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Before long, the whole family was assembled in the parlor: Uncle Fadil and Auntie Burbuqe took the two upholstered chairs, while Baba, Mama with Vlora on her lap, and Mehmet sat on the couch. Adil and Isuf propped themselves against their father's knees. There was no place for Meli to sit except for the tiny stool in front of the television set, so she chose instead to lean against the frame of the kitchen door. Everyone was still, waiting. Even her long-dead grandfather and grandmother seemed to be staring out of their black-and-white photograph atop the television set, watching Uncle Fadil as he nervously rubbed his large black mustache.
At last he put his hand in his lap and cleared his throat. He half nodded toward the two little boys and Vlora, as though signaling to his brother, and jerked his head toward Meli.
Mama looked puzzled; then she caught Baba's eye and said, "Meli, take the little ones into the kitchen. If there's no mineral water in the cabinet, send one of the boys down to get some. Your aunt and uncle must be thirsty after their trip." She paused, looked at both men, and then added, "Oh, and while you're out there, make some coffee. We'd all enjoy a cup, I think."
Uncle Fadil nodded, obviously relieved that he had been understood.
Baba gave the little boys a gentle shove, and Mama put Vlora down from her lap. Meli took Vlora's hand and started for the kitchen, but not before she saw the smug expression on her older brother's face. Mehmet was only thirteen, less than a year and a half older than she was. Why could he stay for the grownups' talk and not she?
"Come on, Isuf, Adil," she said, and pulled a reluctant Vlora behind her.
"I want to stay," said Isuf. "I want to know—"
"Come on," Meli said gruffly.
"And shut the door after you," Mama called out.
Meli left the door open a tiny crack. She couldn't help it. She had to find out what was going on. There was a bottle of mineral water in the cabinet, but even before she poured out two glasses, Mehmet got up and pulled the door completely closed.
Why was Mehmet a grownup all of a sudden? It wasn't fair. She was nearly as tall as he was and every bit as responsible. But then, her mother had asked her to make coffee—a job Mama usually reserved for herself.
The boys were huddled against the kitchen door. "Come away from the door, Isuf, Adil," she said as she ground the beans to a fine powder. "You mustn't eavesdrop."
"Why not?" Adil asked. Isuf ignored her and kept his ear pasted to the wood.
"It's grown-up business." She put the coffee and sugar into water and started the flame under the pot. "Isuf! You heard me. Come away from that door."
But Isuf kept his ear to the door, wanting desperately to hear the muffled conversation from the parlor. Meli tried not to worry—to concentrate on her task. She stretched on tiptoe to get four coffee cups off the top shelf. Mehmet might be there, pretending to be an adult, but she certainly wasn't going to serve him a cup of the best coffee Baba sold in the shop.
"Isuf," she said again, "I told you to come away from the door."
Isuf did turn toward her, but his face was ashen, his eyes full of terror. "Meli," he whispered. "Something terrible's happened. Somebody's dead."
"Who's dead?"
"Somebody named Adem. They killed him. Uncle Fadil said so. They killed him and all his family. Even the children."
Before Meli could think who this Adem person might be, Isuf pushed the door open, and both boys ran into the parlor and flung themselves against their father. Vlora was right behind; even at four she knew to be frightened. She ran for the safety of her mother's lap and buried her face in Mama's apron. Mama picked her up and held her close. The other adults sat in stunned silence. Baba began to rub the little boys' backs with his big hands.
"Seventy people." It was Mehmet who broke the silence. "Adem Jashari and his family. Those Serb butchers just went in and slaughtered them all."
Uncle Fadil's head was down, and Meli could hardly hear him. "It is said that one child escaped—one of the little girls."
"They said he was part of the KLA—that he was threatening violence," said Mehmet. "How dare they accuse us of violence?"
"Meli," Mama said softly, "the mineral water? And it smells as though the coffee is ready."
Meli put the coffee cups on the tray with the glasses. Her hands shook as she poured out the strong, sweet liquid. They aren't just killing a few men here and there. They're slaughtering whole families. What does it mean? She tried to steady herself, but the cups rattled in their saucers as she brought the tray in and passed the mineral water and coffee to her aunt and uncle and the coffee to her parents. "Fix a cup for Mehmet," Mama said as she took her cup, "and one for yourself, too. You will have to be grown-ups now."
"Me, too," said Isuf. "I'm almost nine."
"You may have a sip of mine," Baba said. "And you, too, Adil."
"Does it have lots of sugar?"
"Yes, of course," Baba said, rubbing Adil's hair. "Meli made it just right."
Meli poured coffee for Mehmet and herself in the everyday cups and then sat down on the low stool in front of the TV set. They sat in silence for a long time. Even the youngest were quiet. What would her grandparents think of this, she wondered. But they just stared out grimly from their silver frame, saying nothing.
