Linda Goodman's Sun Signs (20 page)

 

He thought he saw an Albatross
   
That fluttered round the lamp:
He looked again, and found it was
      
A penny-postage-stamp.
“You'd best be getting home,” he said,
      
“The nights are very damp.”

 

The best time to hunt for human crabs is by the light of the silvery moon. It's usually easier to recognize them at night, when they're all dressed up to go dreaming, wrapped in vivid imagination. Moonlight becomes them beautifully. It goes with their many moods, and it matches their changing emotions.

You'll gather lots of clues to the Cancerian nature by doing some moon-gazing on a clear night in the country. It may be hard to see it through the smog in the city, but you can always study an almanac. Notice the moon's changing shape and appearance. As it waxes and increases in light, it slowly grows into a perfect, round ball in the sky. When it wanes, it gradually disappears, so there's nothing visible but a thin sliver of light with a faint, silver shimmer.

The Cancerian's passing moods are synchronized to the moon, answering to the same mysterious lunar influence that causes the tides of the ocean to flow in and out. Yet, the moon doesn't really change at all. It just seems to. Likewise, the Cancerian remains the same person through all his fluctuating highs and lows. Such dependable periodicity—constant in its inconstancy—makes the crab easy to recognize, once you know the phase he's in when you see him.

You may first come across him when he's laughing the “crazy lunar laugh.” It's inescapably contagious. It runs up and down the scales with a deep, throaty undertone. It giggles and gurgles, then finally erupts in a loud cackle that sounds exactly like two hundred hens laying two hundred perfect eggs. In his life-of-the-party mood, you'll have no trouble finding the Cancerian. He'll be the funniest one in the room, a laugh a minute. If he's not performing himself, then he'll be grinning at someone else's antics. No one likes a joke better than Cancer, and his funny side is all the more startling when it pops up so incongruously from his normally quiet, gentle personality. Lunar humor runs deep. It's never shallow or superficial, because it stems from the sensitive observation of human behavior. Cancer may not wear his lunar laugh every day, but he can always dig it out of his old trunk in the basement at a moment's notice.

These people don't pant after the spotlight like the extroverted Leos or clownish Sagittarians, but Cancerians have an uncanny sense of publicity, when it pleases them to be noticed. Don't let that unassuming manner fool you. They secretly enjoy attention, and they'll soak up any headlines they get. You won't find Cancer pursuing fame with passion (he pursues nothing with true passion), but he certainly won't shrink from it. He's far more likely to bask in the reflected glow of applause than to run away. Cancer may hide from things, but you can be sure that appreciation is not one of them.

If you're the kind of person who catches cold easily, wear your raincoat when you expose yourself to the dampness of a Cancerian in a melancholy mood. He can wrap you in wet blankets until you shiver and shake. Cancer can turn bluer than an inkwell, and drown you in depression deeper than the floor of the ocean. His fears are usually well covered by the nutty lunar humor, but they are always with him, haunting his days and nights with a vague sense of nameless dangers, lurking in the shadows. Pessimism is never far away, always ready to spoil those beautiful flights of fancy. A Cancerian can take the dreamiest trips to the stars on the gossamer wings of his imagination, if he learns to ignore that harping inner voice which keeps nagging him and warning him he might get lost in outer space. But until he learns to conquer his fears, they form his Achilles' heel, and they hurt every time he starts to fly too high.

His tears are never crocodile tears. They flow from the deep rivers of his fragile and vulnerable heart. You can wound his sensitive feelings with a harsh glance or a rough tone of voice. Cruelty can bring on brimming eyes or a complete withdrawal. (It's an odd thing that Cancerians seldom get fevers; they're more likely to suffer from the chills.) It won't be easy to spot the crab in this mood, because when he's hurt, he disappears into reproachful silence. Sometimes, he can retaliate with an almost scorpion revenge, but he'll usually do it secretly, seldom openly with the Scorpio's fine contempt for consequences. Most of the time, however, he'll turn away from getting even, content to hide under his protective shell. Once you've wounded him, you can poke at him with a sharp stick for days afterwards and not reach him. He won't answer his phone, his doorbell or his email. In the midst of uncertainty, despair and sadness, Cancer people seek retreat and solitude. Just like real crabs.

