Once there was a penguin named Emperor born on the Antarctic coastline in the Southern Hemisphere. Unlike most penguins, he loved to sing—even if his penguin friends and family didn’t appreciate his talent. Emperor didn’t understand why singing bothered them. The music felt natural, like breathing. When he held a note and felt it vibrate in his chest, it made him feel bright and brave in a world made of ice.
“Aaah, aaah, la di da, la di da, la di da di da,” he sang, floating on the ice in the cold ocean water.
“Oh, Emperor, is that you singing again?” Pete, one of his brother penguins, teased him. “Penguins don’t sing.”
“Penguins do sing!” Emperor argued. “I am a penguin, and I sing. That’s the only proof you need.” He said it boldly, but the words still stung. He wished, just once, someone would listen without laughing.
Then, one cold winter day when the sun was shining bright, Emperor came across a pamphlet drifting in the ocean. It bobbed toward him as if it had been sent on purpose.
“What’s this?” he said, grabbing it with his beak and pulling it onto his thick ice raft. The paper was damp at the corners, but the letters were dark and clear.
As he waddled to his igloo on the Antarctic shore, he carried it carefully, as if it were a treasure. Inside, he spread the pamphlet across the ice-room table.
“‘The Marriage of Figaro’ by Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart at the Metropolitan Opera House on Broadway at Lincoln Center for the Performing Arts in New York City,” Emperor said, reading the pamphlet aloud. The words sounded grand in his mouth—like he was already announcing himself onstage.
As he studied the booklet, he noticed a male vocalist named Alberto Matteo dressed in a black and white outfit with tails. Emperor stared so hard his eyes felt dry.
“He’s dressed like me in a penguin suit with tails,” Emperor exclaimed. His heart began to thump in a new, hopeful rhythm. “We both love to sing! I’m born to sing the Opera. I’m already wearing my own penguin suit. I must go to New York City to Lincoln Center!”
“What’s that, Emperor?” Blubber, his father, said, snatching the pamphlet from him. “This man is dressed like a penguin!”
“Papa, he sings the Opera, and so do I,” Emperor said. He tried to sound confident, but his belly fluttered. “I’m leaving for New York City in the morning!”
“What do you mean you’re leaving?” Oceana, his mother, cried. “You’ll never make it! You’ll drown in the ocean.”
“Your voice is so beautiful,” said Carol, one of his sister penguins. “The whole world deserves to hear it!”
“Why can’t you just be a penguin like the rest of us?” his father grumbled. “Why do you have to be special?”
Emperor flinched. He didn’t want to be special to make anyone angry. He just wanted to sing without feeling like he had to apologize for it.
“You just bring me so much joy!” his mother said in tears. “You can’t leave us! You’re my baby.”
Emperor’s throat tightened. He loved his family. He loved the familiar shoreline and the safe, warm huddle inside the igloo when the wind screamed outside. But the pamphlet had sparked something inside him that refused to go quiet.
“I must be courageous and fulfill my destiny,” Emperor proclaimed. He lifted his chin the way the singer in the photograph lifted his. “Once I build an igloo in New York City and start a career, then the whole family can visit me in North America. Maybe you can even live there with me!”
Blubber huffed, but he didn’t tear the pamphlet. Oceana wiped her eyes. Carol smiled like she could already see the future.
The next morning, the Antarctic penguin community stood on the shoreline and waved goodbye to Emperor. Some waved kindly. Some shook their heads like his dream was too large to hold. Emperor tried not to look back too long, because every time he saw his mother’s face, his eyes burned.
“Goodbye, everyone, goodbye!” he called, tearing up a bit, as he watched his family and friends shrink into the bright white distance.
“I hope you make it to New York City in one piece,” his father chided him. “Who wants to sing the Opera?”
“I’m dressed in a penguin suit, too, but I don’t want to sing the Opera,” his brother Pete said. “I’ll miss you!”
“I love you so much!” his mother called. “I hope your ice raft doesn’t melt when you sail through the tropics.”
