by Kathi Appelt
Best-ever best friends. That was Zada and Asiye. The A to the Z and back again.
11 The Escarpment
1910
All of a sudden, a stream of StopitStopitStopits flew from the top of Zada’s head and flat-out stopped Zada mid-story. Wims was in a state. He had gone from weepy to incensed in less time than it took for a jerboa to snap up a seed.
Beulah, on the other hand, was having a pout fest. Zada didn’t need to see her to tell that her chin was drooping.
“Do we need an intervention?” demanded the camel.
“I just wanted to give him a lick,” said Beulah. “It was an experiment to see if it tickled.”
“It didn’t. It was slobbery,” cried Wims. “Now I have slobber on me.”
“Oh dear,” said Zada.
But, okay, bird slobber? Who knew there was such a thing? Zada had to chew on the inside of her cheek to keep from snorting.
“A LOT OF SLOBBER!” Wims shouted.
He was incensed. Put out. Piqued. Zada curled her lips together as tight as she could and squeaked, “I can see how slobber would be a problem.”
Things might have gone so wrong from there, but fortunately, it seemed that Zada’s squeaky voice caught the oppositionists’ attention, and they momentarily forgot why they were upset. And as so often happens, when one baby bird begins to laugh, so too the other, and if their Honorary Auntie sums it all up with a stupendous belch, so much the better. Which was what happened.
But before we move on, let’s just say that a rule about licking was instituted: Keep your licks to yourself. It was a good rule, because seriously, who wants to be covered in bird slobber?
12 Smyrna, Turkey
1850
So, birdlings, where were we? Ahh, yes, the camel nursery. Even though it was so long ago, it was easy for Zada to revisit those early days, so full of zigzags and gambols and lullabies.
Every day Teodor checked on them. “How are the Pasha’s racing camels today?” he’d ask. As it happened, both Zada and Asiye were born into the elite racing stables, a fact that made them both stand up a bit taller, hold their heads a bit higher.
Teodor told them, “As soon as you are three, you’ll be ready to try out for the Racing Corps, the Pasha’s fastest camels in all of Turkey, and even beyond.” He told them all about the racers in Arabia and Crimea and Egypt, and always the Pasha’s camels won. Zada and Asiye could hardly wait.
“We’ll be the fastest ever!” announced Zada.
Asiye agreed. “We’ll fly right past those other camels.”
But in the meantime, Teodor brushed them until their fur was as soft as silk. “Güzel develer,” he told them. Beautiful camels. Afterward, he gave them each a handful of fat, juicy figs.
In those early days and weeks and months, the two camel calves grew quickly. In the mornings, Teodor opened their stall doors and turned them out into an open pasture filled with sweet grass. It was large enough for a dozen camels or so to have plenty of room to graze, and to the delight of Zada and Asiye, plenty of room to gallop. In the coolness of the early morning, the two friends stretched their legs and set off at a trot to the far fence, not too far away from their mothers, but a good distance for running. And run they did, their copper coats shining in the Anatolian sun.
There they’d be, munching on a bush, when something like a bolt of electricity zipped between them.
“Zada!” Asiye called out. “Let’s fly!”
“Asiye!” Zada replied. “Fly, fly, fly!”
And whoosh! Off they went, necks stretched out, long legs reaching forward, zooming from one end of the paddock to another, zigging and zagging between the other camels. Their feet barely even touched the ground, that was how fast they went.
“Look at me,” cried Zada, picking up her pace.
“Faster than a gazelle!” shouted Asiye, stretching her stride.
“Look at you,” replied Zada.
“Faster than a hawk!” said Asiye.
The two continued, back and forth, round and round. Faster than fire. Faster than lightning. Faster than spit. (That last always made them chortle, and also… well… spit! Which is definitely a camel thing, and it starts early. Just saying.)
On warm summer nights, Teodor left the stall doors open so that they could enjoy the cool breezes that floated in from the Aegean Sea. In the darkness, they stood next to each other, their heads resting on each other’s backs. Above them, the Camel Constellation gazed down on them.
