The Hummingbird

The Hummingbird

The smallest and bravest voice

Something darts through the air, quick as a thought, and stops in midair in front of the children, hanging there, its wings invisible from how fast they go. "Ah, it's you," says Grandmother, and she laughs. "Come, little one. You tell them what it means to be small."

I am the hummingbird. The smallest of all the birds.

I fit in one hand. In fact, I fit in half a hand. I weigh less than a coin, less than a dry leaf, almost less than nothing. When I fly among the other birds I look like a speck, a crumb, a joke. The great birds of prey, up there, have wings as wide as bedsheets. I have two little wings you can't even see.

And do you know something? I am not afraid of any of them.

I know what you're thinking: but how do you manage, small as you are? Hawks are big, owls are big, even parrots are bigger than you. How do you manage not to be afraid?

Now I'll explain it to you, and keep it in mind for your whole life, because it's something few people know.

My strength isn't being big. My strength is being fast.

Clap your hands. Go on, clap them. One, two, three times. Can you see your hands as they clap? Yes, you can. Well, I beat my wings so many times, so very many, in a single second, that you can't even count them. So many that my wings disappear. They turn invisible. They only make a hum in the air, like a bee, and that's why some people call me the "bee bird."

And this lightning-fast beat is my magic. Because it lets me do things no big bird knows how to do. I can stay still in midair, hanging, motionless, while all the others have to keep moving or fall. I can fly backward: I am the only bird in the world that can fly backward, did you know that? I can turn in an instant, vanish and reappear, shoot away so fast that when the bird of prey arrives I'm already gone. I was there, and then, nothing. Gone. Too fast to be caught.

Do you understand now? I'm not the one who has to be afraid of the big ones. The big ones are the ones who can't catch me.

That's why, around here, they tell a beautiful thing about us hummingbirds. They say that the bravest warriors, the ones who feared nothing, when they came to the end of their lives did not leave completely. They came back. They came back as hummingbirds. Small, yes, but free, lightning fast, impossible to catch. Light at last.

So if one day a hummingbird flies near you, and stops for a moment to look you in the eyes, hanging in midair, don't shoo it away. Stay still. Maybe it's just a curious little bird.

Or maybe it's someone who loved you, come back to say hello, small and brave as never before.

And I want to say this above all to you, yes, you who are listening to me and are the smallest in your class, or the smallest of your brothers and sisters, and sometimes feel too small to count for anything.

Look at me closely.

I am the smallest of all. And I fly where I want, I'm afraid of no one, and not even the hawk can catch me.

Size isn't what makes you strong. It's the heart that beats fast. And yours, I can feel it from here, beats very hard.

The hummingbird makes one last turn, brushes Kiki's cheek, and she laughs, and it disappears. "See how fast it goes?" says Grandmother. "And still it said hello to her in particular. Little ones recognize each other."

The Nahual

The animal you carry inside

Grandmother looks at the children one by one, slowly, as if she were looking for something in each of them. Then she smiles. "I knew it," she says. "You all have one. Each of you has your own. Now I'll explain what I just saw."

I want to tell you a secret the ancients knew well, and that today almost everyone has forgotten.

Each of you, when you are born, is not born alone.

You are born twice. Once as a child, with your little hands and little feet and that cry of the first night. And once, at the same moment, somewhere in the jungle: as an animal.

Yes. You heard right. Somewhere, as you were coming into the world, an animal was born too, tied to you for your whole life. Your nahual. Your double. Your wild twin. You here, it out there, among the trees, but it's as if you were the same thing. What it feels, you feel. What you are, it is too.

And which one is yours? Ah, that's the lovely thing to discover.

Because you don't choose your nahual. It is the one that resembles you, and you recognize it by the way you are.

There is the boy who is always running, who never stays still, who jumps from one place to another and gets everywhere first. His nahual is the deer, light, quick, crossing the jungle without a sound.

There is the girl who speaks softly and watches everything, who seems shy but sees things others don't see. Her nahual is the owl, who sees perfectly in the dark, and stays quiet, and knows.

There is the strong boy, the one who defends the little ones, who isn't afraid to step in between. His nahual is the jaguar, lord of the jungle, who walks with confidence because he knows his worth.

There is the one who is small but very brave, who won't be frightened by anyone bigger, and that one's nahual, as you already know, is the hummingbird, who flies where it wants and whom no one can catch.

And there is the sweet one, the one who holds everyone together, who makes you feel at home when you arrive. That one's nahual is the dog, faithful, who loves without asking for anything in return. Like Luna and Sol, here with us.

