by Kathi Appelt
“So, where did Asiye go?” Wims persisted.
There was more silence, only the sound of Zada’s steps. Asiye had been gone for a long time. But how could Zada explain it? What would Asiye say?
Ah, thought Zada, I know. She stopped again, and in her most wondrous voice (because to her, Asiye was wondrous), she said, “Asiye, racing camel of the Pasha’s elite stables, honorable camel of the US Army camel caravan, and loyal friend to Zada… she flew!”
“Asiye flew?” the chicks said together, incredulous.
“She did, indeed,” said Zada, resuming her steady march. “Asiye flew.”
With that, a whole chirp-o-rama of whispering commenced. She could only barely make out their words. The susurration continued for a bit, and finally Beulah said, “Auntie, how did she fly?”
“Yeah,” said Wims. “Because Auntie, in case you didn’t notice, camels don’t have wings.”
“Well,” said Zada…
But just then, she heard the most beautiful sound in the whole ding-dong desert. It floated toward them.… Cor est campana. Sit anulus. The old bell’s song was still just as lovely as ever. Once again, Zada felt saved by the bell.
She sniffed the air. “Water,” she said. The old fountain must still be working. “Hold on,” she told her winged passengers. “We are almost there.”
And they were, but at the instant that Zada breathed in the smell of water, she could have sworn that she smelled something else; and although she only caught the briefest whiff, it was enough to make her stop in her tracks.
Figs? As quickly as she noticed it, that was how quickly it vanished.
56 The Mission
1910
A resounding camelujah rose from her throat when Zada spied the familiar fountain, especially when she saw that yes, there was water in it. It wasn’t the clear, clean water she remembered—the dust had muddied it. Still, it was something. She hurried over as quickly as her protesting knees would take her. But then, a problem arose. How could she lower the chicks to the water without them sliding down her nose and into the drink?
Thinkthinkthink. Then she tried this: she carefully splayed out her front legs, and keeping her head as level as she could, she lowered her mouth into the water, took several huge gulps, and then, with her long tongue, she flicked droplets into the air. They rained onto the little falcons. It wasn’t so much that the water drenched them, but it was enough for them to have a satisfying swig. And a bit of a shower, too. In fact, it caused a fair bit of baby-bird hopping by the feel of it, and also some preening, which Zada wished she could have observed.
But then the babies’ beaks started ch-ch-chattering, and she remembered why she was there: shelter. Here was shelter. So, just as she had so many years ago, she strode up the walkway and across the broad threshold of the old sanctuary. All the while, she sent out a message to the parent kestrels: pleasebetherepleasebethereplease.
Even in the hazy light, she could still see the lovely blue of the walls and the tall ceiling with the ring of faded flowers. And even though it wasn’t a whole lot warmer, at least it was out of the path of mountain lions and hawks.
As if to verify that, the bell gave a resounding chime.
Zada sucked in the almost-clean air of the sanctuary. “We are here,” she announced. Well, half of them, anyways. She never thought she’d get used to Perlita and Pard’s flybys, but right now, she’d give a million plucks to see them coming in for a landing.
She called again. “Here we are!” She listened.
Beulah and Wims listened.
They all listened.
But the familiar voices of Perlita and Pard were not in the offing.
“Where are they?” asked the chicks.
Zada could only barely detect a bout of pouts, but before they could turn into a whole bushel of Peeppeeppeeppeeppeeppeeps, she stated, “Looks like we got here first!” Which ended in “Yay! We won the race!” “We are the champions!”
And it might have gone on and on like that for the rest of eternity, but then a miracle happened. Beulah switched from cheerleader mode to curious mode and asked, “Auntie, where are the conquistadors?”
That was followed by, “Do you think Soot is still around? I want to meet Soot,” said Wims.
Then more questions: “Where are they? When do we get to meet them? Will Soot give us a ride? Can we see the helmets?”
The questions buzzed around Zada’s ears, one after another. Where to begin? she wondered. She spied a very thin, weak beam of the disappearing sunlight; she walked into it and let it soak into her coat. It had been a very long day, and she felt the huge need for a good, long rest.
