The Night After a Full Moon

The night after a full moon is evil. That’s what the grandmothers say. The moon sees his kingdom fading—just that one side starting to smudge, just a shadow!—and he becomes crazy with rage and horror. It’s like an x-ray with a spot on the lung. People leave themselves and panic rushes in. Same with the moon, the grandmothers say.

When walking outside the night after the full moon, you are encouraged to look at your feet, the ground. Don’t watch the moon or the clouds it draws around itself for warmth. (And do not, above all, look at the stars! If the moon thinks you are in league with the stars—whose light is permanent and therefore despised—you are in trouble.) The moon is dangerous and is just looking for someone to strike.

People cursed by the moon start to worry about strange things: becoming lost in forests, eyes turning milky and dead, the directions of the compass actually switching places. And these people never find love. This is what the grandmothers say. Don't whistle or sing. Don't call out. If you pass someone (even a friend) your greeting should be polite, of course, but not overly familiar. A plain greeting, in other words. Do not linger.

The owls will tempt you to look up. The grandmothers say that owls are the moon’s birds. His lieutenants (but they don’t use that word). They will call you as sirens called to Odysseus, to lure him onto the rocks. Resist them! Go about your business. Don’t go near trees you don’t know well or eat strange foods or wear new shoes. Be small. Become a mouse hidden by fallen leaves. The grandmothers say the moon acts like us when he’s afraid.