The sky went dark.
It was late. Most of the windows across the lane were dark.
Grandmother carried her little girl out into the yard.
There was a bamboo bed in the yard, and a low wooden stool.
Grandmother sat down on the stool.
She had a round paper fan in her hand.
She waved it, slowly. Once, and once again.
“The moon is full tonight,” she said.
The moon came up over the roof.
It was big and round and bright.
It made the whole yard look like milk.
The night was warm, and it smelled of cut grass.
“Grandmother,” the little girl said, “what is that shadow on the moon?”
Grandmother smiled.
“That is a rabbit,” she said.
“A white rabbit. It lives up there.”
The little girl opened her eyes wide.
“A rabbit? On the moon?”
“Yes,” Grandmother said. “There is one tree up there.”
“It has small pale flowers.”
“Its leaves never fall, all the year round.”
The little girl thought about a tree up there, with white flowers on it.
“And under that tree sits a white rabbit,” Grandmother went on.
“It holds a little stick in its paws.”
“And it pounds.”
The little girl sat up.
“Pounds what?”
Grandmother said, “Medicine.”
The little girl thought about that.
“Medicine for who?”
Grandmother spoke slowly.
“For children who cannot sleep.”
“When the rabbit pounds, the wind goes quiet.”
“When the rabbit pounds, the bugs stop singing.”
She put her hand on the little girl’s head.
“And when the rabbit pounds,” she said, “a tired child turns over once, and then is still.”
“Is the rabbit lonely?” the little girl asked.
“Not lonely,” Grandmother said. “It has the tree.”
“The tree has flowers once a year.”
“When the flowers open, the whole moon smells sweet.”
“Can the rabbit see me?” the little girl asked.
“It can see every window,” Grandmother said.
“So it can find the child who needs the medicine.”
The little girl waved up at the moon.
She waved with her whole hand.
Nothing happened. But that was all right.
The little girl rested her head on Grandmother’s shoulder.
She looked up at the moon.
There really was a small shadow up there.
Up, down.
Up, down.
That was the rabbit. It was pounding.
Very, very far away.
Not one cloud in the sky that night.
Around the moon there were small stars.
The leaves of the tree moved a little.
The rabbit pounded slowly.
Pound, and rest.
Pound, and rest.
It was in no hurry.
The night was long.
Once in a while it looked up.
It looked down, to see if any lamps were still on.
“Is the rabbit awake all night?” the little girl asked.
“In the daytime it sleeps,” Grandmother said.
“When the sun is up, and the sky is blue.”
“When all the children are outside, running about.”
The little girl tried to picture it.
A rabbit asleep in the daytime, up in a tree.
Even the moon has a morning.
“That is when the rabbit sleeps,” Grandmother said.
“And when the dark comes back, it gets up again.”
The little girl yawned.
Grandmother hummed, very low.
Her song had no words.
Somewhere a baby was crying. Then the baby stopped.
A dog barked once, far away, and then stopped.
In the yard, her voice grew softer and softer.
There was a water jar by the door. It was full.
The leaves on the water turned, slowly.
There was a moon in the sky.
And there was a moon in the water jar.
The little girl looked at one, and then the other.
Across the lane, one more lamp went dark.
The rabbit on the moon is one of the oldest Chinese folktales, and it is still a favorite Chinese fairy tale at bedtime.
Every autumn, in China, families go out into the yard at night and look up at the full moon.
The old people say this. If you find the rabbit, your year will be a kind one.
The little girl’s eyes closed, little by little.
The paper fan stopped moving.
The wind blew softly.
The moon was still in the sky.
The rabbit was still under the tree.
Up, down.
Up, down.
In the grass by the wall, the bugs were asleep.
Even the frogs were quiet.
In the kitchen, the last coal in the stove went out.
The whole house was dark and quiet.
Tomorrow there would be rice porridge, and then the morning.
The lamp went out.
There.
So put your head down.
Good night, Yue.
Good night, rabbit on the moon.
This is a very old Chinese bedtime story. It is not long, and it is very gentle. Best read slowly, with the lights low.
