by Kathi Appelt
As for Perlita, Zada gave her a sense of calm, which considering her tendency to be anxious, kept her from yanking her feathers out.
And Pard? Well, Pard was happy that Perlita was happy, and so it was happy all around.
And once the two kestrels moved to the cottonwood tree, Zada followed. The tree was much taller than the nook in the boulder, too high for coyote puppies and their moms. Just right for this unlikely family. Zada stayed nearby and kept a close eye out for any of the dozens of predators who might enjoy a kestrel as a tasty snack.
And in return, Perlita and Pard took up a big, empty space even though they weren’t even one-hundredth the size of Asiye.
What mattered was that ever since that fateful day, when Zada rescued Perlita and Pard, the three have been friends. And not a moment of peace has ensued since. Perlita was a veritable warehouse of klees and killys, which she employed to their full effect upon the arrival of Wims and Beulah, best babies ever! Zada would never forget the day they hatched. It was a jubilee of hallelujahs and happys.
There was never a more attentive mother than Perlita, never a more patient dad than Pard.
And never a more doting auntie than Zada.
And all was right with the world, until… haboob.
65 Somewhere, Texas
1910
Perlita’s wing was extremely sore, but could a sore wing stop a mama kestrel from flying as fast as she could to her chicks? Pard had hardly pulled the last branch away, and she was out of there like a rocket.
“Hey!” called Pard. “Wait for me!” He still had a few slivers of tumbleweed lodged in his beak.
“Catch up!” cried Perlita.
Pard flew as fast as a falcon can fly, which is fast. But no matter how fast he flew, no matter how fast Perlita flew, they could not turn fast into find. Because sadly, neither one of them knew where they were. The storm had jumbled up any landmarks that might have helped.
If you were standing on the ground, looking up, you would see a pair of American kestrels, beating their wings against the dusty air; you would notice that they were flying in circles.
Around and around and around they went. Higher and higher.
Where were their Wims and Beulah? Where was their beloved Zada?
Perlita called and called. Klee, klee. Killy, killy.
Pard raced after her.
The encroaching night squeezed the last remaining bits of light out of the sky, and with it, the darkness ate at them until all that was left was to find a rocky nook and wait until the sun came up again.
Perlita tucked her head beneath her wing. Pard scooched his body as close to her as he could. Tomorrow morning, a million years away.
66 The Mission
1910
By the time we grow very old, all our wishes have either been granted or they haven’t. Some stay with us so long that they simply become a part of who we are; they grow old with us, and might even turn gray, like our hair or our whiskers.
Others, like the one that Zada wished about Perlita and Pard, go flying into the desert sky, and maybe (who knows?) a passing djinn or a wandering witch or perhaps even a rock fairy catches it and decides to say, “Yes.”
Zada’s wish didn’t get picked up by any of those magical creatures. Instead, hers got swooped onto the velvet wings of thousands of Mexican free-tailed bats. As they fluttered through the twists and turns of a nearby canyon, they spotted Perlita and Pard, clinging to each other in a rocky nook. And true to their promise, the bats sang out, “FfffffffolllllllowwwwwUuussssss!!!” and maybe it took an hour, maybe it was only a few moments, it didn’t matter, Perlita and Pard flew behind the velvet carpet of bats, flew through the window of the old Mission, straight toward the top of Zada’s head.
“Incoming!” cried Perlita, landing with a flourish. Pard was going so fast, he almost crashed into her. But as soon as they both landed, Perlita realized that the chicks were MISSING! Panic set in, followed by…
“Mommy!” cried Wims.
“Daddy!” cried Beulah.
At the sound of their parents’ voices, the chicks zoomed out from between Zada’s knees, wings flapping, feet hopping, beaks chirping.
In the history of American kestrels, there has never been such a stupendous reunion of klees, killys, hops, and chirps. It was a free-flowing fiesta of feathered frolicking, all of which took place by Zada’s side.
Has a happier wing-ding ever occurred in the wilds of West Texas? We would be hard-pressed to find one.