Do you understand? The nahual isn't just any animal. It is the mirror of your soul. It is your wild part, the one that the city and shoes and noise try to make you forget, but it is always there, and it is only waiting for you to listen to it again.

Do you want to know how to find your nahual?

You find it by staying still. In silence. In the jungle. When you stop running and talking and you listen, with your eyes closed, and you ask yourself: whose heart do I have? Which animal is like me? Which one, if I saw it come out from behind a tree right now, would I feel was looking for me?

That one is yours. And when you find it, you won't be so afraid anymore. Because you'll know you are never alone. There is a part of you, out there, running free in my jungle, keeping you company even when you feel lost.

Kiki, for instance, has already found hers. Or maybe she never lost it, she who grew up barefoot in here. You can see it in the way she moves: in the evening, when the dark comes down and everyone looks for a hand to hold, she walks with confidence, her eyes shining, light and proud. Her nahual is something ancient and regal, something that won't be tamed. But I won't tell you which one. Because some things are lovelier to guess on your own, by watching her.

And now it's your turn.

Tonight, before you sleep, close your eyes and try asking yourself. Not with your head: with your heart. Let it come and find you. And when you see it, a deer, an owl, a jaguar, a turtle, a parrot, a spider, whoever it is, don't be frightened.

Say hello to it. It has come from very far away to tell you who you are.

Grandmother gets up slowly. "I've known mine forever," she says. "But I won't tell you. Guess." And as she walks away, for an instant, I swear, her shadow on the wall doesn't look like an old woman's. It looks like a great tree full of birds.

The Aluxes

The mischievous voices

Grandmother is about to go on when, pat!, something tugs at her dress. She turns around. Nothing. She turns the other way and hears a giggle behind a tree. "Ah," she says, and she laughs too. "It's them. I might as well introduce you, or they won't leave us in peace tonight."

Psst. Hey. Down here.

No, lower. Lower still. There you go, good. You found us.

We are the aluxes. We are small, this small, we barely reach your knee, and we have been the guardians of this jungle since before anyone came. Almost before the great grandmother. We were already here.

Maybe your grandparents have told you about us. Maybe they've told you not to make us angry. Maybe at your house, at night, someone still leaves a little dish of food "for the little ones of the jungle." That's for us. Thank you, by the way. We like corn very much. Honey too.

Now I'll tell you the truth about us, so you can stop making that frightened little face.

We aren't bad. We're mischievous. It's different.

Bad is someone who does harm. We don't harm anyone. We play tricks. It has been our job for thousands of years, and we are very good at it.

You know when your mom looks for the keys and can't find them, and swears she put them on the table, and then they turn up in the strangest place? Us.

You know when you lose a sandal, just one, never both, always just one, and you look everywhere and nothing, and the next day it's right there in the middle of the little path as if it were waiting for you? Us. And we were laughing while you looked for it. Sorry. We can't resist.

You know when you walk through the jungle and hear a rustle behind you, you spin around and there's nothing there? Here we are. We are very fast. Faster than your neck when it turns.

And you know when you got a little bit lost, and were almost afraid, and then all of a sudden you found the path again without knowing how? That was us too. Because this is what not everyone knows: we play tricks on people who don't respect the jungle, those who throw trash, those who tear up plants for no reason, those who act like bullies. We hide their things, we make them walk in circles, we make their noses itch.

But those who love the jungle, who walk slowly, who greet the trees and thank the water, those we love. And in secret we help them. We bring back the sandal. We point out the path. We keep the snakes away from their little bare feet.

Kiki, for instance, we love with all our souls. She sees us, you know? Or almost. Sometimes she stops short in the middle of the little path, looks at an empty spot in the air, and laughs. And she talks, in that language of hers that no one understands. Well, that language, we understand perfectly. It's us she's talking to.

So let's make a deal, you and me. You, when you pass through here, be kind to the jungle. Say hello. Say thank you. Don't tear things up, don't litter, don't frighten the little creatures. And we, in return, will watch over you. We'll play a few little tricks, that much is true, we just can't help it, but tricks of love.

And if one day you lose just one sandal, and then you find it in the middle of the path, waiting for you...

...smile. That was us. And it means we like you.

Grandmother holds her belly from laughing. "I told you," she says. "They aren't scary. They're tender. But now off to bed, little ones, because I still have a whole lot of stories to tell and you're all distracting me." And from behind the tree, pat!, one last giggle, and then silence.