But what is a rest when there are so many questions left to answer?
Before she launched into them, she glanced toward the open shaft of the bell tower. “Why, hello, old friends,” she said happily. But she wasn’t speaking to the tower. Nope. To the utter surprise of Beulah and Wims, a thousand squeaky voices echoed down the shaft, “Zada!” to the tune of the flapping of a thousand velvet wings.
“We’ve missed you,” they said.
Wims and Beulah looked up to see a colony of bats, Mexican free-tails, hanging upside down, each one no larger than a mouse, and for about fifty-five whole seconds, the little kestrels didn’t offer up even a peep.
In that near minute of quiet from the babies, Zada was able to let the bats know about Perlita and Pard.
“We will look for them,” they said in a chittering that sounded more like: “Wewewewillwillwilllooklooklookforforforthemthemthem.…” As soon as the sun set, when it got dark, they promised to spread out like a cloud over the canyon lands. Zada knew that it would be hard for them, with the air still so filled with dust, but if anyone could find Pard and Perlita, maybe the little bats, with their echolocation superpowers, could.
“Thank you, my friends,” said Zada. And Wims and Beulah chimed in, “Thank you! Thank you!”
And just then, the bell outside the door began to ring again, likely from the fluttering of the bats. It was like a cue.
“When will it be dark?” Wims asked.
“Yeah, Auntie. How long?” Beulah wanted to know.
“Is it time yet?” “How much longer?” “When will the dark happen?”
Uh-oh. Zada realized that without a reset, this line of questioning would absolutely drive her batty.
“All good questions,” she stated. “But first, I thought you wanted to hear more about Soot.”
And with that, two fluffy puff balls scrunched down into their furry nest.
“Ready,” they said together. Which was exactly the same as an O.O.D. (Official Okie Dokie).
57 The Mission
1887–89
“Well, well, well. What have we here?” said Cosmo. At first, Zada and Asiye didn’t realize that Cosmo and LaLaFitte were people. The helmets threw them off a bit. It was their smell that clued them in. People have a very distinct odor, especially when they haven’t bathed in a while, which was obviously the case with the fake conquistadors.
“Oof,” said Zada. “Someone needs a bath.”
“Agreed,” said Asiye, twitching her nose.
Plus, Zada was fairly certain that she had seen Soot roll his eyes, a maneuver that mules were known for when it came to people. The army mules were constantly rolling their eyes at humans. And also at horses. The mules didn’t always get along with those equines with their flowy manes, so eye rolling occurred more often than you might think.
Zada immediately appreciated Soot.
So, let’s be clear. The real Conquistadors, the ones who actually sailed from Europe to the Americas? They were unpleasant, scary people, and exceptionally greedy. They caused trouble in a myriad of ways.
Cosmo and LaLaFitte? Not so much. But they were professed gold diggers, which meant that they were totally interested in any scheme that might bring them some… well… gold, which at the end of the day was what the Conquistadors were about, too. So, when Cosmo and LaLaFitte found
the camels inside the old mission, right after Cosmo uttered the now famous words, “What have we here?” LaLaFitte (who, let’s face it, was the brains of the operation) said, “Camel rides!”
Translated: “We can make a fortune selling camel rides to passersby!” Because who doesn’t want to ride a camel?
So, straightaway, the two moved into the Mission and set about creating their new business, which was a million times less arduous than using a pickax to uncover the famed city of Cíbola.
First, to the camels’ surprise, LaLaFitte lassoed Zada and Asiye with rope strapped to Soot’s saddle. It seems like that might be alarming, but considering that both camels had been brought up being harnessed, it wasn’t as unsettling as one might think. LaLaFitte tied them to the old halter rail next to the front door, leaving them with enough rope to comfortably graze on the cactus that filled the courtyard.
“Should we be concerned?” asked Asiye, chewing a large chunk of cud in her cheeks.
