"Musician" nightingale of the mango garden

On the branch of the mango tree, a pair of nightingales stood on tiptoe, their pink beaks singing in competition with each other, imitating the clear song of the lark; imitating the song of the red-whiskered bulbul with a series of clear notes; suddenly dropping a low note; then soaring up into the sky, their clear, flowing music. Phuong and I stood still, holding our breath, enjoying the magical duet of nature, rising to the melody of love at the moment of a new day glowing pink from the East.

The series of songs is melodious, slow, vibrating, and full of emotions. The nightingale composes and performs the words, notes, and rhythms of each song, not repeating the previous one. This is the talent of the “musician” of the mango garden. The nightingale knows how to learn the songs of other birds, but does not follow the pattern, but transforms the sounds into new series of melodies.

The two young friends stopped walking on the village road to exercise, observing and listening to the affectionate nature in the early morning. The two of them stood still so as not to distract the rhythm of the “musician” couple. Phuong eagerly looked in the direction of my outstretched arm, she counted: “1, 2, 3… Brother Phuong! There are 7 bird nests living on the mango tree”. “Yes, dear. Good land, birds perch!”. “But, I don’t see birds nesting on the jackfruit tree”. “That’s right, dear, the jackfruit leaves are small and sparse. Jackfruit has sticky sap so birds don’t perch. A mature mango tree is a sturdy home for birds to live and reproduce. Mangoes slowly change leaves from autumn to spring. Mangoes are never bare, always have new leaves to inherit. Mango leaves are large, thick, and protect against the sun and rain, so many species of birds like to fly there to make nests. Especially the Hoa Loc sand mango variety that gives off an attractive fragrance”.

The couple looked up at the mango leaves to determine the location of the melodious sound. Oh! There it is! The pair of birds were hopping from branch to branch. The nightingale “actors” wore beautiful eye makeup with bright white eyeliner. The couple of birds mated with a flexible, strong, bright body language; with a soaring, melodious, cheerful, and bustling musical language. The chirping rose high like the sound of the wind gently blowing through the garden and hills; the wind swirled over the green grass; the wind swept through the valleys and streams, bringing the fragrance of the hills and gardens as if returning to the pure, pristine time.

The pair of nightingale artists were passionately performing, making beautiful glides like on an ice skating rink, letting go of each other, then moving closer, rubbing their pink beaks, leaning on their spread wings, snuggling, shaking their feathers, tapping their feet, and singing loudly. Phuong and I breathed deeply, absorbing the energy of the new day. Our young chests were full, filled with the breath of the early morning dew. The air was clear and light. Thousands of pink rays of sunlight shone. All the creatures on the mango hill leaned in to enjoy the wonderful love song of nature.

Tuan composed the song “The Nightingale’s Song” based on my musical notation of the birds. He named the co-authors Thanh Tuan - Hoai Phuong - Bich Phuong, making my sister and I both embarrassed and happy. He played the violin like a skilled musician. His face was graceful. His lips were smiling brightly. His eyes were shining. His hands gracefully played the violin. I, Phuong, the nightingale couple and the tot quietly enjoyed the joyful, bustling, gentle, and melodious melody flowing through the garden hills.

I have raised To To for more than six months, a mixed breed German Shepherd, black and grey with yellow stripes, with four sharp eyes, ears perked up, and a snout raised to warn of strangers entering the garden. Phuong and I walked down to Binh An stream, and came face to face with my brother carrying a cage of decoy birds. I immediately understood that the life of the nightingale in the mango garden was being threatened. To To was angry, his eyes bulging, his four legs flailing. I held him back and stroked his head.

I opened my eyes wide and examined the intruder: "Where did you come from? You look so strange?". My brother was hesitant and walked slowly: "Why are you asking, little boy?". "You are not allowed to trap birds in my garden." "Birds from the sky. Fish from the water. What right do you have to forbid me from trapping birds?". I pointed to the mango tree: "The birds that nest on the mango tree are my birds." My brother laughed heartily: "Aha. You are arguing! I am just catching birds for fun, not eating them." Phuong asked: "Do you have close friends?". "Why are you asking, little sister?". "The nightingale is our close friend. Can you bear it if your friend is being chased and captured?". My brother hesitated and did not answer. "I ask you, for example, if you are freely walking around. Suddenly someone catches you and puts you in a cage, can you bear it?". My brother chuckled: "Aha! More arguing. Okay, I'm going, standing here listening to you guys arguing is too much work!".

My brother waded along the stream far away. My father knew that the bird trapper was trying to catch the nightingale couple. Every day my father started the lawn mower with a loud rumble. My brother "packed up" and left the mango garden, but he had not given up his evil plan to capture the nightingale couple alive. I took Phuong carefully to follow the strange footprints on the stream bank to the main road far away. Tuan made a plan to protect the birds. Patrol the stream bank. Put up bamboo fences to block the way. Start the lawn mower every day. I, Phuong and Tuan tried our best to keep watch, worried to the point of losing sleep and appetite for many days. My brothers were discouraged, disappointed, and stopped their game of disturbing the birds' lives.

