The Question
- 1 hour ago
- 3 min read
Phan Trọng Hiếu
Hanoi, 25-5-2026
The first sunset of summer descends over the quiet pond, painting the still waters crimson. Every now and then, a few fish splash near the surface, sending ripples spreading across the pond in delicate rings. A tiny tailorbird, exhausted after a long day hopping from branch to branch in search of insects, softly lands on a thin mulberry branch leaning over the water’s edge.
As it leisurely enjoys the cool breeze of day’s end, the little bird suddenly looks upward. On a willow branch hanging low over the water stands a motionless figure, still as stone. Dark blue feathers briefly catch the sunlight, glimmering before fading again beneath drifting clouds.
It is old Kingfisher.
Among the young birds in the neighbourhood, stories about him has long circulated: “Old Kingfisher has lived through countless flood seasons. He has seen things that ordinary birds cannot see.”
Gathering his courage, the tiny tailorbird hops a few branches closer, stopping at a respectful distance so as not to disturb the silence.
He is about to greet Kingfisher, but before he can open his beak, Kingfisher speaks. Without turning his head, his voice flows like water over stone:
“What do you see beneath that water?”
Startled, the little bird looks down. The pond is calm. He can only see his own reflection, slightly distorted.
“Um... I see my reflection.”
Kingfisher tilts his head slightly. A small fish has just broken the surface, leaving behind a circular ripple that quickly dissolved, and the water becomes smooth again as though nothing has happened.
“Your reflection in the water,” Kingfisher says slowly, “is what you can see. But that fish that stirred just now... did you see it?”
“No, sir. I only saw the ripple.”
“Exactly. The easiest thing to notice is the ripple. But the thing that creates it lies beneath. It does not simply reveal itself to you. You have to ask: What moved? Where did it come from?”
Kingfisher turns his gaze toward the distant horizon.
“That is what curiosity is.”
The tailorbird falls silent.
He remembers once resting on the roof of an old communal house, hearing children recite something about the moon and stars. Then he heard an adult say: “People in ancient times looked at the stars to predict the seasons. They watched the moon to understand the tides.”
Back then, he could not understand. The stars and moon were so far away—what could they possibly have to do with rice fields or river waters?
Now a thought suddenly appears in his mind: “Perhaps someone once looked up at the sky, became curious, and asked a question. Then asked another. And another still...”
“Sir,” the tailorbird blurts out, “was creating calendars by watching the stars also born from a question?”
Kingfisher does not answer immediately. He slowly adjusts a feather on his wing before saying:
“Do you know why humans created giant iron birds?”
“Because... they wanted to fly like us?”
“Yes. But before they wanted to fly, they asked: Why can birds fly? How does wind lift wings? How are feathers arranged? They kept asking until they understood the laws of the wind. Then they learned to create their own wind.”
Kingfisher looks up at the sky, now gradually deepening into purple twilight. The first stars have begun emerging like seeds of light.
“The universe hides nothing,” he says softly. “It simply has not spoken yet. Whoever learns how to ask will receive answers. That pond there may seem perfectly still, but if you dare to ask with a single touch of your beak, it will draw for you endless circles.”
The tailorbird looks back at the water.
Now he no longer sees its own reflection.
He sees stars trembling beneath the pond’s surface.
A new question arises inside his mind.
And for the first time in his life, he discovers that the feeling of not knowing...could be wonderfully comforting.
He asks nothing more.
Kingfisher says nothing more.
The two simply seat together, watching invisible circles continue spreading endlessly through the fading light of day.
The crickets have begun their evening chorus.
¤
*Note: This story was recorded beside a pond, where many more tales are still whispered throughout Bird Village [1].
References
[1] Vuong, Q. H. (2025). Wild Wise Weird. https://books.google.com/books?id=C5dDEQAAQBAJ
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