Benji's Job at Moonrise

"Plish," said the fountain. "Plish, plosh." It stood in the middle of the Night Garden, and the water jumped up and tumbled down again, and all night long the fountain talked quietly to itself. Nobody knew what it was saying, but it sounded pleased.

Benji the bear cub sat on the warm stone edge and listened. He was small, with round ears and soft brown fur, and one front paw that wiggled whenever he felt wobbly inside. Tonight that paw was wiggling a lot. He tucked it under his tummy to keep it still.

Along the path, the moonflowers stood in a long row. They were pale and closed up tight, like little green fists, because moonflowers only open for the moon. Benji liked that about them. They were never in a hurry, not even a little bit.

Something new had come to Benji's den that day. A baby. His baby sister, Pip. She was small and round and warm, and she made squeaky sounds like a door opening very slowly. Benji had looked at her for a long time. She looked back, mostly at the ceiling.

All day the den had been busy. Mama carried Pip and fed Pip and rocked Pip. Mama sang to Pip a low song that went up and down, up and down, like the fountain. Benji wanted to help too. He wanted it so much that his paw wiggled right out from under his tummy.

"Mama," he said, "may I help?" "Soon, little bear," said Mama. "Hold on." So Benji held on. He held on to the edge of a blanket and the side of the basket, and he waited, which is very hard when you are small.

First, he tried to carry the basket of baby blankets. He hugged it with both arms and lifted with all his might. The blankets were heavy, and out they flopped, all over the floor, soft as dumplings. One landed on Benji's head.

"Thank you for trying," said Mama, and she folded them up again. Benji's ears went warm. He felt wobbly, and left out, like the last berry in the bowl that nobody picks.

Mama saw his face. "Come here," she said, and she opened one arm, because the other arm was full of Pip. "Are you feeling left out, little bear?" Benji nodded into her fur. "A little," he said. "That's a big feeling," said Mama. "It can sit here with us while I finish these blankets."

So he tried something else. He stood up tall, took a big breath, and sang his loudest bear song. "Grumble, grumble, I am a bear, I have fur everywhere!" He was sure Pip would giggle. Instead her face went crinkly, and she began to fuss. Fussing means wriggly and cross and crying all at once, and nobody can say why.

Mama rocked her and rocked her. "Loud is for playing," she said, gently. "Quiet is for bedtime." Benji's shoulders went low, low, low. His paw wiggled like a worm in a rain puddle.

Then he had an idea. He would pick one moonflower and put it right by Pip's basket, so she would have something pretty to look at. He trotted down the path and put his nose close to the fattest bud. It stayed shut, tight as a button.

"They won't open for bears," said a small, prickly voice. It was Ravi the hedgehog, who tended the Night Garden, with his little rake over his shoulder. "Moonflowers open for the moon. Not for me, not for you, not for anyone in a hurry."

Benji sat down on the warm stone beside him. "We have a new baby," he said. "Pip. Everyone holds her and hums to her, and I don't know what to do."

"But I want to help," said Benji. "I want to help Pip, and I don't know how." Ravi sat beside him on the warm stones. "You can't hurry a flower," he said. "But you can notice things. Tell me, what does the fountain do?"

Benji listened. Plish, said the fountain. Plish, plosh. It was soft and slow, like rain on a window. "It hums," said Benji. "All night long, it hums to itself."

"That's its job," said Ravi. "Everyone has a job that fits them, like a paw fits a mitten. The fountain hums. The moonflowers open. The moon just shines." He wiggled his nose. "What fits you, little bear?"

Benji didn't know yet. But on the way back to the den he hummed the fountain's song, low and slow. "Hush, hush, the moon is low. Moonflowers open, slow, slow, slow."

Inside, the den was dim and warm and smelled of honey bread. Pip was fussing again. She was wriggly and cross, her little fists shut tight, and Mama walked her up and down and up and down.

Benji sat down beside the basket and hummed. "Hush, hush, the moon is low." His voice was quiet as a caterpillar. Mama stopped walking. She looked at Benji, and her tired face went soft.

Pip's face went smooth. Her fists uncurled, one finger at a time, and then her whole hand flopped open, pale and small, like a moonflower opening for the moon.

Then her eyes closed, slow, slow, slow.

"Oh," whispered Benji. "She likes it." "She does," said Mama, very softly. "That's called a lullaby. A lullaby is a song for going to sleep, and that one is the best I ever heard, because it's yours."

"Was that helping?" asked Benji. "That was the most helping," said Mama. She pulled him close with her free arm and kissed the top of his round head. "You noticed Pip needed quiet, and you gave her quiet. Not everyone can hum a baby to sleep. That's a big brother job."

Big brother. Benji said it inside his head, once, twice. Big brother. It felt like a warm stone in his pocket.

At the door, Ravi tapped his little rake on the step, softly, which is how a hedgehog claps. Then he rolled away to his flowers, and Benji heard him humming too.

Later, Mama tucked Benji into his own bed by the window. Outside, the moon came up over the hedge, big and round and silver, and all along the path the moonflowers began to open, slow, slow, slow, like little pale hands.

"Look," whispered Mama. She pointed with her chin. "The moon came up, and they opened." Benji watched the pale flowers sway. "They were waiting," he said.

"They open for the moon," whispered Benji. He looked at Pip, asleep in her basket, and he felt the warm stone in his pocket again. He didn't feel wobbly anymore. He felt like the hum.

The fountain went plish, plosh. The moonflowers glowed pale along the path. Pip breathed her small round breath, in and out, in and out, like a tiny gentle wave.

Benji's paw stopped wiggling. He curled up warm under his blanket and hummed one more slow line into his pillow. "Hush, hush, the moon is low. Moonflowers open, slow, slow, slow." Then his eyes closed, and the Night Garden hummed him all the way to sleep.