Towards the end of August the garden changed.
The grass was no longer so green. The geraniums flowered less. One or two leaves came down to the ground and stayed there.
The crickets still chirped, but more quietly.
Tüsi noticed.
“Csiga,” he asked, “what’s happening?”
Csiga climbed slowly onto the stone.
“They’re going,” she said. “The crickets. Every summer they go, when it turns cool.”
Tüsi said nothing.
“Am I going too?”
“I don’t know,” said Csiga. “I’m a snail. I stay.”
That evening Tüsi did not knock. He only sat on the stone and listened to the others.
Chirp-chirp. Chirp-chirp. It was still lovely.
Then a very small voice spoke beside him.
“Excuse me.”
Tüsi turned round. A tiny little cricket stood in the grass. You could hardly see him.
“Who are you?” asked Tüsi.
“I don’t know,” said the little one. “I came out today. And I can’t chirp.”
Tüsi looked at him for a very long time.
Then he smiled.
“Come,” he said. “I’ll show you something.”
He led the little one to the stone and lifted his leg.
Tock.
“Can you hear it?”
“I can hear it,” said the little one.
“That’s my sound,” said Tüsi. “It doesn’t chirp. But it’s mine.”
The little cricket tried. He lifted his leg and tapped the stone.
Tock.
“I did it!” he cried.
“You did it,” said Tüsi.
And then the two of them knocked together. Tock-tock. Tock-tock.
The garden kept quiet, and waited. But this time there was nothing wrong with the quiet.
The crickets picked up the beat. The frog croaked once. The wind blew along with them.
And that evening the whole garden made music together, one more time, for the last time that summer.
The next day the crickets went.
They did not say goodbye. They simply did not speak any more.
Tüsi stayed by the stone, under the geraniums, and the little one stayed with him.
“I’m cold,” said the little one in the evening.
“Come closer,” said Tüsi.
They huddled together beside the stone. The grass was cool. The moon was pale.
“Tüsi,” asked the little one, “will they chirp again next summer?”
“They’ll come,” said Tüsi. “Every summer they come.”
“And us?”
“We’ll be here,” said Tüsi. “And we’ll knock for them.”
The little one fell asleep.
Tüsi tapped the stone once more. Quietly. Just because.
Tock.
Then he drew in his legs, and he fell asleep too.
The garden was quiet. The leaves moved in the wind, and lay back down.
And beside the big stone, under the geraniums, two small sounds slept their winter sleep, so that next summer they could speak again.