“I’m going to come visit you in New York City,” Carol cheered. “Send us a message when you get there.”
After saying farewell, Emperor set off on his ice raft with the pamphlet toward the Atlantic Ocean. Although the dark nights were lonely and stormy, he stayed on course for North America through the winds. He sang to keep himself steady. He sang to keep the fear from freezing his throat.
“I’m bound for the Metropolitan Opera House where I’m going to sing the Opera like Alberto Matteo,” he sang. Some nights his voice sounded strong. Other nights it sounded small beneath the roar of water.
On one terrible evening, a storm struck so suddenly Emperor barely had time to brace himself. Waves slapped the raft. The wind ripped at his feathers. Cold water splashed over him and stole his breath. He tried to sing and couldn’t.
For a frightening moment, Emperor thought, What if Papa is right? What if I never reach land?
When the storm eased, he saw the truth: his ice raft had shrunk and cracked at the edge. Emperor stared at the broken corner and felt his stomach drop. He clutched the pamphlet with his flipper as if it were a map to courage.
“You have such a lovely voice,” said a dolphin that suddenly swam to his side in the waves. Her smile looked like sunlight on water. “My name is Delfina Dominique. I like to sing, too. I’ve never met a penguin that can sing. What are you doing out here by yourself?”
Emperor blinked, startled by kindness in the middle of so much ocean. “I’m on my way to New York Harbor to sing at the Metropolitan Opera House on Broadway,” Emperor said. He tried to make the words steady, even though his heart still raced from the storm.
“Well, of course you are,” Delfina said, as if it made perfect sense. “I’ll swim with you until you get there to keep the sharks away!”
Delfina’s dolphin family jumped out of the waves, singing and making merry noises in the ocean. Their joy loosened something tight inside Emperor. He felt less alone.
Every time a shark came near Emperor’s ice raft, the dolphins defended him with their hard noses, and Emperor kept singing. Even when his voice trembled, he pushed through it.
“I’ll take the solos,” Emperor said one day, making up a new song with his adopted ocean family. The dolphins squeaked and leapt as if cheering for him.
The days stretched long. The sun warmed the surface of the sea. Emperor watched his raft shrink little by little. Each missing inch felt like time slipping away.
On one especially long day, an albatross smoking a cigar landed on his ice raft without introduction or warning. The raft dipped under the sudden weight, and Emperor flailed his flippers to keep from sliding off.
“Oui, oui! My name is Jack. Might I just rest my wings awhile?” the bird said. “I’ve flown for days without landing.”
“Excuse me, sir, but this is my ice raft,” Emperor said, standing up straight and eyeing the bird. He tried to keep his voice polite, but his raft was already shrinking and his patience felt thin, too.
“Any sailor that meets an albatross in the ocean is bound for disaster!” Delfina told Emperor in a whisper.
“Oh no! I have to make it to New York City,” Emperor said firmly. “I can’t be delayed by a silly old bird.” His words sounded brave, but his thoughts wobbled. Disaster sounded like drowning.
“I’m the luckiest of all the albatross because I just met you,” the bird said. “I have nowhere else to land, so it’s better that we just get along on this journey. Besides, I can swoop down and grab fish from the ocean for you.”
“If you insist,” Emperor said, considering how tasty a fish or three might feel in his stomach. Also, if Jack brought food, Emperor could focus on practice. If he was going to reach the Opera House, he wanted to arrive ready.
As Delfina and her dolphin family kept the sharks away, Jack fished for supper for Emperor. Emperor ate and practiced. He sang scales into the wind. He imagined a stage beneath his flippers instead of ice beneath his belly.
“I wonder how many octaves I have in my voice,” Emperor said, practicing his scales. “I’ve got at least three!”
“Three and a half,” Jack said, puffing cigar smoke like stage fog.
Emperor looked at his ice raft, noticing it had shrunk in half since leaving Antarctica. His excitement flickered with fear. “I do hope I make it soon!”
“You can always ride on my back,” Delfina said, “but I think your ice raft will last. It’s soon winter in New York.”
