Blue Moon

Every night at midnight, the purple clouds came out to dance with the blushing sky.

The girls from the village were always asleep by then, having long since rushed back past the tall trees and whispering brush to return back to their warm kitchens, cool sheets, and closed shutters. Like good daughters, they heeded their mothers and at the first sign of dusk, began back with baskets slung around their elbows full of all sorts of roots and berries.

Rosa was not with them.

The young girl rubbed at a mark on her forehead.

She had been licked right there across the forehead by a feral cat as an infant before holy oil could christen her. A red, raw-looking mark had stained her ever since. Uncle Armando blamed her wildness on the red blemish. Mama clucked her tongue and said nothing of the sort.

There was no excuse for daydreaming and absolutely no reason to wander. Unless the reason was to face a scolding.

Warm summer wind brushed the fever of the day from Rosa’s cheeks. She had been doing it again, letting her head wander while ignoring the world around her. Mama and Uncle Armando both worried about her. She could tell by the wrinkles in their foreheads and the way they dropped to whispers when they thought she had fallen asleep. It was always about either the cat’s tongue scar on her forehead or her father.

She pulled her bare feet from the water, looking around with panic glinting in her eyes. The girls were gone. Rosa listened as best she could but heard only the roaring through the leaves. They weren’t just gone, they were long gone.

Rosa was alone.

It must have been hours since the sun had gone to sleep because both the moon and the stars had come out. She looked around to her left and right. And her basket was nowhere to be seen. Mama was going to be furious with her when she returned. Rosa’s cousin Bernadina was relying on them.

The moonlight was still cool and white, a welcome balm to the summer heat, but moths were already lifting from the bushes and floating toward the round ball in the sky. The pale moonlight caught their iridescent wings. Rosa paused, looking up with wide, dark eyes as thousands of fluttering stars glimmered around her. Then, one at a time, the gleaming white wings of the moths were touched by the breath of purple gathering on the horizon.

Each one evaporated into stardust around her.

The young girl spun toward the shore of the large river which cut through the thin forest, more a loosely gathered bunch of trees than anything else, and gave her access to the clear night sky. Squinting, Rosa could just barely make out the formation of the purple clouds in the distance.

She really had stayed out too late.

Dropping to one knee, she picked up the heads of several dahlias she had pinched off earlier. Bernadina was to dance underneath the Blue Moon tonight since she had gotten to that age. She was supposed to have found something, she couldn’t quite remember what, but it was not dahlias.

Rosa fingered one of the pale outer petals of the flower. She wasn’t going to give these up. Something about it called to Rosa. Its center was warm and coloured a vibrant pink like the midnight sky slowly approaching. She had never been allowed to see the blushing sky fully but she imagined it looked a little like this. Like it had swallowed the last rays of sunlight and done its best to paint it again.

She wondered if she could find any more nearby. There had to be a purple one too.

“No,” she said to herself, tucking the dahlias gently in her pocket and taking off at a run. “I’ve got to go!”

This was not a night to mess up.

It was the Blue Moon.

Tonight Bernadina was going to dance in the town courtyard near the small fountain. Bernadina wouldn’t explain what it meant but the mention of it made her cheeks turn bright pink. Rosa had asked Mama what too. She only scowled, slapped the back of her wrist for stealing pieces of cheese off the cutting board, and told her to be in bed on time.

Rosa flushed with shame as she looked down at her bare wrist.

She was not in bed. The whirring bugs had quieted. The sky held the barest brush of pink along its edges now.

Rosa ran faster, young legs pumping hard.

Bernadina was her closest cousin and the only girl who didn’t make fun of her dahlia picking. She was a handful of years older but Rosa saw her like a sister. Whatever was happening tonight on the Blue Moon, Bernadina deserved only the best. And she seemed so excited about it.

Rosa didn’t want to interrupt or cause problems. She was doing a lot of that in recent weeks, a fact her mother had pinched her ears for plenty the night prior.