It was led by the Camel Chief. He was easy to discern because the star that formed his eye was somewhat blue, bluer than the other stars, at any rate. Zada only had to locate that star, and she could find the rest of the caravan. Dromedaries, Bactrians, the ancient Camelops, the gigantic Titanotylopus. They lined up against the very ceiling of the universe, heading east, always east, as if they were walking straight into the rising sun.
While they stood there, watching the stars, Asiye said, “I have a wish.”
“A wish?” said Zada.
“Yes,” said Asiye. “I wish I could run so fast that the wind could lift me straight up to the sky.”
“Asiye!” said Zada. “That is an excellent idea.”
And then, at the same time, they said, “We could become stars!”
“The brightest stars,” said Asiye. And from then on, their motto was “En parlak yildiz ol.”
Become the brightest star.
13 The Escarpment
1910
Zada shifted her weight. There was a fair amount of squirming coming from the denizens of the head-top habitat.
Sure enough… “Auntie,” said Beulah, in a rather insistent voice, followed by an even more insistent chuff. “Where is Mommy?” Which was, of course, echoed by Wims. “Where is Daddy?”
Oof, Zada, thinkthinkthink. What was she supposed to say when she had nary an inkling of an idea about Perlita and Pard’s whereabouts? She didn’t think that telling the babies that their parents had been eaten by a gigantic mountain (which she hope hope hoped wasn’t true) would be at all helpful.
But then Wims saved the day without even realizing it. He said, “I think we are hiding from them.”
Hide-and-seek! Of course. And why not?
Beulah picked up on it. “We sure are good hiders, aren’t we?”
“And Mommy and Daddy are good seekers,” said Wims, with just the barest hint of a crack in his chirp.
“Best hiders and seekers ever,” agreed Zada.
And for a reason she couldn’t explain, maybe it was the simple bravery that the two babies showed, she felt like the proudest Honorary Auntie ever.
14 Smyrna, Turkey
1851–52
Being proud reminds us of two other striplings: Zada and Asiye. Well before their humps grew out, Teodor would scratch them—the best, best scratches—with his large hands and tell them, “Someday, you will both make the Pasha proud.” And then he would add, his smile as warm as honey, “And me too, my beauties.”
Zada and Asiye wanted to make the Pasha proud, but more than that, they wanted to make Teodor proud. After all, Teodor took care of them. They had never even met the Pasha. Zada wasn’t sure she’d recognize him if he stood right in front of her.
“Is he short?” Zada wondered.
“He could be tall,” said Asiye.
“Does he like to sing?” wondered Zada.
“Maybe.”
“Or maybe not.”
“It’s possible.”
“Does he wear a cape?” Zada asked. There was a long quiet spell between them. They absolutely knew nothing about the Pasha. But then…
“He might be prickly,” said Asiye.
“He could be peevish,” added Zada.
“What if he is the prickly peevish Pasha?” replied Zada.
Long pause… longer pause…
… here it comes…
… bbllleeauurrrrrrppphhhhmomomo (go ahead, you try to spell it), which was followed by a frenzy of gamboling.
With Teodor, it was different. Unlike with the Pasha, they knew Teodor, they knew the smell of his hands—like mint, from the mint that he added to his tea. They knew the sound of his voice, the way he hummed while he worked. And importantly, he was calm and gentle when he taught them the rules of the racers.
Most of the official regulations were handled by the jockeys, typically the younger sons from the upper-crust families, including the sons of the Pasha himself. They decided things like the location of the track, the length of the track, the number of camels in a specific race, the age groups of the camels, what color these jockey’s racing clothes should be, all those technical issues. It was a lot of jockeying.
But Teodor had special rules for his special camels:
# 1: NO BUMPING. (YOU’D BE SURPRISED HOW MUCH CAMELS ENJOY BUMPING INTO ONE ANOTHER. THEY’RE LIKE BUMPER CARS, ONLY CAMELS.)
