Baby Saja's Arc

Chapter 2 of 4

The day after the judges sent him through, Baby Saja came to practice on the glacier stage. It stretched wide and flat, a sheet of open ice with no microphone and no stand. He walked to the center in his pink shoes. His feet shot out from under him at once. He landed hard on his back. He stood up and tried again. One step, then a slip. His arms flew wide. He grabbed at nothing and fell a second time. The ice was smooth as glass. He could not find his footing long enough to even open his mouth and sing. His calico cat sat at the edge, watching. She dug her claws into the ice and crossed easily. Baby Saja had no claws. He crawled to the center on his hands and knees, but a singer could not crawl. "Your shoes are wrong," said a voice behind him. A boy stood at the edge of the stage. Purple hair hung over his face, hiding his eyes. He wore a purple sweater with a yellow collar underneath. He did not smile. He did not offer a hand. He only pointed at Baby Saja's feet. "Those slip because the bottoms are flat," the boy said. He crouched and pulled something from his pocket. Two strips of rough cloth, the kind used to grip cold pipes. He held them out but did not step onto the ice. Baby Saja crawled to the edge and took them. "Who are you?" "Someone who has fallen here before," the boy said. He watched as Baby Saja wrapped the cloth around each pink shoe. The rough fabric covered the smooth soles. Baby Saja pushed himself up. He set one foot down. It held. He set the other foot down. It held too. He took a step, then another, out toward the center of the glacier stage. The cloth bit into the ice. He did not slip. He reached the middle and stood tall. For the first time, his feet stayed under him. He turned to thank the boy. The stranger was already walking away, hands in his pockets. "Standing is the easy part," he called back. "Now make them hear you without the microphone." Then he was gone past the edge of the ice. Baby Saja stayed at the center, steady at last. His cat trotted out to join him, and this time he did not fall. He opened his mouth and sang one note. It came out small. It faded before it reached the empty seats. The huge cold space swallowed it whole. He closed his mouth. His feet were fixed now. But the stranger was right. Standing was only the beginning. He had solved the ice beneath him. The problem above him remained: a voice this small, alone, must fill the whole frozen hall.