The Baton Game — From his velvet seat in the highest balcony, Jonah tapped one finger on his program and invented a game: if the conductor’s baton pointed left, he would count violins; if it pointed right, he would count cellos; if it pointed straight up, he had to do one brave thing. Read the full story →
From his velvet seat in the highest balcony, Jonah tapped one finger on his program and invented a game: if the conductor’s baton pointed left, he would count violins; if it pointed right, he would count cellos; if it pointed straight up, he had to do one brave thing. The hall smelled like polished wood and old curtains. Then he saw a clarinetist pat empty pockets beside a music stand, searching for a pencil as the rehearsal rustled to begin.
Up went the baton. Jonah slipped out. His shoes made tiny hush-hush sounds down the carpeted stairs, and the brass rail felt cool under his palm. He had only one pencil, the stub he used for the game, but he left it on the clarinetist’s stand and hurried back before anyone turned around. He missed the first thunder of drums.
When he reached his seat, the game was gone from his program, but something better had arrived. The clarinet line floated up, smooth as warm honey, with one neat correction marked in Jonah’s pencil. Next time you spot the raised baton, guess which quiet helper has already made his move.
