Bart Belly's Arc

Chapter 1 of 21

Bart Belly wanted the golden Speedo more than he had ever wanted anything, and it lay beyond a frozen wilderness he could not cross. The old bears said the Speedo gave its wearer strength and confidence beyond measure. Bart already owned the Speedo he wore now, a snug red one that stretched over his round belly. His bellybutton poked out above the waistband. He patted his stomach and sighed. The map showed weeks of ice ahead. He got winded walking to the fridge. A cluster of stout polar bears watched him from across the square. Their fur was thick and white, their bodies rounded like his, but they stood firm and alert. One of them, broad-shouldered and calm, stepped forward. "You'll die on that ice, soft one," she said. Not cruel. Just true. Bart's ears flattened. "I have to go. The golden Speedo is out there." The bear looked him over. "Then you train. Or you freeze." She jerked her head toward a shop with a bright counter and a striped awning. Signs read smoothies and shakes. "Start there." Inside, a machine roared. A worker slid a green drink across the counter. "Protein," she said. "You'll hate it." Bart drank. He gagged. He drank the rest anyway. His arc goal pulled him forward, one sour gulp at a time. The bears led him to a flat pad of equipment. A stationary bike stood beside a treadmill. Dumbbells rested near a shallow pool of water. The broad-shouldered bear pointed at the treadmill. "Walk." Bart walked. His legs burned in minutes. He gripped the rails and gasped. "How long?" "Until you stop being soft," she said. Days folded into each other. Bart pedaled the bike until sweat soaked his fur. He lifted the dumbbells until his arms shook. He waded through the pool, pushing against the water, dragging weights along the bottom. Every morning the worker handed him a green drink. Every morning he drank without gagging a little more. The lazy bear who once winded himself at the fridge learned to move. One cold morning, the broad-shouldered bear tossed him a heavy pack. "Carry that. Up and back." Bart hauled it across the pad, around the pool, and set it down without stopping. His breath came steady. His legs held. He looked at the bear, waiting. She studied him a long moment. Then she nodded. "You're ready. Your body will hold on the ice." Bart flexed one arm. The belly was still there, but muscle sat under it now. He could walk for hours. He could carry his own weight. The wilderness no longer scared him. The broad-shouldered bear crossed her arms. "But strength isn't your only problem, soft one." She pointed north, past the edge of the square. "No one who walks that ice comes back. The path itself is the thing that kills. And you don't know the way."