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The Silence of the Camels

The first call of the morning had to do with a new "perforation" in the southernmost perimeter of the Lions, caused by a storm-downed eucalyptus branch. Last time anything like this had happened, Glenda the lioness had escaped and made the morning news, with her slinking around the Park for about three hours, trainers going crazy and helicopters circling overhead. Turns out, she was pining to get back inside the run so she could bathe in the wallowing pond. My guess is she felt a little dirty, if not downright tainted by her brief jaunt through the province of humans. I could sympathize.

Jay and I got the call. Clock-in time was 9 am and we were beside the fence by 9:30. We'd spent the rickety golfcart ride up the service road to the lion exhibit exchanging half-truths about our sexlives.
"My pump broke down last night."
"Fucking hell. What then?"
"I went to the Diner."
"Good man." Etc., etc. I'd brought coffee to work in styrofoam cups, brim-full, and after each speedbump on the road, we got scalded across our hands and laps. Our radios crackled repeatedly - mostly Maintenance calls, but we could safely leave the rest for later. Lion calls are Defcon 1 at Knowland Park Zoo.

We'd need at least an hour to deal with this, and Jay was stressed - he already had an appointment. He'd been promoted, in a sense - jumping crews from Maintenance to Animal Management as their lead troubleshooter. When A.M. said "jump", everyone from the top down started dancing, so there was some auxiliary prestige and glamour he was about to tap into. Part of the deal entailed him showing up to special events for a P.R. photo-op - like the one scheduled this morning for 10:30 am. The expansion of the tiger exhibit was recently completed - a beautiful job: simulated cliffs and pond fashioned from rebar and fiberglass, new grass, cascading waterfall, larger cages - and Doctor Parrot, the chief administrator, was slated to make one of his famous christenings before a wall of cameras and microphones. We'd even placed a podium out for him, though, typically, that did not fall under our department. That's Grounds' gig, but we were showing our love. As far as Zoo Directors go, Parrot is OK.

I started, "This is messy business we got going here, Jay...."
"...but we have got to try," he finished. Daily B.S. is a necessary form of sanity insulation, and Jay and I were well into it. He took a deep breath, sighed and flicked a glance my way. "Know what?"
"What's that, my brother?"
"There ain't nothing like the smell of elephant ass in the morning."
"Ladies and gentleman, the man don't lie."
We've made the main parking lot, moving up into the hillside or "African Veldt". We wend through the upper tier of the park, past the subdued antelopes, the clip-winged vultures obsessing over their reflections in a scummy moat, the giraffes and their neighbors, the camels. The pathway, followed to the end, terminates at the elephants, who have quite a few stories of their own. Some of them are even public knowledge, but as with most Zoos, the best ones, truly, are not.

Let me briefly tell you about the camels: there's 5 - four females and one male, Carl. The majority of animals you will see in any zoo are female - better for breeding. We all knew that Carl, in his richly-hued dromedary heart, liked this arrangement just fine, for Carl the camel was a most horny bastard. A casual stroll by would usually reveal the females, at rest and watching the crowds, and Carl, foaming slightly along the lips and striking a somewhat rakish pose next to the scarred portion of the fencing where most of his couplings took place. Daily humpings were de riguer for he and his lucky concubines - primarily Annie, his favored Moroccan - and each of these exercises was guaranteed to be public knowledge for miles around. I say this because camel sex is an excruciatingly loud affair. In the misty mornings at Knowland Park, the only sounds which perforate the curtains of silence are the mooping of the gibbons, followed by the Siamang Barbershop Trio at 10am. The 10:30 slot belonged to Carl. Many set their watches by it.

During the hours we were open to the public, these sessions would usually garner a crowd. I enjoyed watching their expressions as we shuttled past on our way to the next damage. The Caucasian haufraus usually thought it was wildly funny, much more real than anything else they might see that day, save the new Cosmopolitan in their mailboxes. Men tended to grin or look despondent - dependent upon the proximity of their wives. There was also a curious crowd of expressionless Burmese babysitters, with their blue-eyed, blond-haired wards all agog at Carl's most un-Disneylike disposition and sportsmanship. It was all the rage, but I digress...

When we get to the Lion Run, we unload what we have - various cable cutters, high-tension baling wire, crimps, winch, steels bands, sockets, the works - and trudge up the incline. The hillside is slick with dewy leaves, and crumbling dirt, loosened by the recent rains, makes for slow going. No matter - I was on the high side of Life that morning, and kept the chit-chat flowing despite myself as we found our spot and began working. But Jay was distracted and nervous about the way the morning was turning out.
"Fucking trees."
"We got it - don't sweat."
"Well, sure, but my ass is on the line with Collie."
"She want you down on the line for sure?"
(Clip stretched portion of fence)
"Yeah, and I don't want to do it. I don't want to wear that stupid uniform that AM wears, and I don't want to stand in front of the cameras."
"Consider that to your favor, my friend. Here, I got this for you."
"Can you hold it?"
"Yep, but hurry the hell up, I beg you."
As Jay crimped the section into place, I had this free-associative and charming thought go through my mind. "The gig's at 10:30, right?"
"Yeah."
"That's around the time Carl's getting his leg up."
Jay looked at me with a mock horror, then busted out laughing. 45 minutes later, our patchjob was up to spec, and we'd reloaded the tools in the cart.
"I'm coming with you," I told him.
"Let's go," he said, with a smile.