Should they be concerned? Even though the conquistadors were people, they hadn’t thrown any rocks, nor had they chased them with long, sharp sheep shears so she could make camel fur socks. So that was all good. But then Zada said, “So long as Soot seems okay, I think we’ll be fine.” And it did seem like Soot was well-fed, fairly well-groomed, and basically pleasant, especially considering all the added weight that he had to carry due to the helmets.
“I think we’re okay,” said Asiye. Zada nodded. Nevertheless, they also decided to keep their guards up, at least for a while.
And just to seal the deal, they decided to spit on it, which is how camels everywhere sign their agreements.
In the meantime, LaLaFitte sent Cosmo and Soot to the village of Presidio with a list of materials, including paint, so that she could make signs to post along the way for all those passersby who, she was certain, would die before they would miss out on riding a camel.
Presidio was an ancient settlement, constantly inhabited, first by the Jumano people. When the real Conquistadors cruised through in the mid-sixteenth century, they named it La Junta de las Cruces. A second wave of Conquistadors passed through in 1582 and renamed it San Juan Evangelista, and on and on until in 1760, the Mexican government turned it into a penal colony and changed its name to Presidio. LaLaFitte’s family arrived during that time, and whether her granddaddy was one of the prisoners or one of the soldiers guarding the prisoners is lost to history.
Presidio had paint for sale, and that was what mattered in the moment. While Cosmo and Soot were gone, LaLaFitte, not at all afraid of the camels, walked right up to them and began to comb their shaggy coats with her own hairbrush, until they looked reasonably suitable for passengers.
Zada had to admit, having her coat brushed felt nice. She even liked the way LaLaFitte hummed in time to her strokes. Her voice was surprisingly deep, and not at all horrible.
Asiye agreed. When LaLaFitte was done, the two camels admired the way each other looked.
“Your coat looks positively shiny,” Asiye said.
“Your coat looks unequivocally radiant!” Zada replied.
And it seems like they might have chortled just a bit, because really? Unequivocally? Who says that? But instead, a fleeting memory of Teodor slipped between them. The last time anyone had brushed them, it had been Teodor. LaLaFitte was nothing like their beloved cameleer, but her steady, even brushstrokes reminded them of him nonetheless. Zada reached over and gently nudged Asiye with her nose. Asiye nudged back.
Teodor. A long time had passed since they had seen him. Years even. But they missed him anyways.
Then Asiye piped up, “Maybe he will hear about the camel rides and come find us.”
Zada raised her head. “It could happen.” And a small bit of maybe rose up from her very center and hung on. Unequivocally.
* * *
The day after her Turtledove returned with the supplies, LaLaFitte painted Camel Rides on every boulder in the vicinity, underneath which she painted Like the Wise Men. That, she thought, would be a great selling point, because who wouldn’t want to be like the Wise Men?
“Exactly,” she said, her face and helmet splattered with paint. And if the riders brought gifts, even better, especially if those gifts were gold coins. The Frankincense and Myrrh, whatever those were, didn’t count. Gold was the goal.
While LaLaFitte was busy painting, Cosmo was directed to fashion makeshift saddles from bits and pieces of materials left behind in the mission—like the old cloth that was once draped over the altar, its embroidery faded and dusty and spattered with a brownish splotch of sacramental wine. The cloth, though thin from age, served as saddle pads. From pieces of the overturned pews, Cosmo built two frames that became perches for all the riders who would rush to experience what the Wise Men had experienced way back in the day—a ride on a camel.
Despite the scruffiness of their outfits, there was something about the helmets that gave Cosmo and LaLaFitte a tiny bit of status. The helmets weren’t completely unlike crowns.
Zada was of the most elite of camels, trained by Teodor. And she had her best friend Asiye, also of the same elite stable, as proof. She raised her head a little higher, and so did Asiye.
“Binicileri getirin!” said Zada.
“Yes,” said Asiye. “Bring on the riders!”
58 Somewhere
1910
Speaking of riders, let’s not forget the ride that Perlita had taken in the tumbling tumbleweed. It seemed like Pard had been pecking at it for hours, and Perlita, though grateful, was more impatient than ever.