Emperor tried to believe her. Still, that night, doubt crawled into his thoughts like cold water under feathers. What if he reached New York and they laughed? What if his voice failed when it mattered most? He tried to sing softly, and, to his horror, no sound came out at first.
Emperor froze.
He swallowed, took a breath, and tried again. A thin note slipped free. He forced himself to keep going until the melody returned fuller, warmer, stronger. When it did, he promised himself something: even if fear squeezed his throat, he would sing anyway.
Persevering through miles of endless ocean waves, Emperor arrived weeks later in the New York City Harbor. Although his ice raft had shrunk in the warmer Northern ocean water, he still had enough to stand on.
By that point, he had practiced hours and hours of Opera singing on the Atlantic Ocean waves. He floated around the Statue of Liberty and Ellis Island, staring up at the towering shapes. He paddled to shore alongside the Staten Island Ferry, watching the city surge and glitter like a living thing.
“I’m so sad to say goodbye to you and your family, Delfina,” Emperor said, bending over to hug her in the ocean. His eyes burned again. He hadn’t realized how much she had carried him—how much her belief had mattered.
“I’m going to send word to your family back home that you made it safely to New York,” Delfina said.
“Tell them that I love them and ask them to come see me perform,” he called as she swam away. “Thank you!”
“I’m going with you to the Opera,” Jack said, accidentally cracking what was left of the ice raft. “I’m good luck!”
“Oh, I don’t know about that, Jack,” Emperor said, balancing himself in the Harbor. As Jack popped a fish into Emperor’s mouth, Emperor climbed up the steps of the New York Harbor pier. “I’ve arrived in one piece!”
As Emperor waddled his way into the big city, Jack searched for fish to pop into his mouth from fish tanks at the local seafood markets. “It’s almost just like fishing in the ocean,” Jack said to Emperor, not realizing his crime.
Emperor stared, alarmed. Jack’s “luck” seemed suspiciously close to trouble.
“Jack,” he hissed, “those fish belong to someone!”
Jack blinked slowly. “Do they?” he asked.
Emperor hurried away before anyone noticed. The city felt louder than the ocean. Cars screeched. People shouted. Lights flashed. He dodged feet and wheels and puddles that were not ocean water at all.
“I’m here, everyone!” Emperor said to passersby, eventually reaching Times Square. “I was born in a penguin suit to sing the Opera. Don’t you love my one-of-a-kind bowtie? I knew I was bound for something special!”
However, most of the pedestrians shook their heads, wondering what a penguin was doing on the sidewalk. Emperor’s confidence wobbled, but he held his chin up anyway.
“Did you get out from the zoo?” one passerby said. “Maybe I should call the Central Park Zoo to get you!”
“You can go live in the Zoo, but I am destined for the Metropolitan Opera House,” Emperor said. The word destined sounded brave, but inside he felt a sting. What if someone really did call the zoo? What if destiny ended behind a fence?
He waddled down the street as fast as he could to escape the New Yorkers and their screeching cars. A motorist swerved too close, and Emperor startled. Jack swooped down and temporarily picked Emperor up to escape the out-of-control vehicle.
“Put me down!” Emperor sputtered when he was safe again.
“I am saving your famous life,” Jack replied grandly.
Emperor straightened his bowtie, steadied his breathing, and followed the directions from the pamphlet like they were sacred. Finally, he saw it: the Opera House’s five arched windows and fountain, elegant and bright.
“I’ve found it at last!” Emperor said, standing before the fountain. His heart pounded so hard he felt it in his flippers.
Walking to the front doors, he tried to budge them open until a manager said, “Sorry, we’re closed. Come back tomorrow for tickets. We open at 10 o’clock in the morning. I’m sure we can help you then . . .”
“Well, you see, I’m bound for the stage of the Opera House,” Emperor called through the glass. “Can you please tell me how to audition? I’ve been practicing for hours on my ice raft. I can start performing next week.”
Jack, who flew a little too close to the glass windows, knocked his head and nose-dived to the sidewalk.
