Albus scampered across his yard through the chilly morning fog, clutching a book in one hand and his favorite toy in another. The toy was a homemade toy telescope, which was really just a glass bottle with paper taped around the sides. Though it was only a pretend telescope, Albus treasured it. His family wasn't in poverty, but they didn't have much money to blow on expensive toys that served little purpose to them, such as telescopes. Still, his toy was good enough for Albus. He could keep it next to him and occasionally glance through it at nighttime and first thing in the morning when he went fishing in his father, when the stars were out and laugh about how distorted they looked through the glass.
For now, he had to get to the lake shore so that he could help his father, a fisherman. They'd cast their lines and talk for a while, and then Albus would pick a book from the shelf in his room to read on the boat while they waited for the fishing pole to dip down, indicating a bite. He hadn't bought any new books in quite some time, so Albus decided he'd just re-read his favorite story, The Man on the Moon.
It was a cautionary tale that told of a man who helped a bird who had fallen from the moon, injuring his wing. The man had been instructed to climb a shaft of moonlight one night, following the bird to the moon where he was rewarded with great riches for helping the injured creature. When his neighbor saw this, he purposefully injured the bird and demanded the same thing en exchange for assisting it, and was tricked into getting stuck up on the moon for his greed.
Albus adored the book. Everything about it was so wonderful. The kindhearted man was rewarded justly and the cruel man was trapped forever on the moon, alone with his greed. Though, as much as Albus loved the moon, he almost wished he could switch places with that man. Almost.
On the fishing boat, Albus and his father spoke of the seasons, and upcoming holidays, and their favorite types of fish and their favorite constellations. His father had helped to inspire Albus' fascination with the night sky, telling him stories of constellations such as Orion, the mighty hunter, and the Seven Sisters in the Pleiades. All of the myths were so rich and colorful, and looking at the stars, Albus could just picture all of the people and animals trapped up in the sky. He wondered if any of the other stars might form the bird from the story of the Man in the Moon.
That night, Albus went out to lay in the grass and look at the stars, alonee. Usually Albus' father would join him and retell the story of a constellation, but that night Albus noticed that his father looked pale and felt very warm, so he asked his dad to rest instead. Memories of his mother, laying ill in bed with a high fever and a terrible cough were still fresh in his mind. She had passed away two winters before in an outbreak of some unknown disease that had swept through the town.
The night was much colder without his father laying next to him.
The next morning, Albus picked a different book from his shelf and went to make sure his father was up. Sometimes, if neither of them was careful, they'd sleep through the part of the morning when the fish would still bite. It wasn't a frequent occurrence, however, so Albus was shocked when he saw that his father still lay in bed. "Dad," He called, "It's time to get up. The fish won't wait forever."
His father stirred. "Albus," He said in a hoarse voice, "I believe I'll have to remain in bed for today. I'm not feeling well. Still, we need to catch some fish- enough for supper, at the very least. Take a fishing pole and some bait from the shack and go see if you can catch anything. Don't take the boat. Go find a rock on the shore, somewhere in the shade, and cast your line there."
Albus did as his father told him, finding a shady stone that peeked out over the lake under the shade of a bent tree. He baited the line and cast it in, then cracked open his book and waited for the sound of the bell on the fishing pole.
Later in the morning, when the fish just weren't biting anymore, Albus returned home with four fish. That would be plenty for him and his father to eat for the day, even if they caught nothing that night. Albus was proud of himself. His enthusiasm was crushed when he returned home, however, because he discovered that his father looked worse.
The man's face was very, very pale, aside from his cheeks and nose, which were bright red with fever. His breathing was heavy, and he was shivering. His cough sounded worse than it had that morning. It had escalated from weak, infrequent dry coughs to slightly stronger and wetter ones. They weren't terribly frequent, but enough so that sleeping would be impossible.
"Dad!" Albus rushed to his father's bedside. "Dad, are you okay? Do you need help?"
His father opened his watery eyes. "Go get the doctor, son. And please, bring some water."
Albus filled a mug with cool, clean water and brought it to his father, watching as the ill man guzzled it down and then went into a hacking fit. After making sure his father had stopped hacking, he raced out the door and up the dusty road to town. Fortunately, the doctor wasn't busy, so he could come visit immediately. He brought a large black bag, adding a few vials of dry herbs to it as he listened to Alubs describing his father's symptoms. The trip back to the small house seemed to take forever as the elderly doctor hobbled along on a cane with his medical bag clutched firmly. His name was Doctor Ashwood.
