by Kathi Appelt
It would take only a single leap, followed by a single swipe, and three kestrels would be cat chow. Plus, considering their perch, Zada’s face might be added to the menu.
And-and-and-and… where was Perlita? Why wasn’t she with Pard? At the same time, Pard picked up on her thoughts. He had the same question, “Where is Perlita?” Which, of course, set off a cacophony of questions. “Where is Mommy? Isn’t she with you? Where’s Mommy? I want Mommy!” Peeepeeeppeeeppeeepeeeppp!
Focus, Zada, focus. What she really needed to do was to direct Pecos de Leon’s attention to anything but the kestrels. She was not going to allow them to become Pecos de Leon’s midday snack. Not!
Think. Think-think-think.
And then, just as she had earlier, she could hear Asiye’s voice, as clearly as if she were right there in the cave: “You know what to do,” she said. “Tell him a story.”
44 The Escarpment
1910
Zada took a deep, dusty breath. “Hey now, hey now,” she said. “Have I told you the story about a brave young mountain lion who rescued a camel…?” The chicks instantly paused. Pecos lifted his chin, almost imperceptibly, which meant he was listening. “Yes, a very brave mountain lion…,” and she commenced to tell a long and highly exaggerated tale about a young, handsome cat who made an entire herd of mustangs stop in their tracks, mere moments before they pummeled a terrified camel who had frozen in fear at their charge.
“That mountain lion saw the distressed camel. He stood up on his back legs and let out a terrible RRROOOAAARRR. A roar so mighty that every single mustang in the river valley turned around and ran so fast in the other direction that the buzzards soaring overhead later swore that they sprouted wings and disappeared into the big, blue yonder, never to be seen again. Or at least never to be seen in that particular spot.”
Zada finished with, “Not only did the lion make those horses turn tail and run, he also saved the petrified camel, who was so afraid she couldn’t stop shaking.”
She paused.
“The end,” she added.
For a moment, there was a very long silence. Not even Wims and Beulah made a peep. Even Pard was extremely quiet. Finally…
“I love that story,” said Pecos de Leon. And with that, the old cat yawned. “Now, if you’ll move out of my way, I’d like to take a nap.” He took another long stretch, and then he sauntered right past Zada. And the next thing they knew, he was curled up in a large ball, nestled into the back of the escarpment, and purring like a kitten.
“This would be a good time to take our leave,” Zada whispered. Whereupon Pard added, “To the Mission.” He was praying that Perlita was already there. But he did not say that out loud. He didn’t have to.
45 Somewhere
1910
Bounce-bounce-tumble-tumble-roll-roll-whirlwhirlwhirl… ouch! ouch! OUCH!
“Ttthhepp,” cried Perlita. Which translated as, “Helllpp!” It seemed like a million years had passed. She actually had no idea where she was—and even though the wind from the haboob had died down, the tumbleweed itself seemed to be gaining speed. This was largely because it had tumbled over the edge of a sloping hillside, and the downward trajectory, combined with the force of gravity, was tugging it toward the bottom of the hill.
Over and over, she rolled, top to bottom to top to bottom in a vicious head-over-heels cycle. Perlita tried again to call out, but to no avail.
She couldn’t even puff, that was how stuck she was.
She was filled with if-onlys. If only that hill would stop sloping. If only her kilter weren’t so off. If only Pard would come to her rescue. If all that happened, maybe then she could escape the confines of her rolling cage. And then, why, why, why, she’d fly soooooooo fast!
Well—that depends upon how you define flight, because what our kestrel mama couldn’t see was that the bottom of the hill wasn’t exactly the bottom. It was actually a ledge, and with the tumbleweed picking up speed, it was pretty clear to everyone except Perlita that she was about to fly, all right. But not in the way in which she had grown accustomed.