“Penguins don’t sing, buddy! You’re living in a fantasy,” the manager said, turning off the lights.
The words hit Emperor like an icy wave. Penguins don’t sing. He had heard it from Pete, from his father, from strangers in Times Square—and now from the Opera House itself. For a moment, his throat tightened so hard he thought he might never sing again.
Then Emperor remembered the storm and the shrinking raft. He remembered Delfina’s steady eyes. He remembered how it felt when his voice returned after fear tried to steal it.
“Mister,” Emperor said, low and steady, “as a matter of fact, penguins do sing,” and he began to croon in front of the Opera House.
It was the most beautiful baritone voice to ever come out of a penguin, more pleasing than most human voices. Emperor felt the note bloom in his chest, and with it, his courage.
“He sings better than I do,” Jack said, popping his head up from the pavement. “Maybe this city is not for me!”
As Emperor kept singing, a crowd gathered near the fountain, watching with skepticism. Emperor kept his eyes forward. If he looked at their faces too much, doubt would creep back in.
“Is that a penguin? I thought penguins lived in Antarctica. Maybe he should go back there,” an onlooker said.
“But his voice is so gorgeous and stunning,” another listener said, closing her eyes to his melody.
“Maybe he’s a child in a penguin suit,” someone else from the crowd said. “You never know these days!”
Emperor’s note wavered for a split second when fear tried to pinch it. He tightened his breath the way he had practiced on the ocean. He told himself, Sing anyway. The note steadied, richer than before.
Then the manager burst through the doors of the Opera House, saying, “Come back tomorrow morning for an audition. You deserve a chance! Everyone should get a fair shot. A penguin who can sing might just attract crowds. Just don’t bring that bird with you! Didn’t anyone ever tell you that an albatross is bad luck?”
“Thank you very much, sir!” Emperor said. “One day, I will sing with Alberto Matteo. It’s my destiny!”
“I’m the best luck there is!” Jack said, screeching at the manager. “I’m nothing but good luck!”
“We’ll see about that,” the manager said. “Let’s take one thing at a time. I can get the penguin an audition.”
“By any chance, could I spend the night sleeping in the Opera House, please?” Emperor asked. He suddenly felt very small in a very large city.
“You want to sleep here now? Isn’t an audition enough?” the manager said, scratching his beard.
“I’ve come all the way from Antarctica on my ice raft, and I haven’t had a chance yet to build an igloo,” Emperor said in the most earnest tone imaginable. “I’m afraid to spend the night alone in New York City.”
“If anyone ever finds out that I did this for you, I could get fired!” the manager said, cracking the door open.
“Please, I beseech thee with the utmost gratitude for your fine service to singers everywhere!” Emperor said.
Before the manager could agree, Jack flew through the door, swinging it open for Emperor to enter.
“Fine! Go pick a soft chair in the audience! Just try not to snore! Be up and ready by 9 o’clock,” the manager said.
“Sir, I’m forever grateful for your kindness to me, a humble penguin,” Emperor said, rushing to find a chair.
“And make sure that bird stays out of trouble,” the manager warned. “I don’t want to clean up any bird droppings!”
After a cozy night’s sleep in the Opera House auditorium with Jack at his side, Emperor awoke with anticipation. The velvet chair felt like a cloud compared to ice, but his stomach still fluttered. What if this was the day his voice vanished again?
He stood inside the stage door, sweating nervously and sipping ice water while waiting for his audition. He practiced one quiet scale under his breath, just to prove he could.
“I will now sing the part of Count Almaviva from ‘The Marriage of Figaro,’” Emperor said, clearing his throat.
When he stepped into the light, the huge empty hall made him feel smaller than he had ever felt on the ocean. He inhaled—and for a terrifying second, panic clenched his chest and no sound came out.
No. Not now. After everything.
He pictured the storm. He pictured the sharks. He pictured Delfina saying, Sing anyway. He took another breath, deeper and steadier, and let the first note fly. Then the next. Then the next, each one stronger than fear.