That's another mood Cancerians have. Crabby. The person who gave you a cranky answer when you asked for the time, the one who nearly snapped your head off when you asked him to pass the salt—was probably a Cancer person going through one of his occasional crabby spells that makes him hate the world. He's not angry with you. He's disappointed with life. He'll get over it, and be his own sweet, gentle and understanding self when the moon changes. Consult the daily paper for the next quarter, or wait until the tides come back in.

There are two basic Cancer types. The first kind has a handsome round face, soft skin, a wide, grinning mouth, almost circular eyes, rather a baby-faced look. Think of the man in the moon. That's a perfect image. The second type is more common. The unmistakable “look of the crab” is immediately noticeable in the face. You'll see a fairly large skull, an overhanging brow and high cheekbones. The brows themselves will seem to knit together in a sort of permanent frown which, strangely, isn't offensive, but rather interesting. There's a pronounced lower jaw, and the teeth are either prominent or irregular in some way. The eyes are small and usually far apart. Sometimes you'll see a Cancerian who combines both the lunar face and the crab face but each is so distinctive that, even when they're blended, it's easy to recognize them as Moon people, born under the sign of the crab. Some of them are indisputably plump, but the great majority have a strikingly bony structure. The arms and legs may be extra long in proportion to the rest of the body. The shoulders will be broader than average, and often the hands and feet are either unusually tiny or quite large. Most Cancerians are a little top heavy, and they waddle slightly when they walk fast. Whether the body is plump or wiry, the women will usually wear a sweater size considerably larger than the skirt size. Or they'll be absolutely flat-chested. Either way, this particular characteristic is quite marked. There is never a middle ground for this part of the anatomy with female crabs.

All lunar people have enormously expressive features. A thousand moods play fleetingly across their faces in the course of a conversation. Do you know someone who sometimes cackles wildly, then weeps despondently,—who occasionally snaps at you irritably, and then hides when you hurt him? Does he normally treat you with gentle consideration? If he's gruff, yet kindly, a fascinating conversationalist with deep wells of creative imagination, that person was probably born in late June or July.

Cancerians have such control of imagery, and their moods are so intense, they can make you feel them, too. Their imagination seizes joy and despair, horror and compassion, sorrow and ecstasy, and holds each emotion fast with a retentive memory. Like mirrors and cameras, they absorb images and reflect them faithfully. Every experience is engraved on the heart as a photograph is etched on a negative plate. They never forget any of the lessons life has taught them nor do they forget the lessons history has taught mankind. A Cancerian reveres the past and is usually patriotic to the core. Historical figures intrigue him as much as his own ancestors do. He often collects antiques, old treasures and ancient relics and has an insatiable curiosity about yesterday. Cancer is a sort of mental archaeologist, always digging for more fascinating facts.

He's also a well of secrecy. People automatically confide their secrets to the crab, but with his sensitive emotions he already knows what's on their minds. Cancerian compassion is deep and highly intuitive. There's hardly a secret he can't strip naked, if he chooses. It's a one-way street, however. He'll eventually soak up all there is to know about you, but you'll never guess his own private thoughts. He guards his inner feelings carefully from prying eyes. The typical Cancer person doesn't like to discuss his personal life, but he's delighted to hear about yours, as his lunar imagination lets him easily guess the parts you leave out. Cancer seldom judges, however. He simply gathers, absorbs, reflects.

Although the crab gives back emotions like a mirror, he won't give up tangible things without a struggle. Take a stroll along any beach and observe the habits of the real crab. When he grabs an object (and make sure it's not your big toe), he'll hang on for dear life. He'd rather lose a claw than let go. If the crab does sacrifice a claw, he grows a new one, so he can grab hold once more with the same tenacity; and let that be a lesson to you when you're trying to get a Cancerian to give up something he or she really wants. Cancer will never relinquish a treasured object, and that can range all the way from a beloved friend or relative to a title or a position—from an old tintype photo to a pair of frazzled house slippers, with the soles half worn away.