46 The Open Desert
1910
“Hang on, peeparonis,” was what Zada told Pard and the chicks as they left the shelter of the escarpment. Zada was hardly prepared for the thickness of the air. Visibility was barely three feet in any given direction. It seriously limited her navigation skills. And it was making her mighty thirsty, too. She actually couldn’t recall ever being so thirsty. And if she, a ship of the desert, was this parched, imagine how thirsty the babies were!
Oh, she hoped that Mission fountain was working.
She was fairly certain their destination was in the same direction that the wind had blown, which should—if she was remembering correctly—take them in the same direction in which Perlita had been hurled by the haboob. Maybe they might find her along the way! If Pard had survived, then why not Perlita?
“Hang on,” she told her bird crew once more, and with one foot in front of another, Zada, proud member of the Pasha’s elite stables, stepped through the suffocating air, hoping like everything that she was on the correct course, and heartily, oh so heartily, wishing that they might find Perlita, and if they did, that she would be all good.
One thing Zada knew about Perlita: though diminutive, she was also puissant. She had survived other death-defying adventures, including once being chased by a particularly ravenous bear and escaping to tell about it. She had also been nicked on the edge of her wing by a diamondback rattler and still, after a long bit of rehab, was able to fly again. So the odds were in Perlita’s favor. Zada believed that.
She lifted her head and faced north, following the traces of the wind. She hadn’t gone more than a few yards when Wims piped up, “Are we there yet?” which was echoed by Beulah, “How much longer?” And soon their little voices were like a chant:
“Are we there yet?”
“How much longer?”
“Are we there yet?”
“How much longer?”
“Arewethereyet?Howmuchlonger?Arewethereyet?Howmuchlonger?”
At last, after the ten thousandth “Are we there yet?” she said, “Are you good for a story?” And not for the first time, it seemed that responding to a question with a question was a good answer.
47 West Texas
1870–90
For millenia, there have been herds of wild camels in the world. There is a rare species of Bactrians in Mongolia’s mountains, for example, that is extremely shy, allowing itself to be captured on camera only by happenstance. There is a relatively recent herd of feral camels in the outback of Australia, having originally been introduced to that country about the same time that our camels were introduced in Texas. And of course, there are wild camels across the continents of Africa and Asia, descendants of Ice Age Camelops, gigantic camel ancestors who traipsed over the very top of the world from North America via the ice bridge and into Asia. They’ve been wilding for centuries.
But Zada and Asiye belonged to none of those woolly congregations. Before Teodor set the two loose on the banks of the Pecos River, right where it joined its bigger sister, the Rio Grande, he had always been there.
He had kissed them on their cheeks, which tickled. He had given them handfuls of figs. He had walked beside them, mile after mile. He was their personal person! And they were his favorite camels. Güzel develer.
But just then? Zada and Asiye were lost camels. No matter how loud their calls, there was no answer. Teodor was gone. Vanished. As if he had never been there at all.
From the banks of the river, Zada and Asiye looked out at the landscape, so wide and open, beneath the dome of the endless sky, a landscape that stretched and stretched, and despite the pair’s mighty size, both of them felt smaller than the smallest horned toad. An expansive landscape has that power—to make one feel small, even someone who is big. They had no idea which way to go, or how far, or how long.
A big, empty, Teodor-sized missing made its way inside the t
wo of them. They waited on the river’s banks for days and days, hoping against hope that maybe he would return. He never did.
And at last, one early morning, well before dawn, Zada looked up at the starry sky, only to see the Chief Camel staring down at her.
She looked at Asiye and said, “I think we just go.”
And Asiye replied, “Field trip!”
And as if the desert itself realized that two of its own had returned, after waiting for over ten thousand years, it spread itself out and welcomed them. It provided all the prickly pears and water and stars that they needed.
* * *
“Auntie, did you and Asiye ever see the other camels?” Wims interrupted.
“Not one,” she replied, “even though we looked and looked.”
That was true. Zada and Asiye, in all their many field trips—through the canyons, the arroyos, the high mountains—had kept an eye open for their camel compadres.
