Priya and the Long, Low Hum

Hmmm, went the dark. It was a low, round sound, like a bee asleep inside a jar. Priya sat up in the sky-boat and listened. There it was again. "That's the comet," said Rumi, her grandma, without even opening her eyes. "It hums when it's coming near."

Priya was a pirate. She had a hat with a red feather, a small brass telescope, and a treasure map folded into a square. She smoothed the map open on her knees. It showed one green moon, one curly path, and a tiny drawing of a comet with three little lines coming out of its mouth. Underneath, in wobbly letters, it said: WHEN THE COMET HUMS THREE TIMES, LOOK IN THE LANTERN.

"Three times," Priya whispered. She held up three fingers and wiggled them. The lantern hung at the front of the boat, small and round and dark. Inside it sat a little clay pot, empty, waiting. "Rumi? Is it time?"

"Not yet," said Rumi. She patted the cushion beside her. "When it's time, the comet will hum its long song, slow and low. That's how the best treasures come." So Priya sat down to drift.

Drift meant floating with nothing pulling. No oars, no hurry, just the boat and the sky and the thousand small suns glittering all around. Priya drifted for the length of one whole breath. Then her feet began to tap.

"I can hum," said Priya. "I'm a very good hummer." She hummed as loud as she could, three quick hums, fast as a sneeze. Hm! Hm! Hm! Nothing happened. The lantern stayed dark. Far off, the comet hummed back one slow note, and it sounded like it was smiling.

"It isn't a race," said Rumi. Priya's cheeks went warm. She felt wobbly inside, the way she felt when her feet wanted to run but the deck said walk.

"Then we'll go to the comet," said Priya. She found the oars and pushed, one, then the other. The sky-boat turned in a slow circle and wobbled and drifted right back to where it started. Sky water is thick and slow, like honey in a cold spoon. Priya blew a puff of air up at her feather. "Pfff."

"Is it time?" she asked. "Not yet," said Rumi, kindly. So Priya decided to watch instead. She watched so hard her eyes went dry. She counted stars, fast. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten! There were too many stars, a thousand of them, and every one glimmered. Glimmer means a small shine that comes and goes, on and off, like a blink.

Her counting got muddled. She gave a big, squeaky yawn. "That's the trouble with fast," said Rumi. "You miss the good part."

Then Rumi pulled a folded blanket out of the chest. It smelled of cold, clean air and clean sheets. She wrapped it around Priya's shoulders and tucked the ends in. "Here's a game for waiting," she said. "We take turns. First, you say one thing you can see."

Priya looked. "I see the green moon," she said. "It looks like a pea." Rumi laughed, a low, rumbly laugh. "I see a thousand little suns," she said. "They're all twirling."

"Now one thing you can hear." Priya listened. Under the comet's hum there was a bigger sound, soft and steady. "I hear the planets turning," she said. "It sounds like a big pot boiling, only slower." "That's exactly it," said Rumi. "Slow is their favorite speed."

"Now one thing you can smell." Priya sniffed her blanket. "Clean sheets," she said. "And cold, clean air." She snuggled down. The wobbly feeling inside her smoothed out, like a blanket pulled flat.

"Now one thing you can feel." Priya thought about it. "I feel the boat going up and down," she said, "like a big hand rocking me." She felt Rumi's warm hand close over hers. It was a good feeling, quiet and steady, and she held onto it.

"Rumi," she said, in a small voice, "what if the comet forgets us?" Rumi squeezed her fingers. "That comet has never missed a night yet," she said. "It likes to take the long way around. We can take it too."

Then the comet began its long song. Hmmmmm, went the first note, low and warm. Priya didn't wiggle. She didn't hum back. She just listened. Hmmmmm, went the second note, and it rolled past the boat and made the dark go soft. Hmmmmm, went the third, and the whole sky seemed to lean in and listen too.

Pop. It wasn't a loud pop. It was a tiny, polite pop, like a bubble in a pot of porridge. Priya sat up. Something in the lantern was shining.

It was a handful of tiny, round seeds. Each seed had a little tail of fluff. One seed lifted out of the clay pot and floated up, glowing soft and gold. Then another. Then three more. They drifted around the boat, slow and low, and settled inside the lantern, one by one.

One seed floated over and landed right on the tip of Rumi's nose. Priya giggled so hard she had to hold her hat. "Excuse me," said Rumi to the seed, very politely, and it glimmered and floated off to join the others.

"Star seeds," said Rumi. "They ride in with the comet. They only open for the long song." Priya held out her hand. One seed landed on her palm, warm as toast. It glimmered once, then floated off to the lantern.

Soon the lantern was full of soft gold light, and the sky-boat had its very own glow. Priya looked at it for a long time. "I waited," she said, slowly, tasting the word. "And I found things to do while I waited."

"You did," said Rumi. "You saw a pea moon, and you heard the planets boiling. That's good waiting."

Priya tried out her very slowest hum. Hmmmmm. The comet hummed back, far away and getting farther, going home. "Good night, comet," Priya called softly, and she waved her hat at the dark.

The boat drifted. It drifted beautifully, with nothing pulling and nowhere to hurry. The blanket was warm. The lantern glowed. Rumi hummed the long song again, so low that it was almost just breathing.

Priya's feather nodded over. Her eyes went heavy and soft, like a blanket folded up at the end of the day. Down between the small suns the sky-boat drifted, and behind it the gold light swung gently, this way, and that way, and slowly out.