“You can’t live with your head in the weeds forever, Rosa. Someday you will wish you had looked up! It is dangerous to not pay attention.”

Mama flicked the scar on her forehead to make a point as wind lashed against the glass window behind her. Rosa apologized quietly, hunching on herself and trying to hide her mark with her hair.

It was bad luck.

Rosa remembered fiercely biting her tongue until she tasted the tang of blood. Dahlias weren’t weeds but Rosa understood what Mama’s words meant. Though, Rosa thought with a frown, it was likely more due to the burning in her ears that had only settled with ice.

Her feet slapped against the dry earth as she brought a hand to her head. It ached again. Her lips twisted into a frown. She had something to be guilty for.

“Sin marks us,” she snapped, handing an onion over for her daughter to dice. “You will be pock-marked by the time you become an adult. Then who will want you.”

Tears welled in Rosa’s eyes. The onions were mocking her. They were mean spirited and cruel. Cold in her hands like Mama’s words. The knife kept clapping against the board.

Rosa hated nights like that. She was more than used to getting scolded. The world had a way of whispering just the right things into her ear and dragging her away from Mama and warm biscuits. Six times in the last two weeks she had missed dinner because she was out looking for dahlias. She kept getting pricked by cacti and the ground was beginning to wear at her feet.

It wasn’t as though she wanted to disobey Mama. Something just kept pulling her away.

“My Rosa,” Mama said the last time, pressing her into her shoulder as she hugged her. “You are almost a woman and women scar. Our flesh is thin.” She squeezed her more tightly. “And men have keen eyes.”

Mama’s words had scared Rosa.

Her arms had trembled as they held her, something they had never done before. Rosa leapt over the thick roots of an old tree, landing back in the soft dirt. She had exited the collection of trees and come out on the top of a dirt hill.

The rhythm of her feet slowed as she descended.

Rosa was used to seeing the valley and the village under the blazing sun of the day. Then, she could see the pale dirt path slope toward the city as it cut between brush, cacti, and plenty of dry dirt speckled with dahlias but now it was half-hidden by shadows. Its intricacies were gone.

The stars stretched their eager arms above her and black nothingness cuddled up against their light. She pivoted toward the moon. Black eyes blinked. Its blue light shone across the tops of the village giving a ghostly look.

It was a pretty little village. The homes were welcoming and even from the top of the hill, Rosa could see the flickering candles in the windows and smell the dinners mingling together. If it were earlier, she would be able to hear the easy laughter of mothers and fathers all throughout the valley. It was the music of the town.

Bernadina was supposed to dance to that music tonight.

Rosa rubbed at her scar. It was itching again. The ground beneath her feet shook slightly. Mama must not be happy. Frowning, Rosa continued toward the fairy lights of the village.

Mama was a strong woman. She was short and stout but with a gentle face and warm eyes that turned to honey when she sat close to the fire. Her dark hair curled when it was down which was a sight only Rosa was allowed to see and rarely at that. Most days, Mama had her hair tied up in a tight bun on the back of her head to keep out of the way.

Rosa looked identical to her and only a little like her father whom she had never met but heard had wide-set eyes, a crooked nose, and thick hair. Mama called him bad names every chance she got for leaving her. The lights liked to flicker when Mama talked about him and the water always boiled slower whenever he crossed Rosa’s mind.

She wondered if he was as bad as Mama said.

From the one picture Rosa had of him, she wasn’t sure she agreed. He had a nice smile with straight, white teeth. In the picture, the hint of his pink tongue pressed against his teeth. Rosa thought she would have liked to meet him but when she had asked Mama when he was coming back, it led to the only instance of Mama ever slapping her.

All the lights in the house had burned out.

Mama had cried.

Halfway down the hill, Rosa looked down at her hands. They were like Papa’s too which were wide-palmed and short-fingered. Mama’s hands were just as thick but her fingers were longer and looked right covered in flour. Rosa’s looked better with dirt across her knuckles.

