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"Baba. You don't think anything has happened to Mehmet?" Sometimes Albanian men disappeared, but Mehmet was only thirteen. Surely...
"Just get your mother. You stay and watch the little ones. And don't frighten them."
She climbed the inside stairs to the apartment. The boys were playing in the garden as usual. Mama was in the kitchen preparing supper, and Vlora was sitting on a high stool pretending to help. Mama looked up when Meli came into the room. "Meli. You children are very late today."
"Baba needs you downstairs for a minute, Mama. Vlora and I will finish making supper, won't we, Vlora?"
Vlora smiled. "I'm making stew," she said.
It was many minutes before Mama came back up the stairs. She was breathing heavily. "Baba's going around to Neshim's," she said. "Those two boys probably got into a soccer game and forgot the time." She came close to Meli standing at the stove. "Try not to worry," she whispered, pushing a strand of hair from Meli's forehead.
How could Meli not worry? Her family lived in a country where people were known to disappear without a trace. Men, mostly—men who were suspected of Kosovo Liberation Army connections. But for all his posturing, Mehmet was only a boy. He wasn't part of the KLA. Surely not even a Serb policeman would think ... But who knew what those people thought?
Mama fed the youngsters early. When Isuf asked where Baba and Mehmet were, Mama just said, "Oh, Baba and Mehmet had some errands to run. They'll eat when they get home."
Meli couldn't believe how calm her mother sounded. Her own stomach was churning like an eggbeater.
Bedtime came for the young ones, and still no Baba or Mehmet. Meli tried to do her homework, though none of the math problems made sense and she soon gave up. She couldn't make her head work properly. Everything jumped about inside. She flipped on the television, but all the blare of Serbian propaganda just made her more nervous, and she switched it off and went to the front window to watch for them. Finally, she saw a figure emerge from the shadows. Surely it was Baba, although the man walking up the dark street was bent over like a ninety-year-old. She must go meet him. She had to hear his news, however terrible it was. She started toward the door, but Mama caught her arm. "Wait, Meli. It is better if we talk inside," she said.
Baba came through the side gate and up the stairs so slowly that Meli thought she might cry out before he actually reached the landing. In the light from the kitchen his face looked gray.
"No word?" Mama asked as she opened the door. It was more of a statement than a question.
Baba shook his head, sighing deeply as he took off his shoes at the door. He stumbled through into the living room and fell into a chair. "Neshim said he spoke to Mehmet after school." He went on, careful not to look at Meli. "He was angry, Neshim said, and not sure what he should do. He knew he was supposed to walk home with the girls, but he had promised to help me, so finally he just said he had to go and ran ahead." Baba sighed again. "That was the last Neshim saw of him—running up the street."
"What of his other friends?" Mama asked. "The other boys he plays soccer with. Surely someone saw him after that."
"I went from house to house. None of the boys know anything." The look that passed between her parents sent ice through Meli's whole body.
"I'm sure he's all right," Meli said. "He has to be." The words were hardly out of her mouth before she knew how foolish and desperate she sounded.
"Inshallah," murmured Mama.
Inshallah. God willing. Yes, please, God, Meli prayed. Let him be safe.
"You must eat some supper, Hashim," Mama said. "It's very late."
Her father shook his head. "How can I eat when my firstborn is missing and I don't know where he is to be found?" He lurched to his feet. "We will both be home soon. Inshallah."
"Hashim. Where are you going?"
"To the police," Baba said.
"No, not the police."
"They are the only ones who know where my son is. You know that is true, Sevdie." He walked out the door, leaving it open behind him.
"Go with him, Meli," Mama said. "Perhaps they won't arrest him if he has his daughter with him."
Her father soon realized that Meli was following him up the street. "Go home, child," he said. "Stay with your mother. She's already anxious about your brother. I don't want her to have to worry about you as well."
Me
li just shook her head. As scared as she was, she was determined to do as Mama had asked. The police had seen her walk past every day with Mehmet. They might remember that the two of them were only schoolchildren, not terrorists to be jailed ... or tortured ... or ... killed. She closed her eyes to shut out such thoughts.
The station door was locked. Her father knocked, and when nobody answered, he beat on the heavy wooden door with his fist.
"No, Baba," Meli begged. "You'll make them angry."