But no matter how far they roamed, or how much they searched, or how often they called out, Zada and Asiye never saw Teodor or another camel again.
“Not even Halime?” asked Beulah.
“Not even Rezan?” asked Wims.
“Not even Elif or Tarkan or Naime?”
“Not even Melek? Or Kahraman?” they asked together.
“Nary a one,” said Zada. And for a moment, she felt her heart squeeze. She was old, very old for a camel, nearing her sixtieth year. It was unlikely that her camel friends had still survived. And not for the first time, she couldn’t help but wonder if she was the only camel left in this big desert.
And then Wims said something so sweet, her squeezed heart nearly cracked. “Auntie?” he said, in his most sincere voice ever. “When I learn to fly, I’m going to look for them.”
“Me too, me too,” said Beulah.
And maybe it was a stray beam of sunlight that peeked out from the clouds, or it could have been that invisible drop of water in the corner of Zada’s eye, but all at once, the dust in the air sparkled.
48 The Open Desert
1910
As much as he didn’t want to leave Wims and Beulah again, Pard couldn’t wait one more minute to look for Perlita. The babies were safe for now. He used the bridge of Zada’s nose as a launchpad. “I’m going to fly ahead and see what I can see,” he announced.
You might think this would cause the sniffles. You could assume that regrets and sorrows would follow their father’s imminent departure. But nooooo. Break out the sand fleas, because instead of the expected moment-of-morose, there arose such a clatter that Zada’s eyes began to cross.
Hoppity-hoppity-hoppity. Bippity-bippity-bippity! The twins danced from one side of her face to the other. “Hooray for Daddy!” cried Beulah. “Let’s hear it for Mommy,” shouted Wims. Next, they broke into a tap-tap-tap-KICK, tap-tap-tap-KICK. You’d think that they were the original Rangerettes.
Pard did one last flyby, then rocketed into the sky. “I’ll meet you at the Mission,” he called. Zada understood. From all the way in and back again, she knew that Pard would keep searching for Perlita until he couldn’t search any longer.
“See you there,” she replied, with as much confidence as she could muster. She could feel the babies giving him a winged salute, their chests fully puffed out.
As he quickly faded from sight, the party on the rooftop went high velocity. We’re talking about a full-on bluster of baby-birds-gone-bananas.
Finally Zada couldn’t take it any longer. Not one more hippity-bippity second! Her head pounded. Her ears rang. Her nerves were S.H.O.T. There was only so much an old camel could take. Wits’ end was wits’ end.
“Have I told you,” Zada said, trying to calm the crazies, “about the conquistadors?”
Whooaaa. What?
Silence.
Long silence.
Blessed silence.
At last, she heard Beulah: “Auntie, are we on a field trip?”
Zada paused. “Why, yes, now that you mention it, we are on a field trip.”
“To the Mission!” said Beulah.
“Hooray!” said Wims.
Beulah piped up, “Field trips are the best.”
“Especially when there are conquistadors,” said Wims.
“Yes,” said Zada. “Especially when there are conquistadors.”
49 Somewhere
1910
Like a pinball, after flying off the edge of a very deep canyon, Perlita hit first one rocky ledge, then another, followed by a too-close encounter with a huge stone outcropping.
Seriously? I mean… Where was the bottom? Where was the top? Where was Pard? Every blooming feather was ruffled.
It was fortunate that the tumbleweed was springy, and that Perlita was light, because despite the height of the fall, her landing was relatively gentle. And thank heavens for that. It seemed that in the midst of all the bad luck that had befallen her, that was at least a small bit of good luck.
And another small bit followed—in that last big bounce, the infernal tumbleweed had stopped its infernal tumbling and seemed to be wedged between a couple of large rocks. She wasn’t moving, so hallelujah and pass the potato bugs.
She gave a little shimmy, wedged as she was, but nope. The tumbleweed was S.T.U.C.K. It was not budging. She decided to take inventory:
Feet? Sore.
