"My grandmother has trouble walking," Mehmet said, glowering at the policeman.
"Not another word," Baba muttered. He lifted Granny in his arms and began to walk, all the family close behind.
EIGHT Terror and Tragedy
TO MELI IT FELT AS THOUGH THEY WERE WAITING FOR A train that was never coming. Eventually, people began to sit down on the platform. She tried not to think about the stories she'd read in school about trains that took people to concentration camps and death. She tried not to watch the policemen, who were patrolling the edges of the crowd, waving their guns in the air, threatening to shoot troublemakers. There was to be no food, no water, even. And, more immediately, she was desperate to relieve herself. She whispered this to Mama.
Finally, Baba got up and went over to speak to one of the policemen. The man nodded angrily. Baba came back and spoke softly to Mama. He had gotten permission for them to use the toilets in the station. Meli got up gratefully, taking Vlora by the hand. She hesitated, looking at Baba and Mehmet and her little brothers. She was afraid to let them out of her sight even for a minute, but she really couldn't wait any longer.
Mama was half carrying Granny. Auntie Burbuqe and Nexima each carried a twin, so Meli took little Elez's hand. With a hundred pardons and excuses, they made their way through the crowd to the toilets. Meli was terrified that once others saw where they were headed, the room would be mobbed and they'd never get in, but they got there first, before the crowd realized what was happening. They were wearing so much clothing, it was a struggle to use the toilet. She helped Vlora first, then went herself. By the time they were at the basins, trying to clean up a bit, women and children were pouring into the small room. Meli quickly washed Vlora's and Elez's faces with her hand and splashed cool water on her own filthy face and hands before they had to squeeze out to leave space for others as needy as themselves.
It was well after midnight when they heard the long whistle of an oncoming train. Meli's relief turned to horror when she saw that the engine coming to a halt was pulling a long line of freight cars. It was just like the terrifying old stories. Policemen flung open the huge sliding doors. The metallic rattle echoed down the line like the death throes of a mechanical beast.
"Hold on to each other!" Baba's voice pierced her fear. "Tight! Hold on tight!"
"Move! Move! You lazy pigs! Get up there! Now!" The police used their big pistols to push and shove the Albanians up and into the cars. With babies crying and old people whimpering and the frightened crowd pushing and shoving, Meli was terrified that she would let go of Adil's and Isuf's small hands, but she clung to them as though all their lives depended on it. Baba and Uncle Fadil helped Mama, Auntie Burbuqe, and Nexima up first. Then they handed Granny and Nexima's children and Vlora up to them before they climbed in themselves.
"Meli, Mehmet," Baba called. "Help the boys!" Meli hesitated. How could she hand one brother up without letting go of the other's hand?
"I've got him," Mehmet said, and he slung Isuf up to Baba's waiting arms as though he were nothing but a small parcel. Then it was Adil's turn.
"Now you, Meli," Mehmet said.
Again she hesitated. She was nearly as heavy as Mehmet. "Come on!" he barked, grabbing her around the waist and hoisting her up so that she was on her knees, falling forward into the crowded interior. Baba pulled her to her feet and then, holding to the side of the car, leaned out and pulled Mehmet to safety. Seconds later a policeman came by and gave the door a powerful shove, and they were plunged into darkness.
She heard Baba and Uncle Fadil calling everyone's name. No one was missing. They might die, but they would at least die together.
There was no room for most people to sit down, although Meli learned later that Baba and Uncle Fadil had managed to get Granny to the side of the car, where she could sit leaning against the metal wall. Meli herself could only stand in the crowded boxcar, sweating in her two dresses, her sweater, and her jacket. She held on to her little brothers by their hands, their shoulders, their jacket collars—anything to keep contact with them in the dark.
She would never know just how long the family was on the train. It simply sat at the station for what seemed like hours before it began noisily to move, waking up all the sleeping children. Then it went for what could hardly have been more than a few yards before it squealed and shuddered to a stop. This happened over and over again, each time the train stopping so suddenly that it would throw the occupants hard against each other. Once Meli heard Adil cry out in alarm. Don't let him be crushed, she prayed.
She tried not to think of the smell. At first it was simply the sweat and dirt of the journey, but as the night wore on it became the unmistakable smell of human waste and vomit. If there was such a thing as hell, it could not be worse than this.
And then, although it seemed to Meli that an eternity had passed with the train hardly moving, the doors flew open. Unaccustomed to the light, she stood still, blinking for several moments before she realized that it was morning.
"Out! Out!" On the ground were soldiers in Serbian uniforms.
"Stay together!" As loud as the crowd was, she could still hear Baba's command. "Hold on to each other!"
"Out!"
Staying as close to each other as possible, the family came down from the boxcar. Meli could feel the point of a rifle between her shoulder blades as she held up her arms to take Adil from Mehmet. There was so much noise and confusion that she just focused on grabbing her little brothers by their jackets. Baba was carrying Granny. Meli pushed through the crowd toward him. She hoped they didn't have far to go now that they were without their wheelbarrow.
Everyone from the train was being herded in the same direction. "Go on! Hurry! Get out!" the soldiers were shouting.
Get out of where? What did they mean? And then she realized that they meant Get out of Kosovo. They were being thrown out of their homeland—like garbage. We are people! Meli longed to yell. Not pigs or trash. I used to have good clothes and live in a nice apartment. I used to read books and watch TV and go to films. I used to comb my hair and brush my teeth and misbehave in school. But of course she said nothing. No one did. They didn't want to tempt some angry soldier to use his gun.
Just then Meli heard a shout. "Nexima!"
She looked up. From a boxcar far up the line, pushing his way through the crowd, was Hamza. "Here," said Nexima, holding out to Meli the twin she was carrying.
"No," Meli cried, "you mustn't." We have to stay together. It was all she could think of. She dropped Isuf's hand and grabbed Nexima's arm. People closed in around them.
A single shot cracked the air. Nexima's head jerked back as though she herself had been hit. She would have fallen, baby and all, except that Meli was holding her so tightly. For a few seconds there was a stunned silence.
Meli could see nothing over the heads of the crowd, so they would never know if it was that shot that took Nexima's husband from his family. Nor would Meli ever know if she had done the right thing. Baba had said they must all stay together. She could not let Nexima go.
***