A timid smile pulled at Rosa’s mouth.

Maybe all the dahlia plucking was going to make her strong like Mama. Rosa was familiar with Mama’s strength. There was nothing she couldn’t pick up. If Rosa was any shorter, Mama would likely still be picking her up and propping her onto one of her hips. Rosa had seen Mama throw both flour and potato sacks as big as her over her shoulder as though they were stuffed with feathers.

She was as strong-willed as she was muscular. The entire village knew not to get on Mama’s bad side. She could deal out a punishment better than anyone Rosa knew.

Tonight, she was not excited about facing that.

The ground leveled out. Rosa padded through the maze of tightly packed homes. She stood facing the wooden door of her house sooner than she liked. Rosa looked up to the moon. It had definitely gone blue. It was a pale kind of cornflower now and there, bunching behind it, she could see the barest hint of pink.

A voice in her head told her to go inside.

Sucking in a deep lungful of night air, Rosa opened the door and hesitantly crossed the threshold.

She was met with the warm smell of flowers and cool tile pressing up against her bare feet in a familiar hello. Most of the lights throughout the house had been extinguished but the one near the back door flickered continuously, signaling the arrival of Mama.

Mama jumped through the door, brown eyes wide.

The long curls of black hair hung down to her breasts, covering the neckline of the white dress flowing over her sturdy frame.

“Rosa? Rosa!”

“Sorry, Mama I was-”

Rosa was cut off by the strong arms of Mama squeezing her to her chest. She could feel the tremble in the defined muscles again but this time it was joined by wet drops to her hair.

“Mama?”

“Five hours late, you devil child.” But there was no venom to Mama’s voice. Mama let go and put her hands on her hips. “I nearly sent Pedro after you.”

Pedro was a small cattle dog fond of biting ankles. Rosa was very glad to not have to deal with both her burning shame and the sinful marks Pedro would have left. She swallowed the dry, herbal air of the kitchen. It smelled like her mother’s soap and her tinctures.

“Bernadina isn’t dancing tonight, Rosa. The moon isn’t quite full enough to be blue.”

Rosa stayed quiet. It was an unnatural occurrence to see Mama so worked up. Tension crackled in her voice and the flowers in the vase had wilted over completely. Rosa’s expression soured. The soup must have gone cold. It was even worse to see her lie. Rosa had just seen the moon and it was going blue.

“I’m sorry, Mama.”

Rosa looked down at her feet. She thought briefly about explaining that she was going to go to bed but words never appeased Mama so Rosa turned to go to bed without saying anything more. Something dark fluttered in her chest and her forehead began to itch. It was her fault Bernadina couldn’t dance. She could feel it in the stillness of the hot air.

“Rosa!” Mama yelled. But when she turned to look at Mama, the harshness softened. “Mijita, come here. I’ve got something for you from the garden.”

She vanished into another room, returning with her apron not on but wrapped tightly around a mysterious bunch of small objects. Seeing Mama without her apron felt sinful. Rosa fidgeted. She was equally unsure of this new, gentle version of Mama with rosy cheeks and a broad smile.

Mama walked over and the light settled to a steady glow. She sank to her knees in front of Rosa.

“Give me your hands.”

Rosa turned both palms up.

“Together, Rosa. You cannot carry anything that way.”

Comforted by the slight scolding, Rosa brought her hands together to form a small bowl. A dozen red fruits rolled out of the soft cotton apron into her hands. So red they were almost purple, the fruits were still warm from the sunlight of the day.

“Tuna fruit?”

“Yes,” Mama said, smiling. “From your prickly pear.”

Rosa looked away from the fruit into the sunny face of her mother. Her plant had not bloomed, not since she was born according to Mama. Since the cat licked her forehead.

“I didn’t think…”

“It’s a miracle, Rosa.” Mama’s hands ran lightly down the sides of her face and cupped her cheeks. “Everything will be all right, Mijita.”