After Emperor finished singing a gorgeous passage from the Opera, he bowed and stood with pride, though his flippers trembled.
“If you don’t mind me asking, are you a penguin?” the casting director said, taking notes on his clipboard.
“Yes, sir, I am definitely a penguin,” Emperor said, straightening his tail with the best of manners.
“At least you’re already dressed to sing the Opera,” the casting director said, adjusting his glasses and squinting at Emperor. “It seems like it might be meant to be. You wouldn’t believe the fashion problems that we have around here. I’ve had to find penguin suits and tailcoats last minute to fit vocalists, and it causes nightmares.”
“I can only imagine the problem that improper attire might cause,” Emperor said, flaunting his suit.
“Mr. Penguin, you’re hired. You’ll start today as Alberto Matteo’s understudy. He’s the best,” the director said.
Emperor’s heart felt as if it might burst right through his bowtie. “Sir, I knew it was meant to be! I was born with this suit—born to sing, even though no one has known it but me until now,” Emperor said. “I can’t wait to start! Please tell Mr. Matteo that he’s my hero and inspiration.”
“Put me down!” Mr. Matteo yelled, as Jack carried him by the collar to Emperor’s side. “Penguins don’t sing!”
Emperor’s beak dropped open. Alberto Matteo was real—real and furious and much heavier than a fish.
“Now, sing once more, Emperor,” Jack said as he dropped Mr. Matteo right in front of the penguin.
“Is that really a penguin?” Mr. Matteo said. “Are you kidding? How could a penguin be my understudy?”
“I already got the job, stupid bird!” Emperor snapped at Jack, swatting at his albatross wings. Then he faced Matteo, forcing his voice to stay respectful even as his heart hammered.
“Sir, may I show you?” he asked.
Then Emperor opened his mouth to croon out a lovely vocal passage with perfect pitch and vibrato. The sound filled the space between them like velvet.
“Gorgeous!” Mr. Matteo said, gasping in awe. “Absolutely amazing! I suppose everyone has to follow their dreams. It’s just like when I had to leave Italy to sing in America. I’ll teach you everything I know.”
Emperor felt warmth flood his chest—warmth that had nothing to do with weather. Someone who mattered believed him.
Months later, with the help of the Dominique dolphin family, Emperor’s own family arrived in the New York City Harbor on their own ice rafts, eager to see him perform. Emperor hurried to meet them, his flippers moving so fast he nearly slid.
The penguins waddled into the Opera House and sat in the front row for one of Emperor’s best performances. “We’re so proud of you!” his family cheered.
“Mama, Papa, Pete, Carol!” Emperor said, rushing from the stage after his performance. “I love you so much!”
Blubber cleared his throat, looking uncomfortable the way proud fathers sometimes do. “You… you made it,” he said gruffly. “And you sang anyway.”
Emperor’s eyes stung. “I was scared, Papa,” he admitted. “But I kept going.”
His father nodded once, slowly. “Maybe,” he said, “that’s what courage is.”
As time passed, Emperor the Penguin became as famous as Alberto Matteo, not only for his voice, but his suit. People came to see the penguin who sang opera. They pointed at his bowtie. They bought tickets. They listened.
It all started because Emperor had enough courage to go on a journey alone on an ice raft through uncharted waters—and enough heart to keep singing even when the world told him penguins don’t sing.
Copyright 2019 Jennifer Waters
Pen Jen's Inkwell Podcast version:
Once there was a penguin named Emperor born on the Antarctic coastline in the Southern Hemisphere. Unlike most penguins, he loved to sing—even if his penguin friends and family didn’t appreciate his talent.
“Aaah, aaah, la di da, la di da, la di da di da,” he sang, floating on the ice in the cold ocean water.
“Oh, Emperor, is that you singing again?” Pete, one of his brother penguins teased him. “Penguins don’t sing.”
“Penguins do sing!” Emperor argued. “I am a penguin, and I sing. That’s the only proof you need.”
Then, one cold winter day when the sun was shining bright, he came across a pamphlet drifting in the ocean.
