Baby Saja's Arc

Chapter 3 of 4

That night, back in his family's apartment, Baby Saja could not sleep. His small voice still echoed in his ears, swallowed by the frozen hall. He looked out the window at the rows of lit squares in the tall building across from him. The purple-haired boy had helped him once, then walked away. He knew how to fill that huge space. Baby Saja needed him again, but he did not even know his name. At dawn he went back to the glacier stage. The cloth still gripped his shoes. He wrapped his arms around himself in the cold and looked for the boy. The wide ice sat empty. His calico cat padded out beside him. He waited a long time. No one came. He would not just stand and wait. Baby Saja walked the edge of the stage, checking every dark corner where a boy might hide. He climbed the empty seats. He called out, "Hello? Are you here?" His voice cracked and faded, too small even for the seats. He sat down and put his face in his hands. Then he remembered something the boy had said. Someone who has fallen here before. The boy had practiced on this same ice. Baby Saja crawled to the spot where he had first found the strips of cloth. He searched the ground on his hands and knees. He found a scuff mark near the edge, where rough soles had scraped the smooth ice again and again. Someone had stood there for hours. Baby Saja placed his own feet in the marks and faced the empty seats, the way the boy must have. "You came back," said a voice. The purple-haired boy stood at the edge, hands in his pockets, hair over his eyes. He did not step onto the ice. He watched to see what Baby Saja would do. "I looked everywhere for you," Baby Saja said. "I don't even know who you are." "That doesn't matter," the boy said. "You found my spot. That's where I learned." He nodded at the scuff marks under Baby Saja's shoes. "The cloth fixed your feet. It won't fix your voice." Baby Saja stood taller. "Then teach me. Please. The final round is soon and my voice is too small." The boy was quiet. For the first time, he stepped onto the ice. His purple shoes held; he wore the same rough cloth. He crossed to Baby Saja and stopped an arm's length away. "I'll help you," he said. "But only if you do exactly what I say. No questions about me. Just the singing." "I promise," Baby Saja said. The boy pointed at Baby Saja's chest. "Your voice comes from here, not your throat. That's the first thing you have wrong." Baby Saja had found his guide. Now he had to learn everything the boy knew before the final round arrived, and the boy would only teach him one hard thing at a time.