“Mama, is something wrong?”

A furrow wrinkled Mama’s forehead and the light began to flutter again. One of her calloused thumbs brushed roughly across the crimson mark as her lips twisted.

“Nothing, Rosa. Nothing is wrong.”

Mama pulled Rosa into her arms again and held her silently. A spotted owl barked out a punctuating series of hoots, breaking up the quiet. Wet tears slid down Rosa’s forehead, over the slender bridge of her nose, down her lips and into her mouth.

“I thought I lost you, Rosa.”

“I’m sorry, Mama.”

The thick arms around her squeezed. Rosa could smell the light, powdery perfume of her mother. It surrounded her in a haze of memories.

“Rosa, please. Be good. For one more year, be good. Listen to Mama. I love you so very much.”

She wished she could ask why but the last time she had done so her ear had been as red as her mark for a week from the pinching it got.

“I promise, Mama. I love you.”

Rosa felt the smile pressed into her hair. On the counter, the flowers jerked upright and color flooded their faded petals. Mama let go and pulled back to look at her with a tired but bright smile.

“Off to bed then before the sky goes pink. Your shutters are already closed.”

Mama kissed Rosa on the forehead, just to the left of her mark like always.

“Goodnight, Mama.” Rosa stopped. Pulling one of the dahlias from her pocket, she placed it in Mama's hand. “I do promise, Mama.”

Mama stared down at the dahlia but her eyes had clouded over.

“Fate promises nothing,” she whispered behind the hand covering her mouth. “It simply is, Mijita.”

Rosa didn’t understand what Mama meant but she knew better than to ask. Leaving Mama on her knees in the kitchen, Rosa went to bed carrying her treasure.

She sat in her bed for a long time, arranging and rearranging the fruit. Rosa peeled a couple and ate them there in the loving silence of the room. Her eyes kept darting to the shutters. A blue light poked through the cracks. She bit her lip.

It was bad to disobey Mama, even worse to break a promise. The red fruits sat heavy in her lap. She wanted to taste them outside. With the Blue Moon.

Creeping from bed, Rosa put the remaining fruits in her pockets and slipped through the front door. Mama had gone to bed.

Rosa stuck to the shadows knowing if she was caught she might never leave the house again. Mama had seemed very scared, more than ever before. She pushed the thoughts away. It was just a quick trip to the fountain. The moonlight would look best there and fruit tasted its sweetest on its wall. It wasn’t as though she was even leaving the village. Rosa was safe.

After checking to make sure no one else was awake and wandering the courtyard, Rosa quietly made her way to the fountain and sat upon its lip with a shiver. It was not warm from the day like the dirt. Not even as warm as the flowers.

The fountain was cold.

It sent a tremble down her spine.

Looking into the fountain water, an innocent smile crept across her face as wonder touched her eyes. The entire surface of the fountain was covered by purple clouds. Where there were gaps in the sky, there were gaps in the water, exposing the most blazing pink she had ever seen. Around its edges, sat burning orange lines.

Rosa popped one of the tuna fruit freshly peeled into her mouth.

She was glad she had disobeyed Mama. It was pretty beside the fountain. Turning her face toward the sky, blue moonlight dumped across her bronze skin. Her black eyes held two bright dots and her teeth glittered with the light of the Blue Moon. It was so full it seemed to be squeezed into its space. Bits of light overflowed around it. The moon had gone azure.

“Wow,” she breathed in amazement.

The clouds moved together like the shadow figures Bernadina was so good at making. They undulated above like a sentient mass and Rosa recoiled slightly, vertigo sneaking into her sense of balance. They weren’t forming something, she realized. They were opening.

Rosa tossed another fruit into her mouth.

In the gap between purple clouds, the man from the picture stood highlighted by the blue beam of moonlight.

Rosa gasped sharply in shock. Was this what Bernadina was going to do? She had lost her mother years ago from a cough. Rosa’s lungs stilled. Maybe this was what the Blue Moon was for, finding the dead and lost.