“What’s this?” he said, grabbing it with his beak and pulling it onto his thick ice raft.
As he waddled to his igloo on the Antarctic shore, he spread the pamphlet across the ice-room table.
“‘The Marriage of Figaro’ by Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart at the Metropolitan Opera House on Broadway at Lincoln Center for the Performing Arts in New York City,” Emperor said, reading the pamphlet aloud.
As he studied the booklet, he noticed a male vocalist named Alberto Matteo dressed in a black and white outfit.
“He’s dressed like me in a penguin suit with tails,” Emperor exclaimed. “We both love to sing! I’m born to sing the Opera. I’m already wearing my own penguin suit. I must go to New York City to Lincoln Center!”
“What’s that Emperor?” Blubber, his father said, snatching the pamphlet from him. “This man is dressed like a penguin!”
“Papa, he sings the Opera, and so do I,” Emperor said, “I’m leaving for New York City in the morning!”
“What do you mean you’re leaving?” Oceana, his mother cried. “You’ll never make it! You’ll drown in the ocean.”
“Your voice is so beautiful,” said Carol, one of his sister penguins. “The whole world deserves to hear it!”
“Why can’t you just be a penguin like the rest of us?” his father grumbled. “Why do you have to be special?”
“You just bring me so much joy!” his mother said in tears. “You can’t leave us! You’re my baby.”
“I must be courageous and fulfill my destiny,” Emperor proclaimed. “Once I build an igloo in New York City and start a career, then the whole family can visit me in North America. Maybe you can even live there with me!”
The next morning, the Antarctic penguin community stood on the shoreline and waved goodbye to Emperor.
“Goodbye, everyone, goodbye!” he called, tearing up a bit, as he watched his family and friends shake their heads at him.
“I hope you make it to New York City in one piece,” his father chided him. “Who wants to sing the Opera?”
“I’m dressed in a penguin suit, too, but I don’t want to sing the Opera,” his brother Pete said. “I’ll miss you!”
“I love you so much!” his mother called. “I hope your ice raft doesn’t melt when you sail through the tropics.”
“I’m going to come visit you in New York City,” Carol cheered. “Send us a message when you get there.”
After saying farewell, Emperor set off on his ice raft with the pamphlet toward the Atlantic Ocean. Although the dark nights were lonely and stormy, he stayed on course for North America through the winds.
“I’m bound for the Metropolitan Opera House where I’m going to sing the Opera like Alberto Matteo,” he sang.
“You have such a lovely voice,” said a dolphin that suddenly swam to his side in the waves. “My name is Delfina Dominique. I like to sing, too. I’ve never met a penguin that can sing. What are you doing out here by yourself?”
“I’m on my way to New York Harbor to sing at the Metropolitan Opera House on Broadway,” Emperor said.
“Well, of course you are,” Delfina said. “I’ll swim with you until you get there to keep the sharks away!”
Delfina’s dolphin family jumped out of the waves, singing, and making merry noises in the ocean.
Every time a shark came near Emperor’s ice raft, the dolphins defended him with their hard noses, and Emperor just kept singing. “I’ll take the solos,” Emperor said, making up a new song with his adopted ocean family.
On one especially long day, an albatross smoking a cigar landed on his ice raft without introduction or warning.
“Oui, oui! My name is Jack. Might I just rest my wings awhile?” the bird said. “I’ve flown for days without landing.”
“Excuse me, sir, but this is my ice raft,” Emperor said, standing up straight and eyeing the bird.
“Any sailor that meets an albatross in the ocean is bound for disaster!” Delfina told Emperor in a whisper.
“Oh no! I have to make it to New York City. I can’t be delayed by a silly old bird,” Emperor said firmly.
“I’m the luckiest of all the albatross because I just met you,” the bird said. “I have nowhere else to land, so it’s better that we just get along on this journey. Besides, I can swoop down and grab fish from the ocean for you.”
“If you insist,” Emperor said, considering how tasty a fish or three might feel in his stomach.
