The Wind Chime That Calls the Dawn

In a small village nestled at the foot of a hill, there lived a little girl named Mây. Mây’s house stood at the end of a stone-paved road, beside an old fig tree whose branches spread wide like arms embracing the roof. Mây lived with her grandmother. Every morning, before the sun rose above the mountain range, the two of them would wake up to sweep the yard, water the vegetable beds, and open the wooden door to let in the scent of young grass.

Mây had a special friend named Nâu the sparrow. Nâu did not live in a cage. He often perched on the fence, tilting his head as he listened to Mây tell her stories, then flew after her into the garden. Mây once asked her grandmother why Nâu always came to their house. Her grandmother only smiled: “Perhaps the bird knows where gentle voices can be found.”

Indeed, there were many sounds in the village. The pounding of rice echoed from Uncle Tư’s kitchen, goats called to one another on the hillside, and the clacking footsteps of the woman who sold cakes passed by every afternoon. But the villagers often said that their favorite sound was the wind chime hanging in front of Mây’s porch. Her grandfather had made it from small bamboo tubes, and it had been there for a very long time. Whenever the wind blew, the chime rang as clearly as water flowing through a rocky crevice.

Her grandfather had once told Mây that the chime did not ring only when there was wind. It also rang whenever someone in the village did a good deed without needing anyone to praise them. Mây believed that. She often sat beneath the fig tree, waiting for the chime to ring and guessing who had helped whom that day.

The Morning Without the Chime

One day, after a heavy rainstorm, Mây woke up and realized that the house was unusually quiet. There was no sound of the bamboo chime ringing in the wind. The sky was still pale blue, and the leaves were covered with beads of water, but the wind chime stood motionless before the porch as if it were asleep.

Mây went over to examine it. The bamboo tubes were still intact, and the string was still securely tied; only the small leaf in the middle of the chime had fallen away. It was the part that made the bamboo tubes strike against one another and produce sound. Her grandmother said that the leaf might have been blown up the hill.

“If I find it, I’ll bring it back right away,” Mây said.

Nâu flew in circles around the roof and called out several times as if he wanted to go with her. Mây put on a small woven basket, took a few pieces of corn cake, and began following the trail of wet leaves leading up the hillside. The path was more slippery than usual after the rain. In some places, the soft earth sank beneath Mây’s sandals; in others, fallen branches blocked the way. Even so, the little girl did not hurry. Whenever she came across a puddle, Mây looked for a flat stone and placed it to the side so that people behind her could cross more easily.

Near a myrtle bush, Mây heard a rustling sound. A small hedgehog had one of its legs caught in a tangle of vines. It tried to struggle free, but the more it struggled, the tighter the vines became.

“Don’t be afraid. Let me help you,” Mây said gently.

She set down her basket and carefully loosened each vine around the hedgehog’s leg. Nâu used his little beak to pull the dry branches aside. After a while, the hedgehog was free. It bowed its head to Mây, then ran into the bushes. A golden bamboo leaf was caught on its back, but it was not the leaf from the wind chime.

Mây was a little disappointed. Nâu picked up the leaf, held it in his beak, and dropped it into the basket. “We can use it to start the fire when we get home,” Mây said. “We’ve already come this far, so we shouldn’t leave the leaf lying in the middle of the path.”

Small Deeds on the Hillside

The two friends continued on. At the next bend, Mây came across a woodcutter struggling with a bundle of firewood whose rope had come loose. The logs had rolled down the slope; some were caught in the grass, while others had drifted near the stream.

Mây and Nâu helped the woodcutter pick up each log. Mây even took the hair tie from her own hair to hold the bundle together temporarily so it would not come apart. The woodcutter thanked her, but Mây only said, “You can give the hair tie back to me tomorrow.”

A little farther on, she saw two young rabbits standing beside the stream. A small wooden bridge had lost one of its planks to the rainwater, so they could not cross to the other side to find their mother. Mây found a sturdy branch, laid it across the gap, and gently pressed on it with her foot. When she saw that the branch did not wobble, she carried each rabbit across the bridge. Nâu flew ahead to show the way, while Mây told the two rabbits to walk slowly and not push one another.

By noon, Mây had traveled nearly the entire hillside and still had not found the wind chime’s leaf. She sat beneath a large rock and divided the corn cake into three pieces: one for herself, one for Nâu, and one placed beside her in case any hungry friend came along. Nâu tilted his head at her, then flew up to a high branch.

Suddenly, the sparrow began calling repeatedly. At the top of the tree, among the green leaves, a small pale-brown object was caught on a dry branch. Mây stood up, but the branch was too high. She found a fallen bamboo stalk nearby and used it to pull the branch down. The little leaf fell into her palm.

“I found it!” Mây cried.

But when she looked closely, she realized that one corner of the leaf was torn. It could still be tied to the chime, but it would not be as sturdy as before. Mây carefully placed the leaf in her basket and returned to the village with Nâu.

The Sound Returns

The way home seemed shorter. Along the path, Mây met the ones she had helped that morning. The woodcutter had tied his bundle of firewood securely with a new rope. The two rabbits stood beside the stream, while their mother rubbed her nose against each of them. The little hedgehog peeked out from the myrtle bush with a red berry in its mouth.

Mây thanked them all and continued on. When she arrived home, she gave the leaf to her grandmother. Her grandmother used a soft thread to sew up the torn corner, then tied the leaf between the bamboo tubes. Mây stood beneath the porch and looked up at the wind chime.

At first, nothing happened. The wind seemed to have grown tired after the storm. Mây felt a little sad, but her grandmother told her to wait patiently. A little while later, a gentle breeze blew down from the hill. The leaf began to move and struck the bamboo tubes.

Clink.

The first sound rang out clearly. Then came another, higher and purer. Before long, the entire chime was singing in front of the porch. Its sound drifted over the fence, skimmed across the rooftops, and traveled all the way down to the road beside the stream.

When the villagers heard the sound, they came outside. The woodcutter looked at the new rope around his bundle of firewood. The two rabbit siblings hopped around their mother. The little hedgehog placed the berry on the doorstep of Mây’s house and ran away. No one knew what had made the chime ring, but everyone felt that afternoon had become gentler.

Mây looked at Nâu. The sparrow was perched on the chime, his feathers puffed up in the sunlight. Mây suddenly understood what her grandfather had meant. Perhaps the chime did not truly know how to count good deeds. Perhaps its sound was made by the wind, the bamboo tubes, and the little leaf. But whenever people heard the chime, they remembered that even the smallest act of kindness could make today a little brighter.

That evening, Mây told her grandmother about the journey. Her grandmother placed a hand on her hair and said, “Goodness is like the wind. You cannot see it, but you can feel it when it makes the things around you tremble.”

Night fell. The moon hung above the crown of the fig tree. The wind chime continued to ring softly, neither loudly nor demanding anyone’s attention. Mây lay beneath her blanket, listening to the chime mingling with the sounds of crickets and leaves. She smiled as she thought about tomorrow. Perhaps somewhere there would be someone who needed help, an animal that needed protecting, or a path that needed a flat stone so someone could cross it more easily.

And if the chime rang again tomorrow, Mây would listen very carefully. For she knew that each clear sound might be telling of an act of kindness that had just been planted, quietly like a seed beneath the soil, but destined to grow into shade for many people.