The Wild Ducks

At midday, a lake in the Mường Vang region lay as still as a mirror. Sunlight glittered warm on the water. Out on the lake, a flock of wild ducks swam at their leisure. Now and then they dipped their heads under to feed, then bobbed up to preen their wings.

On the shore, in the shade of a tree, a young man sat resting. His name was Cuội. He is not the Cuội who sits under a banyan tree on the moon, as the Kinh tell it. The Kinh are the majority ethnic group of Vietnam. This Cuội belongs to the Mường of Hòa Bình. The Mường are an ethnic group of northern Vietnam whose language is closely related to Vietnamese. Their Cuội is a poor young man with a quick mind, who always finds a clever way out of trouble.

Cuội sat in the cool breeze and the deep shade, eyes half closed, watching the ducks. All was calm, until the clip-clop of hooves came drifting toward him.

A local chief on a reddish-brown horse galloped up to the lake. The chief was a man of wealth and power in the area, used to everyone making way for him. Seeing Cuội sitting in the middle of the path, he was not pleased. He reined in, jerked his chin, and shouted.

"Hey! On your feet, and clear the way when you see me coming!"

Cuội did not panic. He rose slowly, still keeping an eye on the lake, as if he were very busy. Puzzled, the chief followed his gaze and asked what he was watching so closely.

Cuội answered, as calm as could be.

"Sir, I am minding my ducks. They are very well behaved. I let them out on the lake all day, and not one ever wanders off."

The chief looked out. The flock was huge, every duck plump and round, covering a whole stretch of water. Greed stirred inside him. Such a fine flock, and so many. If only it were his. At once he changed his tone and began to coax.

"Sell me these ducks. I will pay properly."

Cuội shook his head hard, as if it broke his heart. The ducks were all he had to make a living, he said. Without them, how would he live? The more Cuội pretended not to want to sell, the more the chief craved them, and the harder he insisted. He even threatened that if Cuội would not sell nicely, he had his own ways of taking them.

Cuội scratched his head and sighed, as though forced to give in.

"All right, if the chief has taken such a liking to them, I will sell. Pay me ten silver coins, sir, and I will leave you the whole flock."

The chief was overjoyed. He dug into his pocket and counted ten white silver coins into the young man's hand. With the silver in his grip, Cuội added some kindly advice, in a voice as honest as could be.

"My ducks are very attached to their owner, sir. Do not rush them, or they will take fright. Let them eat their fill first. Wait for the cool of the evening, when their bellies are full. Then herd them home slowly, and they will behave."

The chief nodded. A young man who sold his ducks and still cared for them. How decent. He plopped down on the shore to wait, his mind at ease. Cuội gripped the ten silver coins, said goodbye, and strolled off around the bend until he was out of sight.

The chief waited. The sun sank lower. The ducks kept swimming and feeding, with no idea they had just changed hands. The chief watched them with a happy heart. He counted in his head how many eggs and fat ducks he would have from tomorrow on.

The chief had no idea that his new flock was about to teach him a lesson he would never forget.

Evening came, and a cool wind blew off the lake. The chief stood, rolled up his trousers, and waded to the water's edge. He clapped his hands loudly to drive the ducks home to their pen. But at the noise, the whole flock of wild ducks flew into a flurry. Then, all in one burst, they spread their wings, beat the water, and shot up into the sky.

They flew higher and higher, up through layer after layer of cloud. Soon they were tiny dots, and then they vanished over the horizon. They had never been farmyard ducks. They were wild ducks of the mountains and forests, and they had never belonged to anyone.

The chief stood rooted to the shore, head tipped back, mouth hanging open. The water was still as a mirror again, without a single duck. Only now did it dawn on him that he had been tricked. That flock had never belonged to Cuội. The young man had only stopped by the lake to rest. Yet the chief had pressed ten silver coins into his hand with his own fingers, to buy a flock of ducks that belonged to the sky.

Furious, the chief hurried off to find Cuội and get his silver back. He searched high and low and asked all over the area. But Cuội was long gone, carrying the ten silver coins and a mischievous smile.

The Mường of Mường Vang still tell this story to their children and grandchildren, laughing as they go. The chief was so rich and so grand. Yet his bullying and his greed were all it took to walk him into that funny little trap.

As for the wild ducks, they are still flying somewhere above the clouds over the Mường lands, unhurried and free, belonging to no one at all.