We wound the cart back down the hill, past the Hillside Aviary and the Roan gazelles who, like the majority of animals in zoos, look depressed. There were cable crossovers in the pathway ahead: the media was here in force once again. Zoo gigs seem to be plum gigs for reporters and technicians - fairly straight up headshot, mid-morning light, clear skies, good local color story for the 6pm slots, good for the community... all that and more, for Doc is quite the orator. That is, he gives good grease.

When we caught site of the tableau, the press conference was about to begin. Doc and Alison, his assistant, were walking towards the clot of people, Doc adjusting the bill of his safari hat. Vic, Lead Grounds, waved us over, and before we got to him, I caught site of Carl out of the corner of my eye. He was transfixed in a bright shaft of morning sun, looking like a cad, as always.
"You get that fence?" Vic asked. I nodded.
"It looks like hell."
"Good, then it'll blend right in..." He motioned towards Doc Parrot, stepping up to the podium. "This ought to be rich."
"As ever."
It's 10:29, and when Doc began to speak, he did so into about five microphones.
"I'm glad you all could make it out here this morning. We, the administrators and staff of the Knowland Park Zoo, have something very special to show you..." he began, and then all Hell broke loose.

CLICK! 10:30, and that secret switch in Carl's brain, blessedly calibrated as Big Ben, kicks over once again. He let out a furious war-cry, a primeval ululating filled with all the good intentions of Genghis Khan and the lust of 1000 satyr-mendicants. A second, and only mildly less enthusiastic cry arose amongst the gathered crowd. A few keepers, I saw, had their hands to their eyes. Carl was, suddenly, the Man of the Hour.

True to form, he siezed the moment. The pursuit and capture of Annie took no time at all, and soon he was in the saddle, plunging her to his furry heart's delight, in the throes of masculine rapture at conquer. I heard Callie clearly, despite the din, say, "Oh, that prick."- the word sounding particularly malefic coming from the lips of a woman who regularly advocated for castration measures amongst the giraffes. I put my head back and took a deep breath. Yes, it was true - there was divine inspiration in that morning air.

The commotion amongst the reporters and crew escalated. Sounds and cries ricocheted around the Park. The cameras swiveled, and suddenly Doc Parrot found himself addressing the empty air, where once all was deceptive attentiveness and satellite-feeding. Unfazed, he called out to Vic.
"Vic. Give me your radio."
"Sure thing, Doc..."
Amidst the pandemonium, a call went out. Carl and Annie continued their floorshow. The reporters and cameramen could not conceal their delight at this insidious development, and only reluctantly returned their attention to the podium, but Doc had stepped off to the side. Alison was making a somewhat lighthearted attempt to restore order. "OK, ladies and gentlemen. It may be a little bit noisier than we anticipated but could we continue?" Many people were smiling. Most of us bypassed that formality and were laughing like hyenas.

And as she spoke, gathering attention, a little door went up in the camel nightstall. A small gun was leveled, the radio crackled briefly with a command, and suddenly King Carl had a ketamine dart discreetly embedded in his lumped hindquarters. As the juice flowed into his CNS, his head began to roll on his neck, and his eyelids fluttered like mothwings. "AAAAAOOORRRRGGGGhhhhggs......" went the last great summons from Carl's throat, which resolved itself into the gravelly death-rattle of the soon-to-be-somnolent. Someone in the crowd audibly snorted and began laughing anew. Nothing, truly, drops masks like the sounds of amour, especially the Zoo kind. Doc had regained the microphone.

"Hello. Everyone! Yes, ah, well it seems you got a bit more than you came here for..." He gave a patronizing look towards Carl, who was busy sliding down Annie's back into the dust like a sack of sand. "Ah! It seems one of our wards has developed a case of the sleepies. Shall we continue?"

And thus it did. We remained for a few minutes longer, then Jay tapped me.
"We still got that Hamadryas hot wire on the line?"
"Yah, it's on the board. Been there for weeks."
"Let's knock it out."
"OK." I gave a look over at Carl, who was being ministered to by Reyna and Callie. I hoped his balls survived the night. "Goddamn, that was sweet. Truly. I am a happy man. Praise the Lord."
"Is that right, uh? You believe in God now?"
"At this moment, Jay, I surely do."
"Let's go, fool." Jay said, and we went.

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