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Uncle Fadil ground the gears and gunned the engine. Climbing across Isuf, Mehmet shoved aside a sack of flour and a can of cheese to roll down the window. He poked his head out, staring ahead as the car wound farther up into the hills, now with its headlights illuminating the way. "I can see campfires," he said excitedly. "We're almost there."
FOUR Camping
THE LADA JERKED TO A STOP. AS SOON AS THE FRONT OF the car emptied, Mehmet clambered over the seat and jumped out. The little boys had fallen asleep again. Meli shook them gently. "Wake up, Isuf, Adil; we're there," she said, having no idea where "there" might be.
Both boys shifted as if to shake off her hands, but they didn't open their eyes. It must be wonderful to sleep like that. She envied them. They had missed all the anxiety. At six and eight, they didn't seem to realize how dangerous their world had become.
Baba was calling to her.
"They won't wake up," Meli said.
"Well, let them sleep while we unload," Baba said. "I ll open the back. Can you push things toward us, or do you want Mehmet to help?"
"I can do it," she said. She wanted Baba to know that she was going to be one of the grown-ups, one of the strong ones. She shifted to her knees, and when Mehmet and the men had unloaded what they could easily reach, she began to push a heavy sack of flour toward the hatch. It wasn't as easy as she thought. Mehmet quickly became impatient and climbed in to help. With the four of them working, it didn't take long to unload, maybe ten minutes or so. She crawled back to the boys and shook them hard enough this time to wake them up.
"Are we at Uncle Fadil's house already?" Adil asked sleepily, blinking his eyes.
"No," she said. "Baba changed his mind. We're not staying with Uncle Fadil after all. We re ... we re camping out."
"Oh, good!" said Isuf, wide awake now. "Like a real army. Just like the KLA!"
"Yes," she said. "Just like that."
There was, as Mehmet had promised, a tent, but it was hardly big enough for three people, much less seven with their belongings.
Uncle Fadil was closing the hatch, obviously anxious to get moving while it was still dark. They gathered around him to say good-bye. "When will you bring Burbuqe and Granny?" Mama asked.
Uncle Fadil shook his head. "Mother is so old," he said. "Maybe it's better we stay and take our chances. At least she has a bed to sleep in."
How could they argue? Meli hugged her uncle. Mehmet and Baba shook his hand. "Thank you, brother," Baba said. "We'll see you soon, inshallah."
"Inshallah," Uncle Fadil echoed. "May we see one another well," he added as he climbed into the car.
"May your life be lengthened," Baba said. The formal words of parting hung in the night air like black clouds before a storm. They stood without another word, listening to the fading noise of the beloved old Lada and watching its dim rear lights until they disappeared beyond the first curve.
***
In the morning they could see their camping place. Another tent stood not far from their own. The plain where the two tents were pitched was partly surrounded by chestnut trees, and a stream flowed from above the camp and ran past it. Down the hill a bit, a dilapidated shack straddled the stream. No one needed to tell Meli that the old shack would be their toilet while they lived here. In the days when they had gone to the family's grazing lands, they had often used just such an outhouse.
Mama found a bag with a loaf of bread brought from home and gave each child a piece topped by a bit of cheese while Baba and Mehmet chose a spot in front of the tent where Mama could make a fire. As they worked, a gray-haired man emerged from the woods carrying an armload of firewood.
"Please," he said, when he saw them. "Use this for your fire today."
"I worship your honor," Baba said gratefully.
"May you be with honor," their new neighbor replied.
He was a sad-faced man, Meli thought, but very kind. Perhaps a few days here wouldn't be too awful. She turned to see that Mama had dug out her old mixing bowl and a spoon.
Mama smiled at her. "Last night Auntie Burbuqe gave us all the right ingredients, so I think today is a good day to make flija," she said.
"Flija!" Isuf yelled, and he and Adil and Vlora crowded so close to their mother that she could hardly beat the thin batter.
As soon as the coals were ready, Mama poured a layer of batter into the big round metal pan, put the lid on, and covered the lid with coals.
"When can we eat it?" Vlora asked.
"It takes hours," Isuf said with big-brother importance. "You have to be very patient."