As Delfina and her dolphin family kept the sharks away, Jack fished for supper for Emperor.
“I wonder how many octaves I have in my voice,” Emperor said, practicing his scales. “I’ve got at least three!”
He looked at his ice raft, noticing it had shrunk in half since leaving Antarctica. “I do hope I make it soon!”
“You can always ride on my back,” Delfina said, “but I think your ice raft will last. It’s soon winter in New York.”
Persevering through miles of endless ocean waves, Emperor arrived weeks later in the New York City Harbor. Although his ice raft had shrunk in the warmer Northern ocean water, he still had enough to stand on.
By that point, he had practiced hours and hours of Opera singing on the Atlantic Ocean waves. He floated around the Statue of Liberty and Ellis Island, paddling to shore alongside the Staten Island Ferry.
“I’m so sad to say goodbye to you and your family, Delfina,” Emperor said, bending over to hug her in the ocean.
“I’m going with you to the Opera,” Jack said, accidentally cracking what was left of the ice raft. “I’m good luck!”
“Oh, I don’t know about that, Jack,” Emperor said, balancing himself in the Harbor. As Jack popped a fish into Emperor’s mouth, he climbed up the steps of the New York Harbor pier. “I’ve arrived in one piece!”
“I’m going to send word to your family back home that you made it safely to New York,” Delfina said.
“Tell them that I love them and ask them to come see me perform,” he called as she swam away. “Thank you!”
As Emperor waddled his way into the big city, Jack searched for fish to pop into his mouth from fish tanks at the local seafood markets. “It’s almost just like fishing in the ocean,” Jack said to Emperor, not realizing his crime.
“I’m here everyone!” Emperor said to passersby, eventually reaching Times Square. “I was born in a penguin suit to sing the Opera. Don’t you love my one-of-a-kind bowtie? I knew I was bound for something special!”
However, most of the pedestrians shook their heads wondering what a penguin was doing on the sidewalk.
“Did you get out from the zoo?” one passerby said. “Maybe I should call the Central Park Zoo to get you!”
“You can go live in the Zoo, but I am destined for the Metropolitan Opera House,” the penguin said.
He waddled down the street as fast as he could to escape the New Yorkers and their screeching cars. Jack swooped down and temporarily picked Emperor up to escape an out-of-control motorist.
“I’ve found it at last!” the penguin said, standing in front of the Opera House’s five arched windows and fountain.
Walking to the front doors, he tried to budge them open until a manager said: “Sorry, we’re closed. Come back tomorrow for tickets. We open at 10 o’clock in the morning. I’m sure we can help you then . . .”
“Well, you see, I’m bound for the stage of the Opera House,” the penguin called through the glass. “Can you please tell me how to audition? I’ve been practicing for hours on my ice raft. I can start performing next week.”
Jack, who flew a little too close to the glass windows, knocked his head and nose-dived to the sidewalk.
“Penguins don’t sing buddy! You’re living in a fantasy,” the manager said, turning off the lights.
“Mister, as a matter of fact, penguins do sing,” Emperor said, crooning in front of the Opera House.
It was the most beautiful baritone voice to ever come out of a penguin, more pleasing than most human voices.
“He sings better than I do,” Jack said, popping his head up from the pavement. “Maybe this city is not for me!”
As the penguin kept singing, a crowd gathered near the fountain, watching with skepticism.
“Is that a penguin? I thought penguins lived in Antarctica. Maybe he should go back there,” an onlooker said.
“But his voice is so gorgeous and stunning,” another listener said, closing her eyes to his melody.
“Maybe he’s a child in a penguin suit,” someone else from the crowd said. “You never know these days!”
Then, the manager burst through the doors of the Opera House, saying: “Come back tomorrow morning for an audition. You deserve a chance! Everyone should get a fair shot. A penguin who can sing might just attract crowds. Just don’t bring that bird with you! Didn’t anyone ever tell you that an albatross is bad luck?”
“Thank you very much, sir!” Emperor said. “One day, I will sing with Alberto Matteo. It’s my destiny!”
