Moon Child

Farrin is cirque-born. Or moon born as the more wistful of the circus folk decree. Born on the very first opening night in Prague, beneath a full moon shadowy with craters. It is a joke among the circus folk he is as pale as the moon he was born under, skin white as paper, hair silver blonde like the crescent of moon still visible in a coming dawn.

A pelt of silky snow-white fur is sent to his parents, a note attached mentioning only that it is meant for Farrin. There is no indication as to the identity of the gift-giver.

His cradle is a piece of dark ebony, hung with a mobile of shaped and sanded pieces of mirror that send lights flickering over his blankets and the walls, like silver fireflies. He smiles but remains quiet, watchful with his dark eyes.

His twin sister, Artemis, whose birth follows seven minutes after his, dies six minutes later. In thirteen minutes he has been a brother, and then not.

It is a delicate situation for all, the mother torn between grief and unbridled joy, other members of the cirque offering both condolences and congratulations.

Artemis is cremated, her tiny body turned to ashes that are swept into an urn, provided by someone anonymous, as nobody will confess to sending it to them. The urn is pale green and decorated with dragonflies in iridescent silver, the word mutationem running around the rim in such italicized and looping script they are almost unable to discern the sentiment.

His birthday is a bittersweet affair, as his parents must celebrate with cake and his favourite warm apple cider and mint lemonade, while the anniversary of their second child’s death looms over them.

He is raised not only by his parents, but by the rest of the circus folk; escorted around the circus when they do not have any scheduled performances, shown this trick or that. They become an extended family and he is well liked for his quiet and clever disposition.

Attempts are made to school him with private lessons, but these lesson times become so few and far between that they are abandoned within the year and he is left to his own devices.

He devoured books, listened with rapt attention to patrons who sat around the moon mirror, discussing business of recent trips abroad or across the Atlantic.

He is immersed in new languages every week; Farrin collects languages like he collects books, learning new dialects in a manner of days. By the time the circus has left Barcelona and embarked on the journey to San Francisco, he is fluent in Spanish and Catalan. He is so gifted that by the age of thirteen he can grasp the basics of a language between breakfast and supper, and know the nuances by the next evening. 

Farrin learns his silence from the circus itself, when he emerges in the shadows of tents mid-performance and holds back any sound, though each circus performer always acknowledges him with a nod. He does not frequent the tents, as he knows the company is busy all night, but if the crowds are very large or he is too tired, he will take a short cut from the Cross Roads or the Bone Forest, passing by fire eaters and jugglers on his way.

Text by Lucie MacAulay