The world tilted backward and suddenly she was numb and dizzy. She couldn’t feel the tips of her fingers. She still had not breathed. Falling upwards instead of down. She climbed up through the sky, through the summer haze, through the blue moonlight until the wispy tights of the clouds enveloped her and her world had become pastel.

She blinked up at the man in front of her. He was taller than she imagined.

“Rosa?”

There was something sad in his brown eyes. He reached forward and placed a hand across the scar on her forehead. Rosa heard him swallow.

“Papa?”

“You do recognize me.”

“Mama let me have a picture.”

He was quiet, looking back through the purple clouds.

“Mama said I shouldn’t go out.”

A sad smile crossed his lips as he shook his head at the moon. Rosa thought she heard him mutter, “And you took my girl anyway.” He turned to her though and all the sadness was gone. “Why don’t you enjoy the sky for a bit, Rosa?”

“By myself?”

“You and the clouds.”

Rosa flashed her teeth in a mischievous grin. Permission to be alone and free was a new concept and she very much liked the sound of it. She nodded and turned back toward the sky as Papa disappeared into the fluff, moving behind a curtain of color.

It was strange being inside the purple clouds. Everything was soft and forgiving. She imagined she could fall and nothing bad would happen to her, especially not her knees.

Rosa could see herself below the water’s surface, surrounded by the blushing sky and purple clouds down there just as she was here. They were a bed to her, billowing below her back and swallowing her feet as she lay unmoving in the shallows. She waved a soft, uncalloused hand down at her counterpart but she did not move. Looking at the sky around her, Rosa smiled.

But when she turned around to look at the small pond, she was further away than she remembered.

Everything was small and on the horizon, the black of night was coming again.

The midnight hour was waning.

Rosa’s mark burned fiercely, reminding her of the guilt gnawing at her stomach. She had gone out again without permission. This time, after her mother had begged her to be good. She had even promised.

She wet her lips nervously and pulled on a piece of loose hair.

“Rosa,” the low voice drawled. “Come here. Come spend time with Papa.”

He brushed a wide hand through her hair with a soft smile. Rosa didn’t understand why Mama always called Papa bad names for leaving her.

Mama. Rosa remembered she needed to get back.

“Papa-”

“Shh, Rosa. It is your time to be with me now. Isn’t that all right? We can learn about each other. What were you doing today? Picking dahlias?”

Rosa looked over her shoulder. This didn’t feel right but her scar no longer itched or burned or anything. She bit her lip and looked down.

“I…want to go back to Mama.”

Papa’s long arms wrapped around her in a gentle hug. She could feel the stubble of his jaw graze her cheek. He smelled of the earth and cigars. Rosa couldn’t help but lean into the warmth.

“No.” His voice was stern. Papa let go and stood up, grabbing her hand. “Come on, Rosa. I have some things to show you that you might like.”

“Sweets?”

He laughed and the noise bounced around the clouds like thunder.

“As many as you could wish for, Mijita.”

Rosa cast a final look down from the purple clouds, covered in the light of the blushing sky. She could still see herself in the clouds reflected in the water though she was small and far away. Blinking, she left the scene and trailed beside Papa.

Moments later, Mama ran into the town square on bloody feet with tears streaming down her cheeks. Uncle Armando and Bernadina ran like frightened hares behind her.

“Rosa!” her mother screamed. “Rosa! Oh my God, Rosa.”

Uncle Armando rushed to catch her before her knees hit the ground. Mama fell into Uncle Armando’s arms, her sobs rattling the earth and breaking open chasms in the ground. All the flowers and shrubs and trees died at once and the river froze over. Only the dahlias remained.

Mama screamed and screamed until her voice went hoarse. By then, the night had gone back to black and the pink sky had vanished. All that was left was the pale moonlight of a normal moon shining down on the fountain wall where five purple tuna fruits were gathered. Ripe and uneaten.