# 2: NO STICKING YOUR LEG OUT AND TRIPPING YOUR FELLOW RACERS. (YOU MIGHT ALSO BE SURPRISED TO KNOW THAT CAMELS CAN USE THEIR BACK LEGS TO KICK SIDEWAYS, ESPECIALLY IF YOU ARE, SAY, STANDING NEXT TO ONE WHO SUDDENLY DECIDES TO KICK YOU.)
# 3: ABOVE ALL… NO SPITTING. (THIS JUST MEANS BEING POLITE. THAT’S ALL, REALLY.)
For the next three years, the young duo ran and ran and ran, from one end of the corral to the other, all the while growing stronger and faster.
“Let’s fly,” cried Asiye.
“Fly, fly, fly!” replied Zada.
And off they went, two young camels, racing each other, racing the wind.
15 Mountain Lion Territory
1910
Zada couldn’t help but notice that there was another round of fidgeting coming from the direction of her tuft.
“Hello,” said Zada. “What are you two doing up there?”
Fidget. Fidget.
“Beulah?”
Fidget. Fidget. Fidget.
“Wims?”
Zada waited.
Finally Beulah said, “We’re practicing our side-kicks.”
And that was followed by Wims, “Yeah.”
And that was followed by the inevitable, “Ouch!”
“Don’t make me come up there,” said Zada, which was of course impossible, because how could she climb onto her own head?
But more importantly, she realized, the sniffles seemed to have abated, at least for the moment.
Also, for the moment at least, there was still no sign of Pecos de Leon. Zada knew she had to keep her guard up, though. It was so dark beyond the cave, the wind was roaring so loud, that a mountain lion could easily slink right in. The old cat was sneaky, which was why he was old. Zada was old too, that was true. What was also true was that her memory felt as fresh as a purple sage bush after a rain.
As if they had telepathy, the chicks stopped their side-kicking and chirped into Zada’s ears, a single voice in each. Stereo. “Auntie, tell us more.”
“All righty, then,” she said. “Hunker down.”
And just as she began, a stray willy-willy slipped into the cave, made a brief appearance, then disappeared; and for the most fleeting of seconds, Zada thought she detected the faint scent of figs.
16 Ephesus, Turkey
1853
It had been a long time since Zada had eaten figs, but her tongue still remembered the texture of their smooth skins, and the sweet honey taste of them in her mouth. Teodor always kept a handful of them in his pocket.
Mmm… if only…
But we digress.
One morning Teodor announced, “Time for a field trip.” It seems that, as part of their training, Teodor wanted Zada and Asiye to practice carrying weight on their backs, as well as to strengthen their legs for distances. Endurance and strength—necessary elements for the race.
Dealing with crowds was also part of the plan. Even though Teodor had frequently led his camels through the streets of Smyrna to explore the markets and the fishing piers, those sites were not far from the nursery barn and the familiar corral.
They needed some distance training.
So Teodor strapped on their saddles and led Zada and Asiye to Ephesus, an ancient city just north of Smyrna. The Pasha’s two young daughters sat astride the camels’ backs.
Zada was amazed by the girls’ fluty voices, and even more amazed by the open countryside. On either side of the road, there were whole fields of tulips, bursting with reds and oranges and yellows. The road itself was full of travelers, some on foot, some on donkeys, some on horses, many on camels. There were carts filled with sheep’s wool and dried fish, and wagons loaded with timber and barrels of wine, some pushed, some pulled. Mile after mile, it seemed like there was something new with every step.
Several hours later, when they finally arrived at Ephesus, enormous statues, some with wings, that were more than a thousand years old, carved by the Greeks, greeted them.
Zada took one look at the giant stony figures, especially the ones with no heads, and swallowed hard. The giants loomed over them, massive. Zada started to shiver. She had never seen anyone that large… motionless… no head. Her whole being said, Run, Zada, run!
Meanwhile Asiye, somehow not concerned by the imposing figures, nudged Zada with her nose and said, “Don’t worry. They can’t see you.”
