With a toothy Semitic braying, the small dromedary, formerly fenced behind the wooden cut-outs of Balthasar, Melchior, and Gaspar, was now charging into the holiday-makers, who screamed, yelled, shrieked, gasped, and even thrilled that this made it all worth the price of admission.
Geoffrey and Andreas were just as surprised and/or taken aback as the rest of cheer-seekers, but maintained their sang-froid--one of the blessings of advanced age. The two Romanians that they had just forestalled from making mischief had taken to their heels, perhaps reliving genetic memories of the Ottoman domination of their land.
The beast thundered on, crashing into the food kiosks, dragging along in its wake like festive raiment a few awnings, plastic table cloths, extension cords for space heaters, and a string of blinking Christmas lights. However, the net of this beast had also caught up many a discarded red-green-and-white cocoa cups, the tennis-ball aluminum walkers of one or two senior citizens, and--concerning to say the least--several innocent children.
No one much cared about the cocoa cups (except a few dedicated greenies), while the loss of the aluminum walkers were of concern to only a few of Merryweather's valued senior citizens. But the innocent little children garnered much sympathy, mostly from bystanders other than their parents, who were still thinking that this all might be a complimentary amusement ride that came with the pretty steep entrance fee.
Among these bystanders who did give a thought to future generations were Geoffrey and Andreas. Any surprise on their part at this micro-stampede having passed, they dashed after the beast, risking broken hips and delayed-onset bursitis by their exertions across the chill pavement, as the ecstatic children caught up in the blinking web of lights and debris, their gleeful cries seeming to say, Oh, if every day could be Christmas.
But as Geoffrey and Andreas closed in on the beast juggernauting to freedom, their heroism was supervened by a squat but agile shape. Anjay Shapurian, of all people, taking a brief respite from lurking in the shadow of Jeff "Doogle" Hanson, suddenly darted through a pair of standing tubs marked Garbage and Recycling. With the energy of a frog making for an unsuspecting dragonfly, he leapt through the air and landed atop the camel. This display of Central Asian rodeo skill, generating from all of the people about a silent gape of admiration. For Geoffrey and Andreas, it brought about a screeching halt, as Andreas rear-ended his housemate and Geoffrey tumbled inelegantly into a Japanese skimmia bush draped over-abundantly with little blue lights.
From his perch on the saggy hump of the dromedary, Anjay Shapurian was delivering a barrage of throaty curses in some unfamiliar tongue as he grabbed at its dangling harness, while the camel itself brayed and shook its unappealing head. Another stream of unkind words suitable for the caravansary or a rough-around-the-edges oasis gushed out from Anjay Shapurian, who was clutching at its hide in an attempt--fruitless--to steer it along.
This action sequence from the Nativity story came to a sudden halt (to no one's relief, since this was would always bring in the customers). A second figure was intervening: a tall, mannish women draped from stem to stern in billowing black, a nun, rather than directing her forces from behind (like Geoffrey and Andreas) or from above (like Anjay Shapurian), was making a perpendicular charge. In a flanking move, she seized the beast's halter, yanked it a few times to remind it who had bucket of the date paste and millet, and so brought all the fun to an end.
At this dousing of the excitement, the scales fell from the eyes of several sets of young parents, who ran forward and disentangled their tots from the twiney mess behind the beast, only to hear pleas of Can we do it again?
But into this this cherubic chorus of disappointed children, another voice, high, desperate, and horrified, pierced the chilly evening. Like the dark sail of a ghost ship, there appeared another of the sisters of the Convent of Sorbo-Ruthenian Women’s Monastery of the Blessed Charles of Austria and the Servant of God Zita Of the Exarchy of Blainesville.
Running up to the lady at the head of the camel, she cried out in imprecise English, "The icon is left! The icon is left! The miraculous icon of Blessed Symeona of Blainsville is gone!"
Just as the nun made her frightful announcement, Geoffrey and Andreas stepped into the scene. The old men looked about. Along with the miracle-working icon, they saw that the Romanians were gone, Doogle Hanson was nowhere to be seen, and Anjay Shapurian had climbed off of the camel and sunk into the crowd. (The funnel cake stand was gone as well in the all of the hullabaloo, that was not as concerning...) They they gave one other a more sophisticated glance, one that said, "Correlation does not always mean causation, but..."
