Qusay Calls Hello Across the Valley and Hears the Echo

On a bright spring morning, Qusay went walking in the hills with his father and his little sister, Jouri. Qusay was seven. Jouri was four. Their father carried a backpack with sandwiches, apples, and a big bottle of water. Qusay carried a small backpack with his binoculars and a bag of dates.

The path wound up and up between olive trees and grey rocks. Wildflowers grew everywhere, red poppies, yellow daisies, and tiny purple flowers that smelled like honey. Bees hummed from flower to flower. Somewhere a bird sang the same three notes again and again, as if it was practicing.

Jouri walked slowly. She stopped to pick flowers. She stopped to look at a beetle. She stopped because a pebble was in her shoe.

"Hurry up, Jouri," said Qusay. "You are too slow."

Jouri stuck out her bottom lip. "My legs are short," she said.

Qusay sighed a big sigh and marched ahead.

At last, they reached the top of the hill. Qusay gasped. On the other side, the land dropped down into a wide green valley. Far across it stood another hill, with a tall wall of pale rock, like a giant's grey cliff face, warm in the sunshine.

"Wow," said Qusay.

His father put down the backpack. "This is a special place," he said. "Do you want to see a little bit of magic? Well, not real magic. Something even better, because it is true."

Qusay nodded. Jouri came puffing up the path behind them and nodded too.

Their father cupped his hands around his mouth. He faced the tall rock wall across the valley and called, "Hellooo!"

For a moment, there was nothing. Then, from far across the valley, a voice came back.

"Hellooo... hellooo... llooo..."

Qusay's mouth fell open. "Someone is over there!"

His father laughed. "Nobody is over there. That was my own voice coming back. It is called an echo. When you shout, your voice flies across the valley like a ball. It bounces off that big rock wall, and it comes flying back to you."

"Can I try?" asked Qusay.

"Of course."

Qusay cupped his hands around his mouth, just like his father. He took a big breath.

"Hellooo!"

"Hellooo... hellooo... llooo..." said the valley.

Qusay jumped up and down. "It said hello to me!"

He tried again. "My name is Qusay!"

"Qusay... Qusay... say..." said the valley.

He laughed so hard that he had to sit down on a rock. Then he had an idea. He stood up on the rock to be taller, puffed out his chest, and shouted, "I am the fastest! I am the best!"

"The best... the best... best..." the valley shouted back.

But somehow, this time, it did not sound so nice. It sounded loud and bossy, like someone showing off. Qusay felt his cheeks grow warm. He sat down again.

"Hmm," he said. "That did not sound very friendly."

"The valley only gives back what you give it," said his father gently. "It does not choose the words. You do."

Qusay thought about that. He looked at Jouri. She was sitting on the ground with her bunch of wilting flowers, her face still a little sulky. Her shoes were dusty, and her cheeks were red from the long climb. She had walked all that way on her short legs, and she had not complained once. Only he had complained, about her.

Qusay stood up. He cupped his hands around his mouth.

"Jouri is a good walker!" he called across the valley.

"Good walker... good walker... walker..." the valley called back.

Jouri looked up, surprised.

"Jouri found a shiny beetle!" called Qusay.

"Shiny beetle... beetle... eetle..."

Jouri began to smile.

"Jouri has the prettiest flowers!"

"Prettiest flowers... flowers... owers..."

Now Jouri was giggling. She jumped up and ran to stand beside Qusay. "My turn! My turn!" she said.

Qusay showed her how to cup her small hands around her mouth. Jouri took the biggest breath she could and shouted in her high little voice, "Qusay is my brother!"

"My brother... brother... other..." sang the valley.

Qusay felt something warm in his chest, warmer than the sunshine. He put his arm around Jouri's shoulders.

"Say something else," he whispered.

Jouri shouted, "We love Baba!"

"Love Baba... Baba... aba..."

Their father laughed out loud and clapped his hands. "That is the best echo I have ever heard," he said.

They sat together on the warm rocks and ate their lunch. The sandwiches tasted of cheese and thyme. The apples were crunchy and cold. Qusay shared his dates with Jouri, and she gave him the biggest, reddest poppy from her bunch to put in his pocket.

Below them, the valley lay green and quiet. A hawk circled slowly in the blue sky. The bird with three notes was still practicing.

"Baba," said Qusay, "do people make echoes too? Not in valleys. Just at home?"

His father smiled. "What do you think?"

Qusay thought about Jouri's face. When he had said grumpy words, she had looked grumpy. When he had said kind words, she had smiled and said kind words back.

"I think they do," said Qusay.

On the walk down the hill, Qusay did not march ahead. He walked beside Jouri, step for step. When she stopped to look at a snail, he stopped too. When the pebble got into her shoe again, he knelt down and helped her shake it out.

"You are a good brother," said Jouri.

"You are a good walker," said Qusay.

They looked at each other and laughed, because it sounded just like an echo.

At the bottom of the hill, Qusay turned around one last time. He cupped his hands and called softly up toward the hills, "Goodbye, valley! Thank you!"

And very faintly, far away, the valley answered, "Thank you... thank you... you..."