AllFreeNovel
Share Us
A little cry escaped Mama's lips. Her hand flew to her mouth.
"But I wasn't dead." Mehmet gave a short, bitter laugh. "Some KLA men found me. They took care of me until I was well. I wanted to stay with them, help them kill those devils, but ... but they made me come home."
"Thank God," Baba whispered.
"They said I must tell you Uncle Fadil was right," he said. "We can't stay here. We have to leave as soon as possible."
THREE Leaving Home
BABA CALLED A COUSIN WHO LIVED ON THE OTHER SIDE of town to come look after the shop in the Lleshis' absence. No one in his family had tangled with the police. They had no reason to flee. The cousin was overjoyed. He came immediately for the extra keys to the store and the apartment. His family would move in the very next day. Perhaps it was unreasonable, but his delight angered Meli. The cousin was a lazy man who had never in his entire life worked as hard as Baba did in a single day. It wasn't fair that he should have their nice apartment and all the food in the store for nothing—even if for only a few weeks.
There was no telephone at the farm, so as soon as the matter was settled with his cousin, Baba got on his bicycle and rode out to the country. It was almost dusk when he returned in the Lada with Uncle Fadil. Although Uncle Fadil kept insisting that there was plenty of food at the farm, Mama and Baba were determined not to be any more of a burden than necessary. The men and Mehmet loaded the back of the car with fifty-pound sacks of flour, cases of cooking oil, sacks of onions and potatoes, big cans of white cheese, some jars of honey and plum jam, and a box of assorted canned goods: the goulash that Mehmet liked and the pashteta that Baba liked to spread on his bread in the morning. Thick coils of spicy sausage almost masked the usual smells of the old car. Space, though hardly enough, was left just behin
d the front seat for the four older children. The family was ready—or as ready as they could be—to leave the only home the children had ever known, with no idea of when they would see it again.
"Wait," said Mama, as Meli was about to climb over the front seat into the tiny space behind it. "My photo—my parents photo!"
Meli took the key from Baba and ran back up the outside stairs. Out of habit she slipped off her shoes at the door and raced into the living room. Her hands were shaking as she took the picture down from its special place atop the television set. The grandparents she had never known stared out at her as though wondering why they must leave their comfortable setting. She got a towel from the bathroom and wrapped the picture in it to protect the glass. Don't drop it! she told her shaking hands as she stuffed her feet into her shoes and, the precious picture tucked under her arm, closed and locked the door behind her. Slowly, she descended the steps, went out the gate, and returned to the waiting family.
She didn't look back. She hadn't said good-bye to her room, or the kitchen, or the living room. She hadn't said good-bye to her school, or even to Zana, who would never understand how she could leave without a word. But she wouldn't cry. We must all be brave, she kept telling herself. Besides, we'll be back soon. Of course we will. But something echoed deep and dark inside her stomach: Inshallah. God willing.
Mama, Baba, and Vlora were crowded into the front seat of the car with Uncle Fadil. Meli, Mehmet, Isuf, and Adil were in the rear. They sat facing backwards, their spines slammed against the front seat, their knees drawn up against their chests, surrounded by what were for now the family belongings. Mama had insisted that they bring their winter jackets and a blanket for everyone. It was summertime; surely they'd be home before anyone needed a jacket. Although Auntie Burbuqe had plenty of utensils for cooking and eating, there were some Mama couldn't bear to leave behind for the careless cousins to misuse. No furniture, of course—the foodstuffs were the important cargo. Vlora had been allowed one doll, but there were no other toys in the car. They had left so much behind, but at least Mama had her parents photograph. It was the only thing she had to remind her of her childhood home.
"You look like my mother," Mama had often said to Meli. "She was such a beautiful woman. See, in the photo? You can tell how beautiful she was." And Meli would obediently look at the photo and agree, though her grandmother seemed stiff and plain to her, and she secretly hoped she would be much prettier than that when she grew up.
Now Meli strained for a last sight of home in the fading light. It was a lovely place, her town, on the banks of the Drin River, nestled between the hills that divided Kosovo right down the middle and the snowcapped Cursed Mountains, which barred the way to Albania, from where in the mists of the long-ago past her ancestors had made their way to this fertile plain.
But the beauty of the sights she was leaving behind was soon crowded out by a riot of fears. She was afraid that they would be stopped by a police patrol, or worse, by Serb paramilitaries, who had begun to act as though they were more powerful than the police. If the Lleshis were stopped, they would be searched. Not that the family owned any guns—Baba didn't believe in guns—but who knew what the Serbs might find suspicious? Suppose they just took Baba or Mehmet or Uncle Fadil away for no reason at all? Mehmet had disappeared once already, probably just because a boy running down the street past the police station had aroused their suspicion. Maybe, now that he had been jailed and beaten and had lived with the guerrillas, he was on some secret list of KLA sympathizers. That must be it—that was why he had insisted that they leave town. She shuddered.
"Mehmet." She was whispering so as not to wake up the little boys, who had fallen asleep. Those in front wouldn't be able to hear her over the racket of the engine. "Mehmet, if we re stopped, you have to hide."
Mehmet gave a snort. "Where? Among the sausages?"
Yes, it would be foolish to try to hide. She fought to keep alert, to keep her eyes open for the first signs of danger. But she was tired. The next thing she knew, the car had rattled to a stop. She straightened up quickly. Where were they? To her relief she made out in the darkness the outline of the family farmhouse. Mehmet was still sitting as stiff as a board against the back of the front seat, his eyes wide open. He hadn't fallen asleep—she was sure of it.
The adults got out of the car, Baba carrying the sleeping Vlora. Mehmet clambered over the front seat and out the door. Meli tried to stretch out her numb legs in the small space he had left and was about to wake her little brothers when Auntie Burbuqe came hurrying out of the house, carrying a bag.
Even in the pale light from the doorway Meli could see how agitated she was. She said something to Uncle Fadil, who in turn spoke softly to his brother. Baba shook his head. Then Mehmet went over and talked with Baba. Now Auntie Burbuqe was handing the large bag to Mama. No, she shouldn't t wake Isuf and Adil—not yet. Isuf had fallen against her, so Meli sat still, but she craned her neck, trying desperately to figure out what was happening. Finally, Mehmet climbed back over the seat into the space she made for him by gently prodding Isuf to a sitting position. "What is it?" Meli asked. "What's the matter?"
Mehmet didn't answer. He waited until Uncle Fadil took his place behind the wheel again, and Mama, carrying the bag Auntie had given her, and Baba, with Vlora still in his arms, struggled back into the front seat. "It's not safe here," he said. "We have to go."
"What did Auntie Burbuqe say?"
Mehmet pushed Isuf gently to give himself a bit more room. Isuf mumbled something in his sleep. Adil stirred and nestled closer to Meli's shoulder.
"Shh," Mehmet said. "Don't wake them up. We have miles to go. The longer they sleep, the better."
"But why can't we stay here?"
"It's not safe."
It was all he would say. Sometimes Mehmet could be so maddening. "Why not?" Meli demanded.
"Shh. There are paramilitaries all around. They ve been threatening everyone—telling them to leave the country."
"Leave?" How could those thugs order them to leave their own land? "But what about Auntie Burbuqe and Granny?"
"I don't know," he whispered. "Maybe Uncle Fadil will come back for them later. Or—or maybe They'll be safe if I'm not around." He said the last bitterly.