The rowdydow went well into the night, until at last, the merriment ebbed. Zada stretched out her neck, and she—with her kestrel family now transferred to the corner of an old bench—tucked her head behind her leg.
“Thank you,” said Perlita. “I knew we would find each other.” And Zada, her heart as full as a mountain spring, fell into a deep, deep sleep.
But sometime in the wee hours of the morning, in that floaty place between asleep and awake, she was sure she heard the kllloookkll of a familiar chime. Careful not to wake the kestrel family, she arose from her spot on the stony floor and walked to one of the windows. The air had finally settled, and the stars were as crisp and sparkly as ever. She gazed up and there, leading the Camel Caravan, was the Camel Chief, blue eye ablaze.
She was still tired. Every muscle in her old body ached. The top of her head felt bare without Wims and Beulah clinging to her fur. She had many more stories to tell them. Stories about jumping spiders and double rainbows and ridiculous horses. When a camel lives a long time, she has a lot of stories. At least a thousand and one.
She gazed out at the Starry River, streaming across the desert sky. There was one more part of the story, wasn’t there? But for now, this one was only for Zada.
And Asiye.
It was for Asiye, too.
67 The Open Desert
1900 OR SO
Maybe it was the spicy leaves of the persimmon bushes, or the tough blades of the lechuguilla. Could have been the tart fruit of the prickly pears or the refreshing taste of new vervain. It might even have been something in the water. Whatever the reason, Zada and Asiye thrived in their desert home.
And of course, being together made a difference too.
“Here we are,” Asiye would say. And Zada would follow that with, “The A to the Z.”
Nevertheless, neither of them grew any younger. Soon they were nearing their fifties, which is old for a camel. It seems like it was old for Asiye especially. Zada couldn’t help but notice that she was growing slower and slower. Zada had always been faster than her friend, but it got to where Asiye took only a few steps at a time, moving as little as possible, mostly only to chomp on a fresh yucca or catclaw cactus or a tasty thistle.
It was fine with Zada. She was old too, after all.
But she noticed that Asiye began to have a harder time climbing onto the bluffs; her footing became a little less sure. More than once, she stumbled over a rock or bumped into an ocotillo.
“My eyesight is not what it once was,” said Asiye. Zada nudged up closer, and whenever they went for a stroll, she stayed right beside her, a kind of seeing-eye camel. Friends do that for each other.
But then Zada noticed that Asiye’s long neck began to droop. She had always held her head as high as her hump, as a prized camel is wont to do. But as the days went by, Asiye’s head fell lower and lower. Zada told her, “Let’s just rest.” And they did, lowering themselves onto the ground, necks intertwined, heads resting on each other’s backs, the Texas sun soaking into their fur. Once in a while, Zada would leave Asiye to find a bit of dinner, and only when Asiye was thirsty or hungry would she lift herself up.
She spent more and more time just chewing her cud and humming. The melodies she hummed harkened back to their days in Smyrna. They were lovely and soft and semi-melodious.
And then the night came.
It was a cool summer’s eve, with so many stars that Zada thought they might block out the dark completely. Straight above their heads was the
Camel Chief. Streaming just behind him, all the camel ancestors, marching toward the east, marching toward the sun.
Zada and Asiye were tucked into their usual spots in the sand. The song dogs in the distance serenaded them, and they could hear the invisible fluttering of the pipistrelle bats. It was a night just like so many of the five decades of nights that they had spent together, beginning with all their frisky gamboling under the watchful eyes of their mothers; then crossing the wide Atlantic Ocean, trekking from Texas to California and back with the US Army, and lastly, wandering the mountains and canyons and desert floor of West Texas. As they waited for the stars to rise, Asiye’s humming turned into a lullaby, not unlike the one their mothers hummed to them in the camel nursery. Zada couldn’t help but remember their baby days together in the elite stables of the Pasha, when the jerboa swatted at their tails. Silly jerboa.
