Newman the Camel-a fleeting christmas story
By: Patrice Janda
Tags: Animals, Camel, Inspiration, Christmas

Newman the Camel-a fleeting christmas story

By Patrice janda

Dec 2020

I was visiting a farm-run fruit and vegetable store a few weeks ago; in the back of the expansive establishment they had four exotic Christmas animals in straw-lined pens held for customer viewing. This camel, named Newman, was lodged together with a zebra, who they called Ziggy. Two reindeer were held together in an opposite pen. I didn’t get their names.

When I approached the quarters of the unlikely pair, the camel and the zebra were satisfying themselves together, eating from a single bale of hay. I was mesmerized. As soon as he detected my lingering presence at the edge of his pen, Newman, the 7 month old bactrian (two humped) camel, so said the sign above my head, looked up from his meal and stared in my vicinity; within seconds he was leaving his striped cell mate’s side and approaching me.

It’s likely he merely, wanted to be near the alien life within me, but I was weak and took his wild and somewhat irregular advance in my direction a little more than personally.

His young camel stride was strong and altogether devoid of caution and made my heart, a little listless I’ll admit, basically leap in my chest. As I had come to the country stand for fruits and vegetables, I was ill-prepared for such a soulful and inwardly jaunty encounter. Perhaps this is by design.

(Scary beets advancing)

If it is our vigilance that inhibits the beauty of the freak occurrence, maybe it’s good to sometimes wander about a little lost or slightly clueless. Perhaps it is a sin to always be prepared. Who really knows. All I know is on that day the sudden encounter with the camel, the movement within my core felt like a powerful jolt, a non-toxic micro-dose from the universe meant to simultaneously soothe and heighten my senses. Look alive! It seemed to be telling me, reminding me, with gentleness and humor. You are alive. Please don’t forget this important fact. Not again. I smiled.

The sweet creature probably had no idea what he had done to the hapless human that was me, he probably just wanted food or escape. It’s hard to say what’s in the mind of another. Being momentary buzzed by our contact, I wasn’t in any condition to exercise restraint or suspicion with Newman, the camel. My heart wanted to swoon and so I let it.

So I’m standing there in the cold, face to face with an assertive immature two-humped camel, and feeling pretty good. Feeling like life is strange and sweet, and sad too, but the sweetness was winning out over the bitter in this instant. With the camel before me, I felt, I don’t know, like myself I suppose. I felt my own presence and the camel was with it. So strange.

But there was a pathos there too, there always is, so many barriers put in place, unfettered spirits simply must resist these cruel containments, must move forward, gallantly penetrating layer upon layer of ancient and unknowable prohibitions.

That’s a lot of words

I stood very near to the chain link erected between myself and the camel. So as to come as close to me as his cage would permit, the animal pressed his muzzle against the cool metal fence. He was a natural leader, and I followed. When I reached up, pushing my fingers through the barrier to scratch his nose, his flowing lips retracted awkwardly, reflexively as if experiencing uncommon pleasure from my minor touch, revealing for brief and jagged moments flashes of long crooked teeth.

Like all of us wandering this earth, I think the camel, “Newman”, simply wanted or needed more contact with life. Being permanently out of his element, perhaps he had learned not to discriminate between various forms of sentience — in a word, any life would do.

I felt only respect for the camel as he expressed his will with clarity and dignity, despite his strange and unusual living conditions. The near lightening speed with which he secured my devotion, a stranger, continues to haunt me. And here I am today, in my bathrobe, still in bed, ignoring obligations, coffee grown cold on the headboard behind me. Still trying to unravel the tiny mystery of a camel.

Though I felt a sort of instant, wordless love for the Newman, a bit of residual sense lingered in me, a proprietary nature instilled deep within my bones by my own species. I still had my language. And as such I read the handmade sign hung on the fencing above our heads that warned of the dangers of accidental finger loss that could be the result of improper contact with these exotic creatures, ferried from god only knows where to this country fruit and vegetable stand to ratchet up the Christmas cheer.

(Pretty trees with fake snow)

Because of the handmade sign hanging above both mine and the camel’s head, the sign only I could read, reminding me, not the camel, that despite the appearance of spontaneous and mutual love, these creatures are wild, because of this warning, I remained duty bound to act responsibly for both of us. Because they are wild, and I am civilized and tamed — the caged creatures cannot be accountable for transgressing shared human values such as, “we don’t bite others”; because of all of this, I ceased my scratching of the dashing camel’s nose, somewhat begrudgingly I’ll admit and lowered my hand to my side.

At this point the exotic creature with whom I was experiencing a sacred and blessed temporary insanity (truly my only sane moment) , sensing my conflict, my duty to my own pitifully domesticated species, my near involuntary allegiance to its warnings and dictates, upped his wild creature game and began to do something remarkable and unexpected. Please don’t take this opportunity to tell me Newman was trained to do what I am about to tell you. I will want to rip your eyes out, not for stating the obvious, but for not knowing I’m in no position to hear it — but I digress. Anyway, at this point, just as I was about to disengage from my captive wild creature and return to the routine non-fanciful world of beets and brussel sprouts, my camel began the rickety, and basically the most inelegant process of lowering himself before me. Even though he was young, his body did not look well-designed for making the transition. First bending one knobby knee and placing it on the straw beneath him and then the other, his teetering descent to ground telegraphed a truly heartbreaking quality, increasing my adoration for him exponentially.

If my heart had leapt when the camel first approached me, now it was, in a word, bursting. I probably would have cried if my sister hadn’t been there standing behind me. I felt like God was telling me something he had told me many times before, but today with this sweet young captive I was finally hearing it. I think he trusts me. I think he really does.