I took Phuong to the bookstore in the city. We both happily admired the countless books displayed on the shelves. The world of books and stories was splendid, splendid, and filled with colors and scents, overwhelming Phuong and I. We "camped" for a day in the bookstore, reading and enjoying many of our favorite books, choosing to buy a few that were within our budget.

Arriving at the bird market in the park, the two of us saw people selling all kinds of ornamental birds. Nightingales were locked in cages. The birds' cries were sorrowful and mournful, missing the free sky. Phuong was filled with sadness. After thinking for a while, she did something that I did not expect. "Uncle! How much are you selling this nightingale for?" The man with a bearded, dark, and haggard face offered a price: "One million dong!" Phuong asked: "If I buy it and release the nightingale into the free sky, will you give me a discount?" The other man was silent, his eyes fixed on Phuong. "Do you see the nightingale crying, missing its parents and siblings? Why was it imprisoned? People are so cruel! Please give me a discount so I can release the bird!" The man felt compassion: "There is a discount!"

Others paid attention to the negotiation. “How much is your discount?” “Half off. Only five hundred thousand dong.” The group rushed forward to add their comments: “My niece bought the bird to release, only two hundred thousand dong!... One hundred thousand dong!...” The bird seller made the final decision. He opened the cage door, gently caught the nightingale and gave it to Phuong: “Here! I’ll give it to you, no money required. Release it!” Phuong’s eyes widened in joy: “Thank you, uncle!”

She put her arms around the nightingale, kissed its small white eyelashes. Phuong smiled, looked up, stretched her arms and released the nightingale into the sky. The green canopy of the park would be its new home. At that moment, many cameras were watching Phuong. Her demeanor was radiant, beautiful, and healthier than the movie stars I had seen in Korean movies.

Sunday, the rain was pouring and wet. The nightingale slept soundly in its nest. The tortoise lay curled up on the sidewalk. The garden was quiet. Only the gecko called intermittently on the oil tree by the Binh An stream. I was also lazy, curled up in the blanket, holding a storybook in my arms. My mind remembered the events of each day, learning from Tuan. My heart remembered the footprints of me and Phuong on the small slope by the Binh An stream; remembered the footprints of the two of us happily running to school. The footprints of the two of us longing to step out of the garden. When I climbed up to the fork of the mango tree to sit and read a book, my eyes looked far away, I saw the highway passing through the village, saw the cars rushing on a strong and courageous journey.

The mango trees that Phuong and I planted that day were a birthday celebration. I dug a hole and fertilized it. She carefully placed the seedlings. I listened to Tuan's instructions on how to care for the mangoes. After two seasons of new leaves, the two of us went to 9th grade. The mangoes also competed to grow and spread their branches to my shoulders. My parents said that mango trees like to be close to people. Mango leaves know how to filter the air. Their breath is fragrant, clear, and light. After school, Phuong and I stuck together, were close, talked, laughed, and sang. Mangoes knew how to "listen to stories" so they grew quickly.

I fed the mango roots with organic nutrients that my father had collected from the weeds in the garden. I watered the plants with a shower. The mango tree had “eyes” looking up at the sky. The mango tree’s top reached up and “saw” the metal roof blocking its path, so the mango tree undulated its body to “dodge” to one side. Phuong asked me in surprise: “What are you so happy about, Phuong, that you’re laughing alone?”. “I’m happy to see the mango tree know how to handle the situation to survive and be healthy.” I whistled a cheerful tune, causing the nightingale on the mango tree to raise its head and look at me attentively.

Autumn strolls through the garden hills. White cotton clouds drift gently. The cool ground is full of raindrops. The green grass glows bright emerald green. The carpet of mango leaves spreads across the garden, rustling with happy footsteps. The autumn sun shines on Phuong's hair. Warm yellow sunlight fills the peaceful countryside. I secretly look at her cheeks, shining like small suns.

The nightingale couple flew over and looked around for a long time, then decided to build a nest under the mango tree near the porch. Phuong and I learned from the birds: waking up early, flying, exercising, dancing and singing, welcoming the sunrise. The birds worked together, “carrying” materials such as branches, sticks, and straw, and placed them on the fork of the mango tree. In the morning, the nest was completed. The female bird lay on the nest, turning around and chirping happily. The male bird shook its feathers, leaned its head, rubbed its beak and “whispered”. The music was sweet and melodious. Happiness crept gently into my heart.

Source: https://baobinhthuan.com.vn/nhac-si-hoa-mi-vuon-xoai-130056.html