While you're still on the beach, take a few more notes on the customs of the real crab. The way he walks, for instance. If his eye is on that big toe, he'll never come forth directly and head for your foot. First, he moves backward a few paces. Then he moves sideways. Suddenly, without warning, he crawls to the other side. He always appears to be moving in the opposite direction. But he's watching every second. If that delicious toe starts to get away from him, he'll move straight forward, and you'd better run if you don't want those claws to dig in. He means business when he sees he has a chance of losing the morsel he covets. The human crab imitates these tactics precisely. Cancerians never go directly after what they want. Their strategy is to move in every direction but straight ahead. They'll play this shifting game indefinitely, until it looks as if someone else is about to grab the prize. Then the cards are played quickly and cleverly—Cancer lunges forward, takes hold firmly, and refuses to let go.

They behave much the same way when it comes to generosity and giving. Cancer's heart is too soft not to be touched by someone's need. He truly cares and he wants to help. But he'll sit back cautiously and wait to see if there's anyone else who might move in first. Why should he foolishly squander his time or money if it is not necessary? When all other sources fail, when no other help shows any sign of materializing, Cancer will rescue the struggler at the last minute. He'll let you go down twice, but he'll save you just before you submerge the third time. He's too kind to watch you drown, but he's certainly not going to get all wet if there's a life guard around, or if it looks as if you can swim to shore yourself. It's self-preservation, not selfishness or unkindness. The crab's heart is soft at the core, under his hard, conservative outer shell. But there's just so much of his time, his money and his emotions he has to give, and he chooses to distribute each wisely. His eventual gesture will often be grand and generous. Yet, in his mind, it's only sensible to watch and wait before plunging. No one could accuse him of being impulsive.

When he does make a move, he'll want some sort of track record behind him—or behind you. The crab carefully calculates his actions on experiences, either his own or someone else's. He needs the strength of an accepted precedent or the assurance of financial security as a foundation. He fears going it alone without such an insurance policy, which is why most of his ventures are successful and each final move a coup de grace, executed with finesse. Naturally, Cancerians will seldom stumble into deep holes in the dark. With a fiery Moon sign, or a fire sign on the ascendant, he may gamble on an occasional maneuver, but if he fails, he'll be miserable about going against his own better inner judgment. Leo or Sagittarius influences may have driven him to act, but when he falls back on his own Sun sign after defeat, misery sets in. Cancer tends to brood over mistakes instead of shrugging off bad luck and trying again, and it will be some time before he takes another chance.

Male or female, the Cancerian loves his home with a respect bordering on reverence. No devout high priest of ancient times ever considered his altar more sacred than Cancer considers the place where he hangs his old hat. You're liable to notice a sampler on his wall with the words, “There's No Place Like Home, Be It Ever So Humble.” (Yes, I know the verse is backwards, but his little girl made it at school, and to him it's a masterpiece, a pearl beyond price. Admire it often.) His home is where he plays, lives, loves, dreams and feels safe. Though he may travel over half the earth in connection with his career, no Cancer person is ever quite happy without a hearth to call his own. Sometime make a point of noticing the expression on the face of a crab who has just returned home from a long trip. Pure ecstasy.

No matter how much money he piles up in reserve, Cancer never feels really secure, and no matter how much love he gets, he always needs more. His emotions never let him become sure enough to relax completely. He's always piling up tangibles against some imaginary future disaster. Some Cancerians actually stockpile food of all kinds under their beds. It keeps away those nightmares. You may think that's stretching the truth, but when was the last time you looked under a Cancer's bed? If you don't find the canned foods there, look on the closet shelves. You may find two dozen cans of paprika and twenty-eight boxes of Kraft Macaroni and Cheese he bought on sale in 1983. What's he saving it for? Don't ask ridiculous questions. There might be a famine someday. He's prepared. (Noah must have been born in July. The flood didn't catch him with his rudders down, either.) Why doesn't he use all that paprika and all those breadcrumbs? The answer to that one raises another question. Why doesn't he use those fourteen pairs of new pajamas and the seven dozen cashmere scarves he's been given over the years as gifts? They're still in the original tissue paper. Who knows? Maybe he's planning to wrap them around the animals to keep them warm when the next flood comes. Could be. He thinks that far ahead, and he remembers yesterday's catastrophes vividly, even if he wasn't there.