The doctor took his patient's pulse, checked his fever, and listened to him breathing. "Oh, my, my, my..." He muttered darkly, "This sounds quite a bit like the beginnings of whatever swept through town two years ago." He sighed. "I can give you some herbs, and hopefully they'll help you. However, because I fear it could be the illness that I don't know, I want you to remain quarantined, and I want Albus to make as little contact with you as possible. I'd like to look after you personally, and watch for signs of worse symptoms, if you don't mind."
Albus watched his father carefully, wondering what he thought about not seeing his son. Albus thought it sounded like a terrible idea- if his father was ill, he wanted to look after him as much as possible!
"Alright, Doctor Ashwood." His father wheezed after a moment, "I trust that you know best." He turned to Ablus. "Go wash your hands. And until the doctor says, I want you to keep out of here. He will take good care of me, son."
Albus wanted to argue, but didn't have the heart to defy his father and make him waste his energy convincing his boy to do as he was told. He nodded and headed out to wash his hands clean, as he was ordered. The rest of the day dragged on unpleasantly long. Albus cooked up the fish he'd caught and brought three to his father and the doctor and saved one for his own meal. When dusk finally came, he set out and found the same spot as morning and cast his line. He'd been too busy worrying to remember to bring a book. Instead, he watched the sky grow darker in between tending the fish on the line. He only caught two total.
The moon was nearly full and lit the path home fairly well. He cooked both fish for his father and Doctor Ashwood, not feeling hungry enough to eat anyway.
Two days later, Albus overheard Doctor Ashwood asking his father if there was any family that could look after Albus if he passed away. This shocked the boy to the very core, causing his blood to run ice cold and his stomach to churn. Doctor Ashwood made it sound like his father was dying. Albus couldn't accept that. He refused to. That night, he brought home the fish he'd caught and then marched straight back out. He kept walking and walking until he reached the lake again and began to march around the shore, staring at the full moon's reflection on the surface of the water.
"I wish I could help my father," Albus whispered to the bright white ripples, "I'd do anything."
"Anything?" A small, chirpy voice asked.
Albus whipped around to see a white bird with an unearthly glow hopping toward him. It tilted its head to the side and stared at him intently with bright, beady eyes.
Albus nodded hesitantly. "Yes...Can you help me?"
The bird extended a soft, downy wing and preened its downy feathers. "Possibly," It told him lightly, "But only if you're really willing to do anything."
Albus swallowed hard. "I am." He replied. "No matter what, I want to help my father. Do you know how I can make him better?"
The bird nodded. "I've heard that there's a fish that swims in pools of moonlight. It can heal most any disease. To catch it, you must go sit on the moon with a fishing pole and wait. You just need a teardrop to use as bait. If you catch it, you can cook it as you would a regular fish and it will cure your father."
Albus started at the moon. "How will I get there? It's so far away." He lowered his finger and the bird hopped on.
"I shall take you," It told him, "But you should know that I'll only allow you to fish on the crescent moon. If you pollute the pools of moonlight too frequently with teardrops, the light will be impure."
Albus quickly agreed and ran back home with the bird to grab his fishing pole. He didn't have the heart to tell his father he was leaving, so he left a note with the fish that read,
'Dad,
I've gone to get the medicine you need. I'll be back as soon as possible!
I love you, and I promise that when I return I'll have your cure so that we can lay out and watch the sky again.
Your son, Albus.'
The bird told Albus that he would have to live on the moon until he caught the fish. Going back and forth was only possible during the full moon, and it exhausted the little bird. And in addition, Albus would need to bring his own food.
Albus packed a loaf of bread along with his fishing pole and the bird flew him up a path of moonlight. Albus discovered that the Man on the Moon was still there, but as nothing more than a skeleton. He'd wasted away among the riches he'd obtained underhandedly.
The bread ran out just as the crescent moon appeared. Albus had done a good job making it last, but he had to eat sometimes. He thought about his father often in the meantime, and when he did, he usually cried. The bird had given him a bowl to hold his teardrops in to use as bait.
He hooked the teardrop, sat as comfortably as he could on the crescent moon, and cast his line.
He waited. And waited. And waited. But the pool of moonlight did not yield any fish.
He decided to wait for the next crescentmoon, against the bird's warnings. "Go and be with your father while you can," It urged at the full moon, "You did not catch the fish and he is not well. Go and let him see you again!" But Albus refused. He insisted on waiting. But he was already in very bad shape himself. He had no food, and moonlight did not do much to quench a human's thirst. Before the next crescent moon, he died.
His phantom still sits patiently with a fishing poll every crescent moon, determined to catch the fish in the pool of moonlight. It refuses to listen to the bird whenever it tells him that the fish only cures ailments, and that it cannot raise the dead. It tries frequently to tell him that he is free, and to go be with his father, who had also passed, but the phantom just sits patiently with its line cast every crescent moon, waiting for the fish that he is sure can bring both him and his father back to life.