Two Girls and the Lump

Evening falls, and a small song slips through the forest. It has no words, only a few clear notes, hummed softly and rising and falling with the steps of someone walking. La la, la la, it floats low over the leaves. The forest birds tilt their heads to listen. Even the little stream seems to flow a bit more slowly.

The singer is a poor girl. She has a lump on her cheek. It has been there since she was born, and as she grew up, it grew too. Yet she has never been sad about it. She sings as she carries water, as she gathers firewood, as she sits mending her old shirt. Everyone who passes has to smile, because her singing sounds as cheerful as the early morning sun.

This is an old Vietnamese folktale. Grandparents have long told it to their grandchildren, and now it is told once more.

One day, the girl went deep into the forest to gather firewood and pick mushrooms. She followed clusters of mushrooms growing along a creek and wandered far without noticing. Suddenly the sky turned dark. The wind gusted, black clouds filled the sky, and a forest rain came pouring down. She looked around and could no longer find the way home. Right beside her stood an ancient tree with a hollow trunk. The hollow was wide enough for one person to sit in. She crawled inside to shelter from the rain, hugging her bundle of firewood for warmth, and waited for the storm to pass.

Little by little the rain stopped. Night came and the moon rose, pouring silver light through the gaps in the leaves. Just as she was about to doze off, she heard music. There were flutes, clapping hands and soft laughter, and then singing too. Very quietly, she peeked out.

In a clearing flooded with moonlight, a group of fairies was dancing and singing. Their clothes were as thin as mist, and wild flowers were tucked in their hair. They stepped so lightly that their feet seemed not to touch the ground. They held hands and turned in a circle, singing songs she had never heard before, sweet and clear and warm.

At first she was a little afraid. But the song kept swelling and then falling away, swelling and falling again, as gentle as waves lapping the shore. Before she knew it, her foot was tapping the beat. Her mouth, so used to singing, could not hold back any longer. She began to sing along softly. Her note slipped in beneath theirs, then slowly rose until the voices became one. Her voice was clear and innocent, as if she had been born to sing in this forest at night.

The fairies turned around. They were not angry. They cried out with delight and pulled her into the middle of the circle. "Come, sing some more. Your voice is lovely!" For a moment the whole forest fell quiet and waited. Shyly, the girl stepped forward. Then she sang from the heart, about the stream, about the bundle of firewood, about the simple joys of a day. Her voice rose high in the happy parts and sank low in the tender ones. Anyone listening could hear her whole day in it. The fairies clapped, and some of them gave her purple rose myrtle berries and fragrant guavas. That night the whole forest glowed with music.

They sang and danced with her until it was nearly dawn. Only when the mist began to lift did the fairies stop, sorry to part. One fairy said, "There is a moon over the forest every night. Remember to come back and sing with us." Then, to be sure she would return, they asked to keep something of hers as a pledge. The fairy reached out and gently lifted the lump from the girl's cheek. She wrapped it up with care, the way someone puts away a gift. The fairies kept that lump for her not because of her cheek, but because of the honest heart and the happy singing she had given them all night long.

The girl raised a hand to her cheek. The spot was smooth now, and light as air. But what made her happiest was not the smooth cheek. She was happy because she had sung with all her heart for a whole night, and others had loved her singing. When day broke, she found her way out. She hummed as she walked, her heart as light as a cloud.

News that the fairies had kept the lump for the poor girl soon spread across the region. In the next village lived a girl from a rich family who also had a lump just like it. When she heard the story, she did not think about the singing. She thought only of the reward. She worked it out in her head. All she had to do was go into the forest and sing a few lines, and the fairies would take the lump away. How easy.

So she got herself ready and followed the directions in the story. She found the very same ancient tree with the hollow trunk, crawled inside and waited. Night fell and the moon rose. Just as the rumor said, the fairies appeared again, dancing and singing in the forest.

The rich girl stepped out. But she did not sing out of joy. She looked the fairies over with a measuring eye, her lips pushed out in annoyance, and inside she only wished it would all be over quickly. When her turn came, she sang in a listless voice, just going through the motions and losing half the words. Her eyes kept darting about, watching for the moment the lump would be taken away.

The fairies stopped dancing. The music faded into silence. They looked at one another, then at the rich girl. There was no real joy in this singing. It was a song that came only to take, not to share. One fairy said slowly, "You did not come here to sing with us."

Then they brought out the bundle they had kept since the night before. It held the lump they had been keeping for the kind girl. The rich girl had come only to receive, and she had given nothing from the heart. So the fairies placed that lump on her other cheek.

Morning came. The rich girl walked out of the forest alone and downcast, her hands over her face. She had gone into the forest with one lump, and she came out with two, one on each cheek. This happened not because she had a lump, but because she had brought a false heart to a place that welcomes only true ones.

As for the poor girl, on the moonlit nights that followed, she kept her word and went back to the same clearing. She sang with the fairies, not to get anything in return, but because singing together was a joy. Her clear voice slipped through the forest again, la la, la la, floating low over the leaves, just as it did on that very first evening.