Zada snorted. Hah! A huge ball of regurgitated wheat and bulgur rose from her three stomachs, up her neck, and… stand back, people.
“Zounds,” said Asiye. “That was impressive!” All at once, the statues just seemed silly. And Zada felt braver. As for the Pasha’s daughters, they were aghast. Let’s face it, a camel’s spitball is really a mass of food that has been chewed, swallowed, chewed some more, and then steeped in gastric juices and finally launched.
With aplomb, we might add.
It could make a Pasha’s princess turn a little pale.
17 The Escarpment
1910
All the talk of wings (albeit of the marble type) must have stirred something in the breasts of our young aeronauts, because the next thing Zada heard was:
“I sure do, sure do, sure do want to fly,” said Wims.
“Sure do. Me too,” said Beulah.
Zada nearly said, “Well, of course you will.” But in fact, she had no idea how birds learned to fly. And… if… what if… oh, she could hardly think of it, but if Perlita and Pard never found them… well… what then? If the kestrels could not get liftoff, so many things could happen to them, and none of them were good.
Though falcons were like speeding arrows in the air, on terra firma they were easy bait for any number of bird-eating creatures:
bobcats,
wolves,
coyotes,
snakes,
other birds.
The list was loooooooooooonnnnngggggg.
Right then, Zada decided that she would make the babies stay in their penthouse apartment forever before she would let them loose in the wild. But how she could enforce that, she had no idea.
She looked out into the blowing dust. Where, oh where were Perlita and Pard? If the haboob could take out huge cottonwood trees… No! She was not going to go there.
The storm seemed to hear Zada’s thoughts. It circled the rocky haven and let loose a chorus of howls and growls. Inside the den, the dust refused to settle down, shivering in the static air.
Beulah shivered too. Then Wims shivered. They wanted the wind to stop blowing. They wanted to go back to their nest in the cottonwood tree.
“We want our mommy and daddy,” they whimpered. So much wanting.
Sniffle, sniffle, sniffle. The old camel nodded her head up and down, up and down, in a gentle rocking motion. Maybe that would help?
But rather than comforting the chicks, it only seemed to make matters worse. A whole array of hiccups and coughs rose up between Zada’s ears, punctuated by a torrent of peeppeeppeeppeeppeeppeeppeeps.
So Zada, right then and there, made a promise she wasn’t sure that she could keep.
“Someday you’ll fly too, my excellent caravanners,” she said, in her mos
t comforting voice. But as soon as she said so, she could only hope for a star upon which to make a wish, because how could she make such a shaky guarantee, when there was none?
Then again, hadn’t she and Asiye promised each other they would someday fly? Why, yes, yes they had.
18 Smyrna, Turkey
1853
As it turns out, the camels were not the only animals in the Pasha’s stables. There were also horses. They were smaller than the camels, and a lot more sensitive. They stamped their hooves a lot, snorted a lot, and they liked to shake their heads in ways that made their silky manes look like something the gods granted only to horses. All flowy and showy. Who does that?
Not Zada. Not Asiye.
And besides: good news, sports fans, because… Halime. Naime. Rezan. Tarkan. Kahraman. Elif. Melek. The Pasha’s older racers. Counting the newcomers, Zada and Asiye, there were nine, all of whom spent a good deal of time rubbing and bumping into each other. Seriously, it’s a camel thing. Do not stand between camels; you might get squished.
So Zada and Asiye didn’t have to pay attention at all to the snooty horses. Hah!
Even better news? Each of the nine camels came with his or her own semi-euphonic voice, which meant that whenever they lifted their heads into the air and started singing together, they created a stupefying camel chorale, the sound of which drove the horses absolutely bonkers.
What does a singing camel sound like? Well, it depends upon the camel, but the timbre and range goes from something like a low, rumbly drone, which if you were holding a glass bottle in your hand, might make it explode, to a higher-pitched huff-huff-bbbblllllwwaaaalllaaaggggrrrrrllll sort of noise, one that’s impossible to truly replicate with mere letters on a page, trust me.
