The Wind That Asked Permission

In the white village above the sea there lived a small wind.

It was not like the mistral, which arrived running, nor like the sirocco, which came in warm and confused. This wind was light and had a strange habit: it asked permission.

In front of a window it made toc toc with the curtain.

“May I come in?”

If the window was closed, it passed on. If it was half open, it entered gently, moving only the papers on the table.

The children of the village called it Please Wind.

One afternoon, however, Leo arrived in a hurry to show his new kite. He entered his sister’s room without knocking, took the coloured string, and ran away.

His sister shouted. The string knotted. The kite fell.

Leo became angry. “It’s the string’s fault!”

Just then the curtain went toc toc.

“Who is it?” asked Leo.

“May I come in?” said the wind.

Leo snorted. “Come in.”

The wind entered softly and hardly moved anything. It touched the tangled string, but did not pull it. It waited.

“Why don’t you untie it?” asked Leo.

“Because it is not mine. I can help if you ask me.”

Leo looked at the string, then at his sister’s door. He understood.

He went to her.

“May I use your string? I’m sorry I took it.”

His sister looked at him. She did not smile immediately, but she nodded.

“You may. But we untie it together.”

The wind came in through the window, this time invited. It moved the string just enough for the knots to be seen more clearly. Leo and his sister worked slowly.

When the kite was free again, they went out to the square. The wind asked permission even of the kite: it lifted it little by little, without tearing it away.

The kite rose high.

Leo felt the string between his fingers and thought that asking permission did not waste time. It avoided knots.

From that day he knocked before entering. He asked before taking. He waited for an answer.

And when the curtain went toc toc, he smiled.

The kind wind had come to remind him that even air passes better when it is polite.