Tale 1: The Camel's Back (Part I)

Adapted by Khidir Mohamed Yazir (Kid Haider)

When a tired reader quickly glances at the title above, they might think it's just a figure of speech. Most stories about cups, lips, pennies, or brooms don't actually involve those objects. But this story is different. It's about a real, tangible camel's back.

Let's start at the neck and work our way down to the tail. Meet Mr. Perry Parkhurst, a 28-year-old lawyer from Toledo. Perry has a killer smile, a Harvard degree, and rocks a middle part in his hair. You've probably crossed paths with him in Cleveland, Portland, St. Paul, Indianapolis, Kansas City, and beyond. Baker Brothers in New York always make a pit stop during their Western trips to keep Perry looking sharp, and Montmorency & Co. sends a guy every three months to make sure his shoes are on point. Perry's cruising around in a domestic roadster for now, but he's eyeing a French roadster next. Who knows, maybe a Chinese tank will be his next ride if it becomes trendy. He's got that classic look of a guy in an ad rubbing liniment on his chest at sunset, and he heads back East every other year for his class reunion.

Let me introduce you to someone special: Betty Medill. She's a real stunner, with tawny eyes, hair, and feather fans in five different colours. Her father, Cyrus Medill, may seem like a regular guy, but in Toledo, he's known as the Aluminium Man. When he hangs out with his buddies—the Iron Men, the White Pine Man, and the Brass Man—they look just like us, only more so.

During the Christmas holidays of 1919, Toledo was buzzing with forty-one dinner parties, sixteen dances, six luncheons, twelve teas, four stag dinners, two weddings, and thirteen bridge parties—all with the fancy folks. It was all this excitement that led Perry Parkhurst to make a big decision on December 29.

The Medill girl was torn between marrying him and not marrying him. She was having such a great time that she didn't want to make a final decision. Their secret engagement had dragged on for so long that it felt like it could end at any moment. A man named Warburton, who knew all about it, convinced Perry to take action. He suggested that Perry surprise her by getting a marriage license and going to the Medill house to tell her she had to marry him right away or end it for good. So, Perry showed up with his heart, license, and ultimatum. Within five minutes, they were in the middle of a heated argument, like the final battle of a long war. It led to a moment where they both stopped, looked at each other, and wondered if they had made a mistake. Afterwards, they usually make up and admit it was all their fault. "Just say it was my fault! I want to hear you say it!"

As they were on the brink of reconciliation, each was hesitant to fully embrace it, wanting to savour the moment when it finally arrived. However, their moment was abruptly interrupted by a lengthy phone call for Betty from her talkative aunt. After eighteen minutes, Perry Parkhurst, feeling a mix of pride, suspicion, and hurt pride, decided to leave in a huff.

"It's all over," he muttered as he struggled to get his car into gear. "It's all over. If I have to strangle you for an hour, damn you!" He finally made his way to his car, which had been sitting idle for some time and was now cold.

He aimlessly drove downtown, following a snow rut that led him there. Slouched low in his seat, he didn't care where he ended up.

Outside the Clarendon Hotel, a man named Baily, with big teeth and no experience in love, called out to Perry from the sidewalk. "Perry," he said softly as the roadster pulled up beside him, "I've got six quarts of the best champagne you've ever tasted. A third of it is yours if you come upstairs and help Martin Macy and me drink it."

"Baily," Perry said tensely, "I'll drink your champagne. I'll drink every drop of it, I don't care if it kills me."

"Shut up, you nut!" said the bad man gently. "They don't put wood alcohol in champagne. This is the stuff that proves the world is more than six thousand years old. It's so ancient that the cork is petrified. You have to pull it with a stone drill."

"Take me upstairs," said Perry moodily. "If that cork sees my heart, it'll fall out from pure mortification."

The room upstairs was filled with innocent hotel pictures of little girls eating apples, sitting in swings, and talking to dogs. The other decorations were neckties and a pink man reading a pink paper devoted to ladies in pink tights.

"When you have to go into the highways and byways," said the pink man, looking reproachfully at Baily and Perry.

"Hello, Martin Macy," said Perry shortly, "where's this stone-age champagne?"

"What's the rush? This isn't an operation, understand. This is a party."

Perry sat down dully and looked disapprovingly at all the neckties.

Baily leisurely opened a wardrobe door and brought out six handsome bottles.

After a confusing five minutes on the phone, a tired voice finally convinced Perry that it was Mr. Nolak on the line, and that they would be staying open until eight because of the Townsends ball. Relieved, Perry enjoyed a large portion of filet mignon and his third glass of champagne. At eight-fifteen, the man in the tall hat who stands in front of the Clarendon found Perry attempting to start his roadster.

"It's frozen," Perry said knowingly. "The cold air froze it."

"Froze, huh?"

"Yep. The cold air did it."

"Can't get it started?"

"Nope. Gonna let it sit here until summer. One of those hot August days will thaw it out just fine."

"You're gonna leave it here?"

"Yep. Let it sit. It would take a bold thief to steal it. Get me a taxi."

The man in the tall hat hailed a taxi.

"Where to, sir?"

"Take me to Nolak's - the costume shop."