Zada’s heart was as full as the Texas sky when Asiye said, “I have to go, my darling friend.” And Zada knew. The thing she was most afraid of—losing Asiye—was about to happen. Zada swallowed hard, then nuzzled Asiye with her broad nose.
Asiye lowered her head to the sandy floor and closed her eyes.
“I will always love you,” she told Zada, as she drifted into sleep. But just before she left, Zada nudged her one last time.
Finally the sun peeked above the edge of the nearby Chisos, making a bumpy line of orange light underneath the deep, deep blue.
Zada stood up, and just then, as if they had hatched from the sun itself, a flock of butterflies, tiny winged rainbows, maybe a hundred, maybe a thousand, maybe a whole squadron, swirled around them, their wings like small motors. Then, as quickly as they came, they disappeared, and Asiye was gone, leaving behind her worn-out old body.
And Zada, the oldest and possibly the only camel in Texas, and maybe the whole world, too, called out, “En parlak yildiz ol, my Asiye.”
And Asiye?
She flew.
68 The Mission
1910
The day after the haboob opened with a beautiful clear dawn. Under the watchful wings of their father, the chicks were exploring every square inch of the Mission floor. Zada had to watch where she stepped. It turned out that the daring duo could zigzag as quickly as any jerboa, making it hard to follow their movements.
Meanwhile, Perlita perched herself up in a cupola on the Mission wall and preened her disheveled feathers. She gave her sore wing an extra stretch. She had finally remembered what it was that she needed to tell Zada, and she did not think she could wait One. More. Minute.
She launched herself from the cupola and flapped to the top of Zada’s nose, where she did a less-than-graceful landing. She gave that sore wing another stretch.
“Zada,” Perlita said. “It’s the best news.” She puffed herself up.
Zada wasn’t sure she could take any more news, even if it was in the “best” category. But she knew there was no stopping Perlita.
“What?” asked Zada. “What is it?”
Perlita puffed.
Long pause.
More puffing.
Long pause number two.
Puff-puff-puff!
Long pause number 8,396.
Extreme puffing.
Finally Zada couldn’t stand it. “Chirp it out!” she said.
And Perlita, still maximally puffed, chirped, “I know where the other camels are.”
Zada did not expect that. Wait. What?
“Are you sure?” she asked carefully.
“Of course I am,” said Perlita. “I know where they are!” She went on to say that she had spotted them while hunting for food for the chicks, but before she could tell anyone… haboob!
Zada was speechless. Could there really be others? Hope climbed aboard her humped back. She had searched for such a long, long time. Decades had gone by, with nary a footprint, nary a spitball, nary a whiff of another camel. Her heart raced.
But then her heart went whoa. Surely Perlita was mistaken. More likely, what she had seen was a herd of elk or deer. Why, from her heights in the sky, Perlita probably only thought she saw what she thought she saw.
Zada blinked… and blinked again.… Everything she needed was right in front of her. She had her bird family. She had the bats and the blue fountain. She had the whole big desert, where there was plenty to eat and more to love.
What she didn’t need was disappointment. She looked at Perlita and started to tell her that, really, she was good.
But Perlita was not having it.
“Zada!” she said. “I know where they are.” And as if to make it official, Pard flapped onto her nose and said, “Zada, have you heard the news?”
Zada waited. “We found the other camels.” And there it was: two birds versus one camel. Zada set aside her disbelief. Maybe, she dared to think…
“I’ll wait here with the chicks,” said Pard.
And straightaway, Perlita touched down on Zada’s head, and the two set out. “Tallyho,” they said together.
After the first mile, Perlita scouted ahead. Thanks to her sore wing, her flight wasn’t exactly straight, and she had to make a course correction. Regardless, she was sure she knew, absolutely, where she was headed.
A long hour passed. With each step, Zada felt hope rise up, but the farther they traveled, the smaller it got. Her knees ached. Her neck began to droop. She couldn’t help but worry that they were on a fool’s errand.