In fairness, it wasn’t only that she was weary and achy and still somewhat dizzy; she also missed her babies. And Zada. She missed Zada, too. And even though Pard had assured her that he had seen them, and that they were all hunky-dory, Perlita wasn’t totally convinced, especially when, to his utmost, profoundly regrettable regret, Pard had let it slip that they had all escaped from the den of the mountain lion. Trust me, if he could have smacked himself, he would have.
Let’s just say that Perlita was nearing her point of no return. Beulah! Wims! Zada! Best family ever.
And thinking of best, she suddenly remembered what she needed to tell Zada. It was the best news! And remembering it made her even more anxious to get out of this infernal tumbleweed.
“Faster,” she urged Pard.
“I’m doing my ever-lovin’ best,” he said, trying not to get cranky. A tangled tumbleweed is difficult to untangle, especially when it has an impatient mama kestrel all balled up inside it, and also when it is wedged between two gigantic rocks. Another thing of concern to Pard: What if he was able to set Perlita free only to find that she was unable to fly? From the looks of it, her left wing seemed somewhat askew, as if someone had grabbed it and twisted it. And of course, someone had, that someone, or rather something, being the tumbleweed itself.
And don’t tell anyone, but Perlita had this same worry. Her left wing was decidedly sore. She was trying her hardest not to complain, but ouch!
Given her size, if she had to walk all the way to her babies, it would take something like a millennium. Kestrel steps are short. Minuscule. Even their hops are barely an inch long.
Not only that, but the waning daylight, all suffused with dust, was quickly coming to an end. If the kestrels didn’t escape the tumbleweed, there would be new dangers afoot, dangers that crept about on four paws or slithered along like S curves, dangers that would love to find a pair of kestrels for dinner.
“Hurry,” Perlita whistled to Pard. “Hurry.”
59 The Mission
1910
Meanwhile, back at the Mission… The babies couldn’t help it—as soon as they realized that not a sliver of light could be seen, they broke into a chorus: “It’s time! It’s night! It’s dark!”
Wims and Beulah, with their special falcon night vision, watched thousands of Mexican free-tailed bats launch themselves from the rafters and trail through the old windows.
“Bye-bye,” the two kestrelet
s chirped.
“Byebyebyebyebabybabybabykestrelskestrels kestrels!” And as promised, they spread out to look for Perlita and Pard.
“Promisepromisepromisepromise,” they echoed.
“If anyone can find them, the bats surely will,” said Zada, with as much confidence as she could muster. The very fact that Pard had survived boded well too. If Pard could make it, so could Perlita.
Zada could feel the babies’ anticipation rising. Side-kicks and taps were gaining speed. “How long will they be gone? Will they hurry? How far do you think they’re flying? Do bats fly upside down?”
She had to steer them off before the stream sped too fast to build a dam. “All good questions,” said Zada. “But did I mention that there was a choir?”
Wait. What?
“Auntie, did you say a choir?” asked Beulah.
“Yep,” said Zada. “Right smack in the middle of the desert.”
“That’s silly,” said Wims.
“There aren’t any choirs in the desert.”
Wait. Are there?
“But what happened to the conquistadors?” asked Beulah.
Which caused Wims to ask, “Where is Soot?”
“Hmmm…,” said Zada. “Their whereabouts is a mystery.”
“Is the choir a mystery too?” asked Beulah.
“Of course,” said Zada. Because, let’s face it, don’t all good stories have a mystery or two? Otherwise—boring!
Of course the biggest mystery in that moment, and it was anything but boring, was: Where in the wide, open, expansive, ever-lovin’ desert were Pard and Perlita? And right then, Zada made another wish: Please, give us a sign.
60 The Mission
1889
Signs. It seems that regardless of the painted rock signs and the makeshift saddles, there just wasn’t an enormous demand for camel rides in the canyon lands. Mostly, there were hardly any passersby. Once in a while, someone would be trekking to Presidio to buy supplies, or more likely, to visit a prisoner. On occasion a mail carrier might swing by. Rare. Exceedingly rare. Unequivocally rare.