Belly? Queasy.
Head? Achy.
Wings? Ouch.
Mouth full of grit? Yep.
Anything broken? Nope, nope, and nope.
Victory! (Sort of.)
And wouldn’t you know it, the biggest win of all happened next because out of the gritty air, Perlita heard the best news ever—it was the sound of her very own name, being called by her very own Pard. At last! And finally!
About time!
“Ttthhmmeeerrree,” she mumbled, her mouth still full of sand. But it was enough. The cavalry had arrived, and it looked a lot like a very determined American kestrel, who, if you held him in your hand, you might not even realize he was there, weighing in at a little over three ounces. But soon enough, you would know that what you were holding in your palm was Pard, cousin to the great falcons of history and legend, the gyrfalcons, the peregrines. He owned it. He started pecking away at that tumbleweed as if his very wife depended upon it. And she did.
50 The Drought
1887
As Zada and Asiye explored the wilds of West Texas, they tried never to take the same field trip twice. “What fun would that be?” asked Asiye. “No fun at all,” replied Zada. And wherever they went, there was always plenty of cactus to munch on, and an adequate supply of water. They never got too far from one of the rivers, or any of the small creeks that flowed through the narrow canyons.
But there came a year when it just stopped raining. In normal times, there wasn’t a lot of rainfall in West Texas as it was. But from 1885 to 1887 the rainfall was reduced to a whisper. As soon as the drops left the clouds, they evaporated before they hit the parched ground.
There was a small bit of water still in the rivers, but it had turned salty in the dry heat, heat that seemed never-ending. Not only that, but when there is little water, the river’s banks become exhibition grounds for quarreling, and those quarrels are usually won by the fiercer creatures, primarily the bears and mountain lions and wolves. Though Zada and Asiye were large, they were still more prey than predator. In fact, they weren’t predatory at all, with the exception of the occasional cricket, and those were usually eaten by accident.
So our camels went on the march to try to discover some other source of water. First they drank their fill from the brackish river, just to give them some time, and off they set. They went slowly, keeping their heads lowered to try to detect any traces of an underground spring, or maybe a lost basin that might accidentally hold some leftover rainwater.
Days passed and the heat grew stronger. The dryness started to eat away at them. Finally, after a too long and too hot day of wandering, their spirits faded, their bodies ache
d, Asiye said what they both knew: “We may have gone too far from the river.”
Zada’s heart sank. She had nothing to add to that. Instead, she folded herself onto the ground and waited for the sun to set. Asiye settled in right next to her, and soon enough they were blanketed with a trillion gazillion quadrillion stars. And there, just above them, the blue eye of the Chief Camel blinked at them. Together, they watched the Starry River carry the Camel Caravan across the sky.
Camels are made for stars. You will rarely find a camel choosing to live in a forest or a city or a swamp, or any other place where the sky is not wide open. Not willingly, at any rate. From their very beginnings, they have slept beneath stars. They’ve seen the Pleiades scatter their meteors across the desert floor. They’ve watched comets come streaking overhead, tails blazing. They’ve fallen asleep to the songs of star-bears, their lullabies soft in their ears.
That night, drunk from lack of water, Zada wished on a star, then lowered her head onto her old friend’s back and closed her eyes. And while she waited for sleep, a small wind blew over them, as if it were tucking them in. “Tomorrow,” the wind whispered. “Tomorrow.”
51 The Mission
1887
Zada’s thirsty wish must have been heard by just the right star. The next morning she woke up, and there it was. Unmistakable.
“Water!” she said. Asiye lifted her nose and sniffed too. It was faint, but, “Yes, I can smell it!”
A thin thread of hope wound around them.
But that wasn’t all. Floating atop the morning breeze was the ringing of a bell. It didn’t sound like the twin bells that they had worn on their halters. This was a different bell. Much lower in tone and resonance, but lovely all the same. It seemed to be saying, Wake up, wake up, time for a new day.
