The Day of the Pelican

Not even Mehmet complained aloud that no food had been offered, or that the pot was so dented and stained Mama would have thrown it out long ago. It held water. That was what mattered. It would even boil soup, if they ever got the makings of soup and the means to start a fire.

When everyone had taken a good long drink, Meli returned to the well and filled the pot once more before they began to walk again. The water helped a bit to fill their empty stomachs, and it was not until they stopped to rest a couple of hours later that Meli was conscious of her stomach growling and churning. She had been far more aware of the metal pot handle cutting into her palm.

Nexima nursed the twins and then called her three-year-old and fed him as well.

Adil sidled over to where Meli was sitting. He put his thin little arm around her neck. "I'm hungry," he whispered in her ear.

"I know," she said. "We all are. When we come to a place where we can buy food, Baba will get us something." She remembered midsentence that their father's money was now in that pillowcase.

"When?"

She rubbed her brother's bony back. "Soon," she said. "Soon, I'm sure. We have to be very patient and very brave."

But even if there had been money, there were no shops selling bread in the villages they walked through. There were houses being looted as their owners fled, and every business seemed to have been burned or vandalized beyond repair. The road was filled with people just as hungry and desperate as they were. By midmorning they were too tired and hungry to walk another step. They knew they must keep walking, but as much as their minds told them to go on, their bodies simply refused to move.

"Hashim, Fadil," Mama said after they had passed through yet another burned village, "why don't we sleep now, while the grass is dry and the sun is warm? We can walk in the evening when it is too cool to sleep." The older children didn't wait for permission. They plopped down on the grass. Baba and Uncle Fadil put Vlora and Elez beside their mothers and then helped Granny out of the wheelbarrow. She groaned a bit when they set her on her feet. Poor Granny, thought Meli. How stiff she must be, riding all those hours in that funny position over this bumpy road.

The old woman straightened as much as her old back would let her and then looked around at all of them sprawled on the grass. "Are we having a picnic?" she asked. Mehmet gave a short laugh and got a look from Baba.

"No, Mother—" Uncle Fadil began, but stopped when they saw Granny reaching about under her shawl and overshirt and into the waist of her trousers. Auntie Burbuqe jumped up to keep her mother-in-law from pulling her clothes apart in front of them all. "Granny," she said, "what are you doing? Let me help you."

Just then Granny succeeded in pulling two loaves of bread out from under her voluminous overshirt.

"I was going to take them to the chickens," she said. "Then those bad men came. I didn't have time, so I..." She made a motion of sticking the bread into her waistband. She looked apologetic. "It's not so much for all these people."

"It's a feast!" Baba said. "You clever woman!"

Adil was on his feet, clapping his hands. "Clever Granny. You fooled the bad men!"

Granny smiled shyly as Uncle Fadil broke off pieces of the loaves and gave some to everyone. Even the babies had a piece to suck on. Only someone who has ever really been hungry would understand how delicious this dry bread tastes, thought Meli. They each ate their share, had a long drink of water, and, almost satisfied, lay down to sleep on the grass. Baba and Uncle Fadil agreed to take turns being on watch. When Meli woke up she saw that Mehmet was still sitting up, as wide-awake as he had been when she fell asleep.

***

They began walking again that afternoon, and just as the night before, they were walking toward an endless procession of their countrymen heading westward. Though they weren't just walking now; they were climbing. Meli knew from all Mr. Uka's geography lessons that they must cross the hills into eastern Kosovo before they could reach Macedonia. Baba and Uncle Fadil were right, no matter what Mehmet thought. Surely the passes through the Cursed Mountains to the west and the Sharr range to the southwest would have been too much of a barrier for a family like theirs.

But although the distance seemed relatively short if you looked at a map, and the hills far gentler than the mountains, the walk from the Plain of Dukagjin to the eastern plain was a hard trek for the Lleshis. Cars and tractors pulling wagons loaded with people and household goods rolled slowly past them. Meli tried not to envy the riders or worry that she and her family were indeed heading in the wrong direction. She kept telling herself that they were all together. That was the important thing. They had one another. And a pot. A pot that held water. She guarded that old pot as carefully as if it had been Mama's treasured photo.

Once across the hills, they found that they were no longer walking against the flow of refugees. "Where are all these people coming from?" Meli asked Mehmet.

"Prishtina," he said.

It should have been easier, walking with the crowd instead of against it, but if they stumbled in their weariness, they found themselves pushed and jostled from behind. Once Meli caught Baba counting heads, making sure everyone was still there, still together in the crowd. Around them there was a constant clamor of conversation, of children crying and adults trying to comfort or cajole. On and on they walked. Then, without warning, the clamor turned to shrieks.

"Get off the road!" someone screamed, and as soon as they did, three cars came racing into their midst. Almost before the vehicles came to a stop, Serb policemen were jumping out of the doors, shouting at the crowd, "This way! This way!"

"Hold on to the boys, Meli," Baba ordered. "Don't let them separate us."

In her haste, she dropped the precious pot. It rolled away, clanging on rocks. Should she try to get it? No, she must hold on to her brothers. The pot was gone. She grabbed Isuf's and Adil's hands and pressed as close to Baba and Granny's wheelbarrow as she could.

"This way! This way!" the policemen kept yelling, herding the Albanians as though they were balky sheep, pushing them across railroad tracks and down toward a tiny rail station. One of the policemen grabbed the handles of Granny's wheelbarrow. He started to tip it up as though he was going to dump her out. Mehmet jumped forward to catch her.

"Get her out of my way!" the man ordered.

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; Carefully, Mehmet helped Granny to her feet. She swayed and clutched at Mehmet.

The policeman waved his pistol in the air. "Hurry!"