“I’m the best luck there is!” Jack said, screeching at the manager. “I’m nothing but good luck!”
“We’ll see about that,” the manager said. “Let’s take one thing at a time. I can get the penguin an audition.”
“By any chance, could I spend the night sleeping in the Opera House, please?” the penguin said to the manager.
“You want to sleep here now? Isn’t an audition enough?” the manager said, scratching his beard.
“I’ve come all the way from Antarctica on my ice raft, and I haven’t had a chance yet to build an igloo,” the penguin said in the most earnest tone imaginable. “I’m afraid to spend the night alone in New York City.”
“If anyone ever finds out that I did this for you, I could get fired!” the manager said, cracking the door open.
“Please, I beseech thee with the utmost gratitude for your fine service to singers everywhere!” Emperor said.
Before the manager could agree, the albatross flew through the door, swinging it open for Emperor to enter.
“Fine! Go pick a soft chair in the audience! Just try not to snore! Be up and ready by 9 o’clock,” the manager said.
“Sir, I’m forever grateful for your kindness to me, a humble penguin,” Emperor said, rushing to find a chair.
“And make sure that bird stays out of trouble,” the manager said. “I don’t want to clean up any bird droppings!”
After a cozy night sleep in the Opera House auditorium with Jack at his side, Emperor awoke with anticipation.
He stood inside the stage door, sweating nervously and sipping ice water while waiting for his audition.
“I will now sing the part of Count Almaviva from ‘The Marriage of Figaro,’” Emperor said, clearing his throat.
After the penguin finished singing a gorgeous passage from the Opera, he bowed and stood with pride.
“If you don’t mind me asking, are you a penguin?” the casting director said, taking notes on his clipboard.
“Yes, sir, I am definitely a penguin,” Emperor said, straightening his tail with the best of manners.
“At least you’re already dressed to sing the Opera,” the casting director said, adjusting his glasses and squinting at Emperor. “It seems like it might be meant to be. You wouldn’t believe the fashion problems that we have around here. I’ve had to find penguin suits and tailcoats last minute to fit vocalists, and it causes nightmares.”
“I can only imagine the problem that improper attire might cause,” Emperor said, flaunting his suit.
“Mr. Penguin, you’re hired. You’ll start today as Alberto Matteo’s understudy. He’s the best,” the director said.
“Sir, I knew it was meant to be! I was born with this suit—born to sing, even though no one has known it but me until now,” Emperor said. “I can’t wait to start! Please tell Mr. Matteo that he’s my hero and inspiration.”
“Put me down!” Mr. Matteo yelled, as Jack carried him by the collar to Emperor’s side. “Penguins don’t sing!”
“Now, sing once more, Emperor,” Jack said as he dropped Mr. Matteo right in front of the penguin.
“Is that really a penguin?” Mr. Matteo said. “Are you kidding? How could a penguin be my understudy?”
“I already got the job, stupid bird!” Emperor said to Jack, swatting at his albatross wings.
Then he opened his mouth to croon out a lovely vocal passage with perfect pitch and vibrato.
“Gorgeous!” Mr. Matteo said, gasping in awe. “Absolutely amazing! I suppose everyone has to follow their dreams. It’s just like when I had to leave Italy to sing in America. I’ll teach you everything I know.”
Months later, with the help of the Dominique dolphin family, Emperor’s own family arrived in the New York City Harbor on their own ice rafts, eager to see him perform. The penguins waddled into the Opera House and sat in the front row for one of Emperor’s best performances. “We’re so proud of you!” his family cheered.
“Mama, Papa, Pete, Carol!” Emperor said, rushing from the stage after his performance. “I love you so much!”
As time passed, Emperor the Penguin became as famous as Alberto Matteo, not only for his voice, but his suit.
It all started because Emperor had enough courage to go on a journey alone on an ice raft through unchartered waters.
Copyright 2019 Jennifer Waters
https://soundcloud.com/jen-waters/mr-penguin-sings-the-opera-narrated-by-jen-waters