Time after time Perlita said, “They’re just past that bluff.” But the closer they got to the bluff, the farther away it felt.
As weary as Zada was, she was also worried about Perlita. Shouldn’t she rest her wing? And the chicks. Were they okay?
But Perlita would not be deterred. “Not far now,” she said.
They marched on, even though Zada felt as old as the ancient camels who had once roamed here, over ten thousand years ago. That old. Soon, she knew, she would have to stop. The hope she held grew smaller and smaller.
Just when Zada thought she couldn’t go… one… step… farther… Perlita burst into a clamoring of klees and killys.
There, moseying along an old cattle trail… a dozen camels, their copper coats blazing in the sun. They walked directly toward her.
Zada stopped. Blinked. It must be a mirage, she thought.
But no. “Camels!” chirped Perlita. Then she cut loose into a whole torrent of collective nouns.…
“A herd!
“A passel!
“A plethora… a parliament… a posse… A caravan!”
Zada blinked again, and before she knew it, the camels pulled up right in front of her, all dozen of them. They began to nuzzle her. They licked her ears and rubbed their chins on her old back. A welcoming committee. None of them were familiar to her, but they were all familiar anyways. And they were clearly glad to see her.
And then, from out of nowhere…
No… no… it couldn’t be… could it?
… couldn’t…
… could?…
… she heard a familiar voice. “Zada?” In front of her stood an old man wearing a turban wrapped around his head. It looked just like a tulip. And with him came the faintest scent of figs. Suddenly, she couldn’t help it, she held her head back and, from the very depths of her belly, she sang, Bhhhhhhhhhhwwwwwwwaaaaaallllll, upon which all the other camels joined her, each camel’s tune a little different, each note swirling over another note, clanging against each other, and so on until the whole camelujah chorus rattled the arches and canyons, bounced against the outcroppings and washouts, and finally shook the spines off the mesquite trees.
Teodor, his lovely face lined with a million creases, but the same face after all, his whiskers white as the blossoms of a wild plum tree, reached a trembling hand to her face and rubbed her soft chin.
“I never gave up,” he said. And then he showed Zada the twin bells, hanging from a thin cord around his neck. At once, Zada recalled the many times when she was sure she had heard their familiar chime. Could it
be possible that they had been closer than ever, and simply missed each other? “My beautiful girl,” he said, his voice cracking. “Güzel kizim.”
And she was beautiful, her coppery coat now faded to the same color as an almond, her ears as soft as silk, her heart as full as the ancient sea that once covered all of Texas.
69 The Mission
1910
After their reunion, Zada and Perlita led Teodor and the herd back to the old Mission.
It seems that as soon as Teodor had set Zada and Asiye loose on the sandy beach of the Rio Grande, he had made his way to California. There, he had worked for a retired army officer, a general who had bought some of the army’s camels for his own.
After Teodor’s several decades of faithful service tending the camels—and also caring for the general’s fig orchards—the general, in gratitude, gave Teodor twelve young dromedaries, offspring of some of the same camels who had sailed on the Supply with Zada and Asiye, along with a cutting from one of his fig trees. “Take care, my friend,” the general said, and Teodor did. He tied the dozen together and began the long trek back to the Chisos, always on the lookout for the camels he had set free, hoping against hope that he might get lucky.
“And did I ever,” he said, running his fingers over Zada’s ears, giving them the first scratch they’d had since the choir had passed through on its way to Presidio, however long ago that was.
And all Zada could say was “Amen,” followed in good measure by “Amin.”
70 The Mission
EVER AFTER
So there you have it, story birds. All the news that’s fit to print.
Everyone—camels, birds, Teodor—settled into the Mission. Perlita, Pard, and the babies—who finally grew their full suit of flight feathers—moved out of the cupola in the large sanctuary room and into a nearby mesquite tree. Even Pecos de Leon made the occasional stroll-by, just to listen to that story about the brave mountain lion who faced down the ridiculous horses and their showy-flowy manes. Zada seemed to always be telling it whenever he was around.
