. I agreed with the latter group, some Pink Floyd would have done nicely, in my opinion. Clair de lune was also considered, but there was a growing anti-French sentiment at the time, completely misplaced of course, but there had been an incident involving an asteroid and a baguette which I’d rather not go into.
In the end we settled on jazz, which was just then coming into fashion. We hoisted some giant speakers skywards and hit play. (In truth it was awful; if we’d only had Miles Davis back then.) Unaware of the crudity of our tunes, we waited eagerly as the first notes thrummed towards the heavens. There was absolutely no reaction from the Moon, of course. Sound can’t travel through a vacuum, so she couldn’t hear a thing. When we realised this, the string theorists started up about a giant string-and-can telephone system to transmit the music up to her, so we banned them from making any more suggestions.
That’s when discussions moved to bribing the Moon with gifts. There was much to-ing and fro-ing on the question of how much earthly treasure — gold and frankincense and such things — it would take to convince her to stay. Bitter words were exchanged between fiscal hawks and monetary doves, a cost-benefit analysis was organised, public consultations conducted. Meetings — oh, the meetings! Never have you seen such convoluted bureaucracy. Eventually the whole thing got tied up in environmental review, and I walked out. I’d had enough of the whole business.
Desperate, I climbed a high hilltop, and gazed up at the vast, star-strewn sky. There she shined: Queen of the Night, Selene, Chandra, Changxi, the Moon herself.
“Moon!” I called out, my voice infinitesimal before the cosmos. “Please don't leave. We need you.”
To this day, I’m not sure how she heard me. Perhaps some cries can sound across the empty ether, perhaps love, real love, can travel through a vacuum. No matter what it was, the luminescent orb, pockmarked but gleaming, rotated in the sky until she faced me, her craterous features blank, but expectant.
“We need you, Moon,” I continued, “you're our reminder. You show us that we're just one world among countless others. Down here, it’s easy to fixate on the little things, petty things. Things that don’t matter. But when we look up at you, a whole other world, impassive and remote, we remember. We remember we are but one tiny speck of dust, floating through a boundless cosmic ocean, most of which lies hidden and unfathomable, beyond all sight and reason.”
For a moment, the white-gold patine of her face seemed to shine all the brighter.
“We’re just ants on a marble, dots on a dot. You don’t let us forget that.”
She smiled a wan, crescent-shaped smile.
“I understand,” she whispered. “But, what of me…? I have dreams of my own, you know… dreams of being out there… among the stars…”
And the Moon turned her face back around, and continued on her merry way, inching out into that infinite night.
Lovely. Im not sure why, but this reminds me a little of one of my favorite books: Saint Exupery's The Little Prince.
‘We remember we are but one tiny speck of dust, floating through a boundless cosmic ocean, most of which lies hidden and unfathomable, beyond all sight and reason.’ This moved something in me. Beautifully written. Thank you!
Keep on sharing, please!