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"You don't know that!"
"Quiet, Meli," he said, putting his hand over her mouth. "I know because Auntie Burbuqe as much as said so. I think they know someone who knows someone—you know how it goes."
She didn't know. She shook away his hand. "What are you talking about, Mehmet?"
"Shh. Forget it. Information is dangerous. People get killed for it."
She shut up then. But who had gotten word to Auntie Burbuqe? How did she know things they didn't? She tried not to think about it. She tried to be glad simply that she was with her family, that Mehmet was there beside her. Whatever the danger, it felt safer for them to be all together.
It was too dark to see where the car was going; they were traveling without headlights for the first part of the trip. Even so, Meli knew the bumpy road was winding up and up. "Where are we going, Mehmet?"
"Into the hills," he answered. In the strange night, even his voice sounded dark.
"To our grazing lands?" Years ago the family used to take sheep and goats to their ancestral lands in the hills for the summer. But they hadn't done that for years. "I hope that old shack is still standing."
"We're not going to our place."
"Then where?"
"Somewhere else. Farther south."
"But there's no one up there we know."
"There's the KLA."
A chill went through her. "But we don't belong to the KLA."
"They'll protect us."
She was shivering all over now. How could Mehmet be sure? A little band of KLA had saved his life—she knew that—but did that mean all of them were kind? The KLA might be patriots and heroes, but they were fighters, desperate ones, and safe only in children's war play, not in the dark hills they hid among. She had heard it whispered that if the KLA suspected that you were a spy or even a government sympathizer, they would kill you as fast as the Serbs would.
"Don't be afraid, Meli. It's all right." Mehmet was reading her mind. "Besides, we don't have much choice, do we?"
The car spiraled higher and higher into the darkness. She could smell the chill mountain air. Uncle Fadil had put on the dim parking lights, but Meli was riding backward in the over-packed car, and nothing was really visible. She was afraid she might vomit, either from car sickness, the car's strange mixture of smells, or fear, she couldn't be sure. I can't throw up, she told herself. I have to be strong. Besides, there was no way to move herself over to the half-open window to throw up—she would wake the little boys, and she couldn't do that. They were sleeping so peacefully.
"Mehmet," she whispered. "When will we get there?"
She sensed rather than saw Mehmet shrug.
Her face was hot and feverish, but her arms, sticking out of her light summer dress, were covered with goose bumps. It had gotten much cooler as they climbed. Her winter jacket was stuffed somewhere near the rear hatch. She wished she could jerk out one of the blankets they were sitting on to put around her shoulders, but even if it were possible, she wouldn't dare. Questions tumbled over in her mind like laundry in their old washing machine. Where will we sleep tonight? On the ground? How will we cook or bathe or go to the toilet? The only houses in the hills were the summer shacks of goat and sheep herders, flimsy structures perched on ancestral grazing lands. Her whole body ached for her own comfortable bed and her cozy home. Stop it! She rubbed her arms to warm them.
Once more Mehmet seemed to read her mind. "There are camps up there. It won't be like home, but there ll be shelter. I promise."
How could Mehmet promise anything? How would he know how the KLA lived? She didn't dare ask. She didn't want information that could be dangerous—especially not from her brother.
The Lada stopped so suddenly that the four of them were thrown hard against the seat. Adil gave a startled cry.
"Hush," Mehmet said. There was a mumble of voices. He was trying to listen, to find out what w
as happening. "I think we re almost there," he whispered.
Just then the beams of two powerful flashlights lit the darkness. Both little boys were awake now. "What's the matter? What happened?" Isuf asked.
"Hush," Meli said.
The dark figure of a man went around the hood of the car to the driver's window, and another went to the rear side window and peered in at the children and then to the back and opened the hatch. The beam of the flashlight raked their faces and the contents of the car. The four of them sat there, as though frozen in place.
"It's only food and children back here. Let them pass," he called to his companion, and slammed shut the hatch. For once Mehmet didn't protest at being called a child.
