Hana and the Hundred Steps

A story about persistence, pacing yourself and walking with someone you love.

At the edge of the village, a stone staircase wound up the hillside. There were exactly a hundred steps, and at the top was a small lookout from where you could see the whole valley. Hana’s grandfather climbed it every Sunday, and this year, Hana was going with him.

She counted the first ten steps, and they were easy. At twenty, her legs began to warm up. At thirty, she was puffing. “Slow down,” said her grandfather. “It is not a race. A steady pace is better than a quick start.” Hana tried to match his rhythm.

At forty, they stopped for a rest. A little shrine stood beside the path, with a few smooth stones. “Travellers leave a stone here,” said her grandfather, “as a thank you for getting this far.” Hana found a pebble and placed it on the pile.

At fifty, Hana’s legs ached. She looked up. The steps seemed to climb forever. “I do not think I can do it,” she said. “You do not have to do a hundred,” said her grandfather. “Only the next one.” She took a deep breath and took the next one.

That trick helped. At sixty, she was only thinking about the next step. At seventy, a bird sang in the trees. At eighty, they stopped again, and drank some water. Her grandfather told a story about climbing these steps as a young man, carrying a basket of rice.

At ninety, Hana’s legs were shaking, but her heart was happy. She could feel the wind on her face, and it smelled of pine. Her grandfather pointed. “Look back,” he said. She turned, and gasped. The valley was spread out below, green and gold.

“We are nearly there,” he said. “Only ten left.” She counted them aloud, slowly. At the hundredth step, she stood at the lookout. The whole valley lay at her feet, with a silver river winding through it. Her village looked as small as a toy.

She sat on the stone bench, and her grandfather sat beside her. “That is the thing about steps,” he said. “You cannot see the view until you climb them.” Hana leaned her head on his shoulder. “Can we do it again next Sunday?” she asked.

He laughed. “I would like nothing better.” They shared a rice ball from his bag, and watched the clouds drift over the hills. When they walked down, Hana counted every step the whole way, and she was not afraid of the next hill at all.

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